Full Disclosure?

Warning: This post definitely falls under the TMI category...

I keep coming back to the same question with this here blog thingy. Now, in my opinion, having a blog is a bit like having a memoir you publish whilst you are living it. You know, so you don't forget the good bits. (Unless, of course, you are like me and have and forget what you're doing in the time it takes to walk from one end of the house to the other, then you forget the good bits as you go, anyway.) There are problems with that theory, of course. Now, if you're like me and you have your very own anti-fan club, then anything you say will definitely be mangled and twisted into a weapon to use against you and those you love. Or there's the fact that while you may not have a problem with airing all your dirty laundry for the world to see, the people who are part of your daily life maybe don't want their lives exposed for all and sundry to see. And, of course, there are the readers who know you in the real world who maybe don't want to hear about your sexual exploits (hi, Mom) or see your naked pictures. But, dammit...You all (all two of my readers)have been warned many, many times...if you're still coming here, I refuse to be held responsible.

Why is this coming up again? Because for the first time in eight very long months, I've had sex. Glorious, uncomplicated, no strings sex. And it was awesome. It was exactly what I needed, without all the gory relationship crap that I really, really don't need. It reaffirms my belief that monogamous, committed relationships aren't for me. It was not awkward or weird and there are no expectations on either end. And you know what? I feel no guilt, no shame, no embarrassment. We both got exactly what we wanted out of the experience and said good night and went our separate ways.

I hesitated to say anything about it for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that I don't want to answer a lot of questions about this person, because while I genuinely care for this person, it's not the kind of caring that's going to lead to any kind of a relationship type thing. Even if I was in a place emotionally or logistically to have a relationship, this just wouldn't be going there. And hell, I really don't even know if it's going to happen again, well with this person, I mean...because sex will be happening again. Eight months was too long, I can't see hanging up my...erm...bits and pieces...at the very, very young age of 33.

It was healing, and refreshing and goddammit, life-affirming. I am still here, still someone besides a mom, besides a sister or a cousin or a friend. I'm a woman in my own right, and proud of it. And walking around with a bit of a cat who ate the canary smirk this week....

Back On the Couch...

Back in therapy. Trying to deal with my shit, look my crazy demons in the eyes, then lay them to rest once and for all. A lot of things precipitated the move, but the biggest thing has been the midget. Dealing with her diagnosis, trying to take care of her alone...frankly, I can't be up all night wrestling with a brain that torments me endlessly, I just don't have the time.

I hate this shit, I should mention. I hate looking my craziness full in the face and trying to make sense of it. I hate taking apart my mistakes to see the motivations behind them, and (big surprise) I hate admitting my mistakes. If I knew how to say...Hmmm..fucked up, okay, learn from it and move on, admitting my mistakes wouldn't be a problem. Because I don't mind admitting I'm a fuck up and a flake and a high strung nut case. I am all of those things, and I can say that easily and honestly without batting an eye. But the individual things that I have done, words I have said that hurt people, that sucks. Because I basically have two settings...Ignore and Obsess. So, either I put it out of my mind and act like it never happened, or I play it over and over in my mind, analyzing each and every second, thinking of all the things I could have, should have said or done instead. I torture myself and berate myself, and my worst enemy could not tear me down the way I do when I Obsess.

And, I hate having to be honest. Because in real life I'm rarely very honest about how I feel. I'm flippant and dismissive and sarcastic. Admitting that I'm sad or scared or lonely...I don't like to do that, but therapy doesn't work if you aren't honest.

In that vein...the honesty vein..I'm posting this video. It's one of my all time favorite songs, something that's been in constant rotation for years, off and on, and back on right now in a big way. The song is beautiful and amazing, but the video, with Robert Downey Jr. doing his hot, soulful broody thing, really just makes it. I wish I had written this song, it says everything...

Yeah, I'm That Liberal Freak...

The one that makes her own cleaners because store bought chemicals are bad for the earth. The one that watches "Ru Paul's Drag Race" with her 10 year old, and answers the same 10 year old's questions about sex and life with as much honesty as the midget can stand before she runs screaming "Eeew!!" The one that doesn't believe in any gods or follow any religions.

Latest adventure in liberalism? Homeschooling. No, not denim prairie dress wearing, putting GOD back in the curriculum homeschooling, but instead, I'm going to fill my midget's brain with all my nutcase liberal ideas and then turn her loose on the conservatives..Mwuhahaha...

Not really.

Kind of....

Actually, I'm just really tired of sending this kid to school all day and having her come home having learned very little. I'm tired of the fact that they spent an entire month on "Black History," but she can't name a single important leader in the Civil Rights movement. I'm frustrated with public education, that they don't read fantastic books like "Where the Red Fern Grows" or "Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry" anymore. I'm literally nauseated at the idea of my 10 year old, type 1 diabetic midget with ADD in a classroom with 40 other kids and 1 (nope, not a typo...that's 1) teacher.

Now, since I'm a broke-ass bitch, I had to go with an online charter school for my curriculum. I've heard a lot of good and a lot of bad about online charter schools, but I've looked over the curriculum, and it's so much MORE than what she's been getting in her "normal" school, that even though it's exactly what I'd have chosen myself, it's close enough, and I'll have enough freedom that I can add some things that I need her to know. I won't have to "unteach" her the sanitized version of history they are teaching kids these days. Because that shit pisses me off.

It's a lot of work, I know. If I was that mom, the one that could just let it go, the burden of time and energy and the fact that the midget and I will be together all day long every damn day would send me running for the hills. But, I'm not that mom. I'm not interested in being that mom, 'cause I'm that liberal freak...

Damn You, Diabetes!!!

That's the new tag line in our house. Often said with fist waving and mock anguish that is trying to chip away at the very real grief and fear this wretched disease invokes. Truthfully, we are holding up well here, and doing what we do best, which is to smile through our tears.

You know, I've spent years now listening to people tell me their stories about so-and-so, a friend of their mother-brother-father-aunt-cousin-firstgradeteacher who drank some magical fruit juice and cured whatever condition their mother-brother-father-aunt-cousin-firstgradeteacher had that I also have...And I thought I was frustrated with it before, but I've reached new depths of frustrations with the ignorance with which some people go through life, the way they repeat every insipid little snippet they ever hear. I've heard all the misinformation about my health issues and learned to smile and nod, but the mama bear in me has a hard time letting it go when someone insists they know what caused the midget's diabetes or that they heard of a "cure." And the one that gets me angriest is that she simply needs to cut out sugar and become more active and the diabetes will go away.

Now, admittedly, a month ago I didn't know a third or even a hundredth of what I know now, but I also knew that I didn't know it and would never presume to tell a parent of a child with a life threatening illness how to care for the disease, but some people think that a thirty second segment they half-assedly remember from a news program a month ago gives them the right to tell me that my daughter will be "fine." And that shit makes me want to stab them.

Let's get something clear here. Yes, I am aware that compared to even just 10 years ago, the treatment options for type 1 diabetes have improved exponentially. I know that the midget's prognosis is good, especially because we do understand the severity of the disease and all that it takes to treat it. But just because there are effective treatments, just because diabetes treatments have improved so much doesn't mean that it isn't scary as fuck to know that your child has a disease that can kill them. When you hold that tiny vial of insulin in your hand and realize that the smallest of mistakes can be fatal...that's scary, and no amount of patting me on my head changes that.

Still...I am grateful that she is doing as well as she is, that we caught things before it got so bad that her kidneys were damaged. I am grateful for my family who listens to me rant and rave about how unfair this all is. I am grateful for the doctors and nurses that have taught me so much in such a short time. And I'm grateful that my midget is strong and resilient and brave.

Gratitude aside...the fact is diabetes sucks...

Really, Universe?

My poor midget...Type 1 Diabetes??? In the latest Lifetime movie of the week twist in my life, my sweet (haha, bad pun..) midget has been diagnosed as a Type 1 diabetic. We are in the hospital learning how to test blood sugars and give shots.

Thankfully, I tend to overreact rather than underreact, so I caught that something was wrong before she got seriously ill. Her numbers are high, and not at all under control and won't be for a few more weeks at least, but she's nowhere near as sick as she could be or as sick most kids are at diagnosis. She's the toughest, bravest, most amazing kid, and I'm so damn proud of her.

As a parent, it's damn important to trust that voice in the back of your head that says, "Hey, something's not right." Don't feel like a freak if you're worried about your kid and you want to get something checked out. It is so much better to be the neurotic Mom who worries too much than the Mom who wishes she'd listened to her gut...

Insomnia Plus Sick Kid Equals Bad Day...

I had great plans for today. Was going to do some baking, some cleaning and take some pictures. But between my own insomnia and the midget's coughing keeping her up all night, I'm having a very rough day. Everything hurts, I'm tired and swollen and basically having a crappy, crappy day.

This Grudge...

I'm finally going through all my old music and putting it on this computer...making ringtones for my new phone and I came across this song I haven't listened to in ages, but have always loved. Tonight, it strikes a deeper chord in me than I can ever remember. I wish I just knew how to let go and forgive. My anger may be justified but it's only serving to gnaw at my happiness, the throbbing ache that nags at the edges of my otherwise contented life...



"Who's still aching now/Who's tired of her own voice/Who's it weighing down/With no gift from time of said healing"

HNT...Please Excuse The Farmer's Tan...

The midget's softball season started a week and a half ago and I got a bit too much sun on my arms because it was the first really nice day we'd had in a long time, and I was too busy enjoying the sun to bother with pesky things like sunblock and umbrellas.

So, I know I missed a Thursday or two, but I have given it up...and here's this week picture. As you can see, I have exactly two skin colors to my name: white and red.

Thank You, Bloggess, For Saying It Better Than I Ever Could

Like so many people who believe in equality for all, I've been following the story of the girl whose school cancelled the prom rather than allow her to attend with her girlfriend. The latest chapter in this ugly, hate-filled saga can be found here.

Now, go read what The Bloggess has to say. And say a little prayer to whatever powers you believe in for all the gay kids without Constance's ability to believe in herself and face down the people who are showering her with hatred. You know that there are kids who are gay, who don't know it, or can't admit it yet, attending that school, and likely attending the other prom, and the scars they will bear from this will never leave them.

And then...if you have time or money and are looking for a worthy cause to support...go here. Gay teens are at a higher risk of suicide than any other demographic.

As If She Wasn't Hot Enough Already...

Anna Paquin. Can I just say "Yowza!" and also, "Yum"? I love, love, love her. I'm more than mildly obsessed with True Blood, and for once, I actually like the Hollywood version of a character better than the book version of the character.

Then, today...I see this tweet from the utterly fabulous Mistress Matisse that Anna Paquin has come out as bisexual. Okay, seriously? Between her and her costar (and fiance) Stephen Moyer, I may not be able to watch without hyperventilating.

I'm sort of amazed at the announcement, especially as she's not been a media whore kind of celebrity, and being engaged to a MAN, she didn't really have to acknowledge her orientation, not that anyone has to, but it wasn't like she had to hide her relationship.

I can't think of anyone other celebrity, with the exception of Sandra Bernhardt, who has made an announcement that they were bisexual, and it makes me very happy indeed. I've discussed before the difficulties inherent in being bisexual, how you belong fully to neither the gay or straight communities, and how you hear a lot of "Make up your mind" or "It's just a phase" or "You're a slut" kind of nonsense when you identify as bisexual.

And On a Darker Note...

I've been absent from the blog for the last week. Obviously. Every time I would start a post, the words would stop and the fog that obscures my brain would take over and that nagging voice, the one that I can't turn off, the one that follows me around telling me how I can't do things, that I'm stupid and no one wants to read what I have to say, that voice takes over and when I'm that tired and the fog is weighing me down anyway, it's easier to give in and give up. I'm not proud of that, and that gives the voice strength, too.

See, what I don't talk about a lot is that in addition to my myriad physical issues, I'm also bipolar. And when I'm manic and up and laughing and talking any my brain is working full speed ahead, it's awesome. But, when I'm not manic...well...not awesome doesn't remotely begin to cover it. And hypothyroidism, fibromyalgia, hormonal imbalances and bipolar disorder are like this evil gang of square dancers that have their choreography down to a science. Any one of them can trigger a flare in one or all of the others. But, when the physical stuff sucks, at least my brain still works and I can laugh and talk and still be, essentially, me. The depression, though...that's a whole other animal, and it weighs me down and turns me into a zombie, and suddenly I'll realize that three days have passed and I've been on autopilot.

I did too much this weekend. The weather was beautiful, the midget had a softball game, there was family stuff going on, my little sister who I miss dreadfully, was staying with me...it was good. And then my body said...Whoa, there...hold on...this is too much fun and too much activity and the hour you spent in the sun is going to combine with all of the energy expenditures and every cell in your body is going to scream in agony and breathing is going to become so exhausting that it makes you want to cry, and then when you try to sleep you're going to have a panic attack because you're having tachycardia. And all of that slams me into depression faster than you can imagine.

I don't like to talk about it much. It sucks and it's sad and it just drags people down. And that voice, that voice that I can't shut out, is really good at convincing me that I'm alone, a freak...that everyone else is normal and no one will understand, so why even bother trying to tell them about it. And so I hide in my house, cobbling together what little bit of energy I can muster so the midget gets to and from school and gets dinner and clean clothes and homework help, and I stagnate and cry and then...I start to feel a bit better. Maybe I don't hurt so much, or I get a little sleep. And then I'll read something on one of my favorite blogs...usually The Bloggess (someone who actually gets the depression/anxiety thing and laughs about it) or see a good show, find a good book...something...and I'll the depression lifts a bit. And then bit by bit, it gets brighter. For awhile.

I'm surfacing right now, and starting to recover. Thankfully it's only been a day or two this time. I still hurt and I'm still exhausted, but the depression is lifting, thankfully.

Black and White HNT

Taking pictures of one's self is not as easy as you may think. I mean there are easy shots: feet, arms, hands, etc... And there's the self-timer, which I need to practice with a bit more, but getting anything else is difficult. I set out this evening to get some hip shots, but it just wasn't happening, but I love this long leg shot I got, so I guess it worked out.

Why I Love to Cook

Last night I had an urge for banana bread, and an hour later there was banana bread in my kitchen. Not instant gratification, no...but good enough, especially since I get it warm and soft right out of the oven...and bonus: my house smells like banana bread all night.

I had been perusing food blogs, as I tend to do...if it's not food blogs, it's sex blogs...but that's another story, and perhaps another blog. I came across a recipe for breakfast pizza that looked interesting, except that having breakfast pizza would involve me being up early in the morning, which I had no intentions of doing since it is, after all, the midget's spring break and I am going to take every opportunity to sleep in.

So, instead we had pizza for lunch, and the only thing it had in common with the recipe that inspired me was bacon. I ended up with this lovely pizza....



First, I sprinkled some drained diced tomatoes, followed that up with feta cheese and Parmesan cheese. Then I broke out the artichoke hearts (YUM) and broke up the bacon I had just fried up and sprinkled that on, threw some more tomatoes on and added a bit more Parmesan cheese. Oh. My. God. So good. The only thing I think I'd change if I did it again is to add some diced garlic, because garlic makes everything better.

I had some left over bacon and there were these two dogs...well, could you resist this?


It would take a stronger woman than I to resist those faces...and they were so sweet about it...but, then the bacon got the better of Ellwood and he completely forgot his manners...


Charlie, however, behaved like a complete gentleman...


My dogs love that I can cook, too...

That's MY Cookie

Warning...the following picture is so cute, it may hurt...



Now, normally, when the boys get a cookie, Charlie scarfs his on the spot, and Ellwood does a victory lap around the house, grunting all the way, and then settles down to gnaw on his. Today, for some reason, after his victory lap, Ellwood laid down and basked in the glory that was his cookie. Charlie, having already devoured his, came to investigate whether Ellwood had left any crumbs he could steal. When Charlie spied the while, uneaten cookie, he tried to steal it, which wasn't at all surprising. What was surprising was Ellwood's insistence that he wasn't giving up his cookie. Not only did he not just walk away from it, he actually barked. Barked. At Charlie. I'm not sure who was more shocked, me or Charlie. Charlie, attempted his theft again, and AGAIN Ellwood barked.

Charlie was so bewildered that he backed off and laid down on the floor below where I was sitting on the couch. Ellwood went back to loving his cookie. He eventually scarfed it down, but the two of them stayed like this for about a half an hour...



Charlie looks so forlorn. Who knew Ellwood knew how to stand up for himself?

Taking Advantage...

I think I've mentioned my longing for spring. It's been ridiculously cold here. I know, I know, those of you in higher latitudes are laughing. I mean, 0 C is nothing to you, but to us California girls, it's painful. Cold to me is anything under 55 F...

We had one day this week when the sun shone and it was 60 Fahrenheit. I reveled in it. The midget was at her softball clinic, so I grabbed my camera and headed outdoors. And though it was still vaguely chilly, the sun felt amazing...Of course, the sun didn't last long and we had snow (SNOW! AGAIN!) a few days later, but at least I had that one glorious day of sunshine.

This was my first time using my timer on my camera to take self portraits. It was tricky, and I got a lot of awkward face shots and being as ridiculously pale as I am, many of the pictures were pretty washed out.

I loved the way this one turned out, though...especially the sun on my hair. And though you can't see it, there's a horse in the tress trying to figure out what the strange human is doing...

Happy Thursday, everyone...And here's hoping the sun is shining in your corner of the universe!!

"The Happiest Days...

...are when babies come." Melanie Wilkes says that to Rhett Butler on the day Scarlett O'Hara gives birth to his baby. And for all that it may be the most well-worn platitude ever uttered, it is also 100%, irrefutably true.


I finally got to meet this little angel...my newest "niece" (okay, okay, really she's my cousin's daughter, but as I've mentioned before, we don't make those distinctions).

Now, I'll admit, when I first heard, some 10 months ago, about this bebe's impending arrival, I did not exactly jump for joy. In fact, my first thoughts were colored by anger, by fear, and by a deep sorrow. I believed, and still kind of believe, that her mother, my beloved cousin, wasn't really in any position to be having this baby. She's older than I was, certainly, when I had my "whoops" that led to my precious little midget, but her life is a bit of a mess. Without going into too many details, it just wasn't a good situation, a sentiment shared by many in my family. So, while we're a close knit group and love children, we found it hard to get excited about this birth, and given that my cousin's pregnancy was high risk, we were all nervous about the outcome...so, unlike all our previous babies, we weren't excited, we just couldn't be...We wanted to be, but it just wasn't happening.

Time passed, as it inevitably does. We had a baby shower (which I missed, thank you FM). And this baby came early...and was tiny...She was in the hospital for several days due to her teeny size. She's been in and out of the hospital for the last two months, suffering from various ailments. She's still tiny, at two months, she's smaller than my midget was at birth, though, admittedly my midget was a giant baby, nearly 10 pounds.

Finally, finally...she was healthy enough to come and meet us, her crazy, extended family. And despite my fears for her mother, my concerns about her health, it was lovely and amazing to see the joy on her cousin's faces as they each took it in turn to hold her tiny body in their laps. It was joyful and funny and silly to watch as her cousin accidentally made her smack herself in the face, a precursor of things to come for the youngest in this horde of monster children, I fear.

So, though I am still nervous about the future for this baby, I am reminded that my situation, when my little midget was born, was not too promising, either, and yet, she is a lovely, amazing girl on the edge of teenage angst who has had a lovely, amazing life due to all the wonderful people who love her, namely of course, my insane extended family. And so, perhaps there is less to be worried about, and more to be happy about. Because, this certainly was a happy, happy day.

Welcome to the madhouse, sweet girl, we are so happy to meet you.

Spring Fever...

I have it...I have it bad...

It's a gorgeous sunny day. Okay, so it's only 60 degrees, but don't bother me with details. It's brightly sunny and I'm supposed to be doing my cooking chores...getting breakfast burritos made and frozen, making some challah, but all I can think about is the sunshine and the way the grass would feel on my bare toes. I am so ready for the end of winter. I'm ready for capri pants and sandals and tank tops...

I think I'm going to head outside with my camera and see if I can't get a good shot or two for my HNT post this week. Meanwhile...here's a little music, something that's in pretty much constant rotation on my iPod...

Fantastic Shoes, Right?

Here's this week's HNT submission. I love, love, love these shoes. They're devilishly hard to walk in, but I'm definitely working on it. I've got another fabulous pair in hot pink that I'm wearing to my brother's wedding in May, but I like these better.

Geek Squad, Schmeek Squad...

Ack...so they replacement cord for my laptop MELTED...and now I can't charge my laptop at all, even when I tried to use my sister's brand new universal cord. I'm off to Folsom this morning to get it fixed, which will likely mean them sending it off for repairs and I'll be without my laptop for another month. Since October, they've had it more than I have and I am beyond frustrated. Of course, this latest issue happened just after my warranty expired, which means they're going to try and get me to pay for any repairs that need to be made, which means I will scream at the top of my lungs about what asshats they are and how if they'd fixed everything correctly the first time and hadn't had my laptop for three out of the last five months, my warranty wouldn't have expired before this happened.

I'm also going to Target and Old Navy to buy clothes for the midget. She refuses to quit growing and doesn't seem to care that I'm too poor to replace her wardrobe every three months.

What the Fuck?

Okay, so it's another sleepless night for the Queen of the Universe, and I'm watching late night tv and there was nothing else worth watching, so I settled on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I don't normally watch this show, because the families always make me cry, but there was literally nothing else besides footage of the earthquake in Chile.

So, the episode I'm watching is this one. This kid, Garrett Yazzie, who asked the show to help his family...this kid blows my mind. Not just because of the selflessness with which he devotes himself to his family, but because of the reason they decided to help the family.

You see, Garrett's family is Navajo and they live on the reservation, in a trailer that was falling down around their ears. They were heating their home with coal or wood, but his younger sister has asthma and the fire was making her sick. So, this kid, this junior high school kid goes out to the junk yard and with nothing but his hands, his brain and crap he finds in the junk yard...namely soda bottles and an old radiator...this kid builds a solar powered water-heater that also heats his house.

And this is where the "What the Fuck" comes in...because this kid...he's a kid, you know? A junior high school kid with no fucking education can build a solar powered heating system out of trash. We have fucking scientist and government agencies supposedly devoted to this shit, and it's "too expensive" and real change is "years away." It's fucking bullshit. If a teenage kid can do it, why the fuck can't our government get their shit together and figure it out?

Body Image, Bravery and HNT

I have struggled with body image issues my entire life. I don't remember a time when I didn't hate my body, whether it was my freckles, my hair, my pallid skin, my body size or shape...none of it ever pleased me. I never looked in the mirror and thought good thoughts. Like so many other girls, I have never been able to look in the mirror or at pictures of myself and not tear to pieces what I saw there. No matter what cruel things have been said to me by various people at various times, I have always been the person who treated myself the worst.

I am a recovered(ing?) bulimic. It's been awhile since I purged, but rarely a week goes by without the compulsion rearing it's ugly head. It's a compulsion like nothing else I've ever felt. But, now, there is always in my mind that beautiful young girl I'm raising, and the idea that I could relapse and she could find out about that relapse is a pretty decent defense. It gives me more strength than I'd ever have on my own. Because, you see, as a mother of a young girl, I am painfully aware of negative body image and the effect that media has on a young girl. I try really hard to make sure she knows that she's beautiful, that she's perfect the way she is. I try to help her love who she is and the body that contains who she is. But I am just one tiny voice, and the media is everywhere, telling her in subtle and blatant ways that she is not good enough, that she will never be good enough. And the idea that she could hate herself the way I have always hated myself sickens me in a way I cannot ever describe.

Just recently, she had an assignment for school and she had to do a project about her biggest hero. To my utter delight and surprise, she chose me. She wanted to talk about how smart I am and how I deal with being sick and how I'm still a good mom despite that. And, wow, nothing in the world makes you want to be a better person than the realization that your child admires you...you want to feel like you deserve that admiration. So, we had an evening where we went through my old Academic Decathlon stuff, and pictures of me and we talked about me. Which was...disconcerting. I mean, certain things I love to talk about, like Academic Decathlon, and my friends and things I like to read and basically anything dealing with my intelligence, of which I have an inordinate amount of pride (or vanity). But when she asked me why there are hardly any pictures of me, I had a hard time coming up with a good answer. How do you tell your child that you hate yourself? You can't. Not if you are a halfway sane and decent parent. So, I stuttered about and made excuses about always being the one taking the pictures, which she called me on because I never let her take my picture. So, I made some more lame excuses and changed the subject.

But, later on, and over the past few weeks, it's been gnawing at me. The best way to lead is by example, right? Because that whole "Do as I say, not as I do" thing is ridiculously ineffective. And I want to keep her respect, and being a hypocrite isn't the best way to do that, I think.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs last week, and the writer had posted her HNT picture. For those you who are unfamiliar with HNT, it stands for Half-Nekkid Thursday. You can read about it here. HNT is different things to different people. For some, it is an opportunity to let out their inner exhibitionist, for others, it's about the art and for still others it's about bravery. But, the basic idea is to celebrate the human body, in all it's wildly imperfect perfection. HNT is not pornography nor is it about sex, though, of course, given the subject matter, many HNT pictures are sexy or provocative. But, they can also be silly or sad, serious or light hearted.

I've been looking at HNT pictures for a long time, as I do truly admire the human body, and yeah, some of the bloggers I look at regularly I find attractive, but that's not why I keep reading their blogs. They have substance, or their pictures are beautifully artistic or they give good photography tips. So, I've been sort of ruminating and I've decided to begin HNT here on my blog. I'm hoping that by forcing myself to take pictures of myself, I will have to look at my body through different eyes. Not hating, loathing eyes, but objective eyes. I'm hoping to gain acceptance of myself, and then.....love...and wow, does that sound awfully corny to my cynical mind.

Obviously, I'm aware that since some of my readers (most, actually) know me in real life, this is sort of a pretty big minefield to navigate. Americans are incredibly prudish and while it's totally okay to look at pictures of people we don't know, looking at naked pictures of our friends and family members is a huge taboo. But, even though I'm embarking on this learn to love my body project, I'm not looking to change my basic personality, so you aren't going to see something vulgar or horrifying. I mean, my mother reads this blog, as do other family members, and there's a contingent who know about and read this blog in what I feel is an attempt to find things to use against me. So, while you're going to see more of me than you ever have, you're not going to be seeing anything R rated, let alone X rated.

I thought about starting a different blog, or just posting on one of the many sites that allows random posting of HNT pictures, but I rejected that idea almost immediately. First of all, I post here erratically enough as it is, splitting my posting energy between this blog and another blog is unrealistic and would lead to the demise of both pretty quickly. Secondly, starting a new blog would mean having a blog with zero readership, so there would be no accountability. And, I really think this is important for me. It will be good for me to in that making this commitment guarantees that I blog at least once a week, but I think it'll actually lead to me blogging more than that, because I'm going to not want it to be all about HNT, so I'm going to be forcing myself to blog on other days about other things.

I took this picture in bathroom mirror. My bathroom has the best lighting of any room in the house, and since I'm new to this, I wanted to keep it simple, so I didn't want to try to set up a scene and use the timer function on my camera, though another perk of this project is that it's going to push me to be a better photographer.

Without further ado...Welcome to the first edition of the Queen of the Universe's Half-Nekked Thursday...

It All Comes Back 'Round Again...

My younger sister mentioned this song the other day on Facebook, flashing back to a whole other time in our lives, and it's been on pretty much constant rotation on my iPod since.

Back in the day, this was just a fun song to sing at the top of our lungs over and over again while a friend played it on the guitar. Good times, great memories...now, it's got another layer of meaning for me since the exgirlfriend was one of those singing along and things ended so spectacularly badly between us, but I kinda like that. I love when something familiar takes on new meaning...

This is the only version I could find to post, and it's edited, which kinda sucks, but that doesn't mean you can't scream "you fuck" at the appropriate moment. I highly recommend it, it's very therapeutic.

I Can't Decide If This Is Sad or Funny

Why The Queen of the Universe Should Really Learn To Read Labels

So, the other night, when this cold kicked in, I was coughing up a lung and in an effort to keep from dislocating something I went looking for cough syrup, and when I found some in my medicine cabinet, I did a happy dance (which caused another coughing fit....idiot) and promptly dosed myself, then went back to bed where I waited for the coughing to subside so I could get my three hours of sleep. The coughing kinda slowed, but sleep eluded me...also I started to get the urge to organize my kitchen, at like 3 am. At which point, I went back and read the label on the cough syrup, and there, in bright bold letters it said...Non-Drowsy formula. So, I read the ingredients and there it was...ephedrine. Shit...

See, I have no thyroid, and I take thyroid hormone replacement, and one of the first things you learn when you are taking thyroid meds is that all the good cold medicines, you know, the ones that contain ephedrine that make it so you can breathe and all that are kind of off limits. So, I haven't had any ephedrine in years. It was like someone shot speed straight into my nonexistent veins. So, there I was at 3 am with a racing brain and weak and tired body, feeling very spacey because I was all hopped up on cough syrup. I'm sure other people would have handled themselves maturely, but, me...I cruised the internet and ended up on Craigslist in the personals section. Which, really, isn't so unusual for me. I spend a lot of time trolling Craigslist looking at the all the animals I want to adopt, but can't and reading the silly and misspelled, grammatical nightmare ads in the personals section. But on this particular night, someone was clearly fucking with me. Because they obviously knew that I was hopped up on cough syrup, and had posted a rant against bisexuals.

Now, I've posted before about how much it kinda sucks to identify as a bisexuals, so needless to say, in my addled state the rant, which was vaguely illiterate and ridiculously insulting struck a nerve and because I was hopped up on cough syrup kinda ticked me off...particularly this part...

when you're bisexual or a man looking to molest, rape, or whatever you predators do

Umm...what?!? What the fuck is that? Because I like women and men I'm a predator??? Now, normally, I'd laugh and shrug this off. I mean...we are talking Craigslist...you know. the site where you can get a goat and a used vibrator and hook up with meth-seeking hooker, all for free? Not that anyone should do any of those things, and probably not all at once, but, hey, I'm not here to judge...well, except the goat part. Leave the goat out of the equation. I mean, if you want to hook up with a meth-seeking hooker and use someone else's used vibrator, by all means...but leave the goat out of it, okay? We have to draw the line somewhere...

So, okay where was I? Oh, right...getting all worked up because some anonymous Craigslist idiot was calling bisexuals predators. So, anyway, because I was hopped up on cough syrup I got the idea in my head that for some reason I could educate this woman about how bisexuals are people just like anyone else. I wrote her a very polite e-mail explaining that bisexuality was as valid a sexual identity as lesbianism and how I was sorry that some bisexual girls are skanky asshats who use lesbians as experimental objects, but how we weren't all like that. To which she replied that I was a dirty slut.

Erm...okay...I've slept with all of two people in the last 13 years, but I'm a dirty slut?!?

A rational person would have given in at this point. Okay, a rational person would have never gotten involved in any of this, but you get my point. But, since I'm me and I was all hopped up on cough syrup (Did I mention the cough syrup yet? Because I'm certain that the cough syrup is why I did any of this, not because I'm a somewhat irrational drama queen.) I wrote my own Craigslist post, asking lesbians to be somewhat more understanding of bisexual girls and admonishing bisexual girls to stop posting ads looking for a "gift" for their boyfriends and posting pictures of their vaginas. Seriously? I was trying to reason with strangers on Craigslist.

Needless to say, I got lots of replies, ranging from "Shut up, you dirty bisexual pervert" to "thanks for standing up for bisexuals" to "I'm looking to surprise my boyfriend with a threesome, here's a picture of my vagina." I finally took down the ad because I get enough spam in my inbox, and it was confusing and upsetting to read insults in one e-mail, propositions in the next and heartfelt thanks in a third.

So, what have we learned, dear readers? We have learned that the Queen of the Universe needs to read labels before she ingests cough medicine, that Craigslist is a black hole of all that's wrong with humanity, that the Queen of the Universe is open-minded to other's sexual perversion so long as they leave the goat out of the equation and that it's probably best if none of this ever sees the light of day.

The Old One, Two

So, now in addition to the flare I've been experiencing, I've got a cold. Colds suck quite enough on their own, thank you very much...I don't need this two for the price of one thing. Headache, cough, sore throat, all compounded...viruses and chronic illness don't have an additive effect, they have an exponential effect. So, instead of the fun filled shopping I could be doing this weekend, I'm bed and couch bound. Sigh...

Not Fair, Not Fair, Not Fair...

I've been busy, I've been happy and accomplishing things and I've felt pretty dang fantastic. The last week or so I've felt a little icky, nothing too bad, but I slowed down, tried to take it easy and ignore the mess, and steel myself against the snarky comments that would be coming my way from my sister because of the mess. I spent time with family, yes, because regardless what happens, I'm not isolating myself again, and I won't be sad and lonely and sitting by myself all the time. Bad enough that I'm sick, I'm not going to be miserable and alone, too. But, I've said no to a few family gatherings, or cut them short to try and conserve energy.

My body, however, decided to remind me that I'm not in charge, that I'm sick, and that sometimes means that life sucks. It started yesterday morning, feeling icky, tired and nearly hungover, which was hugely unfair, considering that I didn't drink and haven't drank in nearly two weeks. Then the vague headache that had been building all day became one of those crippling, shattering headaches, and I had no pain relievers at all in the house....not so much as a single aspirin. I dragged myself to the convenience store because it was that or wait for at least two hours for someone else to be available to get them for me, and by them I'd have been crying on the floor, vomiting. Not my idea of fun, and if it got to that point not only would I be in bed for a week, I'd likely have ended up at the ER because my headaches have a point of no return for ordinary painkillers and once I pass that point the only thing that brings relief is Demerol.

An hour after taking Excedrin Migraine and Motrin (yes, it's safe...they're two different types of medications and I was within safe dosage range) and thankfully, the pain faded. I had acted in time...but not in time to keep the headache from recurring four hours later, which it did...and not with a gradual onset, but with sudden, raging intensity. And so another hour of waiting for the pain to subside. Which meant about two hours of sleep last night. After dropping the munchkin off at school this morning, I came home and went back to bed, hoping against what I knew, which was that I wasn't going to feel better after a few more hours of rest. And I didn't. I woke up nauseated and dizzy and in oh so much pain. I had to cancel a meeting I had, and have the midget's father pick her up from school, which I hate to do because I feel like asking him for help gives him ammunition to use against me, because we have a somewhat contentious relationship, but my sister had to work, the exgirlfriend is out of reach (not that I even seriously considered asking for help from that direction), my cousin is watching her sister's kids due to a family emergency, which sort of left me with no options.

The feelings all this caused...the anger and sadness about being sick, the guilt about not being able to pick up the midget, the fear of what asking the midget's father for help might mean, anxiety about missing my meeting....it nearly sent me into a full-on panic attack, something I distinctly did not need. I made myself relax, tried to accept that I was going to be in bed all day, possibly tomorrow as well, and spent my afternoon reading blogs. I'm still sad and angry and slightly anxious, but also a bit resigned and determined not to fall into that deep, dark hole called depression, and hold onto the fact that yes, today sucks, and tomorrow might as well, but I'll feel better again, I'll be up and around again, and I will make the most of a shitty situation.

Okay, chronic illness...this round goes to you...but I'll be back...

Don't Make Me Stab You...

Swiped from one of my favorite bloggers, The Bloggess.

Busy

Things have definitely picked up around here. Between school for me and the midget, cooking, family gatherings and whatnot I'm a busy little bee...Which I rather like. I'm concerned, of course, about keeping my activity levels low enough that I don't end up in bed for a week from exhaustion, so I'm trying to be smart about my activity..saying "no" when I should and all that. It's hard, though, because I'm enjoying my life so much these days and "sitting this one out" is so patently unfair it makes me want to scream. But the reality is that if I don't do this, I'll be sitting on the sidelines for everything for awhile and that holds absolutely zero interest for me, thank you very much.

Why Try To Change Me Now

My most recent anthem. It's a remake of an old Cy Coleman song. Though, of course, the only other version I've heard is the Frank Sinatra version. And while he does it beautifully, of course he does, Fiona Apple's version is so haunting, and her voice is just better suited to the song, in my opinion. Listen, and then listen again, because I don't think the full impact hits on the first run through.

Furry, Floppy Love

This is my sweet boy...Charlie. He makes everything better. He protects me from all the bad things in the world. True story...The other night when the munchkin was off at her dad's, I was watching a special on NatGeo (geez...I'm a nerd) and was surprised by a particularly traumatic scene and started crying and Charlie went nuts...barking and running around trying to figure out what was making me cry because he was going to kill it, dammit!!



Charlie, like me, is a huge drama queen. He is good at pouting and whining and letting the world know just how miserable his life is. As sad as this picture is, it's nothing to look on his face when I gather my things because I'm...leaving the house...There is nothing worse in the world than when I leave the house. And if I'm gone overnight? The moping is ridiculous. He won't eat, and just lays around feeling sorry for himself.

But as far as Charlie is concerned, that's nothing to the horror that is this guy...



This guy has no concept of "personal boundaries." He doesn't seem to know or care that I belong solely to Charlie. This guy thinks it's a good day if there is never a shred of sunlight between us. Charlie tries to keep Ellwood in line, he really does. But Ellwood is stubborn...and stupid...which means that Charlie has to tell him again and again to MOVE!! Or to stop chasing the damn laser light or any number of other things that Ellwood does that Charlie does not approve of.

I think Ellwood's really starting to grow on Charlie, though...either that or he's decided that Ellwood is just too dumb to take care of himself. See, while Charlie is a very verbal dog and lets you know if there is an intruder or just a stray falling leaf that offends him, Ellwood never barks...well, unless he's chasing cats...but that's a whole other subject... Since Ellwood isn't standing up for his rights at the top of his lungs, Charlie's decided that's his job. He's taken to whining at the door if Ellwood wants to be let in or let out or to look at the business section of New York Times...






I love this dog. I really, really do...and he loves me...he really, really does...

Just Because I'd Rather Have My Eyes Poked Out With Sharp Sticks...

...does not give someone else the right to tell me whom I may or may not marry. My queer pals have just as much right to tie themselves up in an outdated social convention as do my straight pals. And given that I'm pretty pro-civil rights for everyone, not just myself, I'm deeply emotionally invested in the fight for marriage equality. As long as our government insists on giving rights, responsibilities and privileges to straight, married couples, it cannot deny those same rights to committed gay couples. It makes no sense and is deeply, intrinsically wrong.

So, needless to say, I'm following pretty closely the Prop 8 trial. I've got my reservations about the timing of this trial, because I think it may end up doing more harm to the movement than good, because whatever the outcome of this trial, it's going to be appealed to the Supreme Court, and the current political make up of the Supreme Court leads me to believe there's a good chance that the Supreme Court will rule against gay marriage...not an insurmountable obstacle, but one that would seriously hinder the movement. It takes a very long time for the Supreme Court to reverse itself and since I think that gay marriage is a no brainer for most people under thirty, I think that we need to wait only a few years, say no later than 2016, before voter legislation legalizes it.

I know, though, that it's easy for me, someone who doesn't want to ever get married, to say wait, because I'm not waiting. Marriage equality is a moot point for me personally, since I will never get married. But, that doesn't make me insensitive to the needs of others. I have family and friends who would dearly love to be able to get married, and it's hard for me to say to them..."Wait." My concern, though, is that by pushing the issue too early, before it's likely to succeed, we'll actually end up increasing the amount of time before marriage equality is gained.

My concerns, of course, are a moot point since the trial is ongoing, so all I can really do is watch, and wait, and hope. Part of that watching and waiting, however, gave me a good laugh today, because I do so love it when the anti-marriage equality folks make themselves look like the morons they truly are.

The Courage Campaign has a blog following the progress of the Prop 8 trial that is using this logo:



which is, of course, a parody of the ProtectMarriage logo. You can go to the blog and read about the response of ProtectMarriage and the hilarious answer from the Trial Tracker blog. Hopefully, it will give you a good laugh at the stupidity of the marriage protection folks...

Happy New Year

I don't do New Year's resolutions. I mean, I'm sure I did once, like, a million years ago, but nowhere in my memory is a New Year's resolution. But even without a specific memory, I can tell you how any such event would have played out. I'd have done really, really well for a few weeks, maybe even a few months, and then, slowly but as surely as the sun will rise within just a handful of hours of my typing this, I would slip, falter and then fail utterly. I'm great at starting...and godawful at finishing. It's been my biggest personality flaw my whole life.

And yet, tonight I am filled with a sense of wanting to begin again, to try my faulty resolve and, for once, find it not wanting. I've been contemplating this last year as we're prone to doing at this time and finding myself ready to turn the page on this trying chapter of my life, but I find myself wondering what comes next. Not like the big mystery of what does the future hold, but the question of what will my life be about. The last ten years that question has been easy to answer. My purpose has been my family, my daughter and my now ex girlfriend. So I knew that whatever else I might do, my life would revolve around them.

To some extent, even with the disappearance of the girlfriend from that picture, my purpose will still by my family...my daughter and, of course, my larger extended family, but the reality is that every day my daughter grows older and the days until she is a woman on her own deciding where her life story will lead her are getting fewer in number every day. And my goal, as is every parent's, is that I will have raised my daughter to be a capable adult who will have her own life, and her own family and while I always intend to be close to her, at some point, living every moment of my life for my daughter will not only be unnecessary, but also wholly unhealthy for the both of us. In the past, of course, the idea was that the girlfriend and I would ride off into the sunset and grow old together and be grandmas and all of that.

I've always defined my life by my relationships. When I was a teenager, my friends were my life, as a young adult, my daughter became my life. So, I've always thought of myself as someone's daughter or sister or friend or lover or mother, and rarely as an entity into myself, and while I will still continue to be all of those things to various people, it's clearly time to be Laura, the woman...who also happens to be a mother and a daughter and a friend and a lover. I know that, for the time being and the foreseeable future, I am not in a position to add partner or wife or girlfriend to that list (okay, so never, ever on the wife thing) and frankly, I really don't want to look for that now. Not until I know where I want to place the focus of my life.

It would be far easier if there was one thing I was more passionately interested in than I was in any other thing. But, as has always been the case, my interests are wide and very little can hold my attention to the exclusion of other things for long enough that I can really make a life out of it. I love so many things: cooking and history and social causes aplenty. There are many things that strike a chord in me, but none so deeply that I really want to devote myself to it. Once upon a time, before chronic illness became my bosom buddy, I thought I had found it...I worked for a time as a Certified Nurse's Aide and wanted to become an RN and devote myself to nursing because it was something I could care about, something that I could feel good about, that would hold my interest due to it's ever changing nature. Now, of course, physically and emotionally, nursing is too much for me.

And chronic illness is going to truly complicate this search, because any work too strenuous, whether physically or emotionally taxing, is out of the question because it will hurt my health and make any part of my life impossible.

I have some plans, some educational plans that will be set into motion in the very near future, but they aren't long term plans and it's not something that I can see myself doing for the rest of my life without wanting to gouge my eyes out with pointy sticks.

So...while I hesitate (out of superstition, lest I jinx myself) to use the term resolution, it appears that I have one. While I go about my short term education goals that are going to give me the financial ability to be independent, I am also going to start exploring my interests, my skills...and finding that thing that's going to give my life meaning when my daughter is grown and happily finding her own path.

Sex Is Work

I've mentioned my opinion on sex work before. I think it should be legal, and I get really frustrated with the judginess of other women when discussing the choices of fully grown women. Let's be clear here...I'm not talking about women on street corners addicted to crack or little girls at the mercy of their pimps, I'm talking about women who are smart enough and mature enough to decide for themselves that spending a few naked hours with your heels in the air beats the hell out of flipping burgers any damn day of the week.

Supposing I'd had the guts back in the day when the goods had a bit more financial value, I like to think I'd have made a damn good escort. Smart enough to realize that sex work is at best a gig that lasts a few years and crazy enough that the outlandishness of a client's requests wouldn't have caused me a moment's hesitation, but also sane enough to keep a life outside of sex work. I think I could have done it, and I wish like hell I'd tried. These days, let's face it, I'd be lucky to be pulling down a twenty for a back seat blow job. The goods ain't what they used to be, and for that matter, neither is my stamina.

Besides, really, what is sex work? Supposing you have no religion to answer to, and that you could give a rat's ass what society thinks of you, (both of which applies to me, btw) why not? How hard is it to pretend that you're enjoying sex? We've all done it. God, knows I have. (And for the record, no, that's not a dig at my exes...it's simple honesty.) In the confines of even the most loving relationships there are times when your partner wants it and you don't. And, yeah, you could be a cunt and tell them to fuck themselves, or you could be a stand up gal and take one for the team...heh heh. In theory, I suppose, it's a lie...in reality...it's another way of being a loving partner. No one wants to be rejected. Even when you know your partner loves you, even when you know your partner is enormously turned on by you most of the time...that one time they say, "Not tonight, honey..." It can really hurt. Now, admittedly, if your sex life becomes all about the sex for your partner's sake, something's wrong and you need to fix it.

And, frankly, let's face it. A lot of the jobs I've had in my life were about someone paying me to be a body...I didn't make my minimum wage at McDonald's (my after school job in high school) for my brilliant mind, let me tell you. It was hot, sticky, stinky work that hurt my back and my feet and for which I earned a pittance. I think of the hours spent scrubbing the smell of rehydrated onions and french fries out of my hair and realize that for the same amount of ick factor I could have easily made fully 25 times what I got paid to sling burgers. Wasted opportunities....


And for the record, as a mom...no, it wouldn't be my first choice for my little midget's career, but neither would I choose for her to sling burgers. If she decided, as an informed adult, to spend a few years as a sex worker, why would I have any more problem with that than if she were gay or bi or straight or anything else having to do with her sexuality, which is not really any of my fucking business. Now, if she becomes a born again Christian, or (oh, the horror) a Republican, then she'll hear it...

Smile

I have a few blog posts all ready to go on my laptop. Unfortunately, my laptop is back at the shop for repairs...boo... They assure me that this time it won't take 4 weeks to get it back, so hopefully I'll be up and running again here soon.

In the meantime...here's a musical interlude. This is what I have on repeat on my iPod at the moment.

Mmm...Fresh Baked Bread

I'm sitting in my living room enjoying our beautifully decorated tree and the smell of the bread I just took out of the oven. It's very cozy on this blustery day. It's been pouring down rain all day, but thankfully we haven't lost power. It's probably because we're prepared and actually could go somewhere if we need to do so.

I'm a baking queen these days. I even made english muffins last night, but they're kind of a pain to make and I think I'm doing something wrong because they didn't have all the nooks and crannies they were supposed to have. I might try them again, but today was all about the French bread. French bread is a bit more fussy than the challah I made last time. It requires regular kneading during the rising process, so while I was helping the midget decorate the tree, every ten minutes or so, I had to stop and punch down the dough. But it was well worth judging by the heavenly smell wafting through the house. I won't get a chance to sample it until tomorrow night as I baked it for the family dinner at my aunt and uncle's house. It looks as good as it smells though...


While it looks pretty, it doesn't look anywhere near as pretty as the challah.



I used the second loaf of challah to make French toast this morning. It was amazingly yummy stuff. We ate it so fast there was no time to take a picture.

Baking is fun stuff...I just wish I had a maid or an assistant to do all the cleaing up afterwards!!

Snow Days: They're Just More Fun With Power

We got snow early this year. Usually, my neck of the woods doesn't get much snow and when we do get it it's February/Marchish. But Sunday night we got a foot and a half and most of it is still sitting in my yard.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love the snow. I love watching it fall and I love how beautiful it is when I'm looking out my window. And I love, love, love having my four wheel drive (such a dykey thing to admit, right?) when it snows. But, this week I did NOT love the snow. I did not love it because about two hours into what was supposed to be a cozy snow day with my daughter, our power went out.

Everything in my house runs on electricity. Heat, stove...We're on a well so even our water doesn't work when there's no power. But we hunkered down and tried to make the best of it, thinking that we'd have power back shortly. Only, we didn't. And without heat, and no firewood, this house got very cold, very quickly. I had my snake in my shirt, and my kid and I were bundled up with blankets and trying to make the best of what was started to look like a very uncomfortable situation.

As night started to fall, I must admit I started to panic a bit. I'd tried to figure out a way to get the kid somewhere else so that she, at least, would be warm, but my parent's driveway was impassable and her other parents were being less than helpful, and then the temperature dropped very suddenly, and despite the layers of clothes and the layers of blankets we started to get very, very cold.

I had a short break down and threw myself a pity party. And then I made myself snap out of it. You really don't have time to fall apart when you're a mom, regardless of the situation. We gathered up scrap wood, I made a fire in the fire place, broke out the candles and started to try to figure out exactly how we were going to entertain ourselves until bed time. Just as the house started to warm up, and we were getting around to thinking we were going to be okay...we'd made ourselves a nest of blankets in the living room near the fireplace and were cuddled up with the dogs (Ellwood was, and still is, very upset about the snow) when suddenly the power came back on and there was much rejoicing.

It's funny, but during those cold hours, I hated every single flake of snow that fell. I took it somewhat personally, as though this massive storm front that was affecting millions of people was somehow aimed at me and my little one, and our beloved pets. Can you say narcissistic? And then, the power was on, and it was warm and bright and the snow was beautiful again and Ellwood's disgust with the cold wet stuff and Charlie's silly hopping through the snow and my daughter's open wonder was joy distilled.

I've got some pics of Charlie romping through the snow, because, let's face it, there's nothing cuter than a moppy little black dog romping in the snow. I'm going to try and remember how to post them so that interwebs can feast their eyes on the cuteness that is my Charlie-dog...

Control Freak

Okay, guys....hold onto the edge of your seats, it's confession time. I am a huge control freak. I like things my way and feel that it would be best for everyone if they just did what I told them to do. My therapist says this stems from my inability to control my crazy life as a child. My exes say it's annoying. I say it's just part of my charm.

Anyway, the point of that startling revelation is that I have found a way to channel my need for control in a way that is neither self destructive or a nuisance to those around me. I'm baking. I've immersed myself in all kinds of baking projects. I'm waiting for challah dough to rise as I type this and yesterday I made my own bread sticks and a few days before that I made dinner rolls.

Previously, I avoided any recipe that required yeast, because it seemed like a job that is much too fussy for me. But what I've discovered is that there is no reason to be afraid of yeast. It as actually quite easy to work with and I've had fabulous results. And while my aching hands occasionally protest and I think longingly of the beautiful stand mixer in my mom's kitchen, I really enjoy getting my hands in the dough and taking out of my anger and aggression in a harmless and productive way. I tell you, it's saved me years in prison, because I hear that's where you go when you throw bricks through windows.

Stabbing...

Did you ever have one of those days where stupid people keeping giving you reasons to stab them? That's the kind of day I've had. And the people who keep giving me reasons to stab them know that I'll totally do it. Okay, I probably won't, but the stress of not stabbing them makes me want to stab myself which is totally lame because I'm not the one doing stabworthy things.

Queen-Sized?

I have a queen size bed. I bought it about seven years ago. The exgirlfriend and I had been sleeping on a futon. A horrible, tiny lumpy futon. That first night in the queen bed...it was such a luxury. I could turn over and not get an elbow in the eye.

The ex has moved on, but I've still got the bed. You'd think I'd be feeling lonely in this big bed all by myself. But...uh...I'm not sleeping by myself. I've got about 30 pounds of canine cuteness sprawled out beside me. These two are small dogs. I keep telling them..."You're little dogs, you don't need that much space." They're not buying it.


Before Ellwoood, Charlie was not a cuddler. But Charlie's such jealous lump that he has to be closer than Ellwood, and since Charlie has a tendency to snap at Ellwood if Ellwood dares to touch him while he's sleeping, I end up with one on each side of me. I think I need a bigger bed...

A Game I Can Really Get Into...

I think I've mentioned a time or two my feelings on marriage. It's fine for other people, but I'd rather just stand here while you beat me with a stick. Basically, it's not for me.

It seems the folks at Adult Swim can empathize, and they have created the most fantastic game...Five Minutes To Kill Yourself: Wedding Day. You can personalize the wedding to represent you and your potential mate. It even allows for same sex couples....or you can just let it pick for you, which is what I do. It's great fun and a good way to kill (get it..ha...I'm so damn funny) five minutes.

Go here and check it out. Poke around the site for other fun games. (I like Zombie Hooker Nightmare, too.)

Thankful

I've spent my day doing what I love most...cooking. And cooking my favorite meal of the year, at that. There is something about traditional Thanksgiving fare that just lightens my soul. I love the simple flavors, the savoriness of it all. Not to mention that while it takes quite awhile, it is the simplest, most straightforward of cooking. And I'm damn good at it.

While I dislike the racial history behind Thanksgiving, it is my favorite holiday. I am hardly religious or even "spiritual," but the gathering together of the people I love so that we may feast and enjoy and simply be together, without all the consumerism that mars Christmas is lovely.

As I went about my tasks...boiling the yams and making stuffing, I realized how very different this Thanksgiving is from the last one. Last year seems so far away, perhaps because so very much has happened this year, and I am miles away from the life I was living last year at this time. All the joy had gone from my life and I was so numb, so anesthetized by my depression that I didn't even see it. I went through the motions, but took no joy in what has always been a joyful task for me.

I have so very much to be thankful for this year. I am thankful, as always, as I will forever be, for my beautiful, healthy, brilliant daughter. I am thankful for the task of being her mother, though it isn't easy and some days it is harder to see the joy, she, more than anything else in my life, gives me a reason every morning to be. If I accomplish nothing else in the world, being her mother will be enough. Though, to be brutally honest, I haven't always felt that way. I was not one of those mothers who looked at their infants the moment they were born and felt that indescribable feeling of coming home to oneself. I spent years struggling with the occasional resentment I felt that I was not living the life I had wanted, the fear of being "just a mother." I wish it had been easier, that I had felt the rightness of being her mother from the moment she was born, but then, those things that are the most important rarely come easily to me.

And while this has, in many ways, been the hardest year of my life, I am thankful for the things that got me here. I am thankful to be feeling again. And, yeah, the pain has sucked. But, I've also found the capacity for joy again. I'm still a little rusty at all of this, and parts of my heart are so broken I wonder if it will ever again be whole. But, even if it isn't, at least I am present in my life once more, present as a mother and a sister and friend, and that is beautiful to me.

I am thankful for my family, without whom this year could have been the death of me. I never cease to be amazed at the good fortune that gave me a second family to give me what my first could not. I am thankful for all the people who love me despite my craziness, despite my irrationality. I'm not the easiest person to love, and my family and my best friend (who is half a world away from me tonight, but still the one of the biggest pieces of what makes my life beautiful) make it look simple. I thank you and I love you with all of my all too imperfect heart.

Junk Science

At the risk of sounding really conceited, I'm a really intelligent girl. There's quite a bit going on my noggin...no common sense 99% of the time, but that's a whole other ball of wax.

As an intelligent girl, it never ceases to amaze just how uneducated (or just plain stupid) other people can be. There's so much information available in the world, it seems a waste to not take advantage of it. But, that's not the worst of it, really. The worst thing (as far as I'm concerned, anyway) is that some people will believe anything they read or see or hear someone else say. The idea of finding legitimate sources, or cross-checking facts simply doesn't occur to them. They read it on the internet or in some new-age dimestore novel and so, of course, it must be true.

This sort of thing, the "I saw it on the internet, so it must be true" ridiculousness is my single largest pet peeve. When I run into it, it makes my head explode. Okay, not really...but it does set me off on a three hour lecture about fact checking and peer reviews and reliable sources, and no, goddammit, Wikipedia is NOT a fucking reliable source.

The Archaeogoddess runs into this far more often than I do, what with her being a an archaeologist and all. I once listened as this utter moron I know talked about The DaVinci Code conspiracy crap with the Archaeogoddess as though it was fact and not ridiculous fiction. The Archaeogoddess kept a polite smile on her face the entire time, and then politely changed the subject. If it had been me, I'd have berated the woman up one side and down the other...but that's just part of my charm.

Here's a hint, folks...if it's been "kept hidden" or if it's a "secret they don't want you to know" move on. It's likely utter nonsense.

And just because there was a "new study" that showed that the cure for cancer is rubbing bacon grease in your butt crack, that doesn't mean every cancer patient should be slathering on the lard. A study is just that...a single study. It could have been an anomaly, a chance occurrence, a mistake made by the researchers. In order for something to be true, you must be able to prove it. You must show me proof. I want to see first sources, and repeatable results. Your cousin's friend who drank pomegranate juice and suddenly cured her fibromyalgia isn't going to impress me.

The Archaeogoddess Rocks!!

Ha..I love it...Archaeogoddess...rocks...get it? I kill me!!

Anyway, my best friend is on a dig in Qatar as a paid archaeologist. You can read about her adventures here. I am so proud and amazed and thrilled...despite the fact that she's even less accessible than normal due to lack of regular internet access.

On a completely unrelated note...I have been reunited with my beloved laptop and should, therefore, be back to posting quasi-regularly. I broke my ankle the day before Halloween so my life has been that much more lacking in adventure, but I'm sure I'll find something to blog about, given enough time I always find something about which to complain.

Reunited....

...And it feels so good...

My trusty laptop is back where it belongs...sure, it only took a month for them to replace the motherboard...the motherboard of a computer only 9 months old, but it's not like I'm complaining or anything...Fuckers...

So, the loss of my laptop for the last month has meant more time on my hands. Even on the days when I was able to use my sister's computer while she was at work, that atill left hours of no computer access of everyday. And then I up and broke my ankle...because I am a dork like that...and I had even more time on my hands. So, rather than use my time productively, I spent a lot of time thinking, obsessing really. Because Facebook keeps me from thinking...it's true. The last day and a half have been filled with mindless Facebooking. Good times...

My Laptop is Broken...

Seriously broken...as in the power comes on, but it won't boot up. I'm hoping it's an easy fix and that it doesn't damage any of my data, but the repair people at Best Buy have had it for over a week now and I have no idea what's going on with it. In fact, the bastards won't even answer the phone today. Don't they understand I NEED my laptop? How can I stay on top of shit without my laptop? (Okay, who the hell am I kidding, I can't even stay on top of shit with my laptop...sigh...)

Anyway, internet action is spotty at best and only available when I can steal my sister's laptop...so that's why there have been no recent posts...not because I'm a lazy bitch...

Winter Soon...

I live in California, so my next sentence makes no sense. I hate summer. I live for winter. The rain, the sweaters and extra blankets and stews and soups and even the quality of the light. California sunshine, especially by summer's end, is painfully brilliant. It washes out the sky, leeching it a pale baby blue that lacks depth or beauty.

As winter approaches and the leaves fall and the sun sinks lower in the sky, I want to curl up on the sofa with a good book and the beautiful quilt my mother made me. I start breaking out my winter recipes, soups and beans and biscuits and cornbread.

My kitchen is a disaster area. I made potato soup and biscuits and bread pudding yesterday. I know that other people can cook without using every dish and destroying every cooking surface. I'm not one of those people. I can't cook without the end resulting looking like the morning after a frat party.

Oh, but it was heavenly stuff. Lots of garlic and goodness. And months and months of my favorite season yet to come...I'm a happy, happy girl tonight...

I Guess You Just Never Get Over Your First...

In the 1996 presidential election, I was voting for the first time and I had a kick ass government teacher who made the process interesting. Needless to say, I voted for Clinton. I was madly in love with that president. He was my dream president and to have voted for him in my first election...well, it was the beginning of my love/hate affair with politics.

In the dark ages of the Bush administration, I missed Clinton fiercely. I idealized that man, that presidency. For a president like Bush to follow Clinton seemed the worst sort of irony.

But then, a few years ago, I started to read more than the standard press reports, delved a bit deeper than the pretty little sound bites you get on the evening news. I realized that Clinton wasn't quite the dream man I thought he was. I learned about Rwanda, learned what a publicity whore the Clinton machinery really was. It took a bit of the shine off the memory, and the man.

And yet, every now and then I see him on tv...doing an interview and he says something that makes me forget my disappointment and takes me back to the first heady days of my political awakening.

This being Sunday, there is nothing on tv, so I was going through my dvr recordings and getting caught up on The Daily Show. And there he was...in all his eloquent glory talking about healthcare. And he said what I always want to say to my conservative family about healthcare. And yeah...being on The Daily Show is a bit like preaching to the choir, but I still have to share it because...well, because it's just damn good...

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Exclusive - Bill Clinton Extended Interview Pt. 3
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Healthcare Protests

Oh, Bill...you know just how to sweet talk me...

The Gosselins

I admit it. I'm one of those people who watched Jon & Kate Plus Eight. I enjoyed the show, enjoyed the kids...thought it was cute. I even sort of enjoyed the not so friendly byplay between the two of them. Yes, I winced from time to time when she was particularly harsh or he was particularly checked out of their relationship, but I thought it was nice to see that other couples were effected by stress. Too often, we expect that people will be perfect even during extremely stressful times. And no, I don't understand the stress of that many children...but I do know the stress of a chronic illness and too little money.

Their divorce has been tough for me to watch, probably because I'm going through a similar thing. No, there is no divorce, but I don't think the demise of a ten year relationship is that much different.

I always kind of felt sorry for Kate. Which I know puts me in the extreme minority. Everyone felt sorry for Jon because Kate was a complete shrew, which she admittedly is...but Jon was such a non connected lump that I kinda understood her shrewiness. I mean, having one child and being alone in that endeavor, as I have been for the last six months, sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, I can't even begin to imagine what having eight kids and an emotionally bankrupt partner would be like. I'd be locked up in a loony bin somewhere mumbling lines from Monty Python to myself.

So, yeah...can't say I was terribly surprised when they announced the divorce. But, what they're saying about each other in the press...? It's unbelievable. I mean...I know that when your heart is broken and you have all this hurt and anger you say horrible things, things you mean and things you don't mean. And realistically, while you're trying your damnedest to keep your kids out of the crossfire, sometimes they hear what you've said. And this is both a good and bad thing because while you hate for your kids to hear that sort of thing, it gives you a chance to talk to your kid and explain that you're human and that you make mistakes and that sometimes anger and sadness make you say things you regret. It can be a good moment for you to teach your kid a lesson about life.

But when you go on Larry King and declare that you despise someone...that's not done in the heat of the moment. That's cold calculation. When you give an interview to People magazine saying that the child's other parent doesn't care about them that's calculated as well. And these kids aren't going to have a good teaching moment, because what you say in the heat of the moment you can explain...but what you say in a cold and calculating attempt to hurt someone...you can't explain and you can't expect to be forgiven for. For the rest of their lives, those kids are going to be able to read and hear what their parents did to hurt each other, and that's the kind of pain you can't outgrow...