That Old Song

I'm going to write a post about the awesomeness of taking your giddy ten year old daughter to see a much anticipated movie on opening night at midnight tomorrow after I've slept and recovered a bit, but tonight, on the way home from the sparkly vampire movie, the younger sister had the radio tuned to the station that plays song from our youth...you know eons ago, back in the '90s. And I heard two songs that I haven't heard in ages, and seemed a tiny bit symbolic given my earlier post...

First..this gem from Ace of Base...


And this fantastic anthem from Meredith Brooks...a long time favorite and theme song of mine...

No Words...

I'm sad today...learned something last night that made realize the exgirlfriend as I knew her truly does not exist any longer. After all that's happened in the last year and a half, this final straw seems insignificant on the surface, but speaks volumes about how far she's come from the woman I once loved. It's not even worth explaining, as it doesn't really affect me or the midget, other than to make me realize that the exgirlfriend's choice to be less active in the midget's life than the midget's father is a blessing in disguise.

I've tried to write this post three times in the last 17 hours, and I'm still having a hard time finding the words to convey how I'm feeling. I can't even find a song that says what I can't...

So, instead, I'm going to post this youtube video of the current audiobook that is amusing me and the midget, because it's made of awesome. It's also in keeping with the vampire theme I've got going on today, since the younger sister is taking the midget and me to see the new Twilight movie...Yay for sparkly vampires...

The Return of HNT

So, my promise to myself to post a weekly HNT (half-naked Thursday) was totally derailed by the intrusion of Diabetes into my little universe. It's hard to think about body scapes and tasteful pictures of this body that has housed me for 33 years when I'm up at 2am checking blood sugars and trolling through websites for ways to make our lives easier.

I struggled with this picture. It shows more of me than any of my previous pictures. I'm hesitant to post it, because it's very honest, the pinky pallor of my skin, the curves of flesh that resemble a landscape far more than an ideal bodyscape, the freckles...

But, this is the body that housed my midget for 40 long weeks, the body that comforts her when life gets too tough, the body that hugs my nieces and nephews, the body that has laughed for an uncountable number of hours with my beloved Archaeogoddess, the body that I have promised myself I would learn to love, if not for my sake, then for the sake of my midget, who needs to see that self worth should not be measured by numbers, or whether or not you look like the models on the covers of the magazines.

Thank you to everyone who comes here, and keeps coming back, regardless of the number of half nekked pictures I post, or the number of times I use "fuck" in a sentence. Thanks for letting me be me, and being brave enough to come back.

It's Not Just Me

I've been laboring under the mistaken impression that I am the lone woman on the planet who doesn't want a relationship and has no desire to find a "mate." I have gotten such strange looks for saying things like..."I love you today, I loved you yesterday and I'm pretty sure I'm going to love you tomorrow...please don't ask for more."

I also used to get the weirdest looks when I told people that the exgirlfriend was not my best friend, that I have an amazing best friend who gets me and to whom I can tell anything and know that she will not judge me. She's like another piece of my soul. Not that I didn't love the exgirlfriend. I did. People would always say that I was being unfair to my girlfriend by having a best friend. Or people would assume that because I'm bisexual, the love I have for my best friend must be somehow romantic in nature. Which is just ridiculous.

Anyway..I never knew other women that had the same feeling. Until tonight when I read a fantastic post on Fuck Yeah, Motherhood and went "Holy Fuck! I'm not the only one."

This is the best part...Each word is something that resonates, that I could have written. I fucking love it!!

But it’s not enough. People want things that baffle me. Like girlfriends. And wives. And forever. I am now. I am “I love you”, not “I will always love you”. I am “I like being with you”, not “I’ll never leave you”. I am “Let’s go to the park today”, not “Let’s go to the Caribbean in March”. I am not a picket fence. I’m not even a key to your apartment. I am just me. I have seen always, forever, and never go south and I believe in only making promises I can keep. I don’t know if anyone will ever be able to accept my tiny bit of today without asking for a whole lot of tomorrow. That’s okay, though. I’m still sensational.

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs

I may have mentioned my obsessive and totally requited love for this thing

at least once or twice on this here blog thingie. We love each other. I'm not embarrassed to tell you that. Sure, other people have fulfilling relationships with human beings, but that rarely works out for me, so I'm sticking with this guy. He's cute, cuddly and jealously posessive. Not in a creepy "If I can't have you, no one can" kind of way, but in a really cute "I'm going chase away all the other dogs...and WTF, you got another dog?!?" kind of way. And only rarely does he change the channel when I'm watching the Discovery channel.

Now, just because I love him, that doesn't mean there isn't room for other dogs in my life. It's not like my obsession with Coke (no, not coke as in the white powder, but the brown carbonated stuff that comes in the red can, and No, I will not allow you to substitute Pepsi, what kind of girl do you think I am?), I love lots of dogs...I mean there's this guy:

And now, the newest member of my family...


This is Chewy. Chewy is a seven month old Chihuahua mix. He's actually not my dog, he's the midget's dog. Of course, that hasn't stopped me from stealing him and cuddling him and holding him and giving him kisses, much to the dismay of Charlie and Ellwood. They don't dislike him, not at all...they play with him and Ellwood lets him cuddle and everything. But, Ellwood and especially Charlie, are not thrilled about my affection for this little guy. They are of the opinion that two dogs ought to be quite enough for me, and they appear to feel that I should pretty much ignore the new puppy.

We're going to have a group therapy session next week...you know, so I can reassure them of the love I have for them, and we can talk about any other issues that may be lurking just beneath the surface of our happy home...like Ellwood's need to vomit on my bed at one in the morning...

What a Difference a Year Makes...

Ah, the first weekend in June. Warm weather, the end of school and for us here in my tiny corner of the universe...the Italian Picnic. It's as small town as you can get. A small carnival with a handful of rides, playing bingo for salami, listening to a bad cover band, visiting with a good friend at the Bocce Ball court. It is such an integral part of life in this area that it's never really a question of if you're going to go, but rather, when, and with whom.

I spent the evening at the picnic with the family. Barely organized chaos it was, what with the youngest girl wanting to do everything the midget (who is 7 years older) did, while our middle girls tried to be brave enough to ride the carousel by themselves. The midget was amazingly patient with her youngest girl cousin, as she always is. She went on the "baby rides" with her and took her down the big slide about a dozen times and only whined a little about not being able to go on the big, scary rides because she didn't want to go by herself.

It really made me think about last year, and how far I've come since then. I was tying myself in knots over someone who wasn't worth the time and the effort and trying to be strong enough to parent by myself, giving the exgirlfriend far more credit than she deserved in terms of what she brought to the table. A year ago, I thought the worst had happened, but I've since learned better. What had happened was the best thing that could happen, it was just tied up with so much ugliness that I couldn't see how much better off the midget and I were without a woman who not only wasn't happy, but didn't want to be happy, and didn't want the life we lived. I keep thinking how hard it would have been to make it through the last two months with all that's happened with the midget and having the added burden of trying to tiptoe around the exgirlfriend.

I hate to use a cliche, but things happen for a reason. Every horrible, shitty thing that has happened in my life has made room for something better, made me strong enough to be the midget's mom and to parent on my own. I'm not perfect, far from it, but I'm holding our lives together and the midget's world is full of lots of love and laughter and family, and that's the only indicator of success I need...

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?