Identity

Gay, straight...or something in between?

Back in the day, before the exgirlfriend, I identified mainly as straight, though admitted that should I find a girl I was attracted to, I would definitely not hesitate to act on it. However, once I dated a girl, lived with a girl, loved a girl, it became abundantly obvious that I was most definitely not straight. But since I still have all those pesky hormonal reactions to attractive guys, also clearly not gay.

Most people would use the word bisexual, but I hate it. Aside from it's clinical sound, it just has such a negative connotation within the queer community. Somehow, being in between is construed as either a cop out or an inability to commit to the gay community. And it's true that a lot of people struggling with their identity do use bisexual as a stepping stone. But for me, it's not a stepping stone. It is what I am. Not gay, but not straight, either.

And gay girls generally avoid bisexual girls like the plague. And not without reason. There are plenty of girls who call themselves bisexual, but really mean bicurious and end up using the gay girl as an "experience." Leading them on, forgetting that their great party story is going to be simply a heartbreak for the other girl. Many bisexual girls have a boyfriend and want a girl on the side or to bring into the bedroom to spice up the relationship. In short, a lot of bisexual girls use gay girls as sex toys, with little regard for the consequences. The end result is that once a girl says she's bisexual, most lesbians head for the hills.

Much worse, in my opinion, are the girls who claim to be straight, despite an ongoing relationship with another girl. As in..."I'm straight...I just happened to fall in love with her." Um...here's the thing...if you get off on fucking a girl...you aren't straight. And I don't understand not copping to it. The homophobes are still going to hate you, perhaps even more than "normal" queers. To paraphrase the utterly fantastic Mistress Matisse, there is no such thing as a First Pussy Free policy.

Another pitfall for the bisexual girl, most guys take it to mean that you want to put on a show for them...um...no. No, no, no, no. If I'm with a girl, I want to be with a girl. When I'm with a girl, I'm not doing it because it's turning some guy on. I'm doing it because it turns me on. That's why that whole Katy Perry "I Kissed A Girl" phenomenon disgust me to no end. Kiss girls if you want to, if it feels good and you like it...but don't do it to get the attention of some guy. Other women deserve more respect than to be used as spectacles for some drunk guy.

It would be easier to be straight or gay. There aren't nearly as many landmines. You don't have to worry about "betraying" the queer community if you fuck a guy and you don't have to wonder if the guy at the bar buying you drinks is doing it because he genuinely likes you, or if it's because he's imagining watching you go down on the girlfriend he left at home...

Killing Time Until True Blood

I'm having one crapfest of a weekend. Nothing really going on, other than that apparently while I sleep tiny, angry elves sneak into my bedroom and beat the living crap out of me. And also slip sedatives into everything I eat and drink. I think they're working for the "I Hate The Queen Of The Universe Club." Maybe that's where the dues money goes...

So, yeah...like the title says, I'm basically just killing time until I can watch another installment of True Blood. Mmmm...yummy vampires!! I could be doing laundry or unpacking the boxes in my bedroom..but no, that would require energy and I have none thanks the minions of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club." (Man, I've got to find a shorter way to say that.) So, I guilt-tripped my sister into letting me use her laptop since mine has been sabotaged by the Club. For some reason, the ac plug isn't working which means, no charge to the battery, which means no laptop. Yeah, there were tears...I'm taking it in this week because my life is meaningless without it.

So, I spent Friday evening at my aunt and uncle's house making yummy, yummy food with my cousin. We had the world's best bruschetta, which I made, but I can't really take all the credit because the tomatoes were the uber yummy ones my aunt grows herself and then there was fresh basil from my cousin's basil plant...I'm telling you, it was better than sex. Okay, maybe not better than ALL sex, but certainly better than some of the sex I've had...after all there is a ton of sex I've had in my life that I'd never want to have again, but I really, really want some more of that bruschetta!

And then yesterday was a frenzy of activity...kind of. The munchkin and I made a compost bin and I bathed the dogs, much their dismay, but now they are soft and clean and smell good, which are all requirements for anything I let sleep in my bed. I also cooked moose for the first time in my life. We're at the end of the month, "Oh fuck, we have nothing but stew meat and crackers" stage. A coworker of my sister's gave her a bunch of moose meat because we live in Amador County and that's just how the Amador County folk roll. It was good, but kinda wierd. I kept reminding myself that there was no difference between moose and cow, but myself wasn't really buying it. It's been ages since I've had any kind of game meat...I mean, when I was a kid, we didn't eat anything but game meat, but that was because my step-father was a freak who liked to shoot stuff.

A Hearty Welcome to the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club"

I don't watch Fox News or listen to Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter. I don't do it because I know they will talk about me (a liberal) in very derogatory terms. I don't respect their opinions, so why subject myself to it?

But, I'm a sensible like that. I try to avoid situations in which people tell me how much I suck. I don't need to hear it. There are plenty of situations I can't avoid that people tell me how much I suck, why look for more? Yet there are plenty of people who know I don't like them, know I've got all kinds of negative opinions about them and yet they can't stay away from the words I post here. I'm always sort of confused by this. If you don't like me, if you think I'm a lying psycho bitch, then what the fuck are you doing here? I've gotten pissed about it, gotten depressed about it, but now I've decided to take advantage of it.

See, a few of my regular readers come here because I can be pretty funny from time to time. What better way to amuse them than to start giving the members of the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" what it seems they want? I'm going to find a way to blame them for everything from a bad hair day to the war in the middle east. Maybe that will give them the sense of power they seem to be seeking. If they want to hear how much I think they suck, then why not indulge them? It might keep me from feeling stabby. (Stabby is my new favorite emotion. The Archaeogoddess sent me a link to the The Bloggess' blog, and I've stolen this term from that amazingly funny site.)

By the way, if you want to join the "I Hate The Queen of the Universe Club" you are going to have to contact a current member. Needless to say, they don't give me a whole lot of information about membership, dues, mission statements...I'm just the object of their obsessive hatred, not like a real person or anything...

How Many Second Chances?

Getting over the collapse of a ten year relationship should hurt. It should be difficult. There should be tears and sleepless nights and anger and fear. But, there should also be an end to the pain, a lessening of the pain. Ever so slowly, the good days should come to equal and then outnumber the bad.

That is how it works if you are smarter than I am in the relationship department. If you are smarter than I am, you don't answer the phone when your ex calls after you've said that you are done talking to her. If you are wiser than I am, you remember all the lies you've caught her her in and you don't believe her apologies and her pleas for forgiveness and second chances. You make yourself indifferent to her attempts to get at you through second sources. And you refuse to believe that she has any desire to make amends, no matter what she's told others.

However, I am not smart when it comes to my heart. I am not good at giving up on people I love, even when they hurt me. And this is what I must learn. This is what I have to remind myself to do, every second of every moment. I must learn that no matter how much I love someone, they don't have the right to hurt me again and again. I must remind myself that if I expect others to value me, I must value myself. And that means that my affection and compassion must come at a cost. Not an exorbitant one, or an unrealistic one...it is simply that my time and affection must be earned through kindness, compassion and affection for me. It is not unreasonable to expect the people I love to love me in return.

I must also remind myself that it is not a second chance when you've done it before. Everyone deserves a second chance to do the right thing. But no one deserves infinite chance to continue doing the wrong thing.

Stuck On Repeat

I've got a gazillion or so songs that I love and usually listen to on shuffle on my mp3 player, bur right now I've got these two songs stuck in my head and on repeat...

Only In My Dreams

I had the most beautiful dream last night. I dreamt that I was driving home from my parent's house and there, by the side of the road, was my sweet Cera dog. I dreamt that I opened the door of the car and she jumped into the car and I brought her home. The dream was so real and vivid. I could feel her fur, that silky coarse German Shepherd fur...I could feel the weight of her leaning into me, draping her head over my shoulder in her distinctive puppy hug.

In the dream, I brought her home to my new place...And the whole ride home she stood in the back seat with her head on my shoulder while I was driving. Just the way she always had. When I woke up, I could still feel her fur in my fingers, and the weight of her leaning against me. And then, as I became more aware, there was the sick feeling in the hollow of my stomach. Cera is gone, and has been since March.

During the first dreadful chaos that followed the break up, my six year old German Shepherd/Chow mix that had been with us since she was only 9 weeks old, went missing. I lived in the middle of nowhere on a mountain. I was living in the small guest house on the same plot of land as my parent's house. We lived on over 90 acres of wilderness. Our neighbors, such as they were, lived up the same mile long dirt road we did. None of us have fences or anything like that, and our dogs have always had the run of the mountain. Cera loved it. She was always exploring, coming back to check in and then heading off again in search of adventure.

The first night Cera didn't come back at bedtime I was only a little worried, because while it was rare for her to not come back at bedtime, it wasn't unheard of. But when she still wasn't there when I came home from my daughter's softball game, I began to get very scared. I called the neighbors, asking if anyone had seen her...I called the shelter and the local vet offices. I was worried but sure she'd turn up soon. I made up fliers and my daughter and I drove all over our area putting them up and driving up and down the tiny dirt roads along the canyon. We knocked on doors and looked in ditches and called out to her over and over again.

There were a few calls in those first days. Vague sightings that could have been from before she went missing. Nothing concrete. I berated myself for putting off microchipping her, though truthfully, I don't think anyone found her and turned her in to a vet or shelter. I called all the shelters within a 150 mile radius, and faxed endless fliers to endless vet's offices. No one has seen Cera. And they would remember Cera. There aren't many all black German Shepherds with purple splotched Chow tongues who are missing their right front leg. She would have been recognizable. I still troll the shelter websites, calling on any black German Shepherd mixes listed, even when I've seen the picture and know in my heart that it's not her. Even worse is when there is no picture, only a short description and I actually begin to hope, only to be told, yet again, that the dog in the shelter is not my dog.

I keep meaning to write a fitting memorial for my beautiful girl. But I can't bring myself to do it. To do so would be to admit that she truly is gone and is never coming home, and I am not ready to admit that. Better for the time being to hope that someone out there has her, that she's safe and sound tonight with a family that is looking for her rightful family and they're giving her love and keeping her belly full until the day that we can be reunited.

Sweet dreams, my Cera girl...until we meet again...

Selling Sex

I just finished watching the documentary 'Very Young Girls.' It's a documentary on prostitution, and the exploitation of young girls.

Now, I actually support the legalization of sex work. I think that if adult women make a choice to provide sexual services in exchange for money, that's their business and there is simply nothing wrong with it. Sex work in and of itself is not exploitative. If a woman chooses to be a sex work provider, chooses the days and times that she will work, which clients she will see, what sex acts she is willing to perform...that's not exploitation. It's freedom.

However, most women who have the power to make those kinds of decisions choose not to enter sex work because of the legal implications. Furthermore, criminalization of sex work makes it dangerous. Clients are aware that sex workers are outside the law and that status means they aren't as likely to call law enforcement for protection. And because all sex work is illegal, girls and women who are forced into sex work by predatory pimps, poverty or drug addiction have little recourse for reaching out to get help. Girls who are being held against their will by vicious pimps are arrested and prosecuted, not rescued and helped.

'Very Young Girls' provides insight into the nightmare that these children live daily. In this country, a 13 year old girl cannot legally consent to sex, but she can be prosecuted for receiving money for sex. It simply makes no sense. It's like saying you can rape a woman and then if you give her money, she is somehow not a victim. These girls are not choosing to have sex for money. They are being forced to have sex with men to make money for other men. And these pimps know their stuff. They know how to target girls from hellish homes, girls who are looking for someone to give them acceptance and love. And they know how to draw them in, make them feel loved for the first time in their lives, and then use the love girls are dying to give to them to turn them out on the streets. And rather than rescue these girls and help them, our laws put them in jail cells and then right back out onto the street into the clutches of their abusers.

The documentary delves into the work of GEMS (Girls Education and Mentoring Services), an organization run by a former victim of sexual exploitation. The organization works with the girls to attempt to rehabilitate them, get them off the streets, off the drugs and out of the hands of their pimps. They give girls the chance to get an education and a job and a life. The work that goes into helping these girls is mind boggling. And a lot of the girls go back to their pimps, because the pimps are masters of manipulation. It is the sort of organization that is actually doing the work that our elected officials are supposed to be doing, but aren't.

If you're looking for a cause to champion or have money that you can donate, or just want to learn about the amazing work these people are doing check out their website. You can find the documentary on Netflix, it's available for streaming online. I highly recommend it.

Feeling Icky

Well...we have moved. That is to say that most of our belongings are in our new home, and we are sleeping here, but there are boxes everywhere and stuff still at the other house. It was a long and often frustrating weekend. Moving is such a stressful experience when you are well and everything is organized.

But, I am neither of those things. I didn't get everything packed before moving day, not by a long shot. I had the muscly help for only one day, so getting furniture was the priority that day. Never mind that I had stuff piled on top of stuff and hadn't vacuumed in ages. Sigh. I long to have one of those immaculately clean houses that always feels relaxing, but I hate, hate, hate cleaning. I've never been all that fond of cleaning, but definitely being sick has exacerbated the issue. It's hard to want to use what little energy I do have to do something I find so completely distasteful, regardless of the necessity.

To make matters more difficult on myself, as I insist upon doing, I ran out of my thyroid meds and didn't call it in in time to have the doctor's office fax over the refill, so I wasn't able to pick it up until this afternoon. So, today marked the third day with no thyroid meds and as a result of that combined with the exhaustion caused by moving made for miserable day today. I was awoken by Charlie barking at the guys who came to trim trees and service the water purifier system. I knew within seconds of opening my eyes just how bad the day was going to be, and decided that I had no other choice but to use today to rest. I intended to spend the day on the couch, doing nothing. But, then Ellwood vomited on my bed, so that made sheet washing a necessity.

Then, I decided that since a full day of rest was apparently out of the question, I'd take the burden off my sister a bit by going and getting the salt pellets for the water softener. I loaded the dishwasher, puttered at a few other things, but every little thing I did wore me out and required rest.

There is still so much left to do; clean up at the old house, unpacking, figuring out where things go. I know tomorrow is going to suck, as well, and I've promised to make dinner for my moving help by way of thanks since money is out of the question, but with all that I need to do...like finish bringing over kitchen items so I can actually cook dinner, and putting away what I can so that I can start to settle in...I just don't think it's going to happen.

On Anger

I despise being angry. I hate the way my stomach churns and my eyes prick with unshed tears. I hate the callous way my brain puts together deadly insults and hurls them without hesitation, without considering the consequences. I hate the screaming, the hasty decisions, the thirst for vengeance. I hate the way anger uses love as a weapon of blunt force, causing pain and destroying that love in the process.

I have for years swallowed my anger because I hated the person it made me. And yet, tonight, I find myself longing for the anger that has sustained me over the past months. Anger gives you strength and purpose. It doesn't hurt. At least, it doesn't have the same hollow knife's edge pain that accompanies the sorrow and grief that is all that is left of a love once vibrant and strong.

In my anger, the years that I've spent loving that lost heart that used to beat with mine seemed inconsequential. When anger was my companion, I didn't mourn all the soft, gray mornings I awoke to find my arms full of my lover and my brain full of the warm, sweet scent of the curve of her neck. My anger reminded me of all the tiny annoyances, all the larger slights, and ignored the beautiful, breathless moments that made up our life together.

Tonight, my heart is wrapped in silver grief. This grief is softer and deeper than my previous grief. This is the grief of acceptance. The grief that looks back at the past from an impassable distance. This is grief accompanied by gratitude for the moments that still burn so brightly in my mind. This is grief tempered by the knowledge that I am closer to the woman I want to be because I once loved and was loved so completely. This is grief wrapped in sorrow for the pain I have caused my once beloved, for the pain she has caused herself. This is grief wrapped in forgiveness for the pain she has caused me.

Life moves on, as it ever has.

Single Is Working For Me

I've gotten a lot of advice since the break-up. Advice on how to move on, when to start dating, how to feel better...that sort of thing. And some of it has been useful. But most of it has been utter nonsense.

I've had people tell me that I should just face facts that because of my advanced age (32) and the fact that I have a kid, there's no way that anyone will ever want me. And you know...it's not my happily coupled friends who say these things. It's my single friends/relatives who say these things. And most of them are older than I am. I assume it's projection on their parts. And if it turns out to be true for me, then the fact that they are single will somehow have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with age and family status.

I've also had people tell me not to wait. To "get back on the horse" again. But, you know what? I am loving being single. I love it. I haven't been single as an adult. I was with my daughter's father on and off from the time I graduated high school until my daughter was a few weeks old and then I was with the girlfriend. So for the last 13 years I've been in a relationship with someone who shared none of my interests, whose interests I didn't share. I've spent 13 years apologizing for being intelligent, for loving to learn things about religion and politics and history and for sticking my nose into every book I find. I've been told that I'm condescending and patronizing when I tried to talk about what interested me.

I don't have to try and please someone anymore. I have issues with conflict. As brash and loud and opinionated as I am...when it comes to actual conflict with a partner, I twist myself into knots trying not to make them angry. Because in my warped mind, nothing is worse than having that person be angry at me. I know why I do it...I've had enough therapy that I get that, I just don't know how not to do it. And so, I'm not constantly worrying about that anymore. I'm making decisions, big and small, based on what I want and need and what's best for my mini me, rather than what is likely to piss someone else off the least.

And you know...I have friends. I have my family. I'm not in the least bit lonely. I'm laughing more..spending more time with people than I have in years. It's good. Really good. I'm not ready to bring someone new into my life. I want to really get to know me...I want to indulge my need for new and useless information. I want to focus on me and my kid and not deal with the guilt trip because I'm not worried about taking care of an adult.

I am not only not looking for a new relationship...I am actively resisting the idea. I am not ready. I know what I don't want, but I don't have the first idea of what I want. And until I'm sure I'm not going to end up in screwed up long term relationship volume three, I'm going to run as fast as I can from even the slightest hint of romantic entanglement.

It Isn't the Entree

So, I made the mistake of clicking on one of those "recommended" stories on Yahoo. I won't link to it, because it was lame and I don't like to share lameness. But, basically it was yet another story telling women just what is wrong with them that they are still single.

Seriously...do straight girls actually believe this shit? That the reason they don't have fulfilling marriages with 2.1 childrena and picket fences and all of that crap is because they ordered a salad on their first date? Or because they didn't order a salad on a first date?

I'm single, for the first time since the summer after I graduated high school. And I'm actually beginning to really enjoy it. And realize why it was so damn necessary, but that's a whole other post. Now, I have no intention of being single for the rest of my life but I'll be damned if I'm going to try any of these "tricks" to find myself a decent partner.

First of all...finding someone isn't really all that hard. I know happily partnered people with all sorts of really big character flaws that would send me screaming in the other direction and I'm by no means the pickiest girl on the planet. (Honest self-observation or subtle dig at my exes? You decide.) The question isn't so much about finding "someone" as it seems to be about finding The One. You know, the one person in all the world that was created just for you, who will make up for the prom date that stood you up and the lover who stole your entire dvd collection.

The only problem with that little scenario...It just isn't that easy. You aren't going to find that person until you really know you. Because, while the drummer who broods mysteriously in the corner while laughing at your attempts to seduce them is exciting...exciting doesn't help when you are working out the details of a life together. If you're an intellectual who would rather spend an evening reading the latest issue of your favorite scientific journal while your partner would rather be watching a marathon of The Real World...it's not going to work.

There just isn't any magic rule for being lucky when it comes to love. But, if you're reading books that tell you the reason you're alone has anything to do with your choice of entree on your first date, you're looking in the wrong direction.

Communal Living

Things are going quite well in this little corner of the universe. I've had a very fun week, thanks to the fact that two of my cousins are in town. One of them has moved here (woohoo!) and the other is on an extended visit. They both have children, so we've basically just been spending the day together. Today was the first day of swimming lessons for the brood. My mini me is taking a stroke refinement lesson and her younger cousins are either doing their "Mommy and Me" class or the "Intro to Swimming" class.

As we've coralled our children and helped each other with cooking and cleaning, I've been pondering the advantages of having "sisters" for lack of a better term. In our modern society, we're all really focused on "doing our own thing." Which has its advantages and drawbacks, but the biggest drawback is the loss of community. We're all very focused on our lives, our own children, our own needs. It used to be that neighbors, friends and families spent time with each other at home. It was nothing to pop next door for a cup of milk or to gossip about the neighbor on the other side.

And not that I'm looking to get married...but I understand some of the appeal of polygamy. Not the lock the women and children on the compound kind of polygamy, but polygamy as it is practiced in other cultures. Motherhood can be a lonely and frustrating time. Even if you don't work and can spend all your time parenting, you still feel like you don't have enough hands or patience. And having other women around who are also mothers, who love your children, who are willing to help care for them, there is something very comforting about that. There is always someone there to lend a helping hand, a comforting shoulder and a supportive ear. And it's just more fun.

To tell you the truth, I've lived in apartments where I didn't know the name of my next door neighbor, let alone any information juicy enough to use as gossip fodder. I love living this close to my family. I love that my cousins and I are so close and that our children are so close that we dump them all in the bathtub at the same time. I can't ever give my daughter siblings, but she has her cousins, and they are as close as siblings, with all the good and bad that comes with it. Yes, they squabble over who got more ice cream or whose sandwich is better, but they also cuddle together while my daughter reads them stories.

I love, too, that because of all this time we're spending together, my nieces and nephew (okay, well I suppose you could say cousins, but they call me "Auntie" and I call them my nieces and nephew) have become so comfortable that they will let me pick me them up the second I walk in the door, they give me hugs and kisses and don't seem to notice which one of us is bathing/feeding/changing them, and know that coming to any of us for help is an option.

My daughter and I are close, in part because I've not worked in a quite awhile due to my health so I've been able to be home with her. I'm glad we're as close as we are, but I've always wished that weren't so constantly alone. Because even before the breakup, my daughter and I spent most of our time alone together due to the exgirlfriend's work schedule. And, frankly, even though she was working, she hated us leaving on the weekends to go and spend time with family. I'm loving that I get to spend time with my cousins any time, that I don't have to worry about someone else's schedule.

My sister and I are putting in a rental application for a house that will give us all a bit more space and privacy. Which means that in just a few short weeks (hopefully) I won't be hearing her scream "Seriously?" every time someone else uses the bathroom. Because, you know, we should only use it when we are certain she isn't going to want it. What was that I was saying about sisters? Sigh...

I'm Rubber, You're Glue....

All my life I've listened to what others think of me. Not the others who love me and actually know me. Know what's in my heart and who and what I am...No, those loving, compassionate voices are a whisper beside the shrieks of the few people who dislike me.

Now, I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I get that. I'm not the nicest girl in the world and I'm flaky and more than a bit lazy. But, I'm not cruel, and hurting someone, regardless of what they've done to me, hurts me. I don't like it when I know I've let my brain get ahead of my heart. Because my brain is quick and clever and has a tendency to lash out before I can "filter" what's going on.

It's time for a change, though. I need to stop listening to the things that people who don't like me say simply to hurt me. Generally speaking, the feeling is quite mutual. It's rare for me to want to befriend someone who doesn't want to befriend me. So, why on earth do I ignore the words of the people I love most, the people I admire and respect?

...Because I Knew You'd Freak Out!!!

I have a reputation for being high strung. I'll be the first to admit that it's not an unearned reputation. I have said frequently that I wouldn't live with me, and I wouldn't...I'm opinionated and neurotic and melodramatic. Not a picnic by a longshot.

But some people would have you believe I'm a compassionless shrew who freaks out over the least little thing. Not true. If I'm stressed and tired, I might flip out over nothing. However, both of my exes love to excuse lying to me, or omitting the truth or waiting until the last minute to tell me something by saying they didn't tell me something because they knew it would upset me. And, yes, sometimes the truth that they omitted or, frankly, hid would cause me to freak out, but lying? That will always cause me to freak the fuck out.

Here's the thing...while I'm the first to admit that I'm highstrung and dramatic, I'm also fairly logical. I don't freak out over nothing at all. If you're sure that whatever it is is going to freak me out, then hiding it or postponing is hardly the best way to go about defusing an imminent breakdown. And these are people who have lived with me. Not casual acquaintances...they've heard my monologues about how much I hate lying, what a waste of time it is. Especially since it's really hard to keep the truth from coming out...what's that line about how two people can keep a secret as long as one of them is dead?

I often wonder how much my flying off the handle at them is self-fulfilling prophecy...that in attempting to keep something from happening they actually set into motion the events that cause me to lose my shit.

I Would Never Wish Bad Things...

I try really hard to "be the bigger person" and it takes something outrageously unacceptable for me to cut someone out of my life. I've forgiven things I thought I'd never forgive, and have learned that saying "never" to something is pretty much the quickest way to bring it about.

That being said...I'm extremely quick to anger. I have a short fuse and it doesn't take much to make me lose my shit and scream at someone. But that's usually where it ends. It's rare for me to hold a grudge. The only way I can even bring myself to do it is by ending contact with that person, and even that is not foolproof. I believe in second chances, I believe in letting people make amends, if they are so inclined. Life is so short and choosing hate over love, choosing hatred over forgiveness seems so wasteful. There is plenty of anger and hatred in this world, and far too little forgiveness and acceptance.

Of course, I'm human, and an extremely high-strung human at that. While my heart breaks over any tragedy that occurs to someone, I must admit I take a fiendish delight in the smaller mishaps that occur in someone's life when I am angry with them, or if I don't particularly care for them. Is it honorable? No, of course not, and regardless of how altruistic I want to be, when I'm hurting over something that someone has done to me or to someone I love, I want them to feel a bit of that. I want there to be some kind of punishment. I'm not saying I want bad things to happen, mind you...

A former friend of mine referred to this sort of thing as "tiny acts of terrorism." Of course, these were things she would do, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about things I can't control that makes the person in question a tiny bit unhappy. For instance, I'm watching the last season of The L Word right now, and one of my ex's favorite characters (Shane) has hooked up with her most hated character (Jenny). And I have to admit I thought about the reaction she'll have when she sees it (if she hasn't already) and I giggled...for about five minutes.

I don't want bad things to happen to her, or anyone else for that matter...but there is a tiny vindictive part of me that would love to exact revenge. Thankfully, the rest of me is a bit more mature and compassionate. So, while I genuinely hope that she finds the happiness that has eluded her, and that nothing catastrophic happens in her life, I refuse to feel guilty about my moment of vindictive glee. And I'm honest enough to admit where it comes from, and that it exists...can you really ask for more from me?

Things That Suck

Having only 8 episodes of Season 1 of True Blood until the weekend of June 28...I am so not good at waiting...

Late night panic attacks.

Having nothing new to read.

Empty promises.

....There Is a Season

There is a place here in my home town that has seen every season of my life. It's right down the road from me, it's known as "Lion's Park," but for the uninitiated, it's sort of a misleading name. It's not really a park in the traditional sense of the word. No long stretches of unnaturally green manicured lawn, no swings or sand boxes. It's got a few ramshackle picnic tables, a few ugly cement barbecues and the prerequisite "outhouse." It's also got a creek and beautiful native trees and grasses.

Here in my home town it's a common site for teenage assignations and anything else you don't want your parents to watch you do. Needless to say, I've spent a fair amount of time there and it holds a lifetime of memories, good and bad. I've fallen in love there, laughed there, cried and screamed there. It's seen my frantic first kisses and angry break up scenes. It's seen my daughter grow from a hairless baby in nothing but a diaper to a beautiful girl on the brink of adolescence. No other place in the world screams home to me the way it does.

Tonight, after spending the evening with my cousin, watching our daughters run around like maniacs, I drove my daughter to Lion's Park. We sat on the tailgate of my 4Runner, listened to music and stared at the stars. The feeling of history was so think you could touch it. It was one of those sweet moments you could almost feel hardening into a touchstone to bring out in later years and remind yourself of what used to be...

The Best Saturday Night In Ages..

So, last night was one of the best nights I've had in ages and ages.

I won't talk about the week that led up to it. I'm putting that in the vault until I'm a bit more...erm...calm and rational.

Anyway, this being the Italian Picnic weekend here in good old Amador County and my dear friend Craig, of the Craigorian Chant, being a member of the Italian Benevolent Society was in town. And, unlike the last time he was in town, I was not only available, but feeling well enough to meet up with him. We spent a fabulous couple of hours laughing about the messes that are our separate love lives. Of course, as is par for the course when it comes to any conversation about drama with my friends, my crappy love life totally trumps his crappy love life in terms of sheer drama and craziness. Still, after the last few months of either spending time with people who are totally happy in their love lives (nothing more nauseating at the moment) or people who have simply given up on having a love life, it was a refreshing change. And, as usual, he was just a lot of fun to talk to. Every time I talk to him, I want to smack the next straight girl I see, because it makes no sense to me at all that no one has snared him, yet. If I knew a single straight chick who wasn't completely batshit crazy, I'd hook her up with him. Sigh...

After that I went to the Italian Picnic to meet up with my sister, my niece and my daughter. We handed the tickets off to the girls and went and had a beer, which makes two in one night, and also two in the last year. We wandered around, found the girls, watched them ride a few rides, and then went home. We sat up for a while afterwards giggling and carrying on. I haven't laughed so much in ages.

So, life goes on, the world still turns and I've found my laugh again. It's a nice reminder to enjoy the people and things you care about....

Another First Kiss....

As I've mentioned, I'm hugely obsessed with the Tudors...Henry VIII, his various wives, and really all the players in that drame. While I deplore the lack of historical accuracy in the Showtime series The Tudors, I must admit I own the first two seasons on dvd, though should you ever have occasion to watch it with me, you'll quickly regret it and want to smack me every time I say..."But, that's not how it happened..." and then go on to explain the history as I understand it...and since I've spent quite a bit of time reading history. Not the historical fiction of Phillipa Gregory (though, I must admit I've read those, too) but I own several nonfiction histories, and have read many others. I'm no expert, yet, but I know more than just the basics.

Wow, that's a long explanation to get to the real reason for this post.

Anyway, in the first season of the Showtime series, there's this fantastic first kiss between Charles Brandon (Henry VIII's closest and most constant friend) and Princess Margaret (Henry's sister). And yes, the real history is that Charles marries Henry's youngest sister Mary, not Margaret, however, the scenes between Gabrielle Anwar and the uber yummy Henry Cavill are electric enough to almost let me forget that...

That first kiss...well, that's something I miss. The excitement, the breathless waiting for the moment. The anticipation, the soft, first hestitant touch of lips on lips, accustoming oneself to the nearness of this new and exciting person, the spark that makes you wonder what the next kiss will be like...sigh...It's enough to make me wish I was ready to be looking for that new someone today. And though I'm committed to getting myself into a healthy emotional place where I'm not weighed down by the baggage of the ghosts of lover's past before heading into a new relationship, I am impatient for that first moment, that butterflies that lead up to it. Sigh...I shall simply have to somehow curb my impatience and resign myself to living vicariously through small screen and literary romances, until I'm ready for something healthy and real.

And because I'm the kind of girl who likes to share things that make me swoon...here's the scene I'm talking about. Tell me this doesn't make you think about the next first kiss. The moment I'm talking about is at 2:26 and it goes straight from that to their first sex scene...it's a bit explicit, so if that sort of thing offends, don't watch. Though, if that sort of thing offends you, you likely aren't someone who is reading this blog...

What Next?

Since the break up with the girlfriend, there have been the inevitable questions...What's next? Are you going to date again...are you looking for a man to "take care of you?"

You see, while some people in my life understand who I am and what led me to my relationship with my girlfriend, there are others who view the last ten years as some kind of anomoly. That she was a substiute somehow for the man I was missing in my life.

While I'm in no way ready to find another relationship, I have given a lot of thought to this. It would be far easier for me to decide to simply lead a celibate, loveless life. After all, hospitals, doctors offices and parent/teacher conferences don't exactly lend themselves to romantic opportunities. And let's face it...the wretched statistics for relationships and chronic illness don't exactly inspire hope. After all, it's much easier to ask an already devoted and loving partner to accept your physical shortcomings, finding someone to commit themselves to someone whose life is limited to what her body allows, which frankly isn't a whole fucking lot, seems more than just a tad unfair.

And yet, being who I am, as passionate as I am about my friends and family, and having a partner, I cannot resign myself to being alone. Being ill has robbed me of so much...the plans I had for my daughter...camping trips and hiking trips and trips to museums and the ocean. And frankly, it played a really big part in the demise of my relationship. Why on earth should I allow it to take even more of my life? And what kind of an example would I be setting for my daughter if I just gave up?

Life isn't fair...as we all know. And your whole world can change in an instant. But crying about it, accepting nothingness, accepting lonelinees and heartbreak is just stupid...if you do that...if I do that, then I will deserve to be unhappy.

So...I am contemplating what comes next. The surgery was only slightly succesful...and I will most likely be undergoing another one in the not too distant future. And on top of it, my GP (regular doctor) had planned on adjusting my meds to get a better handle on my various diagnoses. But, until I'm healed from the surgery, and a decision is made about the future surgery, it's not really an option. My gynecologist is very reluctant to do a complete hysterectomy, because he thinks that I will change my mind and decide to have more children...Of course, I can't actually get pregnant without the use of in vitro fertilization, and quite frankly, I'm not healthy enough to sustain a pregnancy. Besides which, I don't want more children. I love my daughter dearly, but she's all I need.

My plans at the moment are to get through this surgery, focus on the next and then adjust my meds...I want to spend the next year or so getting as healthy as I can, maybe educating myself in something that could provide me a way to earn a living at home. I want to read and learn and try to really know what I want, and spend time with my daughter and my dogs and my family and my friends. And hopefully...just hopefully, by doing that, what I want romantically will be clear. And then I'll let the rest of the world know.

Going Under The Knife

I had intended to write a post today about the fact that I was scheduled for surgery tomorrow. I'm going to have a cystectomy and adhesions from scarring removed from my bladder and small intestine. In theory it's supposed to be outpatient surgery and I should be home tonight, but clearly will not be in any state to blog.

So, wish me luck...I guess I'll be getting that afternoon nap today, after all.

Open Letter To My Dogs

Dearest Ellwood and Charlie,

I can't tell you how happy I am that you are part of my life. Your antics as you wrestle over that stretchy dog make me smile. I love to watch you plot to steal each other's toys. And your presence late at night in my bed keeps me from feeling any of the loneliness one might feel sleeping alone in a queen size bed.

However, you need to understand that there are limits to the love I have for you. While I don't mind filling your food bowls despite the agony of five inch cysts on my ovaries, and I don't mind waking early to let you to do "your business" while I wait for you to come back in, I have to draw the line somewhere.

You are simply no longer allowed to splatter your bodily fluids anywhere inside of our home. I did not appreciate waking from my nap this morning to discover, Ellwood, that you had vomited on my bed, the bed that I changed last night. I was amazed that you were able to paw my comforter out of the way after vomiting on it, and spew the contents of your stomach on both the top sheet and bottom sheet. And then, when I thought I had discovered all that you had managed to do, I saw that I was wrong, that you somehow managed to vomit down the side of my bed, onto my floor and the shoe that was sitting there minding it's own business. May I ask...has simply chewing on my belongings lost it's appeal? Is that why you are choosing to defile them with your vomit?

And then, Charlie, my sweet little Charlie. After you watched me labor over the vomit clean up, hunched over in pain, you looked at me so sweetly. You came and sat beside me as I curled into a self-pitying ball on my naked bed. You licked my face as if to say, "I love you, and it will be okay." You then wandered off, and I began to relax, watching a comforting episode of Season 3 of Charmed. Then, as I truly began to relax I noticed that smell. That distinctive foul smell of dog shit. I began to explore, letting my nose lead me to you...in my daughter's bedroom where you had just crapped on the floor. Really, Charlie? I thought we had something special, that we understood each other. Why couldn't you just come to me and let me know you needed out? I would have opened the door for you, and stood there and waited for you to come back in. I wouldn't have left you out in the 95 degree heat. But, no. You simply couldn't be bothered with waiting for me.

So, I'm putting the two of you on notice. I don't crap in your crate, don't vomit on your toys, and I demand that you show me the same respect. Yes, I love you, and will do nearly anything for you. But even my love for you has limits, and the next one of you that makes me clean up foul smelling bodily secretions is going to get his ass kicked!

Respectfully,

Your Loving Human

The Sort of Thing That Consumes My Thoughts

I am obsessed with the Tudors. Not the Showtime series that makes me want to take Jonathan Rhys Meyers and do naughty things with him all while telling him how historically inaccurate his show is. No, the history, the drama that was Henry VIII, his wives, his parents...the whole story.

My obsession started with a healthy respect for Elizabeth I. Yes, she was the beginning of English Imperialism, and thus perhaps responsible for some very reprehensible history, but she was an amazing woman, nonetheless. She did not bow to the church or to a husband as so many women of her era would have, and as indeed, her sister before her did. She sacrificed the comfort of family and children to rule as she saw fit. She was ages ahead of her time in terms of feminist ideals.

I've spent hours reading history and learning as much as I can about the players in this drama. It is such a fascinating story, such compelling reading. Henry VIII has this iconic standing, and is considered to be one of England's greatest monarchs, which puzzles me endlessly. The evolution of Henry, from sheltered, spoiled second son, to spoiled heir apparent, to newly emancipated monarch coming out of the shelter of his father and grandmother is fascinating. If he had stayed the kind of man he was when he honored his betrothal to Katherine of Aragon, I could see making the case for him as a great king. As a young king, he was concerned about his people, strong in his faith, desirous of governing his people in a humane way, allowing for justice to prevail. But, over time, he became a monstrosity, both physically and psychologically. His reformation of the church was little more than thievery. He twisted the law to define justice as his whim. He persecuted anyone who dared utter an opinion different from his own. This is hardly the kind of man one wants to call a great leader, and when you evaluate him on a human level, his relationships with the people he loved personally make him even more monstrous. Yes, there is the execution of two "beloved" wives, but while that's sickening, it is his execution of his dearest friends that show him as the monster he was. In modern times, he'd be sitting in a prison cell, accused of serial murder, and yet historians want to hang this title of "greatest monarch" on him.

I spend an inordinate amount of time imagining what it must have been like to be one of his wives, the terror that must have lurked in the back of the mind of each woman who knew what he had done to his first and second wife. How could you slip into bed beside this man knowing that if his eye wandered to one of your friends you could be exiled from friends and family at best and imprisoned and murdered at worst? How could a mother or a father stand and watch this man court a daughter knowing the danger inherent in the situation?

I could go on and on when it comes to Tudor history (and I will at the slightest provocation). Every time you think you understand all the undercurrents of politics and religion and intrigue, there is something new to discover, a new element to consider. It makes today's politics seem so dry, so tame. I tell you, if this was the kind of history they'd taught while I was in school, I'd have never missed a day.

No More Spaghetti From A Packet

One of the best things about this new single life is the newfound food freedom. See, the exgirlfriend was not the adventurous type when it came to food. Basically, it was a rotation of spaghetti from one of those spice envelopes (blech), pork chops cooked the same old way every damn time, and tacos. Good food, food that was different and interesting was pretty much out of the question. It was always the same restaurant, the same dish. Very, very boring.

Since the break up, I've been doing much more cooking...less eating, thanks to all those icky emotion things, but more cooking. I've scoured the Archeogoddess' blog for all the yummy recipes she's shared, renewed my interest in Allrecipes and added a bunch of new recipes to my repertoire, much to the appreciation of the midget and my sister, who was kicked out of Canada and had no place else to go, so she's inhabiting my couch.

I've made Rogan Josh, scallop pasta with garlic butter sauce, and my new favorite, caramel pork chops with apples. I'm remembering how much fun it is to cook. You sort of lose interest when you have made the same thing so many times that you could make it in your sleep while standing on your head and reading War and Peace.

So, while I'm not looking to duplicate the Julie/Julia Project I am enjoying expanding my culinary horizons. This summer should provide all kinds of opportunities, what with barbecueing and whatnot.

I'm keeping track of all the good things about being single...having the bed to myself, no compromising on movies or listening to yet another boring work story about a bunch of white trash lunatics. But so far, the best thing about this single thing is actually enjoying eating what I cook.

I Am About To Overshare...You've Been Warned...

Today I had an experience I've been dreading. I tried to psych myself up about it this morning. I said..."Come on, Laura...It won't be that bad, you've certainly been through worse." I think I lied to myself.

See, I had to have my "annual exam" today. You women know that this polite term means that you are going to be violated with cold plastic and have to make small talk with the your OBgyn's bald spot while he peers at your nether regions. Annual exam sounds like such an innocuous term for such a traumatic experience. From now on, I am not going to say, "I am going for my annual exam." I'm going to say, "I am going to be finger raped by a man I barely know." It's much more honest and this way I get to spread the misery around my sharing that appalling mental image.

But, see I have been a bad girl. I haven't had been finger raped by a man I barely know in just over two years. So this was my first official visit as a "woman over thirty." And yes, a tiny piece of my soul died when the friendly nurse (who would also be peering at my nether regions) referred to me as such. What I didn't know is that as punishment for aging, my visit was going to have a much more disturbing component than ever before. You see, my friends who are under thirty, this is the age when they begin what is referred to as "colorectal cancer screening." It should be called anal finger raping. I've spent my entire sex life avoiding having anything put there...and now I've got to experience it every year. And have that same balding man make small talk while his finger is inside my ass!!!

After today, the last few months look like a picnic in the park with butterflies and ponies...

You Always Hurt....

Strangers have no power to hurt me. The kid who mooed at me in high school earns a chuckle these days. Friends of a friend who say or think bad things about me, well...that stings a bit, mostly because they get most of their information about me through an intermediary I assume thinks I'm pretty much okay. But no one, and I mean no one, can hurt me the way that someone I love can hurt me.

Someone you love, when that love goes south, has more ammunition than anyone else in the world. She'll remember the bad a whole lot more clearly than the good and since she knows you...she knows which daggers will be deflected and which will cripple you with their accuracy. She won't remember the time you made mashed potatoes from scratch because nothing else would satisfy. She'll remember instead the time you spent the rent money in a casino and didn't tell her until the day it was due. She won't recall the times you stayed up until the wee hours of the night because she was having panic attacks and only knowing you were awake, watching over her, enabled her to sleep. Instead, she'll remember that you slept late into the day, missing her day off.

Of course, this goes both ways. When I talk to her, I don't thank her for the nights spent in the ER holding my hand and wiping away tears, instead I shriek about the times she wasn't there, didn't believe me, or didn't care. And each time she hurts me, I ransack my mind for more ammunition and use my quick and clever brain to twist my words into blades of derision.

It devolves quickly...she shouting, me crying. Neither saying anything that will make the other one feel like she mattered the way she did.

I hate that I do this, hate that I can't stop doing this. I wish I could fast forward my heart and brain six months, two years...whenever that magic moment when I will be able to see clearly all that was, the good and the bad and appreciate it for all that it was. I wish I could stop myself...or at least find the magic words to make up for all that I've said, to let her know that I regret what I've said almost immediately upon saying it.

I know there is a way to break up that leaves both partners with the dignity they deserve, I just don't how to do it.

If You Don't Like It, Don't Read It

I've had this blog for awhile. And during that time, I've had issues with my words being misread with malicious intent by various parties. I've been tempted to abandon it altogether, and I'm sure any regular readers have thought from time to time that I've done just that. I've yet again had an experience where someone reading what I've written is reading between the lines and finding meaning I never intended. Along with contemplating abandonment, I've also contemplated simply censoring what I have to say to avoid any issues.

However, after each incident I've come to the conclusion that whatever a person decides to take away from what I've written is that person's problem, not mine. I'm not a subtle person, and have a blatant disregard for making myself looking good. I tend to be really honest, and maybe too honest, but that's who I am.

You can't please all the people all of the time, and if you try you'll end up pleasing no one. I am who I am, and I've spent over thirty years making apologies for that to various people. It wasn't until the last few weeks with my sister and my biomom that I really realized just how often I apologize. And, quite frankly, I've decided to save myself the energy.

Here's the deal...What's written here is about me, and maybe in some ways about others, but mostly just about me, my feelings, my thoughts, my interpretations. If you don't like it, don't read it. I am who I am, no more apologies.

You! Outta My Head!!

So, you've done your post break-up ritual, whatever that may be. You've danced naked around a bonfire of pictures of the two of you, or whatever. You've packed away the things you want to keep, but can't look at right now. THE OTHER PERSON HAS FINALLY GOTTEN THEIR SHIT OUT OF YOUR HOUSE!! You've resisted the urge to call more than once. You've even gone away for the weekend to spend time with your family to take a break from the familiar, so you aren't thinking about them.

But, then...that same family decides to go out to dinner, and despite being in a city that makes your home town look like the Hickville it is, it happens to be a restaurant you last ate at with your ex and her friend, while delivering the baby blanket YOU made for HER friend. And, joy of joys...they don't put you in any of the twelve other dining rooms in the fucking place...no, that would be just too easy. Instead they stick you in the same room as the last visit, and since you were the last person in, you get stuck in the seat directly across from the table you sat at.

No matter how hard you try, there are some things you can't do on your schedule. You can't erase that person from your brain, or somehow magically lock up your memories so they can only be accessed for fun source material when remembering why, exactly, you will never again date a musician. And there is no telling what will bring the memories to the fore, either. Certain sights or smells or sounds can be perfectly safe one day, and send you off the deep end the next. There is no rhyme or reason, no way to safeguard yourself from the unexpected punch in the gut. Just a reminder to yourself that it is okay to cry sometimes, it is okay to get and stay mad. So long as you don't stay mad forever, as long as at some point you can look back and smile.

I'm so not there, yet. I will be one day, I assume. No one actually dies of a broken heart, and plenty of people go through break ups and come out the other side, smiling. I've just never had my heart so completely broken, never lost something I thought that I could never lose. The only other significant break up in my life I knew was inevitable, even when I defended the relationship to every person I knew and told everyone we'd always be together, I knew it was unsustainable. This was different, though, and while I never wanted to get married or say "forever" I also never imagined that there would be a day that we would not be together. And, no, it doesn't necessarily make sense that I could be so wholeheartedly against "forever" and not have foreseen that this day would come. But, what in love does make sense?

At Least I Still Have the Love of My Life

Yup. He's sleeps with me, licks away the tears and only rarely changes the channel when I'm watching something good. He's sweet, and though he doesn't really like little kids, he agrees that Cassidy is pretty amazing. He doesn't lie, and I really don't have to worry that he'll run off with someone else.

He's my Charlie-Man, the little shih tzu/poodle mix that I rescued from the shelter two years ago this August. He's kind of a dork and makes me laugh pretty regularly. It's hard to be sad when he's around.



I took this picture the last time I had all three dogs out and about together. Charlie was having a grand old time running with Cera. He misses her terribly, they're best friends and he's still waiting for her to come home. He really needs to be groomed, but look at all that hair...Isn't he just the perfect match for me?

Wait...But You Left Me....

Breaking up is never a simple process. And it's never cut and dried. There is not one person who screwed up, there are almost always two people who screwed up and you can waste hours arguing about who screwed whom more, but it's a waste of time and only serves to cause each other more pain, prolong the anger and slow the process of healing.

However, while two people screw up the relationship, it's rare that two people sit down, look at each other and say, "Hey, even though this isn't working anymore, I don't want to hurt you, so let's do this as rationally as possible." If you're married, then you have lawyers and a court system that decides who gets what and who pays for what and when each parent sees the child. But when you aren't married, there are no "rules" and no real guidelines, you just kind of make it up as you go along.

Unfortunately, since there can be a lot of acrimony in a break up, even in a break up between people who genuinely care about each other, things get out of control. Every word, every tone is examined for malice and even when none is intended, it is often assumed by the other person. This is how people end up hating each other. This is how the ex girlfriend and I are going to end up hating each other. I have all of her things in my house still. I have asked her repeatedly to come get her things, and put what she doesn't have room for in our storage area. It's been a month now, since she finally let me in on the secret that she was done with me, and yet, all her things, minus a few bags of clothes are sitting here...my constant reminder of what I've lost.

I don't have a lot of energy to do things, and I'm at the point where the energy I have should be spent taking care of myself so that I can be a good mom. Those are my biggest jobs at the moment, and yet, I've got this monumental task of boxing things up, loading it in my truck and putting it in storage. I'll be honest...I've had my fantasies of re-enacting that scene from Waiting To Exhale where Angela Basset puts all of his stuff in a car and lights it on fire. I'd never go through with it, but considering that she left me, it's awfully brave of her to just assume I'll take her of her things. Luckily for her, my hurt and anger haven't dulled my sense of right and wrong enough to allow me to do it...but it's tempting from time to time.

So, let this be my admonition to you, gentle reader...If you are ever in a relationship and find yourself in the position of having to leave the other person, do them and yourself a favor...have a plan. Know where you're going, and whether or not your things can go there with you. If they can't...make arrangements for storing them some place, and don't leave it on your ex to do. Your ex should be spending post break up time doing anything but focusing on you. Unless your goal is to hurt your ex as much as you possibly can (which, is wrong regardless of what's happened and will only cause you regret in the long run)be considerate enough to take your things with you, don't leave them in your ex's possession just to rub salt in her wounds.

An Ending...

Nine and a half years ago, I was blessed with two amazing people in my life. I had just given birth to my mini me, and began a friendship with an amazing woman. Very quickly, that friendship deepened for me. It wasn't long before I noticed that her eyes changed color depending on her mood, or the lighting, that her skin was soft and beautiful, that her smile was slightly crooked, which made it all the more heart stopping...It wasn't long before I needed to be around her, I found excuses to see her. I fell hard, and fast, long before I had any idea of who she really was.

Three months after Cass was born, I "kidnapped" that amazing woman because I had grown to care about her so much and she was going through a rough time, and I was scared for her, and wanted to help her. The next year was alternately giddy and then unsure. We grew closer, and I fell even harder for her. She was such a different person than anyone else I'd ever known. She understood me, and hidden beneath her facade of anger and indifference was the kindest, most loving and generous soul. She was wounded, and understood that I was as well.

There was never an official moment that we decided that we were committed to each other. There was simply a deepening of understanding, a growing trust, a blossoming love. We went on a road trip with a friend to San Diego and shared the most beautiful moments late at night, with the moonlight shining on the ocean.

She became my partner, my friend, my lover. She became my daughter's mother and loved her intensely. We were a family and though it wasn't always easy, it was always worth it.

I have always distrusted "forever." I learned at a very young age, that love or blood or legal paperwork was no guarantee that a person I loved today would still be there tomorrow. Instead of trying to find a way to trust that this amazing woman would be in my life forever, I kept a part of myself at arm's length...swore that I didn't believe in happily ever after, in forever. I promised her that I loved her, but I couldn't bring myself to promise that my love would last. I couldn't bring myself to trust that she would be different, that she would stay when others had left. I hurt her deeply by being unable to move past my fear of being left behind. If I could do it again, I would take back all the times I qualified the love I had for her, the times I refused the level of commitment she offered.

Even though I said I didn't believe that we would be together, the love I had for her was so immense that deep inside, in a place I never let her see, I began to believe in forever. I began to WANT forever...as long as we were together. And no, it wasn't perfect, and it wasn't easy, but then, what in this life is? And every struggle, every obstacle just made me love her even more. I should have told her that I was scared to admit how much I loved her. I should have told her that I kept back that part of myself, not because I didn't love her, but because I didn't trust that I could be enough to keep her. That I could be good enough, that she would never grow tired of me.

When I got sick, I thought...this is it. This is when she'll leave. But, she didn't. She stood by me. Watched with tortured eyes when they poked and prodded and I got sicker. She held our daughter to calm her, to shield her from the pain of my illness. As more and more of my life, of the things we so loved...hiking, camping, being able to just up and go somewhere...slipped away I retreated to a a very dark corner of my mind. I hid from her, from the pain I was causing her, from the disappointment as all the plans we had slowly wilted. Going from doctor to doctor took it's toll on all of us. Instead of reaching out, instead of fighting, I buried myself away...became the illness, and gave up hope.

I can make excuses, and some of them are even valid...but I hurt her, and I scared her and I let her down. I hurt my daughter, and I scared her and I let her down. I let the ugly depression that has been my constant enemy win and I gave up on them. I gave up on me.

I can see now what I did, I can take responsibility and I'm learning to stand on my own two painful feet. I'm learning to fight again, and it's hard. All the more so because I am doing it without her. We've hurt each other so much, and it's hard to understand how two people who loved each other the way we did can end up where we are. I may have learned it too late, but I've learned that in this life, when you are given the chance at happiness, when someone reaches out to you and says..."You...I love you even though you aren't perfect I will be here." that not trusting them is in essence throwing away the greatest gift one person can ever give another. I've learned that if you spend all your time lamenting what was, and refusing to let go of the past, letting it imprison your present, you will lose everything that is precious to you. It's a painful lesson, and it comes too late, but it's a lesson I'll never forget.

To that amazing woman: As much as I'm hurting now, I wouldn't trade what we had for anything. I learned so much from you. I can never thank you properly for all that you have given me. I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't give you what we both needed. I will always love you. I will always carry you in my heart. I hope that your future is as beautiful as you are, that you find what you need and that you can forgive my failure to love you as completely as I could. Be happy...Be well...I love you.

Things I Had Forgotten About Being Single...

I've been in a relationship all of my adult life, with the exception of a three month span right after my mini me was born. And since I spent those three months crying, breastfeeding and trying to figure out whether to throw myself off a bridge or drink a gallon of vodka with a bottle of sleeping pills, it's not a time in my life I like to think about very often.

Needless to say, being single has been an ADJUSTMENT. There is the fact that there is no one to wake up in the middle of the night when you have that dream that you've had since you were six about people trying to kill you in various exciting ways. There is no one else to put gas in the car, to pick up milk or spend hours at night dissecting people we know just for the fun of feeling all superior and intellectual. On the other hand...there is also no one to open the last cold Coke in the house, take three fucking drinks and leave it on the counter as if to mock me. There is also no one to fight for control of the remote, the phone or the computer. There is no one to steal all the covers and wake you up out of a sound sleep with requests having to do with the location of a dog that isn't bothering you.

Getting over this break up is odd. There are moments of optimism and moments of bleakest despair. There is laughter through tears and quiet, unending loneliness. There is the refiguring of a life I thought was pretty well mapped-out. But biggest of all, there is that change from we to me. Decisions that used to involve two people just involve me, which is both a blessing and a curse. While it means I always get my way, it also means there is no one to blame if the wrong decision is made. I don't have to check with someone before I commit to whatever plans I may commit to, since I'm only committing myself. I know I'll get through this...I'm sure that some day I'll be able to breathe normally again, go a whole twenty-four hours without crying again, start to think about trusting someone again...but it's hard to wait for some day. It's hard to let myself just deal with this. I want it done. I want it to be months from now when I'm heading into something resembling okay.

I'm Fucking Fantastic, Thanks So Much For Asking

I feel nearly positive that I've discussed my feelings about the question "How are you?" as it pertains to my physical health. However, as annoying as it is, it's nowhere near as annoying as when you are going through something hard and some well meaning person asks you "How are you?" in the most syrupy voice they can muster. I know it's well-intentioned, and that people genuinely want to know, but nine times out of ten, I'm trying to hold it together anyway, and all that sympathy just starts the tears.

Now let me tell you something about me. I don't mind crying when I'm alone or even with a select person and I'm sort of in the eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's and wallow mind set. However, when I'm functioning and trying to go about my day, crying pretty much derails that sort of thing, not to mention that it embarrasses the hell out of me. I'm not one of those girls who can cry in public...I make weird monkey faces and the oddest sounds come out of me. And then, as if all that wasn't enough, I get all blotchy and my eyes turn red. Not exactly my best look.

Well, and what's the best thing you can say when you're trying to turn your world right side up again? That you're hanging in there? Basically, if I'm up and dressed or not just laying in bed all day...I'm hanging in there. I'm not going to be okay today or tomorrow, but I will be at some point.

So, yeah...enough with the sympathy. Being single sucks. Losing your dog sucks. Being sick sucks. Try combining all three and see how you feel. The sympathy just brings it all to the front. Tell me a joke instead or something. I've got enough tears...let's shoot for some laughter.

I Won, I Won, I Won!!!

Okay, so I'm a big Boston Terrier fan. Scout was the best and most wonderful dog I've ever met...shhh don't tell my other dogs. Once Scout became part of our family I became obsessed with all things Boston Terrier. One of my favorite sites is Little Beasts. They have lots of great links to all things Boston and fantastic pictures of the little beasts, Bergamot and Emrys.

They also have a weekly photo with a caption contest. I stalk the site and have been trying to win the caption contest for awhile now, and I finally did!! I will get a snazzy Boston Terrier sticker to put on my 4Runner.

Anyway...check out the picture here with my fabulous caption.

Notes from my subconscious

My good friend, the Archaeogodessess' comment on another friend's blog, Craigorian Chant that reminded me of a recurring dream I have.

I've had it in some variation for years. But, basically it follows the same theme plotline every time. In the dream I get a phone call from Erin telling me she is going to some foreign country and that she wants me to come with her, but that we're leaving tomorrow. I get excited and pack my bags and get ready to go and get to the airport before I realize that I don't have a passport and cannot therefore board the plane.

I think it's an important dream, in that I think it's something I'm guilty of doing in real life. Not literally, of course. But, I tend to get excited and jump immediately to the "trip" or whatever ideal I'm looking for, and forget to do the stuff it takes to get me there. I've referred to it as "First Day of School Syndrome." You see, every year I would start school with a resolve to be a good student and do everything right.

And I would, too. For about a week and a half. And then, I'd start putting things off, getting behind, staying home from school and getting further behind until it was two weeks from the end of the semester and I realized I was about to fail. Then I'd bust my ass and do just enough to get me that "C" or whatever, and swear to do better the next time.

It takes more than making a resolve. I need to look at what stops me from doing things, what keeps me from really being able to get what I want, because it's not ability or intelligence, it's something else.

I've got a lot of work on myself to do. I have to stop hiding from reality and work on changing things slowly and figuring out why I let fear stop me from sticking to things. I'm going back to therapy, for lots of reasons, but this is going to be the most important one. Because if I don't figure it out, I won't stay in therapy long enough to deal with the depression that caused me to shut down over the last year and a half, or the other issues in my life that keep tripping me up. It's rough enough being sick without getting in my own way over it.

I Couldn't Say It Any Better

Oh what I'd give for a hundred years!
But the physical interferes
Every day more--O my Creator!
What is the good of the strongest heart
In a body that's falling apart?
A serious flaw--I hope You know that

-from Waltz For Eva and Che (Evita soundtrack)

Barren

you and me against the world
and we knew it all
and we would last
outlast and endure
but here i am
an empty house, empty mind
empty heart
mopping the kitchen floor
the last thing
you said you'd do
before you left
so many broken promises
between us
so much pain
in the she said-she said
the obstacles between us
a loss of forgiveness
trying to breathe
in this barren world
where we don't exist

Wondering....

To whom is she referring in her Myspace status?

Good Things About Chronic Illness...

So, I spend a lot of time bitching and moaning about all the negative things about chronic illness, so I thought I'd take some time and make a list of good things. Something to remember in the middle of my pity parties...

1.) Bra wearing has become a "special occasion" (i.e. I'm leaving the house) event.

2.) No one ever asks me to help them move, and I can say things like..."If only I felt better, I'd help you move." Knowing damn well that I wouldn't, but also that no one is asshole enough to call me on it.

3.) Drugs...I get them. Fun ones, too, sometimes. Nothing like a shot of demerol to perk up your day.

4.) I don't have to remember my name, date of birth or any of that nonsense when picking up prescriptions because I am on a first name basis with all of the pharmacy techs at Safeway.

5.) Any effort on my part to be dressed and presentable is applauded with the same amount of enthusiasm usually reserved for people reaching Everest's summit.

6.) Naps. I used to lament that no one ever told me to go take a nap. Now, not only is that frequent advice, it's advice I usually feel no guilt for taking.

7.) The vast majority of my wardrobe is made of pajama bottoms, thus fulfilling a lifelong dream.

8.) I have watched every single episode of Charmed...at least twice.

9.) I have a well stocked and frequently updated Gaia account.


I was going to put more things on this list, but when I went to add that number 10, I realized I'd have to do some fancy layout stuff to keep it from looking all wonky and since today my ovaries are attempting a coup and even my eybrows hurt...well, suffice it to say that nothing fancy shall occur today.

Missing...

The smell of place where her neck meets her shoulder.

Contemplating Singledom

So, the news here is that the gf and I are "on a break" or "in a separation." Basically it's like hitting the relationship pause button. I have no fucking clue what the future hols and if we can make it work again. I don't know if that's even something she wants to do. I asked her to move out while we were going through this because I can't sit next to her without trying to talk about the situation and my hormones are so damn wonky that everything escalates to screaming, crying drama.

I'm trying to process my own feelings about what it will mean if we do not reconcile, how it will feel for the first time in my adult life to be single. To know that there is no fucking chance that there is a relationship in my future. It's scary. I've been in a couple for so long that I don't remember how to function independently. It's terrifying.

Last night, I was doing some small household things...taking out the trash, doing laundry, feeding the animals...and it occurred to me, this has all been on me for awhile now, so this is not new...Cass and I will work all this out, it's not like we're depending on her for this sort of thing.

Financially is a whole other story. I don't have the money to make this household work without her. My sister is coming down to stay in a couple of weeks and that should make a heck of a lot of difference there, anyway. Plus, having another adult in a thousand mile radius I feel comfortable talking about all this with will, of course, be a big help.

I don't know what to do. What are the rules of separation? Is it like being single or is ir more like having a partner that's deployed or something? And how long do you allow it to go on before you demand answers and make a final decision? I'm definitely in foreign territory here.

Ways to Fucking Piss Me Off...

I am dead fucking tired of all the Fibromyalgia medication commercials and the lies they are telling. I'm sick of seeing this active, happy person who is "living happily" with Fibromyalia thanks to "Bullshitadone" a new treatment for Fibromyalgia.

Because you know what? It trivializes what Fibro is. And it makes people around you treat you like dog shit because you aren't doing as well as the people they see on t.v. Those commercials should show a woman running around in her clothes on backward with bags under her eyes, limping with a cane and having to hear how exercise is the key to making everything better, but no one tells you how to do it. No one has a way to give you the strength to face the additional fatigue and pain that starting an exercise regime entails. It's simple...you exercise, you're a good person who has worth and you will magically feel better...you don't exercise, regardless of how you feel or what the effort costs you and you are a worthless piece of shit that deserves all the pain you are experiencing.

And since my Fibro doesn't live in a vaccuum, I get to have the added complications of hormonal disorders and sleep disorders and god only knows what else that they haven't figured out yet. I don't have any of my conditions even under a margin of control, and it's somehow all my fault. I'm to blame.

And you know what? I have fucked up and not done what the doctors told me to do, but some of the things that doctors have told me to do would have literally killed me if I had done them, so how do you know what advice to take and what advice to ignore? And how do you find the courage and strength to keep fighting when all you want to do is curl up into a ball and make the FUCKING PAIN STOP ALREADY? How do you fight the crushing fear, guilt, anger, and grief long enough to brush your fucking hair, let alone contemplate some convoluted treatment plan that works for a whopping 33% of all Fibro patients who have no other complicating factors?

How do you stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to fight back for what you've lost?

Best Laid Plans

Which I never have, by the way...My standard MO is scattered bits of ideas that pass for some semblance of a plan.

Anyway, I supposed it surprises no one that the last post was a month ago. I'm never good at sticking to my plans, and much less so when facing any kind of adversity. I'm really good at zombie-ing (yes, it's a word...if I say it's word, then it's a word dammit...whose blog is this anyway?) through the day to day, but really bad at anything outside of basic survivorship.

The last month has been rough. Adjusting to losing Scout, trying to help Cass through the grief, dealing with the fact that my girlfriend has finally gotten a life, something she richly deserves and has deprived herself of for far too long on my behalf. And of course, the amazing ends to which my body will go to keep me from getting too bored with it's repertoire of wacky symptoms that range from annoying (constant ringing in the ears) to unsettling (an accumulation of fluid in my neck and lower face....I'm so purty) and of course, to painful (pressure headaches from all that fluid build up). And I'm fairly anemic at this point as well, so staying awake is even more of a chore than usual, unless of course, I want to sleep...then tiny invisible elves come and tape my eyelids open and then scamper about beating me with really large sticks.

Jamie is going out this weekend to Faces. I'm at once envious and relieved that she is allowing herself to go. She holds back from doing stuff because she feels guilty for leaving me at home. Yet, when she's here odds are I'm either half asleep or in too much pain to talk. She has a group of friends that she's been spending time with and they all wonder why I "let" her go out without me, and why I don't call every two hours like their partners do when they're out. I'm always kind of surprised that people would think for a second that I could question this woman's commitment to me. She's sat up with me holding my hand during too many ER trips to count. She sees me at my worst...unshowered, the same pajamas two or three days running, grumpy from pain and dead stupid from brain fog, and she still comes home, and has for years. By all rights she should have run as far and as fast as possible some years ago, but she sticks. Luckily for me she's a stubborn bitch and doesn't give up on me.

Cass is slowly coming to terms with losing Scout. I read her the poem about the rainbow bridge (google it if you're unfamiliar, I'm too lazy to try to remember how to imbed links) and we talk about Scout often. She has cried at random times, little things will set her off, but she's coming through it. She doesn't treat Woody (our newest dog) as a replacement for Scout, but he is helping her heal.

Final thought for the night (I think I'm almost ready to actually fall asleep)...If you haven't heard All American Rejects new song GivesYouHell, you should check it out. It's my current obsession...

And Then Some....

Today was supposed to be a happy day, a day filled with hope. And while I am still quietly happy for this historical day, we here in my little universe have had a loss that will haunt us for quite some time to come...

In June we adopted a Boston Terrier from the Sacramento SPCA named Scout. I don't know how he ended up at the shelter because quite frankly, he was the best dog I've ever known. He had so much personality, was so loving and loyal...He became part of our family immediately. We loved him and he loved us and we couldn't imagine life without him.

He was accidentally run over in our driveway today and passed away in Jamie's arms seconds later. The grief I feel is compounded by watching my daughter grieve over her beloved friend (Scout was her dog). My heart is broken...

Agony...

You know how they tell you that narcotics and alcohol don't simply have an additive effect, that they actually multiply each other? Well...chronic illness and any other illness interact the same way. Especially when you consider all those missed doses of medication and the dose thst simply did not stay where you put it.

We are in agony, here in our little universe. The midget and I followed up our fantastic Saturday at the zoo (more about that when we feel more human) with a killer stomach virus that hit last night and is still making it's wretched, painful effects felt. Send sympathy vibes our way.

Platitudes

A new poem. Spent the night reading my favorites...Plath's "Daddy" and "Mad Girl's Love Song" Cummings, "I Carry Your Heart With Me" and "Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town", and "The Red Wheel Barrow" by William Carlos Williams. While I'd never consider my work amongst these greats, they do inspire me...



Platitudes

i would revel in your platitudes
if i could find some grain of truth
close my eyes and trust in tomorrow
but today is yesterday’s tomorrow
and it feels the same
static and unchanging
and you will spout your rhetoric
Time the great hero, the whitewasher of our sins
speak to me of future peace
but the present is the past’s future
and nothing is new
and i have not changed

Someone, Somewhere

I always feel I have to
take a stand
and there's always someone on hand
to hate me for standing there
I always feel I have to open my mouth
and every time I do
I offend someone
somewhere

-Ani Difranco (What if No One's Watching)

So, not being an out in the world kind of girl these days, I've found a couple of online forums for people with similar interests, my favorite of which is the rat forum www.goosemoose.com to which I've belonged for nearly two years now. We spend a lot of time worshipping our fuzzy little rodents (nope..the rattie obsession hasn't dimmed, it's still going strong), and an a little time talking about ourselves, our lives, and the world at large.

Anyway..I managed to get a thread locked today, and in just three posts, which is a record for me. But the person I was yelling at had it coming. She pulled the same sort of crap that racists who don't want to admit they're racists always do...you know..."I have a black friend so I know all about black people." Look...let me tell you something. The second someone mentions their black neighbor, their gay aunt...I'm pretty sure whatever else is coming out of their mouth is going to be complete bullshit. It's always something like..."Look, I don't have anything against gays, because I have two gay neices, but I voted yes on Prop (h)8 because I don't think activist judges should overturn laws voted on by the people."

Now, the whole point of this post is...yes, I'm sick. No, I can't leave the house most of the time and yes, I'm turning into a hermit. And yet...I still find a way to offend stupid people who insist on holding on to their racism, sexism...etc. There's a lesson there, I think. Something to hold on to when my tendency towards maudlin self pity laments all the things I've lost.

Oooh...and I'm dropping the midget off with her stepmother after school today, so maybe I'll get a chance to offend someone else...

Little Things

I miss the little things I took for granted when I was healthy. I miss that going to bed meant going to sleep. I miss being able to wear a ring all day because I could know that my hands weren't going to swell four sizes daily. I miss being able to make a plan and stick to it.

A good friend is having a baby. (Yay!!) And the baby shower is this weekend. Saturday in fact. And I really, really want to go. But, I've been having these quasi-seizure episodes, I've been in more than usual pain, and last but by no means least, I'm swollen like a beach ball. Not really presentable. I don't even look like myself, not even vaguely recognizable. So, who knows if I'm going to make it. Especially as the girlfriend works that day which means driving myself and having to rely on myself to make it home.

Ugh...so I'm going to rest (wait, do I do anything else...ever?) as much as possible betwixt now and then and hope like hell I can make it. Because I've missed a lot of crap over the years...but this is one of my girls. One of my favorite girls in the world. One of my pint of Ben and Jerry's and chick flick girls. Whose pregnancy I've been eagerly awaiting, because I know she is going to be the cutest pregnant lady ever. So, yeah..going to super pissed if I miss this.

If I Pee On It...Will That Make It Mine Again?

Okay, so my general slothfulness aside, I'm sure it's obvious this blog was by and large abandoned, drifting quietly into cyber-oblivion. The truth is, I've spent the last few months pretending this blog didn't even really exist. When you have something personal taken and used against you by a person for whom you have nothing but disdain and contempt in the most damaging way possible, it's a complete violation. And that's what happened here. A person, who for various reasons shall remain unnamed, that has expended considerable energy into creating trouble for me, the Queen of self-induced drama (thanks, but I don't need the help creating drama in my life), took what was written here and used it to endanger the one thing that for me should be inviolate, untouchable...my daughter. And so, I couldn't even come to this page without feeling that stomach wrenching anger, and then I thought...What the fuck am I doing? I'm tied to this person for the foreseeable future and this person, for whatever reason, will always find a way to use whatever possible weapons to hurt me. So, why on earth should I give up something that is cathartic for me and occasionally amusing to at least one other person in the universe? So, screw it. This is my truth. And if you don't like what I have to say...then don't fucking read it.

So, yeah...I'm back. And that tiny (okay, maybe not so tiny) little part of me that dances around with petty, vindictive joy at being a general nuisance to those who dislike me might actually override my inherent slothfulness and keep me around.

Yeah, so I've been up all night....and I'm damn tired. But I really need to go have blood drawn, so that I can proceed with a few other tests that the dr wants to perform on me. Fun, fun, fun. My body, with it's charming sense of humor has thrown a new symptom into the mix...a seizure that isn't really a seizure. See, when people have those seizures where their eyes roll back in their head and their body flops around, they lose conciousness....me? I'm aware the whole time, but can't control my body or force my voice to work. It's like a really bad nightmare...but I'm not asleep. It scared the crap out of me, and even moreso the girlfriend who got to witness one of these fun little episodes. It even scared the best friend who didn't see it, just heard about it. So, while the upside is...hey not really a seizure the downside is...What the fuck is it? What the fuck does it mean, and most importantly, how the fuck do we get it to stop?

On a positive note, Christmas is done. And I survived. And the kid had a great time. Who could ask for more?

She's Safe

If you're reading this blog, you likely know some of my history. I was severely abused as a child from the age of 4-10. I endured beatings and sexual assault and starvation and any number of things I wouldn't do to someone I hated, let alone a child I was required to love and raise.

The person who did the abuse never had to face justice for what he did to me, my sister, my step-sister, my mother and various other people. He never had to sit in jail, or face us, his victims, and let us have our say.

Because of my history I am emphatically against child abuse. I have spoken out when the occasion warranted it. I have educated other people on the warning signs of abuse. I have wrestled with my fear of repeating the cycle with my own daughter on countless sleepless nights. I had nights when she was a baby that I handed her to my mom, or my sister and walked away because she wouldn't stop crying and I was afraid of what I was capable of given what I knew about the cycle of violence.

I have erred always on the side of leniency. I do not hit my daughter. I do not use food for punishments. I walk away for ten minutes when she does things that anger me so that I know I am parenting out of responsibility and not out of anger.

I, of all people, know the scars that are left behind when parents discipline through fear and shame. I know that shame never goes away and that fear is immobilizing. I have gone to therapy, I have read books. I have turned to people I love, trust, and admire for advice.

I can not say that I've never made mistakes. I cannot say that I'm a perfect parent and that I've never yelled, that I've never said things I wish I could take back. I cannot say that in 20 years she won't be sitting on some therapists couch talking about how my being gay and being sick ruined her life. But I can say with one hundred percent honesty that I have never, would never, could never abuse or neglect my child. She is so precious and wonderful and the single most important thing in my life.

So to be accused of endangering her...to have to explain to a social worker that she is safe...to know that she was pulled out of class to speak to a social worker without the benefit of knowing that everything was going to be okay...to have to defend my home which is a loving and safe environment, not one she regularly leaves in tears or begs to be taken away from...to have to feel the absolute terror that for some reason some county worker could take this precious person away from her home with her two moms who love her and place her with strangers who could do god only knows what...I have never been so angry, so sickened, so horrified.

And for the person who made these false allegations...I feel nothing but disgust and contempt. How dare anyone use a dangerously overloaded system to wage their contemptible war on my innocent family? How could anyone take valuable resources away from some child who is actually being abused? How can you face your reflection in the mirror when your filthy lies could have ruined my child's life? This is not a game. You didn't win anything by making your false allegations. All you did was reinforce my low opinion of you and prove me right, yet again.

Why you should be jealous of my life.

I just pulled something sticky and crumbly out of my daugher's hair and I don't know what it is and my dog wouldn't eat it...eh? Eh? The stuff dreams are made of...

So....

Have you ever been sucker punched, by someone who had sucker punched you 84,000 times before, and yet been surprised that they sucker punched you? Yeah. It's just like that.