You heard me, FWBs. Just like every teenager in the world knows what "grrr" or "ttyl" means on text, every one old enough to have sex understands with an FWB is.
Now, be good boys and girls and nod your head in agreement!
My question is this: if you are an FWB or have an FWB, what do you do when there is still an entanglement present for one or the both of you? How do you handle it? Let's say you have an FWB that is still involved with her/his ex...and by involved I mean involved in the pseudo Biblical sense. You knew that going in...but at some point you realize that it just rubs you the wrong gosh darn way. What do you do? Do you break it off? Say "you know how to find me when you're done"?
(Definition: Friends with Benefits, aka F.B. aka Special Friend aka Booty Call)
I'm starting to think the whole concept of FWB-ness could be bad for my mental health. It's one thing to say "eh, we're just friends who knock boots", and it's another to really mean it. I mean, you develop feelings for people over time, regardless of the circumstance. If you and good ole Vlad Putin were the only two people left on the earth, and stuck together, you'd develop some sort of affection for him eventually, right? Digressing as usual, but it's bad for your mental health because you never know where you stand. Consequently, you might get a bit pissed off, or paranoid, or just plain upset. Since this is just an FWB, a conversation about one's feelings has no place...or does it?
If you are upset, what can you really do about it?
20070430
Big LOL
Today's horriblescope:
"When you concentrate on fulfilling your purpose in life, you help out other people in the process. Focus on learning to take care of yourself so you don't end up resenting others for not meeting those needs."
"When you concentrate on fulfilling your purpose in life, you help out other people in the process. Focus on learning to take care of yourself so you don't end up resenting others for not meeting those needs."
I don't know why, but late last night I started contemplating the state of Hugh Grant's hair. How does he manage to have such a perfect coif with all the turmoil going on in his life? Cheating on the beautiful Liz Hurley with an african american hooker who looked like a transvestite? Flinging a can of beans at a nosy reporter? (did I get that right? I need a fact checker...any volunteers). Releasing mediocre movie after mediocre movie. Always being cast as the foppish love interest (although really Colin Firth is a MUCH better actor). Watching his former supermodel ex girlfriend go on to have an incredibly lavish post HG career and marriage. Continuing to play the lead in silly romantic comedies, and when straying from that path, being mocked in the press for his inability to act in any other manner….Granted, he was rather cute in "Love Actually"...but it wasn't that Hugh Grant himself is so compelling...no, not by any stretch....it's his HAIR! Do you ever get the sense that Hugh Grant, much like Tom Cruise, just plays himself in movie after movie?
His hair has a mind of its own. It always has that perfect little wave in the front, that casually tousled look that you and I know takes hours and gallons of mousse to achieve. The wave that screams “I am just too cute, and even though I’m a grown man, I continue to trade in on my cuteness”
Of course, I guess it doesn’t hurt that he has perfect teeth. He might be the only man in England with such perfect teeth.
His hair has a mind of its own. It always has that perfect little wave in the front, that casually tousled look that you and I know takes hours and gallons of mousse to achieve. The wave that screams “I am just too cute, and even though I’m a grown man, I continue to trade in on my cuteness”
Of course, I guess it doesn’t hurt that he has perfect teeth. He might be the only man in England with such perfect teeth.
20070429
Pestilence, War, Famine and....
Everyone has one or two things they swore to themselves they would not do when they reached adulthood. Maybe it's a saying "You'd better stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" (like that's an effective threat...it just makes the kid cry harder). Another popular southern selection is "go out in the backyard in pick your own switch!" usually accompanied by a brisk swat on the fanny. Or maybe your dad wore black socks with sandals all throughout the summer. And not cool, low socks...no, your dad had to go with the full up to the knee variety. Or maybe you were the only one of your peers who didn't get an allowance.
Sometimes these ideas pop into our head when, as adolescents, we are in the midst of a raging fight with our parents.
For example, my MidSis once announced, mid fight with my mother, that she was going to run away. Causing my mother to march into MidSis's room and start flinging things into a bag for MidSis to take with her.
Point being, everyone has an "wontadultism" rolling around in their thoughts. I swore that I would Never, Ever, Never, Ever buy shorts with an elastic waistband because they are for old ladies and babies and make your hips look huge. I have succeeded in my efforts. Sweatpants with a drawstring instead of elastic. Skirts with a regular waist and zipper (or button) and not elastic. Twill pants or jeans with the little bit of "strech" elastic in the back (which is a polite way of reminding you that if you need that kind of pants, go up a size). When denim dresses were popular (1987), juniors dresses ALL had an elastic waistband at the high waist...so you could "blouse up" your top. Elastic is my personal fourth horsemen of the apocalypse.
Until yesterday.
I am now the proud possessor of a pair of slate gray, elastic waistband shorts.
And you know what? they are actually rather comfy. :-)
Sometimes these ideas pop into our head when, as adolescents, we are in the midst of a raging fight with our parents.
For example, my MidSis once announced, mid fight with my mother, that she was going to run away. Causing my mother to march into MidSis's room and start flinging things into a bag for MidSis to take with her.
Point being, everyone has an "wontadultism" rolling around in their thoughts. I swore that I would Never, Ever, Never, Ever buy shorts with an elastic waistband because they are for old ladies and babies and make your hips look huge. I have succeeded in my efforts. Sweatpants with a drawstring instead of elastic. Skirts with a regular waist and zipper (or button) and not elastic. Twill pants or jeans with the little bit of "strech" elastic in the back (which is a polite way of reminding you that if you need that kind of pants, go up a size). When denim dresses were popular (1987), juniors dresses ALL had an elastic waistband at the high waist...so you could "blouse up" your top. Elastic is my personal fourth horsemen of the apocalypse.
Until yesterday.
I am now the proud possessor of a pair of slate gray, elastic waistband shorts.
And you know what? they are actually rather comfy. :-)
Sunday morning, so good to me.....
Ok, yeah, the song is Monday morning. I know.
Needent have worried about the Rebel yesterday (nor, as it turns out, anyone else). He never showed. I did break down and weed whack the front yard. That is an incredibly tedious way to cut grass; I'd have been better off crawling around with a pair of garden shears and cutting each blade of grass one by one! What led me to this? My neighbors are having a party and I felt that it would be....rude of me to have such a disreputable looking lawn.
Driveway clean, leaves sacked, piles of leaves moved somewhere less noticeable. Went to the gym in the morning, and for a run in the afternoon. Late last night had an irrepresible urge to rearrange my bedroom. Bought, loaded, and unloaded all the wood for the daddy daughter front porch column rebuilding project (32 pieces of pressure treated wood). Didn't accomplish anything else inside.
Ok, yeah, the song is Monday morning. I know.
Needent have worried about the Rebel yesterday (nor, as it turns out, anyone else). He never showed. I did break down and weed whack the front yard. That is an incredibly tedious way to cut grass; I'd have been better off crawling around with a pair of garden shears and cutting each blade of grass one by one! What led me to this? My neighbors are having a party and I felt that it would be....rude of me to have such a disreputable looking lawn.
Driveway clean, leaves sacked, piles of leaves moved somewhere less noticeable. Went to the gym in the morning, and for a run in the afternoon. Late last night had an irrepresible urge to rearrange my bedroom. Bought, loaded, and unloaded all the wood for the daddy daughter front porch column rebuilding project (32 pieces of pressure treated wood). Didn't accomplish anything else inside.
20070427
Books
You know, I'm sitting in my office idly staring at my bookshelf.
Here's a sampling of the collection...now, mind...this is bookcase one of three. Actually, there isn't a room in this house that doesn't have a book collection. Some small, some large. My china cabinet is currently housing about fifty!! (China having been relegated to a corner cabinet that I never use).
Hm.
The Diaries of Anais Nin.
Portrait of a Killer (the Patricia Cornwell Jack the Ripper)
Lots of Pat Conroy
The Birth of Venus and In the Company of Courtesans (Sarah Durant)
Lots of Andre Norton books
Dune, Dune Messiah...there's one missing.
the EARLY Anne Rice vampire novels...oh, and Belinda as well.
All the Laurell K Hamilton novels.
All the Dresden Files books.
The Mists of Avalon (MZB)
Kosovo, War and Revenge
Last Knight (the Knights templar)
Falling Angels, Tracy Chevalier
The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
The Turn of the Screw, H James
Sons and Lovers, Lawrence
Zelda, Nancy Mitfor.
Lord Jim, Joseph Conrad
A Place to Call Home, Deborah Smith
Ragtime, EL Doctorow
Bastard Out of Carolina, Dorothy Allison
Temple of My Familiar and Color Purple, Alice Walker (need to get the book her daughter has just written).
The Magic of Herbs
Waiting, Ha Jin
Frankenstein, Shelley
100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, Melissa P
Indecent Obsession and the Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
The Tao of Pooh
The Little Prince
Charlotte's Web
Life, the Universe and Everything (I appear to be missing So Long and Thanks for All the Fish)
Richard the Third (my fav)
All the George R R Martin books.
The Barnabas Collins Books (remember those old spooky vampire tales that ran on PBS in the 70's?)
Lots of Robin Hobb
The Affair of the Poisons, Anne Somerset
In the Heart of the Sea, Nathaniel Philbrick
Hotel Sarejevo
A book of Edward Gorey Illustrations
Son of a Witch....
The list goes on and on.
Those are the ones I can see (and to be honest that I can see from my chair).
That doesn't include the other two bookcases (the "classical" case and the china cabinet catchall), nor the shelf I have in the foyer of utter literary shit. Crime books. True Crime. Fictional Crime. Bodice ripper housewife porn. More vampire porn. Magazines. Books borrowed from other people...you know. Your normal shit.
Anyway, bored. For some nutty reason thought you might like to know what I have on my shelves (prolly not).
Night~
Here's a sampling of the collection...now, mind...this is bookcase one of three. Actually, there isn't a room in this house that doesn't have a book collection. Some small, some large. My china cabinet is currently housing about fifty!! (China having been relegated to a corner cabinet that I never use).
Hm.
The Diaries of Anais Nin.
Portrait of a Killer (the Patricia Cornwell Jack the Ripper)
Lots of Pat Conroy
The Birth of Venus and In the Company of Courtesans (Sarah Durant)
Lots of Andre Norton books
Dune, Dune Messiah...there's one missing.
the EARLY Anne Rice vampire novels...oh, and Belinda as well.
All the Laurell K Hamilton novels.
All the Dresden Files books.
The Mists of Avalon (MZB)
Kosovo, War and Revenge
Last Knight (the Knights templar)
Falling Angels, Tracy Chevalier
The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
The Turn of the Screw, H James
Sons and Lovers, Lawrence
Zelda, Nancy Mitfor.
Lord Jim, Joseph Conrad
A Place to Call Home, Deborah Smith
Ragtime, EL Doctorow
Bastard Out of Carolina, Dorothy Allison
Temple of My Familiar and Color Purple, Alice Walker (need to get the book her daughter has just written).
The Magic of Herbs
Waiting, Ha Jin
Frankenstein, Shelley
100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, Melissa P
Indecent Obsession and the Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
The Tao of Pooh
The Little Prince
Charlotte's Web
Life, the Universe and Everything (I appear to be missing So Long and Thanks for All the Fish)
Richard the Third (my fav)
All the George R R Martin books.
The Barnabas Collins Books (remember those old spooky vampire tales that ran on PBS in the 70's?)
Lots of Robin Hobb
The Affair of the Poisons, Anne Somerset
In the Heart of the Sea, Nathaniel Philbrick
Hotel Sarejevo
A book of Edward Gorey Illustrations
Son of a Witch....
The list goes on and on.
Those are the ones I can see (and to be honest that I can see from my chair).
That doesn't include the other two bookcases (the "classical" case and the china cabinet catchall), nor the shelf I have in the foyer of utter literary shit. Crime books. True Crime. Fictional Crime. Bodice ripper housewife porn. More vampire porn. Magazines. Books borrowed from other people...you know. Your normal shit.
Anyway, bored. For some nutty reason thought you might like to know what I have on my shelves (prolly not).
Night~
Ah, didn't I sound like a pathetic little whine bitch last night? LOL.
That's what three weeks of hard living and pain killers do to me. I'm sssooooo much better when I behave myself.
Today was lovely, just lovely. A beautiful day - went for a run. Did loads of stuff on the house and might actually be done with laundry. Undid some half stuff the Rebel left for me, had great fun banging about with the hammer. Of course, I'm still somewhat embarassed about my foot high grass (weeds), but none of my neighbors have (yet) given me the evil eye.
Janey Mac! The Madster just got herself all tangled up in my electrical cordage for the laptop, and the lamp, and the printer and pulled the lamp to the floor before I realized what she was doing. Silly pup!
I've discovered that I'm one of those mad cleaners who must pull out every single item in a room before beginning to clean. For example, I decided that I should get all my damn clothes out of the living room (because having a pile of knickers on the coffee table is so darn classy). But in order to do this, I decided that I needed to pull every single item out of my wardrobe and rearrange everything while I was there. The first trip to the downstairs closet led to me cleaning out that closet and throwing away bunches of shit I don't need anymore. The trip to the kitchen for trash bags led me to scrub out the toaster, which led me to bleaching the sink. Get the drift?
Eventually, though, everything was done. Well...almost. I haven't vacuumed. Nor did I finish the tile. Nor have I picked up all the nails from my destruction project.
But I'm wide arsed awake (for a while at least) so I'll go and tackle one of those three.
Everyone have a smashing weekend!
That's what three weeks of hard living and pain killers do to me. I'm sssooooo much better when I behave myself.
Today was lovely, just lovely. A beautiful day - went for a run. Did loads of stuff on the house and might actually be done with laundry. Undid some half stuff the Rebel left for me, had great fun banging about with the hammer. Of course, I'm still somewhat embarassed about my foot high grass (weeds), but none of my neighbors have (yet) given me the evil eye.
Janey Mac! The Madster just got herself all tangled up in my electrical cordage for the laptop, and the lamp, and the printer and pulled the lamp to the floor before I realized what she was doing. Silly pup!
I've discovered that I'm one of those mad cleaners who must pull out every single item in a room before beginning to clean. For example, I decided that I should get all my damn clothes out of the living room (because having a pile of knickers on the coffee table is so darn classy). But in order to do this, I decided that I needed to pull every single item out of my wardrobe and rearrange everything while I was there. The first trip to the downstairs closet led to me cleaning out that closet and throwing away bunches of shit I don't need anymore. The trip to the kitchen for trash bags led me to scrub out the toaster, which led me to bleaching the sink. Get the drift?
Eventually, though, everything was done. Well...almost. I haven't vacuumed. Nor did I finish the tile. Nor have I picked up all the nails from my destruction project.
But I'm wide arsed awake (for a while at least) so I'll go and tackle one of those three.
Everyone have a smashing weekend!
20070426
Ah, the Thursday night blahs.
As I sit in the bed with Maddy beside me, I realize that having a puppy is just transference for me. As in - I got a puppy because I don't have a child. How ridiculous is that? I hate being self aware. Stop me if I start talking about getting another dog.
It also makes me feel like I'm either selfish, an ass, or wasting my time. Or some combination of all three. While I'm off pursuing my little hedonistic life, time is flying by. I find more grey hair every day. I've noticed that my metabolism is decreasing - I mean, several people can attest to the fact that I don't eat or drink very much...and yet I've gained some weight. I don't know if it looks good or bad...of course to myself I look gi-normous.
It's like women who have their wedding all planned in their head but have no potential spouse or even boyfriend lined up. You've seen one or two of them, I'm sure. Even I confess to looking through bridal magazines (they are enticing, I admit. It's the froofy dresses). Or thinking about where I'd actually like to get married IF I ever got married again. But then again I really don't look good in white, so what would I wear? And what would be appropriate for a second wedding? And what on earth could remove my relationship jinx?
Maybe it's not a relationship jinx; maybe I suck. If I suck, I guess I’d better figure out why or plan on adopting more dogs
I have the family bassinet, and some family baby items, and a baby blanket, hence my earlier comment about women who pre plan their weddings.
Well, if I start hanging out at the neo natal wing at Northside, start ordering sedation for me. Or a straightjacket.
I'm really not looking forward to the Rebel coming over this weekend. I'd like to tell him to piss off, except I don't have a sawzall (sp?) or a nailgun. If I did, I'd finish that crap myself. I'm going to have to tell him that I'm seeing someone, and I am really not looking forward to that conversation. I don't like to hurt people, but I'm still floored that he could think that I'd take him back. It wasn’t the money, honest. It was the drinking, and the lack of desire/ability. His daughter and her partner will be here soon and as much as I’d like to see them, I have to weigh what my presence will mean. How can you say “I really want us to still be friends” and in the same breath say “will you ever take me back”? Maybe I should rethink my philosophy of trying to be everyone’s friend.
From the men in my life (and from the girlfriends as well), I always hear “I don’t know who you are”. Why is that so important? Why is it so important to know someone inside and out? Whenever I hear that, I suddenly feel like I’m lying on a velvet settee in a cigar filled room talking to some bearded Austrian dude about my Electra complex. Maybe I should just….write down all my vitals on a little laminate card, and stick it in a boyfriends wallet for them to consult whenever they feel like “they don’t understand me”.
I’m not that complex, really…even if I am a scorpio. I’m just…me. I’m insecure about my appearance (and duh my weight), but I’m very comfortable with my brain capacity. Maybe too comfy…I do have a bad tendency to think I’m smarter than most people. That alone tells me I’m not (maybe I’m just arrogant). I’m lazy, unless it is something that makes me happy or relates to my job, and in that case I’m always on top of things. I have a great deal of pride, ya know, having done most things in my life backwards. I love my dogs. My grandmother is my best friend. My granddaddies taught me about forgiveness and gave me a love of literature. I suck at chemistry – my poor father is a chemist and all three of his daughters failed chemistry at least twice. My sisters and I are very tight, as are the older of the cousins. My favorite place is the ocean – I’m a snob, I like the Atlantic better than the Gulf. I’d love to take a cruise around the Mediterranean – I want to go to Greece and see the ancient ruins. I like dark chocolate, and won’t eat milk or white. I drink pickle juice straight from the jar. I like horses, and I ride English and Western, but neither very well. I’m an emotional miser…so in a relationship, it’s rare for me to say what I think or feel. Sometimes I am uncomfortable being touched (I actually used to start whenever someone would take my hand, or pat my back). My mom is usually great fun to party with; she’s a tutor of sorts and all her children and the teachers at her school love her. I have my granddad’s and my last dogs ashes in the living room. I lost my virginity at age sixteen. I have nightmares still about being 33, naked, and back in high school. I am empathic, but I have had to build a wall to keep me from feeling everyone’s pain. The things I regret in my life are the bad choices I made. Music makes me happy. I used to sing in a girl’s trio – I’m an alto, and when I’m very happy or by myself I like to sing big band and swing tunes. I can match Michael Buble note for note, but not Frank. I am obsessed with cheddar cheese and feta. I’m allergic to crab. For years I dreamt about going to France; and now that I have I’m dreaming of Venice. I’d like to write a book; hence the blog. When I give my heart, I give it completely and it takes a long time for me to really give myself in a relationship. I’m terrified of dying alone. I like to dance and I used to swing dance, although I don’t think I dance very well. I’m used to being the dominant one in a relationship; and when not in one I am perfectly capable of looking out for myself. I know how to change my oil; I just choose not to. I mow my own grass. I love being outdoors. I’d really like to own a Craftsman bungalow. I can’t draw anything living but I can draw landscapes and buildings. I ended up paying for my own wedding ring. And sometimes I want someone to take care of me, instead of me taking care of them. I don’t like confrontation and avoid it at all costs. Getting me to talk about my feelings is impossible and makes me wretchedly uncomfortable. I love to read, and am an amateur historian. I used to be a Girl Scout. I like opera, and my favorite classical composer is Beethoven.
You know, if you steal from the Mob, are you really committing a crime? Sorry, just a random thought.
If you can’t tell, I’m not at all happy tonight. I refuse to go and do the one thing that would elevate my mood.
I’ll stop whining now.
As I sit in the bed with Maddy beside me, I realize that having a puppy is just transference for me. As in - I got a puppy because I don't have a child. How ridiculous is that? I hate being self aware. Stop me if I start talking about getting another dog.
It also makes me feel like I'm either selfish, an ass, or wasting my time. Or some combination of all three. While I'm off pursuing my little hedonistic life, time is flying by. I find more grey hair every day. I've noticed that my metabolism is decreasing - I mean, several people can attest to the fact that I don't eat or drink very much...and yet I've gained some weight. I don't know if it looks good or bad...of course to myself I look gi-normous.
It's like women who have their wedding all planned in their head but have no potential spouse or even boyfriend lined up. You've seen one or two of them, I'm sure. Even I confess to looking through bridal magazines (they are enticing, I admit. It's the froofy dresses). Or thinking about where I'd actually like to get married IF I ever got married again. But then again I really don't look good in white, so what would I wear? And what would be appropriate for a second wedding? And what on earth could remove my relationship jinx?
Maybe it's not a relationship jinx; maybe I suck. If I suck, I guess I’d better figure out why or plan on adopting more dogs
I have the family bassinet, and some family baby items, and a baby blanket, hence my earlier comment about women who pre plan their weddings.
Well, if I start hanging out at the neo natal wing at Northside, start ordering sedation for me. Or a straightjacket.
I'm really not looking forward to the Rebel coming over this weekend. I'd like to tell him to piss off, except I don't have a sawzall (sp?) or a nailgun. If I did, I'd finish that crap myself. I'm going to have to tell him that I'm seeing someone, and I am really not looking forward to that conversation. I don't like to hurt people, but I'm still floored that he could think that I'd take him back. It wasn’t the money, honest. It was the drinking, and the lack of desire/ability. His daughter and her partner will be here soon and as much as I’d like to see them, I have to weigh what my presence will mean. How can you say “I really want us to still be friends” and in the same breath say “will you ever take me back”? Maybe I should rethink my philosophy of trying to be everyone’s friend.
From the men in my life (and from the girlfriends as well), I always hear “I don’t know who you are”. Why is that so important? Why is it so important to know someone inside and out? Whenever I hear that, I suddenly feel like I’m lying on a velvet settee in a cigar filled room talking to some bearded Austrian dude about my Electra complex. Maybe I should just….write down all my vitals on a little laminate card, and stick it in a boyfriends wallet for them to consult whenever they feel like “they don’t understand me”.
I’m not that complex, really…even if I am a scorpio. I’m just…me. I’m insecure about my appearance (and duh my weight), but I’m very comfortable with my brain capacity. Maybe too comfy…I do have a bad tendency to think I’m smarter than most people. That alone tells me I’m not (maybe I’m just arrogant). I’m lazy, unless it is something that makes me happy or relates to my job, and in that case I’m always on top of things. I have a great deal of pride, ya know, having done most things in my life backwards. I love my dogs. My grandmother is my best friend. My granddaddies taught me about forgiveness and gave me a love of literature. I suck at chemistry – my poor father is a chemist and all three of his daughters failed chemistry at least twice. My sisters and I are very tight, as are the older of the cousins. My favorite place is the ocean – I’m a snob, I like the Atlantic better than the Gulf. I’d love to take a cruise around the Mediterranean – I want to go to Greece and see the ancient ruins. I like dark chocolate, and won’t eat milk or white. I drink pickle juice straight from the jar. I like horses, and I ride English and Western, but neither very well. I’m an emotional miser…so in a relationship, it’s rare for me to say what I think or feel. Sometimes I am uncomfortable being touched (I actually used to start whenever someone would take my hand, or pat my back). My mom is usually great fun to party with; she’s a tutor of sorts and all her children and the teachers at her school love her. I have my granddad’s and my last dogs ashes in the living room. I lost my virginity at age sixteen. I have nightmares still about being 33, naked, and back in high school. I am empathic, but I have had to build a wall to keep me from feeling everyone’s pain. The things I regret in my life are the bad choices I made. Music makes me happy. I used to sing in a girl’s trio – I’m an alto, and when I’m very happy or by myself I like to sing big band and swing tunes. I can match Michael Buble note for note, but not Frank. I am obsessed with cheddar cheese and feta. I’m allergic to crab. For years I dreamt about going to France; and now that I have I’m dreaming of Venice. I’d like to write a book; hence the blog. When I give my heart, I give it completely and it takes a long time for me to really give myself in a relationship. I’m terrified of dying alone. I like to dance and I used to swing dance, although I don’t think I dance very well. I’m used to being the dominant one in a relationship; and when not in one I am perfectly capable of looking out for myself. I know how to change my oil; I just choose not to. I mow my own grass. I love being outdoors. I’d really like to own a Craftsman bungalow. I can’t draw anything living but I can draw landscapes and buildings. I ended up paying for my own wedding ring. And sometimes I want someone to take care of me, instead of me taking care of them. I don’t like confrontation and avoid it at all costs. Getting me to talk about my feelings is impossible and makes me wretchedly uncomfortable. I love to read, and am an amateur historian. I used to be a Girl Scout. I like opera, and my favorite classical composer is Beethoven.
You know, if you steal from the Mob, are you really committing a crime? Sorry, just a random thought.
If you can’t tell, I’m not at all happy tonight. I refuse to go and do the one thing that would elevate my mood.
I’ll stop whining now.
Conspicuous Consumption
Ah, consumerism – the great American way. Feeling bad? Whip out that MasterCard and head to the mall. Buy yourself that $500 suit or that silly $400 bracelet. That’s what makes the world go round, right? Keep the economy moving, doing your part to keep the economic wheels of the U.S. in motion. Get paid, and after you pay bills realize you have….oh….$200 until the next pay day. Have a mortgage that takes up 2/3 of one paycheck. Have two mortgages. Have six credit cards. Have a mack! car with crazy car payments. Bounce a check or two. Be up to your eyeballs in all sorts of debt! It’s the American Dream alright, it’s just heavily financed by the banking industry.
Blood thirsty vultures.
I mean, you know the world is screwed up when the cashier at Publix has a diamond tennis bracelet that is worth about $2K.
What brought this on? Check out this article about companies that are putting gemstones or ground up gemstones into their line of cosmetics. It’s surprisingly popular.
Now isn’t that the ultimate in….lord, where to start! Tackiness, nouveau riche-ness, crassness, just….man, no wonder half the world hates us! Diamonds in our moisturizer! Zoloft for our dogs! Butt implants! Rampant glorification of adultery and promiscuity on television and in the movies! Woohooo!
What is wrong with my fellow ovarians that we actually think a moisturizer with ground diamonds will keep our skin looking young while providing a bling like glow? Is this now the culture of perpetual youth? Just take a look at any makeup counter in any mall....they become less and less about makeup and more and more about pore reducing toner, eye de-wrinklers with sunblock, laugh line wrinkle treatment with retinol, all over spray on tan with vitamin e, lip plumpers/glosses loaded with collagen.
I was randomly thinking....do you think 200 years ago women cared that their legs were ashy? Or that they had leg hair that could be braided? Do you think they slathered themselves with cow fat to enhance their skin? I mean, whatever happened to pinching your cheeks and lips for color? Do you think men cared? And if you had ashy legs 200 years ago, and you DID care, what did you do about it?
Sorry, just a random purge of thoughts.
Had two nice compliments yesterday. A very nice lady said my writing was "witty and edgey", and a friend from long past told me that I had a great personality.
Blood thirsty vultures.
I mean, you know the world is screwed up when the cashier at Publix has a diamond tennis bracelet that is worth about $2K.
What brought this on? Check out this article about companies that are putting gemstones or ground up gemstones into their line of cosmetics. It’s surprisingly popular.
Now isn’t that the ultimate in….lord, where to start! Tackiness, nouveau riche-ness, crassness, just….man, no wonder half the world hates us! Diamonds in our moisturizer! Zoloft for our dogs! Butt implants! Rampant glorification of adultery and promiscuity on television and in the movies! Woohooo!
What is wrong with my fellow ovarians that we actually think a moisturizer with ground diamonds will keep our skin looking young while providing a bling like glow? Is this now the culture of perpetual youth? Just take a look at any makeup counter in any mall....they become less and less about makeup and more and more about pore reducing toner, eye de-wrinklers with sunblock, laugh line wrinkle treatment with retinol, all over spray on tan with vitamin e, lip plumpers/glosses loaded with collagen.
I was randomly thinking....do you think 200 years ago women cared that their legs were ashy? Or that they had leg hair that could be braided? Do you think they slathered themselves with cow fat to enhance their skin? I mean, whatever happened to pinching your cheeks and lips for color? Do you think men cared? And if you had ashy legs 200 years ago, and you DID care, what did you do about it?
Sorry, just a random purge of thoughts.
Had two nice compliments yesterday. A very nice lady said my writing was "witty and edgey", and a friend from long past told me that I had a great personality.
Are you kidding?????
As in, this post falls under that "are you freaking serious" category. So the Rebel rang me this morning, and was very weird when I was talking to him (almost hungovery or sad or some undefinable oddness was in his voice). I had to go, and he rang back to ask me to dinner tonight. I declined, saying I had plans. He said "well, I'd like to take you to dinner to talk to you about stuff". Already having a sinking feeling in my stomach, I said "what stuff?" "Oh, just things, like my life plan...and if I did everything in my head would there be a chance you'd take me back? Like..if I saved up all my money and bought a place of my own?" Being a quick deflector, I said "It was never about the money, Rebel"...and we yammered on from there until I had to actually go and do some work.
You know, normal people leave you alone when you say "I don't love you". Normal people don't call you up months later and say "you're the only woman I've ever loved". Well, sweetheart, it is far too little and far too damn late. You had me for two years, and you squandered it. I am not an Irish Mammy - you are not the apple of my eye, and I do not have any reason to put up with the crap that comes from being an Irishman of a certain age. Imagine! Someone whom I think gained a sadistic enjoyment out of making me cry in public!
*Eliza shuts door and firmly locks it*
At any rate, I had a wonderful if late evening last night. There have been no doggie disasters (knock on wood) so far this week. My income tax check - received and spent. Take that, you evil credit cards! My new microwave came last night and joy of joys it was the actual microwave that died and not the wiring going awry.
You know, normal people leave you alone when you say "I don't love you". Normal people don't call you up months later and say "you're the only woman I've ever loved". Well, sweetheart, it is far too little and far too damn late. You had me for two years, and you squandered it. I am not an Irish Mammy - you are not the apple of my eye, and I do not have any reason to put up with the crap that comes from being an Irishman of a certain age. Imagine! Someone whom I think gained a sadistic enjoyment out of making me cry in public!
*Eliza shuts door and firmly locks it*
At any rate, I had a wonderful if late evening last night. There have been no doggie disasters (knock on wood) so far this week. My income tax check - received and spent. Take that, you evil credit cards! My new microwave came last night and joy of joys it was the actual microwave that died and not the wiring going awry.
20070425
Doctor Woof, MD
Evidently now Zoloft has been approved to treat badly behaved or depressed doggies. I'm sure it will be like Ritalin for little kids - your dog acts up, eats your furniture, pees on your shoes....Doggie Zoloft to the rescue!
(Of course, it never occurs to people that most dogs have behavioral issues because they are BORED…and it’s the same with a lot of kids)
Yesterday, I learned that when dogs are happy, they wag to the right. When they are so-so, they wag to the left.
And to think we don’t have a cure for AIDs or diabetes or cancer yet.
(Of course, it never occurs to people that most dogs have behavioral issues because they are BORED…and it’s the same with a lot of kids)
Yesterday, I learned that when dogs are happy, they wag to the right. When they are so-so, they wag to the left.
And to think we don’t have a cure for AIDs or diabetes or cancer yet.
Rock the Cat Box
That is the single funniest commercial of all time. I couldn't even tell you what product is being marketed but it's the commercial with the two “hip” looking white guys listening to music and f’ing the lyrics up multiple times.
Rock the Cat Box indeed!
What other songs do people constantly mishear?
“wrapped up like a douche another rumor in the night”
It goes without saying that ANY Bob Dylan song is open to interpretation. I don’t think he even knows what he’s saying half the time!
Or that all time classic “I Call for Pizza” (Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces”)?
Or “Excuse me while I kiss this guy”? (that’s a nasty visual, btw)
“There’s a bathroom on the right” – I know you’ve thought that at least once when drinking.
So let’s play a game. I’m going to provide you with the misheard lyric, and you tell me the artist and the correct wording.
The first one is a two-fer (same band, different song)
1. Gonna use my sausage or Gonna use my sassy
2. I’m not the cat I used to be I gotta can of thirty three babies
3. Hold me closer, Tony Danza
4. Forty five versions of a pelican
5. Something in the way she moo’s
6. Chipmunks roasting on an open fire
7. Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
8. Hypodermics on the shore, vaginas under martial law (the latter does actually make sense in a weird way)
9. All you did was wet my bed
10. Baking carrot biscuits
11. Nights in White Satin (that’s waaayyy too easy)
12. This one just cracks me up, so it gets a special “section”
Michelle, Ma Belle, Sunday Monkey Play No Piano Song, No Piano Song.
Whomever mis heard it that way was definitely on crack!
13. Secret asian man
Ok, this is fun! Who has other suggestions?
Rock the Cat Box indeed!
What other songs do people constantly mishear?
“wrapped up like a douche another rumor in the night”
It goes without saying that ANY Bob Dylan song is open to interpretation. I don’t think he even knows what he’s saying half the time!
Or that all time classic “I Call for Pizza” (Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces”)?
Or “Excuse me while I kiss this guy”? (that’s a nasty visual, btw)
“There’s a bathroom on the right” – I know you’ve thought that at least once when drinking.
So let’s play a game. I’m going to provide you with the misheard lyric, and you tell me the artist and the correct wording.
The first one is a two-fer (same band, different song)
1. Gonna use my sausage or Gonna use my sassy
2. I’m not the cat I used to be I gotta can of thirty three babies
3. Hold me closer, Tony Danza
4. Forty five versions of a pelican
5. Something in the way she moo’s
6. Chipmunks roasting on an open fire
7. Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
8. Hypodermics on the shore, vaginas under martial law (the latter does actually make sense in a weird way)
9. All you did was wet my bed
10. Baking carrot biscuits
11. Nights in White Satin (that’s waaayyy too easy)
12. This one just cracks me up, so it gets a special “section”
Michelle, Ma Belle, Sunday Monkey Play No Piano Song, No Piano Song.
Whomever mis heard it that way was definitely on crack!
13. Secret asian man
Ok, this is fun! Who has other suggestions?
I swan...why did I have to be born a girl? I really, really have to pee and am stuck on a call and can't go. If I were a man I could just discreetly piss in my empty water bottle. Sigh. My kidneys are screaming at the host person of the teleconference; shut up already!!!!
Work is evil and should be abolished on days as beautiful as today. The Constitution should be amended to declare “Work shall be abolished on sunny and warm spring workdays”…of course, this would lead to other amendments about who had the right to wear thongs, Hawaiian shirts, and Speedos.
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Have you been to the beach lately? It’s a great way to feel better about yourself…beach people watching. Do you think people actually ever look at themselves in their swimwear? Honestly, folks…if you have fat wrinkles or fat rolls, please put on a shirt or wear a one piece! Dress with dignity!
I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a nose stud for a few years now. My LilSis had one, and I always thought it was cool and surprisingly elegant. Hah! I could be hip! I’d have a little nose stud, dye my hair lavender, wear a black beret and Doc Martens to work! It would be just like….high school. Oh. Yuck.
So I asked my boss what he thought. Then I asked a former boss what he thought. They both said “no way!”. But, says the troublemaking imp that resides within me, how come the ‘minorities’ in the office aren’t penalized for it?
Well, they both say, that’s different. That’s part of their culture, and since we are a company that prides itself on diversity we have to respect their customs.
Oh.
Let me get this right: it’s ok for my fellow coworkers to wear a nose stud (Indian or African American) but it’s not ok for me because I’m a white girl of scotch/English/irish descent? What gives?
I could have a great deal of fun with these rules. I could do all sorts of nifty inappropriate things and say “well, this is how my people do it”. I could…drink booze at work…or eat fish and chips and wander around exclaiming “bloody hell”…or…walk around and mumble in a language that sort of sounds like English but maybe if a whale spoke it? Except David Tennant. He makes Scotland sexy!
White girls have no culture. We’re merely the by blow of centuries of dead white men culture. Largely, we don’t golf or smoke cigars, so that’s out the window. We might get a tattoo or two or four, but that’s a global custom. Uh…white girl culture, white girl culture…we spend too much on shoes and brow waxes? I think the only thing that is strictly ours is the Feminist Movement. I don't think anyone in Sub Saharan Africa has that as a part of their cultural identity.
It was made very clear to me that if I walked in with a nose ring it would COMPLETELY hinder my ability to rise up in the company. Former Boss #1 said that no one would take me seriously, as they’d all be staring at my nose stud. Funny, I don’t hear the Indian ladies in the office making that complaint.
Doesn’t that strike you as odd?
Work is evil and should be abolished on days as beautiful as today. The Constitution should be amended to declare “Work shall be abolished on sunny and warm spring workdays”…of course, this would lead to other amendments about who had the right to wear thongs, Hawaiian shirts, and Speedos.
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Have you been to the beach lately? It’s a great way to feel better about yourself…beach people watching. Do you think people actually ever look at themselves in their swimwear? Honestly, folks…if you have fat wrinkles or fat rolls, please put on a shirt or wear a one piece! Dress with dignity!
I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a nose stud for a few years now. My LilSis had one, and I always thought it was cool and surprisingly elegant. Hah! I could be hip! I’d have a little nose stud, dye my hair lavender, wear a black beret and Doc Martens to work! It would be just like….high school. Oh. Yuck.
So I asked my boss what he thought. Then I asked a former boss what he thought. They both said “no way!”. But, says the troublemaking imp that resides within me, how come the ‘minorities’ in the office aren’t penalized for it?
Well, they both say, that’s different. That’s part of their culture, and since we are a company that prides itself on diversity we have to respect their customs.
Oh.
Let me get this right: it’s ok for my fellow coworkers to wear a nose stud (Indian or African American) but it’s not ok for me because I’m a white girl of scotch/English/irish descent? What gives?
I could have a great deal of fun with these rules. I could do all sorts of nifty inappropriate things and say “well, this is how my people do it”. I could…drink booze at work…or eat fish and chips and wander around exclaiming “bloody hell”…or…walk around and mumble in a language that sort of sounds like English but maybe if a whale spoke it? Except David Tennant. He makes Scotland sexy!
White girls have no culture. We’re merely the by blow of centuries of dead white men culture. Largely, we don’t golf or smoke cigars, so that’s out the window. We might get a tattoo or two or four, but that’s a global custom. Uh…white girl culture, white girl culture…we spend too much on shoes and brow waxes? I think the only thing that is strictly ours is the Feminist Movement. I don't think anyone in Sub Saharan Africa has that as a part of their cultural identity.
It was made very clear to me that if I walked in with a nose ring it would COMPLETELY hinder my ability to rise up in the company. Former Boss #1 said that no one would take me seriously, as they’d all be staring at my nose stud. Funny, I don’t hear the Indian ladies in the office making that complaint.
Doesn’t that strike you as odd?
20070424
Bitch and Ho
I’ve had my hair up all day; I took it down and gave myself a Helena Bonham Carter moment. To complete the look, it would require a week long bender in addition to the mad hair. Seriously!
I was talking to someone I work with today about another co worker (whom for the purposes of this discourse, we’ll call Sue). I was telling “Jane” how, in a previous meeting in which Jane and I were both participants, Sue had stormed in, changed the direction of the project, ignored all the work we’d done so far in favor of her own deliverables. She had an issue that was a sub issue of the project that I owned. I was reasonably certain that her questions were betraying her lack of knowledge on the subject. After all, I’d been working on it for six weeks and I wasn’t sure I actually understood it either! I told Jane that my first thought was “why is she being such a bitch?” Jane confessed that she’d had a similar thought; which prompted me to ask her why she thought that our mutual response to a female expressing a dominant position was to describe her as a bitch? In a man, such behavior would be seen as taking leadership. We would all fall happily in line and execute whatever madness was being proposed. Yet when women do it, we look at each other – even women – and go “wow, what a bitch”. Why?
Sue and I had discussions of our own today. Her stance on her portion of the project work is so much different than mine. We are sharing resources, our issues are similar but not quite identical, and so it would be in our best mutual interests to collaborate. But are we? No. We both agreed today that it was nothing personal, but she had an objective, and I had an objective, and they weren’t complementary. In fact, unless cloning is invented, what we are both pushing for is going to be impossible. Her response to me? “I don’t care”. When I pointed out to her that she was responding to the wrong email thread (as in wrong topic) with what was essentially a threat, she said “don’t care”. I nicely asked (really, I’m not being sarcastic here) her to at least try and let me help. After all, I know this backwards and forwards, and the internal resources she is using belong to my department. She essentially said that she didn’t care, and that she was going to set up her own meetings, her own dashboards, her own timelines and if my resources couldn’t come to her meetings because they were tied up doing work on my project, she was immediately going to escalate to our VP.
This is not the way I like to do business.
As an employee, no matter where I’m working, I manage by building peer relationships. I get to know my folks, and the people I work with, and know a bit about their lives. For instance, I can tell you that Jane (who doesn’t work for my company but is a contractor of sorts) has two older Golden Retrievers, has two children, is married and is five years older than I am. Therefore, when I talk to Jane, I know we have common ground (dogs). Additionally, as women in IT we understand that the rules are different. We’re used to being a bit of a minority, so we tend to stick together. Women want to form relationships and manage work through those relationships. Men just want to manage. The thing is, I know the real life details of most of my team members. I try to encourage everyone to reach their goals – whether work goals or private goals. Keeping chatter strictly work based isn’t the way that I’m going to build a team and promote harmony. As a manager of people, I think that if I understand peoples lives, their troubles and their concerns, I will always make accommodations for folks and I will always be understanding. My team is comfortable enough with me to tell me that I look like shit, and to get my ass home and in the bed! That’s what I want! And I want my staff to know that if they have a problem with me, or they want to look for a new internal job, or they just need to vent, I’ve got their back.
I think, in this instance, the better thing to do would have been for all three of us to sit down and map out a plan for delivering pieces of EACH project over time. That way, it doesn’t look like Sue isn’t accomplishing anything (her main concern), and allows me to knock out some critical but not critical path items, and Jane no longer has to develop a cloning device ala that wretched Hugh Jackman magician movie. Instead, Sue leveraged her relationship to the VP (I have one too, but mine is not as tight) to make threats that are ultimately ineffective. As I was communicating the status of my issue, our VP came to me and told me to “make it work” – whatever that meant.
Can you tell I had a great day?
Back to the bitch thing….why did I do that? Why was my immediate reaction to Sue’s action and tone to call her a bitch? Because it was different stance than mine? Because it conflicted with my goals? Because in our ultra competitive environment it is Sue or me? You know, women in IT are a minority still. I’ve been with my employer for five years, and for a long time I was the only woman in IT at my site. For the curious, that’s a ratio of 21 to 1. So I’m used to the power plays, the name calling, the swearing, the yelling and the bad behavior. For those of you that aren’t a drone in Corporate America, real offices are more like a cross between “Office Space” and “The Office” and “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” (or whatever that one with Tina Turner was). My employer especially encourages, solely through their employee ranking strategy, people to be high achievers by whatever method possible. So…people rise to mediocratic greatness by flinging others under the bus. I refuse to play that game – it goes against my nature.
So, dear readers, why did I think of Sue as a bitch? Any other female workers out there have an opinion? Any men have an opinion?
I was talking to someone I work with today about another co worker (whom for the purposes of this discourse, we’ll call Sue). I was telling “Jane” how, in a previous meeting in which Jane and I were both participants, Sue had stormed in, changed the direction of the project, ignored all the work we’d done so far in favor of her own deliverables. She had an issue that was a sub issue of the project that I owned. I was reasonably certain that her questions were betraying her lack of knowledge on the subject. After all, I’d been working on it for six weeks and I wasn’t sure I actually understood it either! I told Jane that my first thought was “why is she being such a bitch?” Jane confessed that she’d had a similar thought; which prompted me to ask her why she thought that our mutual response to a female expressing a dominant position was to describe her as a bitch? In a man, such behavior would be seen as taking leadership. We would all fall happily in line and execute whatever madness was being proposed. Yet when women do it, we look at each other – even women – and go “wow, what a bitch”. Why?
Sue and I had discussions of our own today. Her stance on her portion of the project work is so much different than mine. We are sharing resources, our issues are similar but not quite identical, and so it would be in our best mutual interests to collaborate. But are we? No. We both agreed today that it was nothing personal, but she had an objective, and I had an objective, and they weren’t complementary. In fact, unless cloning is invented, what we are both pushing for is going to be impossible. Her response to me? “I don’t care”. When I pointed out to her that she was responding to the wrong email thread (as in wrong topic) with what was essentially a threat, she said “don’t care”. I nicely asked (really, I’m not being sarcastic here) her to at least try and let me help. After all, I know this backwards and forwards, and the internal resources she is using belong to my department. She essentially said that she didn’t care, and that she was going to set up her own meetings, her own dashboards, her own timelines and if my resources couldn’t come to her meetings because they were tied up doing work on my project, she was immediately going to escalate to our VP.
This is not the way I like to do business.
As an employee, no matter where I’m working, I manage by building peer relationships. I get to know my folks, and the people I work with, and know a bit about their lives. For instance, I can tell you that Jane (who doesn’t work for my company but is a contractor of sorts) has two older Golden Retrievers, has two children, is married and is five years older than I am. Therefore, when I talk to Jane, I know we have common ground (dogs). Additionally, as women in IT we understand that the rules are different. We’re used to being a bit of a minority, so we tend to stick together. Women want to form relationships and manage work through those relationships. Men just want to manage. The thing is, I know the real life details of most of my team members. I try to encourage everyone to reach their goals – whether work goals or private goals. Keeping chatter strictly work based isn’t the way that I’m going to build a team and promote harmony. As a manager of people, I think that if I understand peoples lives, their troubles and their concerns, I will always make accommodations for folks and I will always be understanding. My team is comfortable enough with me to tell me that I look like shit, and to get my ass home and in the bed! That’s what I want! And I want my staff to know that if they have a problem with me, or they want to look for a new internal job, or they just need to vent, I’ve got their back.
I think, in this instance, the better thing to do would have been for all three of us to sit down and map out a plan for delivering pieces of EACH project over time. That way, it doesn’t look like Sue isn’t accomplishing anything (her main concern), and allows me to knock out some critical but not critical path items, and Jane no longer has to develop a cloning device ala that wretched Hugh Jackman magician movie. Instead, Sue leveraged her relationship to the VP (I have one too, but mine is not as tight) to make threats that are ultimately ineffective. As I was communicating the status of my issue, our VP came to me and told me to “make it work” – whatever that meant.
Can you tell I had a great day?
Back to the bitch thing….why did I do that? Why was my immediate reaction to Sue’s action and tone to call her a bitch? Because it was different stance than mine? Because it conflicted with my goals? Because in our ultra competitive environment it is Sue or me? You know, women in IT are a minority still. I’ve been with my employer for five years, and for a long time I was the only woman in IT at my site. For the curious, that’s a ratio of 21 to 1. So I’m used to the power plays, the name calling, the swearing, the yelling and the bad behavior. For those of you that aren’t a drone in Corporate America, real offices are more like a cross between “Office Space” and “The Office” and “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” (or whatever that one with Tina Turner was). My employer especially encourages, solely through their employee ranking strategy, people to be high achievers by whatever method possible. So…people rise to mediocratic greatness by flinging others under the bus. I refuse to play that game – it goes against my nature.
So, dear readers, why did I think of Sue as a bitch? Any other female workers out there have an opinion? Any men have an opinion?
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Poor ole D.H! I’m robbing the title of his most famous book and using it to describe a type of a relationship. So….let’s see….the titular Lady Chatterley and her Gardener crossing social and financial and moral lines to have an illicit affair.
If we apply this to today’s world o’relationships, it would work somewhat like this –
A female Vice President (aka Lady Chatt) decides to date a Roofer (the aforementioned Gardener).
With me so far?
Ok.
So…it’s all fun in the beginning. You have stuff in common, he amuses you, he fixes your roof for free (well, almost), he’s cute and affectionate. You two have a wonderful, wonderful time. It’s just ducky! Maybe you’ve been alone for a while, or maybe you were with someone who wasn’t that into you. At any rate, it feels great.
Six months into the relationship, Lady Chatt is yet again paying all the combined bills, and doing the laundry, and the cooking, and the cleaning, and shopping, and even fixing up the little broken things around the house! Our friend the Roofer is doing little jobs as they pop up, but has no consistent work. Nor does he seem to want to go acquire some…and grow his solo operation into a real business. So while Lady Chatt is off at work, the Roofer is using his copious downtime by sitting around watching Golf. Or Nascar. Or the fishing channel. Lady Chatt is off working on a mega merger, or some large cost reduction process, while the Roofer is sitting at home picking his nose. And yet the Roofer feels that there is nothing wrong with calling Lady Chatt from his reclined position (sofa, here I come!) and asking what she’s cooking for dinner!
Lady Chatt sits herself down, and says “hm. He’s a great guy but…” And she never finishes the sentence. None of us ever finish the sentence. Why don’t we? Why do we feel bad saying “He’s a great guy but he doesn’t make enough money”???? Is there some sort of taboo that says even thinking about money and a relationship in the same thought is not something a woman should never ever mention in her list of reasons something won’t work?
I have to call bullshit on that one. Serious bullshit. Why? I swear this is some creaky old happy fifties family traditional kinda crap that is drilled into us from conception forth. Money is Bad. Never EVER Talk To A Man About Money (or doing the laundry, or the dishes, or cleaning the toilet once in a while). Talking about money is a surefire way to emasculate a man.
Why? We talk to men about our periods, about cramps, about childbirth and labial tears and episiotomies and other really gross stuff with absolute glee. Why are we so afraid of the money talk?
I’m sorry, everyone, if it makes me shallow, but I will never, ever again even consider dating someone who makes less than half of what I make. I can honestly say that I ended up resenting having to carry the men in my relationship because, just as with Lady Chatt above, I was assuming all the gender roles humanly possible. Paying bills, doing laundry, mowing the yard, taking out the trash, doing the shopping, etc., etc. (at this point Yul nods his head and echoes “etcetera etcetera”!!) If it makes me a graspy, greedy harpy, so be it. I felt like I was the one bringing home the bank (at some points the only bank) therefore I should be the one who makes the decisions. No, you can’t spend $2000 on a new computer…we don’t have the money. No, you can’t go join the country club in order to play golf….we don’t have the money. The one advantage to being the money maker is that you have sole discretion in deciding where to spend your money. Your partner wants a new computer, but is unemployed, and you want a new coat or a pair of earrings or teeth whitening? You get to do it. It’s your money and you earned it.
You know…the real beauty of a blog and the even greater wondrousness of the internet is that no one gives a flying rat’s fuck about my writing style or sentence structure. I can literally spew out what I’m thinking, and I don’t get back a redlined paper, or a note that says “your argument isn’t very compelling to me”. I love it! :-)
If we apply this to today’s world o’relationships, it would work somewhat like this –
A female Vice President (aka Lady Chatt) decides to date a Roofer (the aforementioned Gardener).
With me so far?
Ok.
So…it’s all fun in the beginning. You have stuff in common, he amuses you, he fixes your roof for free (well, almost), he’s cute and affectionate. You two have a wonderful, wonderful time. It’s just ducky! Maybe you’ve been alone for a while, or maybe you were with someone who wasn’t that into you. At any rate, it feels great.
Six months into the relationship, Lady Chatt is yet again paying all the combined bills, and doing the laundry, and the cooking, and the cleaning, and shopping, and even fixing up the little broken things around the house! Our friend the Roofer is doing little jobs as they pop up, but has no consistent work. Nor does he seem to want to go acquire some…and grow his solo operation into a real business. So while Lady Chatt is off at work, the Roofer is using his copious downtime by sitting around watching Golf. Or Nascar. Or the fishing channel. Lady Chatt is off working on a mega merger, or some large cost reduction process, while the Roofer is sitting at home picking his nose. And yet the Roofer feels that there is nothing wrong with calling Lady Chatt from his reclined position (sofa, here I come!) and asking what she’s cooking for dinner!
Lady Chatt sits herself down, and says “hm. He’s a great guy but…” And she never finishes the sentence. None of us ever finish the sentence. Why don’t we? Why do we feel bad saying “He’s a great guy but he doesn’t make enough money”???? Is there some sort of taboo that says even thinking about money and a relationship in the same thought is not something a woman should never ever mention in her list of reasons something won’t work?
I have to call bullshit on that one. Serious bullshit. Why? I swear this is some creaky old happy fifties family traditional kinda crap that is drilled into us from conception forth. Money is Bad. Never EVER Talk To A Man About Money (or doing the laundry, or the dishes, or cleaning the toilet once in a while). Talking about money is a surefire way to emasculate a man.
Why? We talk to men about our periods, about cramps, about childbirth and labial tears and episiotomies and other really gross stuff with absolute glee. Why are we so afraid of the money talk?
I’m sorry, everyone, if it makes me shallow, but I will never, ever again even consider dating someone who makes less than half of what I make. I can honestly say that I ended up resenting having to carry the men in my relationship because, just as with Lady Chatt above, I was assuming all the gender roles humanly possible. Paying bills, doing laundry, mowing the yard, taking out the trash, doing the shopping, etc., etc. (at this point Yul nods his head and echoes “etcetera etcetera”!!) If it makes me a graspy, greedy harpy, so be it. I felt like I was the one bringing home the bank (at some points the only bank) therefore I should be the one who makes the decisions. No, you can’t spend $2000 on a new computer…we don’t have the money. No, you can’t go join the country club in order to play golf….we don’t have the money. The one advantage to being the money maker is that you have sole discretion in deciding where to spend your money. Your partner wants a new computer, but is unemployed, and you want a new coat or a pair of earrings or teeth whitening? You get to do it. It’s your money and you earned it.
You know…the real beauty of a blog and the even greater wondrousness of the internet is that no one gives a flying rat’s fuck about my writing style or sentence structure. I can literally spew out what I’m thinking, and I don’t get back a redlined paper, or a note that says “your argument isn’t very compelling to me”. I love it! :-)
20070422
Ain't No Taxation without No Representation
Two weeks ago, a local home was raided in the middle of the night. Cops knocked on the front door of the residence, while "special" cops knocked down the basement door, guns drawn, and ordered the occupants of the room to the floor. The premises was thoroughly searched. Roughly twenty people were arrested and charged with a variety of crimes. Cars were towed from neighboring streets that presumably belonged to the arrestees. Neighbors were questioned. Police reports were prepared and submitted. News articles trumped the news as the top story for at least...two days.
The crime? Hosting a poker tournament in a basement.
You see, gambling is illegal in Georgia. Another holdover tied to our religious blue laws (can't buy alcohol in a store on a Sunday, and the ban against sodomy are two of the more ridiculous examples) rises up to be used at will against otherwise honest citizens.
The official reports and news reports are a bit misleading. The police state that the tournament required a $10,000 buy in and had attracted people from as far away as Pittsburgh. The homeowners claim, through their attorney, that there was no $10K buy in and that the people were all known to them, and had been in attendance at previous non poker parties thrown by the couple. Let's do a bit of math, shall we? The reports stated that there were two dealers, and three bar girls. So, subtract five from twenty....that leaves fifteen. Let's exclude the wife (based on details from the police report, she didn't sound like a player); that leaves fourteen, yes? If you had a 10K buy in, and fourteen players...hm...shouldn't there be something like...$140,000 in cash rolling around?
Uh, the cops only seized about $40K. Methinks our fine boys in blue doth protest too much.
Other miscellaneous charges were: possession, expired tages, possession with intent to distribute (I've always found the distinction between personal consumption and intent to be a very weird line. Can someone explain it to me? Are two joints for personal consumption, while an ounce of grass is for distribution?), operating a business without a license....and so on and so on. Whatever silly charge could be levelled against the homeowners was tacked on.
First, no one in their right mind would conduct a private tournament with that much cash in their home, nor would they advertise on the internet. That would be the equivalent of walking into any slum in any city in the world (Atlanta, Dublin, New Orleans, New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Shanghai, Sydney - take your pick) and shouting at the top of your lungs "I'm a rich, stupid American, come rob me!!" If you were going to have the that kind of bank rolling in your residence, wouldn't you hire some muscle to make sure you weren't robbed? That kinda cash, word gets around.
Secondly, evidently, this tournament had been going on for some time. Now in a normal neighborhood, when we see a lot of recurring car traffic, you'd think: they must have teenage kids, they must be illegal immigrants, and lastly they must be drug dealers. Of course, those only hold true if the cars in question are....Nissan Sentras, any model of old pickup truck, or any vehicle with specialized rims or neon running lights. If I saw a Bentley, three BMW's, a Jag, a Hummer or two....I'd be wondering if tonight was the night I was going to find a sugar daddy!
All kidding aside, the reason that this illegal tournament warranted such a strong police and political reaction is pretty simple: taxes, stupid.
You see, the government doesn't like you to conduct any profit making activity that they can't tax. Poker winnings are unreported income. No harm, no foul...which is great for us normal human beings, but sucks for the blood suckers who sit in the capital each term and ponder ways to make milk from stones.
Secondly, I still hold that what someone does in the privacy of their own home is their own business. Granted, it was dumb to have everyone park in the freaking street (if you are gonna spend that much money, and pay dealers and waitresses, hire a fucking car service and have them park at the local church), thus attracting the notice of neighbors. Nothing pisses me off more than trying to drive through the neighborhood to my house through the rat's nest of cars parked on both sides of the road.
I think the use of force for what basically amounts to tax evasion was really ridiculous. Really. Why can't we gamble? Why don't we turn Underground Atlanta into a large Harrah's, tax the shit outta that, and be done with it? Can we not gamble because gambling is a sin? (of course, if we could gamble, we couldn't gamble on a Sunday now could we?) Because gambling leads to crime (a dubious argument can be made there) and other forms of sin? Like drugs or prostitution or human smuggling?
We can't gamble because our lovely leaders can't figure out a way to tax our winnings, that's why. And because gambling, much like pot, is a gateway event that leads you to commit far worse crimes. You know, gambling leads to murder and gambling also leads to the desire to manufacture illegal drugs in the basement of your home.
Just like anything, if you make it legal, you have the right to tax the ever living shit out of it, and line your own fat wallets with pork funds shunted to your wallet off every special project you manage to shove through the Legislature.
So: legalize gambling and for crying out loud allow Sunday sales of alcohol!
The crime? Hosting a poker tournament in a basement.
You see, gambling is illegal in Georgia. Another holdover tied to our religious blue laws (can't buy alcohol in a store on a Sunday, and the ban against sodomy are two of the more ridiculous examples) rises up to be used at will against otherwise honest citizens.
The official reports and news reports are a bit misleading. The police state that the tournament required a $10,000 buy in and had attracted people from as far away as Pittsburgh. The homeowners claim, through their attorney, that there was no $10K buy in and that the people were all known to them, and had been in attendance at previous non poker parties thrown by the couple. Let's do a bit of math, shall we? The reports stated that there were two dealers, and three bar girls. So, subtract five from twenty....that leaves fifteen. Let's exclude the wife (based on details from the police report, she didn't sound like a player); that leaves fourteen, yes? If you had a 10K buy in, and fourteen players...hm...shouldn't there be something like...$140,000 in cash rolling around?
Uh, the cops only seized about $40K. Methinks our fine boys in blue doth protest too much.
Other miscellaneous charges were: possession, expired tages, possession with intent to distribute (I've always found the distinction between personal consumption and intent to be a very weird line. Can someone explain it to me? Are two joints for personal consumption, while an ounce of grass is for distribution?), operating a business without a license....and so on and so on. Whatever silly charge could be levelled against the homeowners was tacked on.
First, no one in their right mind would conduct a private tournament with that much cash in their home, nor would they advertise on the internet. That would be the equivalent of walking into any slum in any city in the world (Atlanta, Dublin, New Orleans, New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Shanghai, Sydney - take your pick) and shouting at the top of your lungs "I'm a rich, stupid American, come rob me!!" If you were going to have the that kind of bank rolling in your residence, wouldn't you hire some muscle to make sure you weren't robbed? That kinda cash, word gets around.
Secondly, evidently, this tournament had been going on for some time. Now in a normal neighborhood, when we see a lot of recurring car traffic, you'd think: they must have teenage kids, they must be illegal immigrants, and lastly they must be drug dealers. Of course, those only hold true if the cars in question are....Nissan Sentras, any model of old pickup truck, or any vehicle with specialized rims or neon running lights. If I saw a Bentley, three BMW's, a Jag, a Hummer or two....I'd be wondering if tonight was the night I was going to find a sugar daddy!
All kidding aside, the reason that this illegal tournament warranted such a strong police and political reaction is pretty simple: taxes, stupid.
You see, the government doesn't like you to conduct any profit making activity that they can't tax. Poker winnings are unreported income. No harm, no foul...which is great for us normal human beings, but sucks for the blood suckers who sit in the capital each term and ponder ways to make milk from stones.
Secondly, I still hold that what someone does in the privacy of their own home is their own business. Granted, it was dumb to have everyone park in the freaking street (if you are gonna spend that much money, and pay dealers and waitresses, hire a fucking car service and have them park at the local church), thus attracting the notice of neighbors. Nothing pisses me off more than trying to drive through the neighborhood to my house through the rat's nest of cars parked on both sides of the road.
I think the use of force for what basically amounts to tax evasion was really ridiculous. Really. Why can't we gamble? Why don't we turn Underground Atlanta into a large Harrah's, tax the shit outta that, and be done with it? Can we not gamble because gambling is a sin? (of course, if we could gamble, we couldn't gamble on a Sunday now could we?) Because gambling leads to crime (a dubious argument can be made there) and other forms of sin? Like drugs or prostitution or human smuggling?
We can't gamble because our lovely leaders can't figure out a way to tax our winnings, that's why. And because gambling, much like pot, is a gateway event that leads you to commit far worse crimes. You know, gambling leads to murder and gambling also leads to the desire to manufacture illegal drugs in the basement of your home.
Just like anything, if you make it legal, you have the right to tax the ever living shit out of it, and line your own fat wallets with pork funds shunted to your wallet off every special project you manage to shove through the Legislature.
So: legalize gambling and for crying out loud allow Sunday sales of alcohol!
Fergilicious!
My friend Fergilicious is having relationship trauma lately. She's an on again, off again relationship with a man we'll call SA (short for Stuffy Asshole). They have great physical chemistry, and a fair bit in common, but it sounds to me like SA wants just to use her as a receptacle.
Anyway, he doesn't want to date her, or have her as a girlfriend...he just wants her as a fuck buddy. Simultaneously he's telling her that she is the only one he can be his true self with.
I'm sorry, darling, but that sounds like the biggest line I've ever heard. He feeds you just enough affection/compliments to keep you around, while all the time running the other half of his game on some other woman. You can certainly very firmly put him in the friend category - that means no touching, no flirting, no hugs and above all NO SEX! I'm guessing that once he realizes he no longer has you on tap, he will either walk off or wise up.
Don't cry over him, either. It's a wasted effort...and it sucks to sit at home alone and cry over some idiot who either doesn't get it or doesn't care. You are SO much better than that; stop wasting your time on something that will never go anywhere. You only have one life; why waste it?
Love ya! :-)
Anyway, he doesn't want to date her, or have her as a girlfriend...he just wants her as a fuck buddy. Simultaneously he's telling her that she is the only one he can be his true self with.
I'm sorry, darling, but that sounds like the biggest line I've ever heard. He feeds you just enough affection/compliments to keep you around, while all the time running the other half of his game on some other woman. You can certainly very firmly put him in the friend category - that means no touching, no flirting, no hugs and above all NO SEX! I'm guessing that once he realizes he no longer has you on tap, he will either walk off or wise up.
Don't cry over him, either. It's a wasted effort...and it sucks to sit at home alone and cry over some idiot who either doesn't get it or doesn't care. You are SO much better than that; stop wasting your time on something that will never go anywhere. You only have one life; why waste it?
Love ya! :-)
It's absolutely ridiculous that I have spent almost the entire weekend in bed. I have indeed gotten out of bed, and puttered around for a few hours, only to fall exhausted onto some horizontal surface and gently drift back to sleep.
From this I can conclude a) I'm really really exhausted b) I am stressed c) it's the drugs. I think it's a combination of all three, to be honest.
Today, for example, I slept until ten this morning (from ten last night, with two trips outside for the dogs). I got up for half an hour, was really groggy (the kind of groggy you have after a three day bender) and went back to bed. Where I slept until one thirty. It's a mark of my general ditziness that I made myself a plate of nachos and put them into the non functioning microwave, and pressed buttons, and walked off before remembering that the damn thing was broken. Grrrr. At four, after vaccuuming the house (at least I got something done, even if I've no clean knickers to wear), I was very sleepy and so sat on the couch to read a bit, only to wake up an hour later. Now I'm completely fagged again - and it's only six thirty eight.
So I surrender. I've eaten a big bowl of cereal (nothing sounds good, actually, so this was the best I could do) and am in my jammies and asleep-ish. With the obligatory vampire porn - I'm not sure why I'm reading this, as there is no part below my neck that seems to be awake. What the HELL is wrong with me? I hadn't taken any of the pills since five am this morning, when the throb in my neck woke me up. A throb in your neck that matches your hearbeat is a very loud thing to hear at five.
I've worn myself out, it seems, with late nights, stress at work, stress at home, ex boyfriend stress, etc., etc. I'm very glad I took Wednesday and Thursday off work, and worked from the couch on Friday. I'm not sure what would have happened had I continued to push myself. I shudder to find out.
From this I can conclude a) I'm really really exhausted b) I am stressed c) it's the drugs. I think it's a combination of all three, to be honest.
Today, for example, I slept until ten this morning (from ten last night, with two trips outside for the dogs). I got up for half an hour, was really groggy (the kind of groggy you have after a three day bender) and went back to bed. Where I slept until one thirty. It's a mark of my general ditziness that I made myself a plate of nachos and put them into the non functioning microwave, and pressed buttons, and walked off before remembering that the damn thing was broken. Grrrr. At four, after vaccuuming the house (at least I got something done, even if I've no clean knickers to wear), I was very sleepy and so sat on the couch to read a bit, only to wake up an hour later. Now I'm completely fagged again - and it's only six thirty eight.
So I surrender. I've eaten a big bowl of cereal (nothing sounds good, actually, so this was the best I could do) and am in my jammies and asleep-ish. With the obligatory vampire porn - I'm not sure why I'm reading this, as there is no part below my neck that seems to be awake. What the HELL is wrong with me? I hadn't taken any of the pills since five am this morning, when the throb in my neck woke me up. A throb in your neck that matches your hearbeat is a very loud thing to hear at five.
I've worn myself out, it seems, with late nights, stress at work, stress at home, ex boyfriend stress, etc., etc. I'm very glad I took Wednesday and Thursday off work, and worked from the couch on Friday. I'm not sure what would have happened had I continued to push myself. I shudder to find out.
20070420
Now I understand why they media refers to Oxy as "redneck crack". I still hurt, but I don't care. Really, I don't.
Nor have I made mush sense today. Mush sense!!! LOL! I took one about an hour before a conference call and felt like I had woken up blond again. Seriously!
Some friends of mine who have been married for ten years have decided to split up. I wonder - they had been trying for kids for two years with no luck - and I wonder if trying for a baby wasn't the "let's get a puppy to cement us together" kind of thing?
The Ren Faire is coming up soon and the family will be down for our annual charming dorkfest...uh, I mean...visit. We're those nutty people who dress up in costume, and dad is one of those nutty dudes who heckles. It's still great craic.
Nor have I made mush sense today. Mush sense!!! LOL! I took one about an hour before a conference call and felt like I had woken up blond again. Seriously!
Some friends of mine who have been married for ten years have decided to split up. I wonder - they had been trying for kids for two years with no luck - and I wonder if trying for a baby wasn't the "let's get a puppy to cement us together" kind of thing?
The Ren Faire is coming up soon and the family will be down for our annual charming dorkfest...uh, I mean...visit. We're those nutty people who dress up in costume, and dad is one of those nutty dudes who heckles. It's still great craic.
Sports Related Injuries
I wish I could say this WAS a sports related injury, but it's not.
You don't realize how much you actually move around during the day or in your sleep until you pull a neck muscle. Sneezing becomes an act of martyrdom. Coughing? better not. Turning your head as you change lanes in traffic? Eh, just hit whomever is in that lane.
However, I now understand why people become addicted to oxy. That's pretty potent stuff!
You don't realize how much you actually move around during the day or in your sleep until you pull a neck muscle. Sneezing becomes an act of martyrdom. Coughing? better not. Turning your head as you change lanes in traffic? Eh, just hit whomever is in that lane.
However, I now understand why people become addicted to oxy. That's pretty potent stuff!
Selfish Pig?
Ah, the irony! Alec Baldwin's daughter Ireland, or the man himself? Who yells such a self centered rant at an eleven year old?
Seriously, dude has issues.
Seriously, dude has issues.
20070417
Well, on that note....
There is one macabre positive to the whole VaTech thing: at least the gunman shot himself, thus sparing everyone another televised special on Court TV and the yammering of Greta and every other legal pundit in the world. And a trial - although that would have been closure for the remaining victims.
There is one macabre positive to the whole VaTech thing: at least the gunman shot himself, thus sparing everyone another televised special on Court TV and the yammering of Greta and every other legal pundit in the world. And a trial - although that would have been closure for the remaining victims.
Nappy Headed Ho
I find the flack over those three words to be hysterical. What makes that racist? The abbreviation of whore to ho? Describing someone as nappy headed (which to my mind just means they have kinky hair that easily knots)? What is it about these three words that caused such a media ruckus?
Please note that the cynic in me has noted that it was an extremely slow and tedious newsweek last week. Now that we all know the paternity of Anna Nicole's baby, they had to find something to lead the news show.
And while I'm here.
Anna Nicole Smith. Texas stripper turned Playboy model turned golddigger turned drug addict. A number of people have pointed out to certain superficial similarities between Ms. Smith and Marilyn Monroe...and to you I say Pish Posh! Why was her death news? What makes her different than all the other stripper/playboy bunny/golddigger/drug addict women out there? (I mean, I have to think that there are quite a few of them lurking around)
And how embarassing would it be for you and your family to have....oh, roughly seven men step forward and claim to have fathered your child? What was she thinking? That implies that in a rough....three week timeframe she had "relations" with each of these men....
Pity her child. I hope whomever eventually has custody of her takes her somewhere nice and isolated (like...the Galapagos Islands or maybe even Canada) where her mother's infamy will mean nothing. How ever else will this child have anything that passes for a normal childhood? What pieces of her mother will be left for her when all is said and done?
Again, what makes either of these stories news???? The more lurid, sexual, racist, violent or downright disgusting something is, the more it sells. Human nature hasn't changed much in 2000 years, has it?
Please note that the cynic in me has noted that it was an extremely slow and tedious newsweek last week. Now that we all know the paternity of Anna Nicole's baby, they had to find something to lead the news show.
And while I'm here.
Anna Nicole Smith. Texas stripper turned Playboy model turned golddigger turned drug addict. A number of people have pointed out to certain superficial similarities between Ms. Smith and Marilyn Monroe...and to you I say Pish Posh! Why was her death news? What makes her different than all the other stripper/playboy bunny/golddigger/drug addict women out there? (I mean, I have to think that there are quite a few of them lurking around)
And how embarassing would it be for you and your family to have....oh, roughly seven men step forward and claim to have fathered your child? What was she thinking? That implies that in a rough....three week timeframe she had "relations" with each of these men....
Pity her child. I hope whomever eventually has custody of her takes her somewhere nice and isolated (like...the Galapagos Islands or maybe even Canada) where her mother's infamy will mean nothing. How ever else will this child have anything that passes for a normal childhood? What pieces of her mother will be left for her when all is said and done?
Again, what makes either of these stories news???? The more lurid, sexual, racist, violent or downright disgusting something is, the more it sells. Human nature hasn't changed much in 2000 years, has it?
20070416
Thoughts, Inspired
I was reading while eating my dinner, as I generally do, when I came across two non strictly related articles that made me think. I thought so hard, I nearly choked on my spaghetti!
If Betty Freidan’s "The Feminine Mystique” urged women to get out of their unfulfilled lives as wives and mothers and join the workforce to be able to have a sense of self that wasn’t completely governed by one’s reproductive status, and Simone de Beauvoir’s “The Second Sex” makes a compelling argument for women’s historical insignificance (again, except as a brood mare), and we now live in an era where a woman can actually do anything she wants…why do we criticize, as a culture, women who opt to stay home with their children?
I’m guilty of this as well. I see the little Alpharetta Asses out in their designer tennis wear, with their peroxided hair and perfectly waxed brows, “lunching” with their other lady friends, and complaining about their husband’s jobs, or their children’s problems in their private day care/schools. I see these women, and I think “my god, what did generations upon generations of women strive for? So you could make a conscious decision to sit on your ass and let someone else support you, sticking your kids in daycare so you can run off and perfect your backswing?”
What you hear at lunch is interesting. Last year, I was lunching myself with a coworker and we were blatantly eavesdropping. It couldn’t have been any clearer that we were eavesdropping had we both just put big cones in our ears, put down our lunches, and leaned backwards until our heads were touching their table. Anyway, two of the three ladies were there to provide moral support to the third lady, who was in the midst of a nasty divorce. It seems that this woman, we’ll call her Suzy, was being left by her husband for a younger model. Suzy had, apparently, not worked a day in her married adult life. She had dedicated herself (so I heard, anyway) to making a good home for her husband and raising her two kids (see earlier paragraph about wife and mother). Since Mr. Hubby was leaving her for a younger model, she was being incredibly vindictive towards him, and was reading her lunch mates what looked to be a small novel that she was sending to his lawyer listing his multitudinous sins. Basically, she wanted the house, and the kids, and she wanted him to pay for it all, and give her alimony (so she didn’t have to work, I presume).
So to recap: Suzy lives off her husband’s earnings, and other than provide a nice relaxing home environment (does it come with a cocktail and a valium, I wonder?) and two lovely children, what does she have? Nothing. What is she entitled to? Well, the law says one thing, but I say another. Suzy herself is entitled to jack shit. Her children are entitled to support, and if the husband is nice he will give her the house free and clear. However, he should not have to pay for her lazy ass to sit around getting a twice weekly mani pedi.
So….Fuck Suzy. Suzy got what she deserved. I’m sorry, maybe this means I’m going to be the angry old woman with dogs, but….marriage is a promise, and a contract…and both of those things can be and are broken with great regularity. Suzy should have had a back up plan!
That’s really what I want to say to the A A’s I see every week – sure, this is great for you now, but what if your source of income dries up? What will you do then? What skills do you have that would enable you to get a job? How prepared are you to sacrifice your current lifestyle?
Other generations protested, and sacrificed and challenged the status quo so you could have choice – yes, I agree. Is the choice to live in gilded ignorance, and never have an exit strategy? Some may call that hope, but I call it willful blindness. The statistics should demonstrate to my fellow ovarians that the marriage contract can be broken, and isn’t necessarily going to be the cornerstone of the rest of your life.
Think smart, ladies. Staying home to raise your children is wonderful. I’m not knocking it. If I could (and had children) I would. But I would damn sure have a plan to have something of my own (thanks to Virginia Woolf) in the instance my partner left the relationship. I have to be able to survive on my own; it’s just part of my nature.
And conversely, speaking to the traditional male role as breadwinner, that’s a hell of a lot of pressure to put on anyone, isn’t it? Not only do you hustle to make a buck, you also have all these other responsibilities to take care of – car, house, wife, kids, parents, retirement funds (hah), yardwork….it sucks, doesn’t it? And you do that because it’s expected of you, not necessarily because you want to. You are, after all, the man. It’s your job, isn’t it?
Why can’t we both break out of our gender roles and live as equals? Why is that so hard? Why do women so easily allow themselves to be absorbed into a relationship, or into a man’s life, and retain nothing for themselves?
The thing is, we ARE all equal. We are all made up of the same atoms, the same chemicals, the same bits and parts that comprise a whole being. Why do some folk persist in thinking (think cross culturally here, folks) that one sex is superior to the other? Why do we struggle so in relationships? Because we perceive or because we are taught that there are real differences in abilities between the sexes? Like….men mow the grass because women are too weak to push the mower (or start the damn thing, in my case) or….men can’t do laundry because they always screw it up and shrink everything by washing all things in hot? Where did that come from? Why do we think that way? Why can’t we just enjoy an equal partnership?
Ok. I’m stopping. Maddy is fascinated with the letters appearing on the screen, and keeps trying to lick the monitor. That’s generally my cue to stop.
TTFN
If Betty Freidan’s "The Feminine Mystique” urged women to get out of their unfulfilled lives as wives and mothers and join the workforce to be able to have a sense of self that wasn’t completely governed by one’s reproductive status, and Simone de Beauvoir’s “The Second Sex” makes a compelling argument for women’s historical insignificance (again, except as a brood mare), and we now live in an era where a woman can actually do anything she wants…why do we criticize, as a culture, women who opt to stay home with their children?
I’m guilty of this as well. I see the little Alpharetta Asses out in their designer tennis wear, with their peroxided hair and perfectly waxed brows, “lunching” with their other lady friends, and complaining about their husband’s jobs, or their children’s problems in their private day care/schools. I see these women, and I think “my god, what did generations upon generations of women strive for? So you could make a conscious decision to sit on your ass and let someone else support you, sticking your kids in daycare so you can run off and perfect your backswing?”
What you hear at lunch is interesting. Last year, I was lunching myself with a coworker and we were blatantly eavesdropping. It couldn’t have been any clearer that we were eavesdropping had we both just put big cones in our ears, put down our lunches, and leaned backwards until our heads were touching their table. Anyway, two of the three ladies were there to provide moral support to the third lady, who was in the midst of a nasty divorce. It seems that this woman, we’ll call her Suzy, was being left by her husband for a younger model. Suzy had, apparently, not worked a day in her married adult life. She had dedicated herself (so I heard, anyway) to making a good home for her husband and raising her two kids (see earlier paragraph about wife and mother). Since Mr. Hubby was leaving her for a younger model, she was being incredibly vindictive towards him, and was reading her lunch mates what looked to be a small novel that she was sending to his lawyer listing his multitudinous sins. Basically, she wanted the house, and the kids, and she wanted him to pay for it all, and give her alimony (so she didn’t have to work, I presume).
So to recap: Suzy lives off her husband’s earnings, and other than provide a nice relaxing home environment (does it come with a cocktail and a valium, I wonder?) and two lovely children, what does she have? Nothing. What is she entitled to? Well, the law says one thing, but I say another. Suzy herself is entitled to jack shit. Her children are entitled to support, and if the husband is nice he will give her the house free and clear. However, he should not have to pay for her lazy ass to sit around getting a twice weekly mani pedi.
So….Fuck Suzy. Suzy got what she deserved. I’m sorry, maybe this means I’m going to be the angry old woman with dogs, but….marriage is a promise, and a contract…and both of those things can be and are broken with great regularity. Suzy should have had a back up plan!
That’s really what I want to say to the A A’s I see every week – sure, this is great for you now, but what if your source of income dries up? What will you do then? What skills do you have that would enable you to get a job? How prepared are you to sacrifice your current lifestyle?
Other generations protested, and sacrificed and challenged the status quo so you could have choice – yes, I agree. Is the choice to live in gilded ignorance, and never have an exit strategy? Some may call that hope, but I call it willful blindness. The statistics should demonstrate to my fellow ovarians that the marriage contract can be broken, and isn’t necessarily going to be the cornerstone of the rest of your life.
Think smart, ladies. Staying home to raise your children is wonderful. I’m not knocking it. If I could (and had children) I would. But I would damn sure have a plan to have something of my own (thanks to Virginia Woolf) in the instance my partner left the relationship. I have to be able to survive on my own; it’s just part of my nature.
And conversely, speaking to the traditional male role as breadwinner, that’s a hell of a lot of pressure to put on anyone, isn’t it? Not only do you hustle to make a buck, you also have all these other responsibilities to take care of – car, house, wife, kids, parents, retirement funds (hah), yardwork….it sucks, doesn’t it? And you do that because it’s expected of you, not necessarily because you want to. You are, after all, the man. It’s your job, isn’t it?
Why can’t we both break out of our gender roles and live as equals? Why is that so hard? Why do women so easily allow themselves to be absorbed into a relationship, or into a man’s life, and retain nothing for themselves?
The thing is, we ARE all equal. We are all made up of the same atoms, the same chemicals, the same bits and parts that comprise a whole being. Why do some folk persist in thinking (think cross culturally here, folks) that one sex is superior to the other? Why do we struggle so in relationships? Because we perceive or because we are taught that there are real differences in abilities between the sexes? Like….men mow the grass because women are too weak to push the mower (or start the damn thing, in my case) or….men can’t do laundry because they always screw it up and shrink everything by washing all things in hot? Where did that come from? Why do we think that way? Why can’t we just enjoy an equal partnership?
Ok. I’m stopping. Maddy is fascinated with the letters appearing on the screen, and keeps trying to lick the monitor. That’s generally my cue to stop.
TTFN
I have a number of...well, now acquaintances who went to Virginia Tech. I've been to a handful of their football games, and a couple of parties, and they are by and large cool dudes. Isn't Atlanta's "star" quarterback from VaTech too?
What on earth happened there early this morning? A masked gunman storms two specific buildings on the campus and shoots 50 people, killing 31? Um, that’s a lot of ammunition. Officials state that he only had a 9 mm and a 22. Students are asking the right question: why was there a two hour time period between the first set of gunfire and the second? Was it really only one guy? Why wasn’t he found faster? Did he kill himself or did the cops take care of that?
Simply, though….there are 50 people whose lives will never be the same. 31 whose lives will be no more. Families and friends who will grieve and mourn their unexpected and certainly never anticipated losses. The path not taken now taken as a matter of course rather than as a free decision.
What was going on in that man’s head? What makes you take a life? What makes you take 31? How do you justify that to yourself?
There are of course precedents for this in our history: Charles Whitman (the bell tower killings) being a perfect example. He was justifiably bonkers. He was a moral, psychotic man who one day just snapped.
What about this kid? Was this just another disaffected student struggling with his identity? Was this a bad breakup gone horridly awry? Was it a terrorist attack, as some pundits have suggested (really, who wants to attack VaTech? I can think of several more prominent and meaningful targets)? How did this fellow get to the absolute rock bottom…that the only way for justice was sighting and squeezing? What goes through your mind?
We’ll never know; I think even if we found a way to know, it wouldn’t satisfy any need we have for knowledge, answers, or justice. Does it matter to the dead why he did it? No, it doesn’t. It matters to the people who remain, and those are answers we’ll never have.
What on earth happened there early this morning? A masked gunman storms two specific buildings on the campus and shoots 50 people, killing 31? Um, that’s a lot of ammunition. Officials state that he only had a 9 mm and a 22. Students are asking the right question: why was there a two hour time period between the first set of gunfire and the second? Was it really only one guy? Why wasn’t he found faster? Did he kill himself or did the cops take care of that?
Simply, though….there are 50 people whose lives will never be the same. 31 whose lives will be no more. Families and friends who will grieve and mourn their unexpected and certainly never anticipated losses. The path not taken now taken as a matter of course rather than as a free decision.
What was going on in that man’s head? What makes you take a life? What makes you take 31? How do you justify that to yourself?
There are of course precedents for this in our history: Charles Whitman (the bell tower killings) being a perfect example. He was justifiably bonkers. He was a moral, psychotic man who one day just snapped.
What about this kid? Was this just another disaffected student struggling with his identity? Was this a bad breakup gone horridly awry? Was it a terrorist attack, as some pundits have suggested (really, who wants to attack VaTech? I can think of several more prominent and meaningful targets)? How did this fellow get to the absolute rock bottom…that the only way for justice was sighting and squeezing? What goes through your mind?
We’ll never know; I think even if we found a way to know, it wouldn’t satisfy any need we have for knowledge, answers, or justice. Does it matter to the dead why he did it? No, it doesn’t. It matters to the people who remain, and those are answers we’ll never have.
I am forever ignoring my instincts, ya know, those things we developed to say "shit! a dinosaur is about to chomp down on my hairy tree climbing ass". An innate talent that allows us to get the heck outta dodge prior to things becoming really bonkers or bad or whatever.
I've learned that there are times to trust my instincts....like, if I'm holding pocket Queens and the flop is...oh....3, 4, 5 and someone calls all in. I've noticed that if I go....it means someone else has the six and seven, or pocket aces and is buying the pot....and I always lose my chips. I've learned to listen to that voice.
Why don't I listen to that voice when it comes to my personal life? The little voice that says "hey, don't say THAT to your mother!" or "dude, you'd better not run this light"? Instead I merrily trundle along doing things that I know I shouldn't do, but do anyway.
So my question is: when do you learn to trust your gut? Ever? Never? Born or learned?
I've learned that there are times to trust my instincts....like, if I'm holding pocket Queens and the flop is...oh....3, 4, 5 and someone calls all in. I've noticed that if I go....it means someone else has the six and seven, or pocket aces and is buying the pot....and I always lose my chips. I've learned to listen to that voice.
Why don't I listen to that voice when it comes to my personal life? The little voice that says "hey, don't say THAT to your mother!" or "dude, you'd better not run this light"? Instead I merrily trundle along doing things that I know I shouldn't do, but do anyway.
So my question is: when do you learn to trust your gut? Ever? Never? Born or learned?
Body Wise, Pound Foolish
I'm having one of those moments (ok, weekends) where I feel just really uncomfortable with myself. Normally, my parts and bits and I have an agreement - they don't bother me, and I don't bother them. Lately, though, they've been screaming at me that I'm starting to resemble Bridget Jones after a bad breakup, and that I need to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
So I was considering this earlier today whilst sitting in traffic (naturally, sitting in a crunched up position in a car seat is a perfect place to fully realize your personal fat displacement), this thing called fat. I'm in danger of being where I was ten years ago, and I am SO not letting that happen.
So...back to the gym (daily), less Coca-Cola's (be prepared for their stock to go down), no more cream sauces or ice cream or dessert for that matter (that one is easy, actually). I will stop eating a ton of cheese every day. I will, I promise. I am going to go back to my rule of no fast food. Period. End of Story.
And as much as it pains me...I must stop eating potatoes. I must learn to eat salad. And I think I will not drink anymore. Hah!
So I was considering this earlier today whilst sitting in traffic (naturally, sitting in a crunched up position in a car seat is a perfect place to fully realize your personal fat displacement), this thing called fat. I'm in danger of being where I was ten years ago, and I am SO not letting that happen.
So...back to the gym (daily), less Coca-Cola's (be prepared for their stock to go down), no more cream sauces or ice cream or dessert for that matter (that one is easy, actually). I will stop eating a ton of cheese every day. I will, I promise. I am going to go back to my rule of no fast food. Period. End of Story.
And as much as it pains me...I must stop eating potatoes. I must learn to eat salad. And I think I will not drink anymore. Hah!
Guilt
Come on now, you've all felt it. How many times have you done something that felt right at the moment only to feel wretchedly wrong in hindsight? Yeah, I thought so.
So guilt...nature's way of keeping morality in check. Catholics and the few Jewish people I know are really into guilt. Parents are really into guilt. Disappointed romantic partners - that's the quickest way to make someone feel like dirt. You feel guilt when you do something that you know is wrong. Stealing - clear example, and you should feel guilt. A more common example - a white lie to evade a social occaision - eh, I'm on the fence here. If we were all 100% brutally honest all the time, no one would have friends, lovers or partners. Not that I'm advocating lying, but sometimes a partial truth or an obscure truth is helpful. When you feel guilty, you should stop doing whatever makes you feel guilty. Right? That's what it's for? I'm awash in guilt lately. It's a terrible sensation, and quite draining.
Anyway, another Monday, another $5. I'm here - and that's all I can say. Suffering from a shortage of alone time...real alone time. Also suffering from a dirty house and yardwork that won't ever get completed (at least until it's sunny and warm).
So guilt...nature's way of keeping morality in check. Catholics and the few Jewish people I know are really into guilt. Parents are really into guilt. Disappointed romantic partners - that's the quickest way to make someone feel like dirt. You feel guilt when you do something that you know is wrong. Stealing - clear example, and you should feel guilt. A more common example - a white lie to evade a social occaision - eh, I'm on the fence here. If we were all 100% brutally honest all the time, no one would have friends, lovers or partners. Not that I'm advocating lying, but sometimes a partial truth or an obscure truth is helpful. When you feel guilty, you should stop doing whatever makes you feel guilty. Right? That's what it's for? I'm awash in guilt lately. It's a terrible sensation, and quite draining.
Anyway, another Monday, another $5. I'm here - and that's all I can say. Suffering from a shortage of alone time...real alone time. Also suffering from a dirty house and yardwork that won't ever get completed (at least until it's sunny and warm).
20070410
Mary Bysshe Shelley
As in, I'm going all MBS on you....
So, designer bodies. Who doesn't want one? Was idly wondering the other day if I could take the body parts of my friends (the parts I like, of course) and put them on myself...what parts of who would I take?
Somehow, from that random thought I went into...those ugly duckling makeover shows with all the plastic sugery. Ok, so mommy or daddy is an outright troll prior to whatever it is they do. And the VIOLA!!!! you have a hot and beautiful new mommy. What will the kids think? Do they grow up knowing that they will look like their parents, one of whom thought she was so ugly she went on an international tv show for a free if grueling makeover?
What kind of freaking lesson does that teach?
So, designer bodies. Who doesn't want one? Was idly wondering the other day if I could take the body parts of my friends (the parts I like, of course) and put them on myself...what parts of who would I take?
Somehow, from that random thought I went into...those ugly duckling makeover shows with all the plastic sugery. Ok, so mommy or daddy is an outright troll prior to whatever it is they do. And the VIOLA!!!! you have a hot and beautiful new mommy. What will the kids think? Do they grow up knowing that they will look like their parents, one of whom thought she was so ugly she went on an international tv show for a free if grueling makeover?
What kind of freaking lesson does that teach?
The Great Pretender
Is what I feel like today, honestly. Like I'm projecting an image onto my face that says "hey, I'm alright, I'm competent, I'm happy" when in reality my insides feel like a muddled grey pit.
I think this all started last night when I became accountably maudlin and filled with regret for past mistakes. I really should learn not to dwell in the past, eh? But this led to dreams, a trifecta in fact, of death and dying and all sorts of unrestrained violence. I startled myself into wakefullness on several occaisions before finally giving in and getting up. Sometimes the brain will not be silent.
And sometimes it's not the brain. Sometimes it's the emotional well that's running dry and needs a top up. That's where I am.
I think this all started last night when I became accountably maudlin and filled with regret for past mistakes. I really should learn not to dwell in the past, eh? But this led to dreams, a trifecta in fact, of death and dying and all sorts of unrestrained violence. I startled myself into wakefullness on several occaisions before finally giving in and getting up. Sometimes the brain will not be silent.
And sometimes it's not the brain. Sometimes it's the emotional well that's running dry and needs a top up. That's where I am.
20070409
Martyr Phase
Another chapter in the book of my life is coming to an end.
The Martyr Phase is the phase in your life (well, in mine) where you literally let everyone walk all over you. You may rationalize this to yourself by saying – “oh, I’m just being nice” or “I can’t do that! Good girls don’t act like that”.
To which I now say: Fuck That.
Seriously.
I was speaking to Mid Sis about this very thing last week. She has this same behavioral trait and we cannot figure out where we got it from. Our parents didn’t teach us that (they were of the “take no prisoners and do what is best for you” variety of parents). And we really don’t exhibit this sterling quality with anyone except the male of our species. Why? Is it insecurity? Do we really think we cannot do better and so have to put up with whatever crap is dished our way? Do we truly hold ourselves at such a low value?
It actually feels good to burn bridges. Send them sky high with large doses of flammable material, shooting up into the heavens. You should try it sometime. Quite lovely, actually.
The Martyr Phase is the phase in your life (well, in mine) where you literally let everyone walk all over you. You may rationalize this to yourself by saying – “oh, I’m just being nice” or “I can’t do that! Good girls don’t act like that”.
To which I now say: Fuck That.
Seriously.
I was speaking to Mid Sis about this very thing last week. She has this same behavioral trait and we cannot figure out where we got it from. Our parents didn’t teach us that (they were of the “take no prisoners and do what is best for you” variety of parents). And we really don’t exhibit this sterling quality with anyone except the male of our species. Why? Is it insecurity? Do we really think we cannot do better and so have to put up with whatever crap is dished our way? Do we truly hold ourselves at such a low value?
It actually feels good to burn bridges. Send them sky high with large doses of flammable material, shooting up into the heavens. You should try it sometime. Quite lovely, actually.
The Bitch Is Back
Ah, good ole Elton John. One has to wonder exactly whom he was referring to; himself, perhaps?
I digress as usual; my little hiatus hasn't done one thing to improve my thinking/writing ability. Still very....Joycian. Yeah, that's it. Did I just make up a word? I think I must've.
The silly intro means that yours truly....Eliza Dolittle, Queen of Ghosts, Circe, Hecate or whichever of my old blog names I want to use is back in the blogging business. I did toy with the idea of just starting a whole new blog and only telling a few select readers, but...wtf? The joy of the internet is the random flaming, being Googled, and having very interesting conversations with people. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the abuse!
I'm in an exceptionally fine mood today, listing to Michael Buble's "It's Time" cd. Which is awesome. Really. But only if you like the old standards.
Days like today I really do feel like anything is possible - that I can be anyone I want, I can do anything I want, and nothing in the world has the power to stop me! I am woman, hear me roar! Really, am quite delighted with the world today.
Things that have happened during my hiatus:
1. Ditched the married last name. The price of being "nice" to one's ex husband during the divorce proceedings and offering him an emotional panacea - $500. And an irritating morning driving around downtown and sprinting past the panhandlers and other fine specimens of humanity that lurk outside the Fulton County Courthouse.
2. Ah, remember the promotion I was yakking about? I have been so busy (i.e. not paying attention) since November that I never actually looked at my information in the system. So when I took the paperwork for the name change to the nice HR lady, she said "hey, this shows you are still married, you'd better go and look at that". So....shit! It had my old salary. So I'm owed back pay, and the difference in my annual bonus, which I should get all in a lump sum (hopefully in the next check - so I can pay my amex).
3. Maddy spent her first night ever in the big girl bed (i.e. mommy's) and slept the whole night through! She's fourteen weeks now, and the sweetest thing ever. Blessedly, Zoe could care less that Maddy is an attention hog.
Wow...is that all I have to say about the last few weeks? LG and JB are all excited and ready for their trip to ye olde home country in a few weeks. JB will never be the same again - and remember, Irish men are a NO NO (no offense, lads).
Oh, yes. Broke off all ties with the ex. Felt a bit of a bitch (initially I typed bitch of a bitch which is way funny) with the way I went about it but it was also necessary to send a message. Which basically was "hey, I think you are taking advantage of my niceness, and you're an ass for doing so. Here's your money, call the phone company, you don't have a bank account anymore, (my personal fave) and since I'm at the bottom of your priority list, you are at the bottom of my nice list". Surprisingly, after he got over his anger (I did close our joint account without telling him, and I should've said something. Ooops), he's called me today to say that I was right, he was kinda sorta punishing me, and that he would take a half day off this job he's doing this week and come over and get the show on the road. Good.
I was just all shades of livid last week. Nothing seemed to work out as I'd planned. The dogs, the random ass smell in my house whose source I cannot determine. Gotta go in the crawl, and in the attic, I suppose. You could have sneezed in China, and I think I would have gotten mad. I'm finally getting what I suppose is the big life lesson I should've learnt in my twenties - in the end, you've got yourself and your family, and those are the only people who are really looking out for your best interests. Anger is healthy. Keeping a list of slights is not. Of course, I was channeling Yoko Ono last week...not so much primal scream as pillow beating.
Oh yes, and I missed ButterCup's Birthday, as I knew I would. I somehow got Lent and his birthday all mixed up. Oopsydaisy.
Hm. Dropped out of school until the finances get on an even keel. I'm a real gobshite with money, definitely, spending it faster than a chav goes through hoodies. Or knockoff Burberry galoshes. Or crappy gold jewelry. I really do have a clothing fetish and (horrors) I've developed a shoe fetish. I firmly, very very firmly, blame LG for tormenting me so with online shoe shopping.
OOOOHHHH!!!!! And going to see Great Big Sea, and have tickets for the Orchestra! Which means getting drunk and dancing until my legs collapse! That is next Wednesday night.
I'm back! Lock up your children!
I digress as usual; my little hiatus hasn't done one thing to improve my thinking/writing ability. Still very....Joycian. Yeah, that's it. Did I just make up a word? I think I must've.
The silly intro means that yours truly....Eliza Dolittle, Queen of Ghosts, Circe, Hecate or whichever of my old blog names I want to use is back in the blogging business. I did toy with the idea of just starting a whole new blog and only telling a few select readers, but...wtf? The joy of the internet is the random flaming, being Googled, and having very interesting conversations with people. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the abuse!
I'm in an exceptionally fine mood today, listing to Michael Buble's "It's Time" cd. Which is awesome. Really. But only if you like the old standards.
Days like today I really do feel like anything is possible - that I can be anyone I want, I can do anything I want, and nothing in the world has the power to stop me! I am woman, hear me roar! Really, am quite delighted with the world today.
Things that have happened during my hiatus:
1. Ditched the married last name. The price of being "nice" to one's ex husband during the divorce proceedings and offering him an emotional panacea - $500. And an irritating morning driving around downtown and sprinting past the panhandlers and other fine specimens of humanity that lurk outside the Fulton County Courthouse.
2. Ah, remember the promotion I was yakking about? I have been so busy (i.e. not paying attention) since November that I never actually looked at my information in the system. So when I took the paperwork for the name change to the nice HR lady, she said "hey, this shows you are still married, you'd better go and look at that". So....shit! It had my old salary. So I'm owed back pay, and the difference in my annual bonus, which I should get all in a lump sum (hopefully in the next check - so I can pay my amex).
3. Maddy spent her first night ever in the big girl bed (i.e. mommy's) and slept the whole night through! She's fourteen weeks now, and the sweetest thing ever. Blessedly, Zoe could care less that Maddy is an attention hog.
Wow...is that all I have to say about the last few weeks? LG and JB are all excited and ready for their trip to ye olde home country in a few weeks. JB will never be the same again - and remember, Irish men are a NO NO (no offense, lads).
Oh, yes. Broke off all ties with the ex. Felt a bit of a bitch (initially I typed bitch of a bitch which is way funny) with the way I went about it but it was also necessary to send a message. Which basically was "hey, I think you are taking advantage of my niceness, and you're an ass for doing so. Here's your money, call the phone company, you don't have a bank account anymore, (my personal fave) and since I'm at the bottom of your priority list, you are at the bottom of my nice list". Surprisingly, after he got over his anger (I did close our joint account without telling him, and I should've said something. Ooops), he's called me today to say that I was right, he was kinda sorta punishing me, and that he would take a half day off this job he's doing this week and come over and get the show on the road. Good.
I was just all shades of livid last week. Nothing seemed to work out as I'd planned. The dogs, the random ass smell in my house whose source I cannot determine. Gotta go in the crawl, and in the attic, I suppose. You could have sneezed in China, and I think I would have gotten mad. I'm finally getting what I suppose is the big life lesson I should've learnt in my twenties - in the end, you've got yourself and your family, and those are the only people who are really looking out for your best interests. Anger is healthy. Keeping a list of slights is not. Of course, I was channeling Yoko Ono last week...not so much primal scream as pillow beating.
Oh yes, and I missed ButterCup's Birthday, as I knew I would. I somehow got Lent and his birthday all mixed up. Oopsydaisy.
Hm. Dropped out of school until the finances get on an even keel. I'm a real gobshite with money, definitely, spending it faster than a chav goes through hoodies. Or knockoff Burberry galoshes. Or crappy gold jewelry. I really do have a clothing fetish and (horrors) I've developed a shoe fetish. I firmly, very very firmly, blame LG for tormenting me so with online shoe shopping.
OOOOHHHH!!!!! And going to see Great Big Sea, and have tickets for the Orchestra! Which means getting drunk and dancing until my legs collapse! That is next Wednesday night.
I'm back! Lock up your children!
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