A few things you probably don’t know about me

March 6th, 2010

I always like reading these about other people, and because I have some time to kill, I’m hoping those other people feel the same way.

1. I am a sucker for the cheapass mall carnivals. The ones that’re set up in the parking lot in a matter of days, with the stunningly unsafe rides and quasi-carnies that aren’t even real honest-to-god creepy carnies, just some bums that were picked up off the street and needed a day’s work. Those carnivals rock. There’s one at our local mall, and I’m just dying to go.

2. Question posed on Mark and Brian a few days ago: If you could live the life of any tv character, who would that be? For me, it’s a toss-up between Kaylee Frye (Firefly) and Harriet Hayes (Studio 60). Kaylee never says a bad word against anybody, she can forgive anything, and I wish I could be more like that. I would really like to be more of a Pollyanna. Plus, I’ve never been good with anything mechanical, which is one of my biggest regrets. Harriet…she’s a brilliant comedienne, and if she were real, she’d be my role model. A sucessful woman in Hollywood who is both funny and beautiful and manages to stick to her moral code. It’s a rare thing, and a trait to be admired.

3. I have never seen any of the Rocky films. I have no desire to see them. I’m sure they’re as groundbreaking as everyone says, but I just can’t stand Stallone. He pisses me off. I have no idea why. I see him on screen, and I immediately tense up. Something about him just irks me. I just barely stomached him in Demolition Man, and I credit that to the crazy glee that I feel whenever I see Denis Leary. God, how I love that angry Irish man.

4. I am obsessive about greeting cards. I’ve been known to spend over an hour in Hallmark looking for the perfect one that expresses my feelings exactly. I used to think that it was sweet, but it suddenly dawned on me that I do things like this with song lyrics and poems. For whatever reason, I feel more comfortable emotionally exposing myself by using other people’s words. What’s up with that?

5. I want to look like Julia Roberts. Yes, there are other, much more beautiful women in Hollywood. I don’t care. Julia Roberts reminds me of sunshine. I adore her; I always will.

All for now. Need Trigun and cheesecake.

Blast from the past

February 28th, 2010

Last week, I joined a group on facebook that is dedicated to the Sierra Vista Junior High School class of 2002. I still don’t know why. I hated middle school. I know most people say that, and they have every reason to; middle school is awkward and isolating and full of hormones and general yuckiness. It’s fair to hate those two years of your life. But I had an exceptionally rough go of it. I can’t count how many times my parents had to see me come home in tears. I was not cute by any stretch of the imagination. My short hair was very unflattering, I had braces with the rubber bands, you couldn’t see my forehead or my chin under all the pimples….it was bad, guys. Really bad. Not to mention that I had the personality of a cactus, and had no problem telling everyone exactly how I felt at all times. Needless to say, I was not well recieved.

I my eighth grade history class, there was a boy who we will call Shawn. Very large. Tall, yes, but also obese, with a deformed eye. He wasn’t very nice, but I tried to protect him anyway. I was of the opinion that the regets should stick together. One day, David asked me why I had not said the Pledge of Alligence. I told him that, as a Wiccan, I didn’t feel comfortable saying “under God”…the convictions of a thirteen-year-old, what can I say. Without any other questions, Shawn proclaimed, loudly, that I worshipped the devil. My teacher did nothing. And a group of boys who sat behind Shawn, and who usually chose him as their target, started in on me ruthlessly. I cried in class that day, and many others after. I was the Satanic lesbian for the rest of my tenure at Sierra Vista.

I mention this as a roundabout way of getting to my point: today, one of those boys contacted me. He said he felt bad about how he and his group treated others. Without prompting from me, he remembered the above incident, and how much it had hurt me. There wasn’t an apology, but after all this time, I don’t really care about that. I’m simply floored that he remembered. When you’re the one who is bullied, you assume that the people hurting you could not possibly care less, and they will live their lives without a second thought about the spirits they crushed. Today, I discovered that that isn’t true. It warmed my heart. It’s just an extra bit of reassurance that people do grow up to be better people, and that we aren’t static creatures…a person doesn’t have to be an asshole forever.

Thank you for the reminder.

Sex symbol I am not.

February 18th, 2010

There’s this thing I’ve always wanted to do, but I’ve always been too afraid to try. I’ve been working out with Carmen Electra’s fit-to-strip dvds, I absolutely love them, but I’ve shied away from the striptease workouts to focus on the muscle toning and hip hop. I’ve done this for the same reason that I would never look at myself in the mirror when I took pole dancing lessons: I don’t know how to feel sexy. I don’t. Truly. That slow cat craw makes me feel like an idiot. I blush when I toss my hair, and when I swing my leg up over a chair, I only notice cellulite and the way stockings make my thighs pucker. It’s like a little girl putting on her mother’s makeup and, when she goes to show off how pretty she is, is told that she’s done it all wrong. I’m not smoky or sultry or whatever the heck you have to be to be a sex symbol. I figure that if I try to be those things, it’ll be a pretty transparent act…laughable, in all probability. Not really my area.

Anyway. This thing I wanted to try…I always thought it would be super fun to do a lap dance/tease for a boyfriend. Fun if I were someone else, of course. But the Carmen Electra dvds have a pretty simple one, so, this morning, I ignored that I’m not the aforementioned adjectives, and learned the thing. Had my little costume, practiced a few times without the dvd before I sat J down.

It started out well. Very well, actually. But then I got nervous, because the tie wouldn’t come off right. I lost my count, got it back, and it was going well again. Near the end of the routine, I sat on J’s lap and leaned over him, creating a sleek perpendicular line, flicked my fedora off, and sat back up with all the grace that my ballet training has granted me.

That was what was supposed to happen, anyway.

In reality, I leaned back, used his shoulder for support instead of the chair, and lost my balance completely. I flailed, trying to correct myself, did a half somersault off my boyfriend, and landed in a very un-sexy heap. I wanted to laugh, and J started to giggle, but I just couldn’t, because it’s exactly what I thought would happen if I ever tried to be something other than plain old me. Big steaming pile of fail. But then, right before I lost it completely, my fantastic boyfriend yelled “No! No, don’t be upset, I’m so turned on!” So….yeah. I picked myself up, said “Choreography is overrated anyway” and finished what I started. Not the way I planned, but I went through with it.

Afterwards, Jason mentioned (without any prompting from yours truly) that it was a bit of a relief that I screwed it up. That strippers never do anything for him because they look too planned, and I looked like a real person. Klutzy dorky me. And, as it turns out, boys laugh when they’re bashful, which is apparently something that happens when girls they like take their clothes off. They get nervous and have little girl giggles too! Who knew? Next you’ll tell me something really outrageous, like boys have emotions or something.

No, I’m not Megan Fox or Jessica Alba or whatever. I am a dork. I run into the same shelves and doorjams every day. I don’t have flickable hair or a poochless stomach. But that’s okay. It works for me. As it turns out, it works for Jason too…I’ll just have to try for a better dismount, next time.

The times, they are a-changing

February 15th, 2010

I apologize for my lack of updates, but some of you are probably aware that my life has been in a state of chaos for the last month or so. Quick recap:

Jason and I were evicted
Jason and I have moved elsewhere
I can’t find a job to save my life
I totaled my car, right before midterms
I have midterms
My mother was right and there is no such thing as a Money Tree (damn!)

So, yes. Massive insanity. His friends have been so helpful, and my parents have been more supportive than any parents should have to be, ever, so we’re making it through. And there are some really good times. The Superbowl was a blast. Yesterday was our first Valentine’s Day, my first with a s/o, and it was lovely. No presents, no big shows, just pizza and Star Wars and love. His birthday is coming up, then St Patricks Day, and our anniversary is the day after. There are many, many reasons to celebrate. Times are incredibly hard right now, but no harder than they’ve always been for someone else. It’s our turn to struggle for a while. And, if nothing else, I’d say it’s helped our relationship. We haven’t fought once since the eviction. Not that we fight a lot, it’s actually a pretty rare ocurrance, but to be this strapped for cash and not at each other’s throats…I think that says something. I know he works his butt off, and he knows that I’m doing my best to find anything that pays, along with finishing school. There’s a lot of love and support in this house, and for that, I’m grateful.

The sound that makes me want to punch babies

January 10th, 2010

As much as I try to be an easy going person, I’d be completely delusional to deny that there are some things, many things, actually, that just annoy me to no end. People stuffing trash in places where trash does not go because someone else is employed to clean it up. Parents ignoring their misbehaving children. Twitards. Yankee fans. Onions having the audacity to sting my eyes when I’m trying to make dinner. One sounds has quickly climbed to the top of this list, and it is one of few annyoing things that makes me feel like I’m a wrecthed and intolerant woman who should not be allowed to have pets, ever.

Dogs whining.

Sounds harmless, and usually, it is. Except that Molly has entered her first heat. She’s not fixed, and won’t be until Tuesday. Neither is our male dog, Jack. And the whining will. Not. End.

I know it isn’t their faults. Molly is swollen and probably in quite a bit of pain, and possibly confused because she and her mother may not have had The Talk and I don’t speak Dog. Jack is equally bewildered; he’s never been around a fertile female dog, so hes flipping out. They’re seperated, because puppies would not be helpful, which, in my foolishness, I thought would be much less painful. But they’re best friends, horny best friends at that, and OH MY GOD THE WHINING. Molly is locked in our room with me, going completely beserk, Jack is at our window and I wouldn’t be surprised if he started throwing pepples at it and serenading Molly with a boom box over his head. And while I appreciate their pain, the sounds coming out of their mouths are not sounds that should be uttered by any creature on this earth, but rather pathetic high pitched soungs composed by Lucifer himself that he created for the sole purpose of making humans torture themselves and others. If this sound is what drove people to madness and caused the Spanish Inquisition, the witch trials, and JFK’s assassination, I would not be the least bit surprised.

So now I’m ready to stick a pencil in my eye in order to distract myself from this hellish ruckus, I feel guilty about hating it this much because the dogs can’t help that they just want sex, and I have these drifting thoughts that Oh My God, if I can’t handle whining dogs, what about whining children? What if my baby starts crying? Will that annoy me too? Does my lack of patience reflect on my inadequacy as a future mother? AM I THAT PERSON WHO SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO BREED??

These are not things one should have to think about when she is awake at 3:30 am because whining dogs woke her up again. That’s all I’m saying.

A toast

December 30th, 2009

When I was six years old, I found a chubby little blonde girl playing alone at recess. I asked if she wanted to play with me on the jungle gym. We have been friends since that moment, together for choir concerts and dance shows, through summer camp, though our first loves, through the death of another dear friend. We don’t see each other much anymore, but I still love her as a sister, and I will always remember us as the best pair of friends that our little corner of the world has ever, or will ever see.

Tomorrow, that chubby blonde girl (who has grown to be a sleek and lovely redhead) is getting married. Because of several outside circumstances, I will not be there. It breaks my heart knowing that I won’t see Chelsea kiss her husband for the first time, but as an honorary bridesmaid, I would be neglecting my duties if I didn’t offer some sort of toast.

My Chelsea: We have taken so many of life’s journeys together, hand in hand, and attached at the hip. I’m sorry that I can’t be there when you embark on this new adventure, but I am confident that you find all the happiness in the world. And when things get hard, because that’s the way of marriage, I don’t know of a stronger will or a better heart that will face the challenges head on and always shine victoriously. I love you with all my heart, and I am so proud of you. And, though you’re the only one who will understand this, I hope that your married life is everything that a Unicorn Princess deserves.

It’s probably going to be worse than you imagine

December 28th, 2009

With those inspiring words, so began yet another discussion of Jason’s inevitable joining of the United States Air Force. He’s still waiting to take his physical and we’ve been playing the waiting game since July, but he’s not going to give up. I’m sort of proud of him for that, but I also want to smack him. Seems pretty normal .

In an effort to gear myself up for three months of basic (a year if he gets into the pararescue program) and six to eight month deployments, I’m coming up with things to do when he is gone, and I’m choosing to share it here, hoping that someone will have some more ideas for me. Some of them are actual activites, others are simply routines to keep me sane.

When Jason is gone, I will:

Get myself out of bed and force myself to shower by 10 am AT THE LATEST.
Do at least one workout dvd a day.
Wear makeup to work (pleaseohpleasegodletmehaveajob).
Do all of my homework the night it is assigned, even if it’s lame and I know it all anyway.
Learn how to make a quilt (if anyone out there knows how, please teach me! I’d love to have a quilt made when J comes home from basic!).
Go to church every Sunday.
Voulnteer with the church whenever possible.
Take at least one of the cake decorating classes at Michaels.
Make dinner every night, probably food Jason doesn’t like, ie curry or something.
Take Molly and Jack out for walks at least three times a week.
Beg friends to let me come visit.
Allow myself to have a couple drinks when I really do need them.
Call my mother way more times than is healthy or natural.
Call our friend Michelle. Her husband is Jason’s best friend and is Army-for-life. If anyone will understand, she will.

That’s all I have so far. Might take up a month or two. I just want to get this over with.


December 21st, 2009

Alright, I actually have stuff to do today, so this is going to be a quickie. I’m not even sure how, but I found this on Amazon. Yes, $135 is the real price. I have looked for anything to tell me that this is a parody or a joke, but so far, it’s all legit.

For those not willing to click on the link, a brief preview.


Caps and extra punctuation not mine.

Still not enough to make you interested?

Check out the first paragraph. Everything is exactly the way it is in the book, including caps-lock and completely insane grammar.


Couple things. One, is anyone else totally stoked that birth control is a verb now? Cause that’s pretty exciting to me. And two, I think Ms. Eliyzabeth Yanne Strong-Anderson deserves a round of applause. Even though she can’t complete some words, let alone an entire coherent thought, she managed to self-publish and even spelled “prosperity” correctly. Good job, nutbag!

My work here is done. Have a field day.

Christmas Traditions

December 20th, 2009

Watch Christmas Eve on Sesame Street…check

Watch Muppet Christmas Carol…check

Get my ass beat at Monopoly, even though I own Park Place and Boardwalk…check

Stress about upcoming feast, specifically how much of it will be going in my belly…check three times over

All that’s left to do is remember presents that I haven’t bought when I only have one day before Christmas to shop…..no, wait, did that too.

Happy holidays!

Love the one you’re with

December 15th, 2009

Okay, first, I’m sorry about the banner that makes your eyes bleed. Really. It’s being worked on, I swear. I just want a pretty and quirky header that doesn’t involve my picture. It will happen…soonish. Hopefully this week.

Alright, now that that’s out of the way, something that has been confusing the holy hell out of me, along with something that has shed some light. These two things are only slightly related.

At work the other night, a woman and her two teenage daughters came through my line. All were wearing Twilight shirts (I promise this is not another Twilight rant, as much as I love going on those). Two were pretty standard, but one of the girls was wearing a shirt that read “I love boys who SPARKLE”.

I get that this is a strictly Twilight reference, but I think it speaks to something much bigger. Look, emo vampires. Sparkly, sappy, emotionally confused vampires are now desired by teenage girls and, sadly, grown women. A few years ago, we had the whole metro-sexual movement, which started with guys taking care of their appearance and ended with them looking homosexual. There are books upon books upon even more “self-help” books that have nothing to do with helping yourself and everything to do with making your male significant other more sensitive and understanding. And all of this begs the question:

Ladies, when did we stop wanting our men to be men?

Don’t get me wrong, I love that J cares about my wants and needs and feelings. But that isn’t a masculine or feminine thing; that’s something called “not being a douche”. But if I wanted to be in a relationship with someone who got regular manicures and pedicures, someone who likes the sappy romances as much as I do, or someone who shared their feelings in the same way that I do, I’d be a lesbian. And it’s not that I’m out here trying to assign gender roles, because at the end of the day, that’s a personal choice, and no amount of stereotyping or societal pressure should get in the way of what makes a person feel comfortable in his or her own skin.

What it comes down to, really, is that so many women are trying to make their men better, which a) should not be attempted, because you really loved him, you would love him for who he is, not who you want him to be, and b) cannot possibly be accomplished by trying to make him more like your girl friends. Women have people who listen and empathize and take our side regardless of the situation–they’re called our mothers, sisters, female roommates, whatever. If you have a vagina, you probably know someone else with a vagina who you can relate to. That is not your boyfriend/husband.

Now, I wanted some male perspective on this topic, so I baited J with this topic (which I know gets him going on insightful yet hilarious tirades), and this is what ensued…though it has been edited for length:

“We [men] are designed to kill and survive and provide. That’s it. And while we have a little mini-man or woman baking inside the oven of our mate, it is our duty to ensure that it survives…so, the whole notion in today’s society that we’re supposed to be pussified, that we’re supposed to be equal in every way, that we’re supposed to bend over backwards to get in touch with our ‘feminine side’, that we need to understand women by adopting their emotional outputs and habits and behaviors and get rid of our own is utter nonsense. It’s ridiculous. If women were supposed to be attracted to that kind of personality, they’d be attracted to other women, and our species would never procreate. We are made to be attracted to the opposite sex because of our differences. Most women I know actually get off on knowing that they have some poor, useless, sap of an animal who would kill themselves just to know that they’ve provided for their woman. This is why women are attracted to men…who will always provide, and will sometimes have to put his emotions aside so he can take care of business. This whole metro-movement, this Twilight crap, the whole feminist movement where women have to take charge, this is why relationships have such a high failure rate. The man who takes care of his woman’s needs, but doesn’t show many emotions, is far more in touch with her than the man who just listens to her talk.”

I can’t say it better. I have a smart man, what can I say. And I agree with him on every one of those points. A lot of women may be up in arms about this, saying that their man doesn’t understand them, that he doesn’t know how to communicate, and that it’s absolutely essential for them to try and change the way their male s/o acts and reacts. Maybe your man doesn’t ‘get’ you. But maybe you don’t get him, either, which is a sneakily-crafted segway into a book I read not too long ago called For Women Only. It discusses several topics, including men and their obsessive and compelling need to be providers (which I did not understand prior to this book), the way they think about romance (see previous aside), what it actually means when someone says that “men are visual” (again, previous aside, and one more thing: now that I have this newfound knowledge, I’d like to make an apology to any of my male friends who have thought about me naked against their will. I swear, that was never my intention. Thank you.), etc. Some of it was common sense, some of it was reassuring, and most of it was mind boggling. I didn’t realize that J’s needing to provide for his family, most men’s need to provide, is an obsession, not a macho beating-of-the-chest spectacle of manhood. I didn’t understand that most men actively try to not be aware of the other attractive woman in the room, and that when they are, the feelings their experiencing are not sexual or lustful and have little to no bearing on their feelings for you. I didn’t know that a husband wants his wife to exercise because her wanting to look good makes him feel loved and desired, not because he wants to be with someone who looks like a twenty-year-old supermodel. And I bet most women don’t know that their husband wants to be romantic, but is often so afraid that they’ll fail to make us happy that they won’t even try. They aren’t the cads and the pigs that the media and society paints them to be. There are some awful, cruel men in the world, many of whom I’ve had the displeasure of meeting. But that isn’t because they are male; it’s because they’re human. The best advice I have to offer is to give your man the benefit of the doubt and pick up this book. It is Christian-based, but the principles apply to men and women of every faith. It helped me understand how Jason thinks about me and how he loves me, which, incredibly enough, made me love him even more. What I’m trying to say is, before you go on a crusade to force your boyfriend to speak your language, see what he’s actually saying in his language. There is common, lovely ground to be had.