Monday, November 10, 2008

Ungrateful Wretch

Thanks to spending so much time being an unemployed loser in my recent past, I applied for and received approval for a home improvement loan program administered by my city. I applied almost a year ago, and finally it got to be my turn on the list. I am excited to get more large projects done around my house.

Unfortunately, I am apprehensive about having contractors in my house again. It drives me nuts having people in here not giving a shit if they let my cats out, and making a mess, and touching my stuff. Also, I am really pissed about something. See, this loan is subsidized, and the repayment period does not begin for awhile, but I do have to pay it back, and it does go against the equity in my house until I do. This does not bother me.

The fact that I have been informed that if I for some reason I am not comfortable with the lowest bidder, I must use that contractor anyway, or pay the difference between that bid and the next highest bidder. I think because it is money I will be paying back, I should be able to choose my contractor. Also, I am very picky. I bought out my sister on her half of this house after our parents died, and my quality of life and living conditions have really gone down since I moved here. Though this place a fucking deathtrap, and is mine, the condition it is in is not my doing.

I actually have pretty exacting standards for the quality of work I expect in my home. I am worried that with this loan program I will have to settle for half-assed. I feel like that is not fair to suck up my equity, and not be able to get what is important to me. Like not even getting kissed before I get bent over and fucked up the ass.

I am trying to come to terms with my ingratitude.

I am trying to figure out how to adequately express my concerns to the loan guy.

I am willing to forgo some of the projects until I am able to refinance my mortgage. So, I think I will reprioritize my list with him. Also, now that I have been working again for awhile, and despite the fact I can lose my grant-funded job any day now, I feel guilty about being in this loan program at all. I keep thinking that though I need help, there are other people who need more help.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Wow, America!

I am amazed. I am too cynical. I thought we were too racist. I thought we were too comfortable. I thought we were not paying attention. I thought we were doomed. I am excited to see what we will do next.

Just, wow, America, WOW!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

It's Been a Long Day This Year

At the time my Mom and Dad ingeniously became simultaneously terminally ill, I was working full time, going to school full time, and had been happily living on my own for years, in a near freakishly clean little apartment that was flooded with sunlight and surrounded by flowers, beautiful water views, and all kinds of nice people and their pets I enjoyed seeing everyday. Like a Tale of Two Cities, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" to take care of my parents while they slowly disintegrated. It really sucked, but I learned a lot. I enjoyed spending time with my Mom and Dad. I believe preparing for a person’s life to end is just as sacred, and worthy of celebration as preparing for a life to begin.

Since my parents died four years ago, I have been angry with myself when something upsets me. I keep thinking I went through this really difficult and life alerting experience. I only had the strength to do it because I had worked, and they had worked, so hard to forge a good and functional relationship despite all the things that went so terribly wrong in my childhood. I keep thinking if I can do that, nothing else should phase me, but I feel like everything phases me.

This money pit death trap house is taking forever to clear out and fix. When I bought it two years ago, I figured it would take me five to whip it into shape. But, I am sick of living like I am camping in my own house with a health department nightmare for kitchen. I am so angry with my sister for all the filth and debris she left here after languishing here for nearly two years without paying the bills as agreed. I am so angry with her for all she did not do to help our parents. I feel like I am not important to her and my other sisters. I feel fundamentally and profoundly lonesome for the familial relationships that apparently never existed.

I want to feel like I am important to someone, like I matter, like I come FIRST. But, feel like I am an aforethought. I feel so distant from people I thought were my friends. When my parents died of course lots of people came to help in lots of ways. But, I need people to be with me for good stuff too. You know, it really is pretty hot shit that I went ahead and brought this albatross house all by myself. It really is pretty hot shit that I graduated from college on the dean’s list. It really is hot shit what I have done with my career. It really is hot shit all the many positive things I have accomplished. I feel like nobody noticed. I really wish I felt like I had people in my life who understand what is important to me, and notice when something that I think is special happens.

So, I have been hiding out. I have not been spending time with the people who I know love me because I do not feel understood. It is easier to be alone than to risk finding out these people are not who I thought they were. I am terrified nobody knows me, and nobody wants to know me. I really thought I would have had all this all figured out by now.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Happy 4th of July

When I FINALLY moved out on my own, I found this cute little apartment on the first floor of a cute little house. It was 450 square feet. I really liked it there. There were these big huge picture windows in the living room/dining room/kitchen area that made it all nice and sunshiny all year long. I had a full basement and an enclosed back porch. I had a nice front porch to sit on. There was a baseball/soccer field across the street, and swings, and a park, and I could not get renter’s insurance because it was so close to the water. There was a marina down the street, and a pier, and all kinds of fun hang around outside, nice neighbors type stuff going on. I am so glad for myself that when I got up the nerve to be on my own I was lucky enough to find such a good place. I made a nice home for myself. It was clean, and organized, and it was me.

It took me some time to decompress from living with and dealing with my family. Eventually I came to enjoy spending time with my parents, and my relationships with them changed. One of the neat things about my apartment was that all that water so close to the house just happened to be where the barges docked to shoot off fireworks every year. One year, I got a little woozy on Long Island iced tea and learned I could actually see the fireworks while lying in my bed. Every year I lived there, except the one my parents died, I had my family and a few friends over. It was fun.

We made insane nuisances of ourselves in the best possible way. All my neighbors got to know my family and friends, and to look forward to visiting with them too. Everybody else’s guests kinda mixed in with us. We had dogs and cats and kids, and all kinds of fun. We played dorky games and made Jell-O based monstrosities that tasted delicious. I talked to all kinds of strange men. We would all eventually get a bit tipsy and run around in the street with open bottles of beer and glasses of various concoctions. Every year at least one of my goody-two-shoes friends got admonished by the police about public drunkenness. Here where we live you cannot be on public property and have open alcoholic beverages. We would quickly scurry back onto my lawn, and tell the policemen how much we love them. I distinctly remember telling them one year that they were not only the finest, but that they also had FINE Asses. My father thought this was hilarious.

The fireworks were always awesome. I really like the kind that go up very high, and then explode in a waterfall of colors. They would go on for about forty-five minutes. We would all ooh and ah, and jump up and down. It was fun to hang out with people who love me, and just look at the fireworks, and people watch. . In all that time, I never did figure out how to get a good picture of the fireworks. I have hundreds of shots that look like I forgot to take off the lens cap. I got spoiled rotten for good fireworks. I do not think I will every go see any again, unless I get the opportunity to live on the water and watch them from my own yard. I miss the party. I miss the people.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008


I had a pretty good morning. I was up earlier than usual, so I unloaded the dishwasher, did a couple loads of laundry, played with my kitties, and even made myself real food for breakfast. I was feeling a little nauseous, but I tend to feel icky when I am worried and I have a lot of family stuff on my mind. So, I thought nothing of the slight flutter in my tummy.

Eventually, I got around to taking a shower, getting dressed and going to work. By the time I got there, I was thinking maybe I would go home early. I was feeling like maybe I needed to throw up. I got busy at my desk. I let my boss and coworkers know I was going to give it a shot, but was doubtful about making it through the whole day. I was busy doing happy little accounting gnome things when the fact that I really better go to the bathroom NOW struck me.

I have a thing about going to the bathroom. I do not like to admit I am a mere mortal and actually have bodily functions. I do not like to go anyplace but my own house. I do not like the idea of anybody else’s bodily functions possibly coming in contact with my person. At my job where I work now, it is a major miracle to find a ladies room with toilet paper and towels, and soap, and God forbid, a toilet that is not clogged and/or filthy. I have on more than one occasion asked if my kidney transplant from refusing to go for eight hours will be covered on our health insurance. One very special day when no soap or paper products were to be found, I remarked to a co-worker who was similarly dismayed that I "am going to have a fucking nervous break down trying to take a piss in this dump." It is generally a pretty nice place to work, but the lavatory situation is the source of much angst for me and most of my co-workers.

Consequently, the whole having to go NOW thing this morning was terrifying to me. Half way to the nearest lavatory, as I prayed for all the necessary paraphernalia to be present, I was horrified to realize that I was pooping uncontrollably, very slowly, and not at all that prolifically, but pooping nonetheless. At work. In the hallway. In the company with the bathrooms from hell. I wanted to run away and never come back. I wondered if the security camera was high tech enough to telegraph my "oh shit, I’m shitting" face to the sweet man who protects us at work. At last, I arrived in the lavatory. Thankfully, it is a private unisex bathroom. Even more thankfully, there was toilet paper, paper towels, soap, Clorox Clean Up and air freshener. I hit the jackpot.

Despite the growing lump of nausea incarnate in my pretty pink panties, I stopped to clean the toilet because I am a germaphobe, and a couple of my male co-workers have really bad aim. I then took off my skirt over my head, and folded it carefully, and set it on the floor as far from the toilet as possible. No hooks to hang things, that would be asking far too much. I tucked my blouse into the band of my bra to avoid accidental contamination during the remainder of my calamity. At last I succumbed and steeled myself to face the music. I was appalled because as I pulled down my panties, they got twisted, and the little bit of poop got flung on the backs of my legs, the front of the toilet, and the floor. Since it is a very small bathroom, I was able to multitask.

I am sure most people would just throw away their panties in a similar situation, but I really like this particular pair, so I set about dealing with my situation expediently. I put my panties in the sink, and ran hot water on them. Meanwhile, I pooped all the rest of the poop I had to poop. Clorox Clean Uped my legs, the front of the toilet and the floor. All with toilet paper because paper towels cannot be flushed without clogging the toilet, and I certainly did not want to be the one who clogged it and have the whole world know that not only did I take a dump, but took a dump in my panties at work. Nor did I want to leave shitty paper towels in the bathroom garbage.

These tasks accomplished, the door handle began to be periodically shook. No one ever asked if I was OK, or what was going on, but I do think I was being checked on while still respecting my privacy. My stay in house of shame was indeed noticeably extended. The handle jiggling spurred me on in my task. I set about removing the debris from my backside. This was quite a feat as it was everywhere. We have one ply toilet paper that seems to rip every two sheets at work. Oh, the humanity. Once I was satisfied that I was no longer harboring any lingering poop lumps, I washed up my nether regions with some soggy toilet paper. Fearful of the dreaded clog, I flushed periodically throughout my ordeal.

At last I set to the task of dealing with my pretty pink panties. I washed them with the hand soap and hot water and rung them out. I had no fear that their pathetic carcass wrapped in paper towels would draw suspicion. Being notoriously germ averse, I am well known to carry a paper towel with me to avoid actual contact with doorknobs. Then I took the Clorox Clean Up and got that toilet sparkling like it never has before, and also went to town on the sink. I did have my poopie panties in there after all. I then pulled my skirt back on, zipped it, and straightened the seams. I pulled my blouse out of my bra. I flushed the toilet again to cover the sound of the air freshener being sprayed because bizarrely I did not want anyone to know I was doing anything that required air freshener.

I washed my hands, grabbed some more paper towels and my cleverly ensconced pretty pink panties. I opened the door and walked right into the President of the company. If he had any idea about how long I had been in the bathroom, or what I had been up to, he did not say a word about it. I took my pretty pink panties back to my desk, stuffed them in the shopping bag I usually use for my shoes, and got back to work. Nobody said a word to me about my prolonged absence, and nobody noticed that my pretty pink panties were in my desk and not on my ass. It’s not every day I shit my pants, hang out in my heels and my blouse while I play housekeeper, and then go commando all day at work. I’m a pretty, pretty girl.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Been Good Kinda Busy

Well, I did inot forget about spewing my inner monlogue online, I have just been very busy.

I have been writing every day still, but mostly stuff I had to write for one reason or another, or back and forth with friends and family. I also wrote some truly masterful thank you notes to people I met with in the course of my job search. I decided I do not want to do taxes anymore, and it is ok I do not want to do taxes anymore, so I found a completely different kind of job, and I think it was a very wise decision. I just could not hack the inherent micromanagement of public accounting. I is a free spirit, and I needs to flitter. Plus, I am way too smart, talented, and flat out good to have conversations about paper clip placement, and to be interrogated about why it took me six minutes instead of five to do a tax return, and to be told my voice is too squeaky, and that time is money, so stop being nice to people becaue it wastes time. Telling me to stop treating all the people I come in contact with like worthwhile human beings is like telling a shark to stop swimming. I just can't do it and survive.

I feel like my relationships with my sisters are growing and getting better. Things will never be perfect. I really have long since moved past any childhood slights. There are things since we all have become adults though, that will always color my relationhips with them. I am really proud of all we have all done since our parents died. It seems like we have all made a lot of changes for the better. A lot of things have been tough but they have all had a silver lining too.

I have gotten a lot done at my house too, I feel like it is finally starting to look like I live here.

I am also working on getting into a grad school program that interests me, and am hoping that the program revamp and accreditation will be all set, as well as my application and enrollment, in time for the fall semester.

In the interest of always having a plan B, I continue to cultivate other job leads, and am in the process of taking a lot of proficiency exams that are prerequisites for state and federal jobs in my area. So, I will be taking a little bit more of a break from the internet while I take a flurry of exams in the next couple of weeks.

I will be back to writing on the internets after Easter. TTFN cyberland.

P.S. I am watching TVonline, and I just have to say I hate those Lyrica commercials. I just wanna slap that whiny ass fibromyalgia chick senseless.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Ikea World

I'm miserably sick. Before I swallow another near leathal dose of Sudafed/Clarinex/Nyquil/Tylenol/Benadryl/Vodka I wanted to link to this post about Ikea. I almost killed myself laughing becasue it caused a coughing fit, and I think a small planet came flying out of my sinuses.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Tell Ya What I'm Gonna Do...

As I started to write, I realized the thing about Girl Scouts is going to be a really long story, and it is going to take me a long time to write, and I am probably going to get mad, and cry, and stop writing a lot. I will just keep posting stuff and then post the stuff about my Mom when I am ready. This is a good step for me.

In the past, I would just stop writing other stuff until I finished the one story. It is a very high level of procrastination that I mastered at an early age. The art of avoiding much by being “busy” doing the impossible. The thing about me and my Mom and Girl Scouts isn’t just about Girl Scouts; it’s about me and my Mom. It’s about my Mom, and who I understood her to be, and who I still struggle with accepting her not to be. I honestly do not know how the story will end, or what I will tell.

When I write this blog, lots of times I hold back. I backspace a lot, I omit a lot, I hold out on you, my dear internet. I am a stingy bitch with my internal monologue. As I am sure I have mentioned; I never kept a journal of any kind until I started this blog. I never had any privacy. I never trusted I could just write or say my “stuff” without retribution. Even though I have lived alone for a long time, I always felt on the verge of invasion. I felt like there was no place safe for me to keep my thoughts except between my ears because no one can steal it from there. So, that is why I like the internet. I like being invisible. I have never told anyone in my “real” life I write online. They all know I write, and that I am a good writer, they just do not know about this. Actually, it is funny because I actually think in a lot of ways this blog is good writing only in that I am kind of talking to myself, and working ideas out for myself. 99.9% of the time, I think the actual writing sucks. I am shocked that I hit send on this stuff, that I have let go to that extent. It is shameful how much time and money I spent on my own education to get online and whine about my crappy ass family in grade school parlance. Then again, it is helping me not brain anybody with a meat cleaver in real life, so it is worth something.

When it comes to my Mom, I am going to pound it all out, and then edit it, and rearrange it ninety billion times because it is important to me to tell the story well, or at least coherently. My Mom fucked up a lot and I think that is mostly because she had no other frame of reference and because she was saddled by societal expectations that limited her options. My Mom felt trapped. My Mom was sixty-eight when she died. The world for women in America changed a lot in her lifetime. I think my Mom would have made different choices if she had them to make. I mostly think this because of things she told me and taught me. It is a safe bet I will be at least sixty-eight before I finish the story. In the meantime, no matter who you are, or what kind of parent you are, or had, talk to your kids, talk to your parents, ask questions. Like me, you often times may not like what you hear, but maybe it can help you understand better. When you know better, you can do better.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Girl Scout Cookies

Hey, hey, hey. I am too swamped to write now, but am pasting in part of a comment I wrote at Wide Lawns because I think it is worth noting that if a little girl or her pushy parents hit you up to buy Girl Scout cookies, there is an altruistic option. The story SNM @ Wide Lawns wrote reminded me of my own relationship with my Mom in relation to Girl Scouts. My Mom totally thought Girl Scouts were awesome. I totally thought Girl Scouts sucked ass. I'll write about it in my next post. Meanwhile, send some cookies to some people who are fighting for our freedom.

Part of My Comment on Wide Lawns;

on the order forms around here is the option, if you are corn syrup averse, or like me averse to getting an even fatter ass, is the option to order cookies to be sent to US military personnel, not only is it nice to send them cookies, but it is also a tax deduction. Why dontcha ... get half a dozen boxes for the underpaid overworked people in our military who ain't even getting kissed by our government?

Speaking of the government, I am not feeling well, so I conked out during the entrance clapping of the State of the Union, so I went to the White House web site and read it. What a crock of shit. Seriously, I cannot believe people get paid for writing like that. Yeah, ya gotta stay on message, and blow smoke up all the right asses, and kiss all the right asses, but you could do it with a modicum of intelligence and polish too. I am glad I fell asleep. The only thing worse would have been listening to our fearless leader try to say it.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Whiny McSnivel

Lying on my couch, my face pressed against the back of the couch, a pillow over my face, on top of the heating pad, on top of the warm damp cloth of my face, I ponder the level of whininess I have achieved.

Snivel, snivel, whine, snuffle, I had crap I wanted to do today. I do not have time to have the headache from hell. Who the fuck does my doctor think he is going on vacation? What does he think he is some kind of world famous maxillofacial surgeon or something? Oh, wait he is. This is my own damn fault. I need to chill out. I have to be a good little citizen and take my allergy meds ALL THE TIME. I have to use my mouth guard so I do not feel like I have an ice pick lodged in my skull after I have been grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw while I sleep. I’m a dork. Oh this hurts so much, I have not been in this much pain with this for so long, I thought I had “gotten over it” or something.

I am such a bitch, if I were a nicer person, I would have a husband by now, and he could come and take this cloth, and make it more mushy with some more warm water. He would make me some tea because I would marry a nice man who would make me tea especially if he had a nice ass too. My ex boyfriend had a nice ass, he knew how to make tea too come to think of it, but he was a fucking dumbass. What the hell crack was I on dating him anyway? I could not stand to listen to him talk, it was just like the teacher in Peanuts, wah, wah, wa, wa, wah.

Oh man, what was that noise? What the fuck did that Girly Kitty break now? Geez, I wish those fucking cats could make some tea. How come they can’t do stuff for me? They need to get a job to pay for all the crap they break. And Mon Petit Amour tries to play all innocent, you are not fooling me mister, I know who pees in the tub you fuck. Do I pee on your stuff, huh? Do I, you furry little ingrate? Oh, my tiny lovey kitty, you heard Mommy talking to you huh? I’m so glad you don’t speak English. Mommy’s sorry, she loves you Mon Petit Amour, you’re a good little furry peepee maker. Mommy will get up and give you a treat.

Oh crap, I can’t get up. I need to throw up now. Dammit. I can’t even move, when I move I feel sick. I don’t want to throw up on myself, and die in my own puke like that dude from AC/DC. OK, if I stay still, maybe I can not puke. Oh, the phone. I hate the phone. Who is calling me now? Oh, cool it is a real company with a real job wanting to interview me. I hope I spoke English and did not sound too retarded. I must sound weird; I am in so much pain right now. I hope I feel better by the time I go to the interview.

I hate this fucking show. I cannot believe I am crying because I knocked the remote off the couch. Oh, here is the volume thing. I will mute it. That is good. Oh, now my head is throbbing less. I wish I could sleep. I am so tired. I am going to drag myself to my bed. I love my bed. It is nice and comfy in here. I love all these blankets. It is nice and dark and quiet in here. The kitties followed me. Girly kitty is sitting on my feet; they are getting nice and warmed up. Oh, Mon Petit Amour is such a nice kitty. He comes to sit with me. He is licking the tears off my cheeks. I bet if he had thumbs he would make me some tea.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Bless Me Father

For I Have Sinned.

God, as you know, it has been nearly twenty-four years since my last confession. You know this is because;

1) I am still performing the penance the priest gave me the last time I went.

2) You know I decided a long time ago that I do not need anybody to intercede with you when I want to reflect on my sins.

3) You know I am not sorry for most of the stuff the church thinks I should be.

So, at any rate these are my sins, except, maybe I am not sorry, and they are pretty bad.

Last time, I told the priest, and he told you, that I hated someone. Now, to your credit, you told Father Jerry to ask me why I hated this person. How is father Jerry by the way? He was very good with dealing with high school freshmen about to embark on the commitment of Confirmation to Catholicism. I have not seem or heard of him since he was shuffled off to wherever he got sent when he decided he wanted to be a husband more than he wanted to keep an arcane vow. You told the priest to tell me that my penance is to have an open and forgiving heart, and to not waste my time hating someone I cannot change, or being angry about things that are not my fault. Father Jerry told me that I cannot change people, I can only change how I let them affect me. As you know I struggle very hard to this day. As you also know, I no longer hate this person, but it is still hard to love them most of the time.

I have been doing all this work to try to figure out what to do with myself now that I am an orphan, and do not have parents to horrify, embarrass, or be disapproved of by anymore. I think other people might think it is a sin that I feel this way. Even though I still have not really figured out what to do with myself now that I am no longer responsible for other people, it is such a relief now that I do not feel like I have to be in charge anymore. It is like my parents dying was the worst and best thing that ever happened to me. In a lot of ways I feel like I can finally live my life. I have no fucking idea what I want to do, but I can do it. Oh, by the way, I still have a really bad potty mouth. I felt so trapped by what I felt obligated to do for and with my family before my parents died. I tried for awhile after they died too. Then it occurred to me that since I was the only one working so hard to be a family, maybe being a family was not so important. Things are better now. We are a family, we do care about each other, and we realize that we are not perfect. I think in a lot of ways we are closer because we do not feel like we are betraying our parents when we talk to each other about the bad stuff, and it brings us closer to remember the good stuff.

As you know, I really loved my Mom and Dad. I am so happy, and so lucky that by the time they died we had a very functional, very evolved, and very rewarding relationship. I would wish this kind of peace of mind to everyone in the world if I could. Sure, some stuff still pisses me off, or mystifies me, but we did talk about it, and we did move on. But, it is probably a sin how much easier I feel holidays are now. Those two were such fucking royal pains in the ass to deal with when it came to any special occasion. It seemed like any celebration of any kind exacerbated and amplified their every passive-aggressive tendency. Like, refusing to decorate, shop, cook, or in any way prepare for anything, show up late at my house to eat, collect gifts, and make a mess, then complain about everything, argue, and generally make me wish I had moved further away. Things got better after I resigned as the family party planner. After the first holiday when they called my bluff and found out that I shit them not, things were actually a lot of fun. We stopped trying to do what we were "supposed" to be doing to celebrate, and just had some fun.

Sometimes I am so sick of someone. I feel like I want to hurt her. I think about pummeling her, and kicking her, and smacking the ever-loving shit out of her. I feel like it is a tie between her and the one I hated for all the fucked up shit I have had to deal with in my life. Of course, as you know God, the others have given them a run for their money, but for sheer volume these two are neck in neck. I just step back when I need to. These borderline homicidal urges are fleeting, and I would never fulfil them, but it bothers me that I feel that way. I feel like I should be more compassionate, or get the hell over it or something. When the people in my life disappoint and hurt me, it opens up every old wound and all the old hurts and disappointments come flooding back.

I wish I had Bill Gates’ money so I could just buy all the houses on my block and keep everybody in my family warm and fed and clothed, but I don’t and it is hard to feel so helpless.

God, you know I will not let my family members come live with me. God, you know I secretly like people despite all my protests to the contrary. You know I actually am fine living, vacationing, and otherwise cohabiting with others, as long as they are not free loading relatives. So, is it a sin that I do not feel even a little bad about all this? My life here in my deathtrap money pit is okay. I hate the mess, and I get stalled a lot with the work, but it is mine, and I do not want to share.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Lookin’ for Love in all the Wrong Places

I am not 25, tall, thin, blonde, or compliant. This apparently makes my chances of finding a man I take seriously and who takes me seriously slim to none. To that end, I succumbed to one of the bazillion commercials for eHarmony, and filled out the personality questionnaire.

After I signed up, I started communicating for free. That went all right for the most part. I decided to actually sign up for a membership. Then I started seeing these commercials for talking about how they don’t reject people like eHarmony does. Well, then I had to check into this. Seems that some people get a rejection letter after they fill out the umptybillion questions in the personality questionnaire saying they do not fit into any of the profile types eHarmony has, and therefore there is not a way to successfully match them up.

Then of course, gay people can’t use eHarmony at all, so they do not even get to fill out the umpteen questions. So, all this really bothered me once I thought about it. Having always know gay and lesbian people I am a proponent of gay rights, and so I am kind of ashamed of myself for being so short sighted as to sign up for a dating service that thinks gay people apparently are not entitled to relationships.

And then, I was upset because I like to cling to the notion that I am a beloved, unique and precious child of God. Well, apparently I am pretty run of the mill since I conform to the profiles on eHarmony. This really irks me. All my life I have been a weirdo, raging against the machine, griping about the Man, and now I am just another rat in a maze. Oh, the humanity!

But, hey, I am busy working on the whole anti-social misfit thing, so the idea of trolling for men in the comfort and privacy of my own couch appeals to me. When I signed up, I figured that it couldn’t be any weirder than becoming acquainted with men in "real" life. I was wrong.

The system matches you with people, and then you read their "introduction" where you find out basic stats and answers to some questions. Apparently the twenty nine dimensions as scored through the umptybillion questions found that rabid Christians are the right kind of guy for me. Maybe the computer thinks I need someone to pray for me.

When it comes to men, I have some definite preferences. I do not feel bad about them at all, as there are plenty of men who have preferences that exclude me. So fuck them for hating my fat ass, its not like I’d date someone whom isn’t tall enough to ride a roller coaster anyway.

I really seriously do not like short men. I am thinking of putting a hash mark on my bedroom doorframe at 5’10" that says, "you must be this tall to ride this ride." While I respect peoples’ rights to religious zealotry, I do not find it hot and sexy. Further, I find the ability to master the basic tenets of the English language intensely alluring. If I do not have to speak slowly using small words, there is a pretty safe bet I want to have you babies, metaphorically speaking. As long as you do not already have babies, or a wife, or a drinking or drug problem.

The matching thing really gets on my nerves sometimes. Even though they ask questions about height, age, etc., I am getting matched with men who are way too old, way too young, have kids, or are short. So, I am often frustrated by the fact that I am getting matched with all these pygmy Jesus freaks.

The religious guys really scare me. They quote bible passages in their ‘what I’m looking for in a mate" section. Being an Internet savvy chicky momma, I go and look them up, mostly to try to convince myself I am wrong, and am remembering the wrong citation. But nope, these guys all want obedient wives who are strong in their walk with the Lord, and will submit to their will. Yeah, right Jethro, good luck with that, I think you need to try the mail order bride catalog.

I have become quite the smart-ass as well in my running commentary as I use eHarmony. When you close matches, or a match closes you, there is a list of little messages to send. Since there is not a "you are a freaking scary ass religious nut case" choice, I check the one about us having values that don’t match up. The other day I got a match who had posted some pictures of himself. From the photos it was apparent he has transposed the digits of his age, perhaps because he had not fully recovered from the thrashing he received from the ugly stick. He closed out his match with me because "he wanted to pursue another relationship." When I read that I said "yeah, right, with your hand." So maybe I do need those Jesus freaks to pray for me.

Now in a similar yet different league than the god squad are the flat out scary dudes. Every time I read one of their profiles I have visions of myself in a pit clutching an annoying dog while some dipshit with a speech impediment and a mangina screams "it rubs the lotion on its skin." So, I think I am going to have to peel my ass off the couch and go back to meeting men the old fashioned way.

Monday, January 7, 2008

The Great Debaters

I was just over at Plains Feminist and am posting my political and literary commentary here as well as adding some more blah blah.

In an effort to continue my status as an anti-social misfit I watched the debates Saturday night. I was pleasantly surprised to hear some actual intelligent answers from both parties. We seriously need a huge change in this country. I have not decided whom I want to vote for yet, but I am thinking Obama/Clinton.

I do not think of Obama as a black candidate, but as a human rights candidate. Not sure either will fly in the good old US of A. I think that despite his inability to keep his dick to himself, Bill Clinton is the smartest president we have ever had. He is the one most cognizant of the realities of foreign relations with nations that do not share our cultural outlook. I think Hillary is immensely smarter, but she can never win. She is too easy to bait, and I agree with PF, she is too old school, but I think she would be an asset on the ticket and could revolutionize the office of VP.

On an entirely different note, Mitt Romney and his posse of hottie spawn are yummy.

I also recommended a book The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls. I loved this book. And also threw it across the room a dozen times in the process of reading it. It is a beautiful story of a really ugly childhood.

Finally, see the move The Great Debaters. As part of our unorthodox approach to Christmas, my little sister and I saw this movie Christmas day. What a great movie. How far we have come, how far we still need to go. Also, as an aside, there is something really special about going to the movies to see a film. The crowd experience is an important component. The theatre was crowded. We all collectively glared at the fucker with the blinking blue tooth. We all moved around to make room for each other. We all laughed and cried. Also, a funny thing happened. During a point in the film a woman slaps a man across the face. When this happened several people in the audience gasped. Then after a beat, EVERYONE laughed about the gasping. Even for an anti-social misfit, it feels good to be part of a group sometimes.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Silence is Acquiescence

Just as a point of order, I did not forget to write everyday so far this year. I JUST DO NOT SHARE.

So, yesterday I am flipping through the channels. Why find a job, or work on my house, or go out and actually talk to people when I can curl up in my bed with 6 blankets, and two cats, and a laptop, and a book, and channel surf? This is America! I have the right to be an anti-social misfit. Plus it is colder than a warlock’s weenie here. I’ve never felt up a witch, so I don’t know the witch tit temperature scale. Then I stumbled across Oprah, talking about what you can do to help yourself, or to help someone you know make a plan to leave a bad marriage. Now, the only thing about which I endeavor to keep my mouth shut more than sharing my opinion about other people’s relationships, is sharing my opinion about their children.

A long time ago one of my friends announced she was going to get married to her boyfriend. Our little group of friends was shocked. I distinctly remember that after she called me and talked to me, I left my house to go visit some other friends. When I got there the first words out of her mouth were "Did you talk to Annie?" And I said; "Yeah, what’s up with that? He was supposed to be the temporary rebound guy until she found a real boyfriend." We were all really shocked and could not understand why our beautiful no really beautiful not pretty, not cute, like certifiably, undeniably beautiful, smart, fun, witty, loveable and loving friend was marrying this beer swilling dumbass who was less cultured that supermarket yogurt. My friend’s announcement of her impending marriage led to one of the few occasions on which my parents not only gave me advice, but upon which I took it. I had told them that I had no idea how I was going to go to my friends wedding and be a nice happy supportive friend when I thought she was making a huge freaking mistake. My Mom said; "You tell her you love her, and how special she is to you, and that you wish for her to have a long happy marriage. Then you go to her wedding and get really fucking drunk, and have a good time." My Dad said; "Yup, that covers it, because it is all true, you do want her to have a good marriage, you do not have to be specific about the husband part. Maybe this dumb ass has some cute friends who will amuse you." To be honest this advice worked out pretty well. The beer swilling dumbass did, and still does, have some cute friends. My friend’s marriage is not one I would want for myself. They have had a lot of bumps along the way. But, they both have decided to be with each other, and to have a family with each other, and that they are in it for the long haul. The beer swiller has ALWAYS taken care of her financial and material needs and desires, and he is a nice Dad. He’s still a puts though, but it turns out my friend kinda has a thing for the nuances of putzhood. So based on this experience, I have always tried to keep my mouth shut. Just because I think your husband or wife is a revolting fuck face does not mean that he or she is not the exact breed of revolting fuck face that you need to float your boat.

Stumbling upon this particular Oprah really made me think about my sister Holly Hobby. I never liked Holly Hobby’s husband. No one in our family ever did. None of her friends ever liked him. I have never understood why she, or anyone, would be attracted to him, much less wed and breed with him. He never hit her, the first and last time he ever yelled at her was this past summer when they had a major blow out and finally decided to get divorced. But I never liked the way he treated people in general, and her in particular. He treated her like a second class citizen, like he was doing her a favor. He talked about the scar across her skull from ear to ear like it was a flaw, and abomination, something that made her less than that he tolerated out of the goodness of his heart. He never became cognizant of the fact that having such a serious illness that you have to literally have your skull cracked TWICE as a child might be something about which to admire her. To maybe discuss how terrifying it was. How it was hard to know what was going on back then. How it felt, what it was like getting better. How much of a big fucking deal it is, how proud he is of her to have overcome such a traumatic experience. He was too busy whining about getting allergy shots when he was a kid. He held her past history with men and drugs and drinking against her even though he dated strippers, fucked prostitutes, snorted coke, dropped acid, shot heroin, and drank everything he put on his parents Visa. He never felt fidelity was a thing he needed to consider, and constantly endangered her health with his little dalliances. He spent money on his hobbies and his entertainment while their bills went unpaid, their home went unmaintained, and their fridge was empty.

Many years ago I went to go visit them with my parents. It was the last time any of us went there until this past summer. After that visit I told my parents that my sister’s marriage reminded me of all the very worst things about their marriage with none of the good things. They said "us too." It was a very painful thing for us all. How can or do you help someone who says they do not want or need help? She would not come home with us, or let us help her. She would not take money. It is incredibly painful to watch someone be cut off from their friends and family. To see how painful that was for my parents. To lose my sister to the abyss of her marriage. I felt and feel guilty that I did not speak up to her more, or better, or louder, or something. I feel guilty that she is now so cowed that she has no faith in herself at all. I am angry that she wasted 20 years on this dumb fuck. I am disgusted that all through their marriage she held full time jobs with insurance, and she got up and went every day, while he dabbled in employment. I am disgusted that they have no money. That their house is in foreclosure. That he left and went to go live with his girlfriend officially seven months ago and has not lifted finger, or provided for her or their children since then. But he has money and time to get another motorcycle, and more tattoos and more piercings, and all kinds of stuff for himself, while she cannot even have Christmas. Most of all, I think I am mad at her for putting up with this shit, for being a party to her own devastation. I don't know what to tell her because I think anything I say will make her feel worse.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008


2007 sucked some serious dick, and not good dick either, soft, smooshy, pencil, ate too much asparagus dick. I am so glad it is over. I hope to hell 2008 is better.

This year I will;

Lay off the soda. I will stop drinking so much soda, and I will not start drinking too much juice or chocolate milk instead.

I will go some place where I need my passport.

I will try to find somebody, with good dick no less, to go some place I need my passport with me. If not, I will go by myself, and stop thinking I am a Cyclops or something because I have not yet found someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.

In an attempt to have a rest of my life, I will take well care of myself. I will find a doctor I trust, and figure out what I need to change about what and how I eat, I will get a shrink, and a nutritionist, or a voodoo doll, or whatever else I have to do to feel and look better.

I will forgive myself for my lack of professional ambition. I do not want to be in charge. I do not want to squander my potential, my intellect, my leadership abilities, and my emotional investment working for the man. I just wanna pump out some crap off my desk everyday, and get paid regularly. I do not want over time. I do not want anybody calling me at home. I do not want to pretend I give a flying fuck about work when I am not there because I don’t. I care about a lot of things the petty, inane intricacies of office politics do not make the list.

I will start writing every day again.

I will try to engage more in the world. I have been embarrassed about my finances, and my professional life, and my strained relationships with my family, so I have become a virtual hermit, so I do not have to risk people asking me about any of these things.

I will cut myself at least as much slack as I would cut anyone else, and stop thinking I should have transformed my house into a palatial retreat by now. That is not true. This place was a freaking shit hole when I got here. There is so much more to do, but I am out of money for the moment, but I can still work on cleaning, and sorting through stuff, and I have already accomplished so much.

I will try to figure out how better to communicate my needs to people. I have always been a good friend. The kind of friend who will help you move. It has been tough for me to accept that people have not offered to help me with stuff at my house. And, I have been afraid to ask for fear they will say no. I am afraid I am not important to anyone. That I am not a priority to anyone. I am afraid that nobody good likes me.

I will take the CPA exam, and I am certain I will pass it. Then I will get my masters so I can get an adjunct position. I want to teach English 101, so I teach people to love words, and to see and feel their power.

I will forgive myself for my professional mistakes. It is ok that I do not ever intend to make a commitment to doing taxes, and that I never intended to stay at my last two jobs. It is ok that they did not like me.

I will start writing my book.