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.