Brutally Angelique

Syphon

2011-08-20T01:36:00.002-05:00

I suppose theres some assumed solace in it.
The knowing of it, in having first hand experience
or even of having run across it as one would an unusual bird.
To have felt the way it tightens so many different muscles
or how it can make you overly aware of your femoral pulse.
There should be enough joy in having its existence well known and understood
it should sate one enough that it brushed your skin in passing
or if it maybe caused you to loose sleep or vomit even.
Ive wondered what life would be like as one who can appreciate and move on
to have the ability to absorb only as much as is given freely of something
without the driving throb to suck a feeling dry.
What a mercy it would be to consider a thing completed
and let it end there.

The Glory Days

2011-03-31T02:07:00.002-05:00

They were littered with cigarette butts and watered down drinks
there was just as much water in the whiskey as there was fear in my hands.
The tiniest grains would melt through my fingers
and the days would blow sand in my eyes.
Those days made me a sea sponge, a Viking spear and a pixie's heel all at the same time.
I was a jack of many trades and fucked up most of them.
The days liked to cough their sick-breath at me, unapologetically.
It was torrents of pinpricks and a handful of sliced arteries,
and the days loved to see me bleed.
And even though the sun dial tells me that those days have passed,
I still feel the room go cold and a naked apparition appears to wag its bony finger at me.

Untitled

2011-01-31T20:38:00.003-06:00

There are nooks and crannies
catacombs, tiny crevices where they hide.
Like diverticulitis of the soul.
They fester, they infect and can flare up at any time.
They seem to sometimes break off and attempt to fill other places with their sputum.
Small granules of momentary thought, minuscule cupboards filled with an inventory
so vast, so varied, so impossible to properly catalog.
So instead they pop up at random, these fancies.
A kick to the liver or a spasm of skeletal tissue,
it's as if my very thought-borne come calling.
I've made them all by myself- ideas that have a life and an Is
once created they never, ever can be destroyed.
Some, their visits are less lethal than before,
their scariest faces or their regretful tone have lost their sting.
Others, I can feel their breath on my neck each day,
yet they always stop me - make me weep.
They will always be there, my minute hitchhikers.
Tagalongs with no purpose other than existing, reminding.
Some I wish to cradle, to kiss the soft spot on their infant heads
others need scolding - yet-
they are mine.
I own little in this life, little is fully mine.
But them, They.
My little minions, my burgeoning buggards.
No matter which end of the equator I'm on, they swirl in constant
a perpetual sand devil filled with them, all muttering in unison.

Because He's Just Really Fucking Adorable

2010-11-30T18:46:00.001-06:00

I'd Walk a Mile

2010-11-12T17:52:00.002-06:00

I wonder what size they are
Are they bigger than mine?
Are they worn or shiny and tread-new,
Did they fit right away or did that first mile hurt?
Did she feel each stone, each stretch of the leather,
and would they have fit me better - would the first mile have been softer.
I'm sure he would have worked the leather for her
rubbed liniment in and with each stroke sent his good hearts intentions into the grain.
Maybe they're overworn now and she doesn't need them anymore,
wouldn't that be a boon for me.
In this case, I woulnd't mind the hand-me-down.
Such wares to me will always be a perfect fit and flawless.
Years of window shopping and dressing rooms gave me such a good eye.
Which does me no good.
They're not my shoes. I'll never wear them. I can only admire them in the window.

Sometimes satire stings like the truth

2010-10-06T10:17:00.000-05:00

Hey ya'll!!! Get out and vote!!!!

The Draft

2010-09-23T21:40:00.002-05:00

Diapered in others regret
Suckled on the bitter lait of old feuds
She was a babe made of and in her world
The same forces the crippled them
they used to try and raise her with.
But I found her there, huddled in her foxhole
Spent decades showing her what life was like outside
the border state.
Taught her to laugh, to love, to tread lightly
to never treat others as she was treated.
And I miss her so
the scent of her hair, the sarcasm behind her glee
In war she was nursed to be, in war also she saw diplomacy
and in war now I wait for her.
She's gone from me, gone to patrol the longitudes
I wait, hoping she returns with arms laden only with warmth
openness and free of scars.

Laundry List

2010-07-28T13:13:00.002-05:00

Yeah, yeah, I know I only gripe at you people when shit starts its downward progression from solid to runny, stinky liquid mass.... but you keep coming back so it's just as much your fault for being interested as it is mine for spewing my verbal diarrhea of fun.
I have a few idioms I need to dispense. Take notes, you may learn something.
First, it is wrong to hurt the people that love you. Be it by your actions, inactions, apathy, hands or words...having someone love you is a great gift and to hurt them is a slap in the face to love itself (and just generally bad juju).

Next, when you become a mother, you loose the right to have your own private meals. No one warns you of this when they see your inflated belly and feel the need to pass along some trite nugget of wisdom. I would have liked to know this prior to having children.

Don't let anyone tell you that the way you wish to have a healthy relationship is wrong. Anyone willing to give of themselves on a constant and consistent basis and to do it out of love hasn't a thing wrong with them. If anything, their maturity and selflessness should be praised. Sure it's nice to not have anyone else's shit to clean up after, but if you choose to clean up someone else's shit, that fact alone wins you bonus points and no one should say differently.

Just when you figure out who you are and what you want out of life, you'll hit another milestone or have some huge A-Ha moment and everything will change.

Putting someone else's needs above your own never works in the long term. Melding your needs to those who hold permanence in your life is much more healthy for everyone.

Hold on tight to those people who have known you the longest, have seen you do some really stupid shit, and who will still be proud of you and laugh with you at your past idiocy (and maybe some of your current idiocies).

Never do anything without checking it out first. This rule is so broad ranging and so important. Be it a decision on a thing to do, buy, see, say, go...everything you do has consequences. Take the time to look them over.

Pulpit closed, soap box dismantled - for now.

Perhaps some perspective, perhaps not

2009-12-15T22:51:00.002-06:00

The holidays, growing up, simply meant more drunks and druggies lying around to be stepped over or cleaned up after. It meant Steven and I would give each other that all-too-familiar look when we figured out the nefarious procurement of our holiday gifts. The holidays were never without drama drowned in cheap liquor and rarely happened without fighting, blaming, name calling, and- eventually- that quiet that comes when no one is talking to one another. And even though I could feel Steven's disappointment, my mothers bitterness and all the pains and trials of those passed out all over the house - I cherished that quiet after the storm. I'd shut myself in my room with one of the family pets and hold them hostage for warmth and the feel of a tiny, innocent heartbeat as I played classical music on my stereo and wrote really bad poetry. Spending pen after pen trying to put that burr in my throat and that syrupy sick feeling in my gutt into words. I managed to do it quite a few times, and my need to purge lessened as the years went by and it was the houses of good friends, casual acquaintances and -sometimes when desperate- the 'friends of friends' holiday celebrations that I took part in. I witnessed normalcy, I witnessed good old fashioned family tolerance, I saw how normal people still had their bumps and bruises during this time of year. I always felt they were so lucky that the extent of their worry for the season was that one weird uncle that would show up each year and drink just a little too much and who would tell the same banal story of his frisky youth ad nauseum. How lucky these people were, that they didn't have to worry for a second that their presents under the tree meant they'd have no electricity next week. How lucky were they that each one of them went to bed knowing they were loved. Because going to bed without feeling that a single person loves you is an awful guttural feeling. It causes you to dread its re-commencement at dawn and to love the ignorant state of temporary bliss that sleep brings.
But no one was loved unless my mother felt loved. No point was valid and no words or deeds listened to or appreciated unless hers were considered first. So I grew up thinking that if I want to be happy, I'd better have a damned good reason and I'd better make sure that everyone else was validated before I was. And for a time, I kept up with it. For a time it worked and was really the only way to 'work the system' as it were.
But now, I don't care.
I don't want to jump through Barnum's hoops just to be able to make a point. I can do without assuaging someones ego just so that I get a damned word in edgewise.
Sometimes, feelings are feelings and their mere effect on you is validation enough to be listened to and acknowledged.
But it's not that easy. I wish it was.
I have to be content for the time being knowing that my children feel loved and that I wont have to clean up vomit during the holidays anymore.
Anything more than that and I'm going to have to learn how to act. I don't know how to just 'feel' something and not loathe myself for both having feelings in the first place and for not having any idea how to express them.
I could start writing bad poetry again.... perhaps not.

Round Three

2009-09-11T10:38:00.004-05:00

So I'm pregnant again. I could be all PC and crap and say that 'we're' pregnant again - but that would be a false representation of just who is going through the muddy trenches with a very large and angry gun on her back that sometimes jams and hits innocent civilians.

This is very much a planned pregnancy. We want our kids to have plenty of people to count on when Mom and Dad bail when the last one hits 18 and they have to send a wire to some distant village in the Cayman Islands that is delivered by a man chewing straw. We want our kids to have plenty of options for bone marrow, kidney and blood transfusions. And most importantly, I have gone of my Ack medication and am not thinking clearly at all. I was wooed by The Hubbins' persistent powers of persuasion and by his ability to play Ava Maria from his rectum. After 11 years a devilishly laid eyebrow raise and a boob grab is all I get for foreplay. Lest I not get any nookie at all, I best know the signs.

So I was a mean, ravenous sex crazed monster once the IUD was pulled. And like I foretold to my midwife, we got pregnant the first month after the foreign birth control object was yanked.

And then, The Nothing moved in.

The -"I feel gross and achy and nauseated and ugly and swollen and we've done our duty so leave me alone now" - nothing. I went from giving my husband marks he was embarrassed to show at work to not being amused at all by his advances - such as they are.

I complain constantly - about everything. I'm sick of the sound of my own snivelling voice.

Then yesterday The Ow moved in.

When I was pregnant with Sawyer I had terrible arthritis pain in my hips and hands once the Relaxin moved in : that oh-so lovely chemical your body produces to make your joints more loose to facilitate pushing out a baby pig from what's supposed to be a place of joy and excitement. With Riley the relaxin affected the joining of my cartilage and rib bones in my chest causing something called costal chondritus. Translation? OW.

Either way its not fun.

So we're closing on our new home next week, Sawyer started Kindergarten this week, we're having another baby, I have 13 credits I'm taking this semester and we have a new family member:

Her name is Myra and she's a Meyer's Parrot. She's not at all as loud as the other birds we've had, which means there is less of a likelihood that I will stuff her with garlic and roast her.

She's more of a Daddy's girl and prefers men in general - which is the antithesis of the birds we've had before. In general parrots like higher voices - and as I sound the same as I did when I was 12, I've always had good bird juju.

But this one's a little slut for The Hubbins. Whatever. Maybe he'll Dutch Oven the bird instead of me.

More Trade Offs

2009-06-12T09:19:00.002-05:00

Why does my sanity have to come at the expense of my sex drive? Why is it that no medications exist that can help control Anxiety Disorder (heretofore referred as The Ack) and yet still leave me as the sex crazed minx that I am? Why, Huh?!! Huh? I am growing tired of trading one for the other.
With the meds, I laugh more. With the meds, I am better prepared to weather two whining toddlers, I am able to get up in the morning and DO THINGS. Stuff gets done, and if it doesn't I don't consider myself a worthless piece of shit and stay awake at night and worry about all the shit that The Ack firmly believes that should have been done. With the meds, I don't obsessively peel at my skin, or pick at my skin, or squeeze at my skin, or look at my skin, or think about my skin. I'm able to laugh off The Husband's incessant chauvinistic remarks and see them for the "I love you because I'm chasing you in the schoolyard" that they are.

Without the meds, I'm jumpy, irritable, and a raging horndog.
Not fun when you have a stressed out and tired husband all the time.
And with nearly 11 years under our belt, I'm discovering that no two people can be in The Mood at the same level at the same time. One may just want to receive special kisses while the other wants some good 'ol monkey sex. One may want a backrub and some sweet lovin, while the other is really interested in watching Dateline. In fact, the only time that Allen and I were ever in the same mood at the same time was when we were in the midst of divorce proceedings.
Funny, that.

Why Chuck Norris needs to put on a bunny suit and make out with me

2009-04-03T15:42:00.001-05:00

So you all know how I care not for The Sister In Law.
Well, since The Husband and I signed the international/intergenerational/intercongigal peace treaty, things have been amazing. Even the fact that ALL of our relatives no longer speak to us is actually a thing I revel in. The drama level in our lives has hit near to Defcon 1.
But through the grapevine (translation: Mother in law) I have learned that The Husbands Great Uncle is having medical problems. A mass has been found in a lung - follow ups are required and the family is on this month's issue of Waiting On Test Results monthly.
So the tale goes that Mother in law called Sister in law to relay the news and this is the first thing that trickled from her holier-than-thou-my-organic-fucking-bean-sprout-ass-is-better-than-yours lips:

"Well, if he had just lived healthier..."

Ok, so this is a man who has - like many of the men in the family- supported his family by ranching, driving truck... anything to keep food on the table. This is also a man that drove at all hours of the night when The Husband, Mother in law and Sister in law broke down in the middle of nowhere on their way out to see the family.
This man is a sweet and gentle and loving and respectful as any I have met. That whole generation of their family is rife with good, honest, hardworking people.

So here is where I put it out there, with complete disregard for karma and all other cosmic forces.
I hope this bitch gets cancer or gets hit by a truck.

(missed me, didn't ya??!!)

What good does it do sit up on a high horse and wave your hemp oil ass at everyone in your life? Is being right really that important? Or maybe is being empathetic and at peace with the fact that each person has their own path more important?
Don't get me wrong, I do shudder and cringe in frustration when I see parents loading their carts with half a dozen cases of soda. My kids eat whole grains, I won't buy anything with hydrogenated or high fructose anything.
My kids know what soda tastes like and they prefer juice. Yes, they get the occasional lollipop.
But honestly, is my way of life any better if I make other people feel bad about theirs? She's an Evangelical Health Nazi.

And I know the title has nothing to do with anything. I really have yet to find a reason to title anything that. So there it is.

Miss me?

2009-02-17T11:57:00.000-06:00

I know, I know. I had been an avid teller of the sortid tales of my daily life.
BUT I'M GODDAMNED BUSY.
15 credits this semester. A literature professor that thinks she's the only course anyone could have at any one time, a family psychology professor that seems to be obsessed with gayness, a math professor that is wonderfully hands-off, an anthropology class that I love and never have enough time for, and a history course I have barely touched.

Arg.

So, while I am on my myspace page, obsessively snuffing out mob bosses and killing do-gooder heroes, I have been posting there. May as well, those myspace applications are addictive. I've joined leagues, I've set up my own mafia.... What more could a control freak like myself want in life???!!

Sage Advice

2009-01-09T09:33:00.000-06:00

So I'm planning a trip for next year. It just so happens that my dearest friend Ayala will be in her homeland for several months next winter. I don't exactly know how I will come up with the $1500 to pay for the flight - but where there's a will.....
I've never been out of the country. And yes, I will be traveling alone.
I had thought to ask my dear readers for some advice about intercontinental travel and about where I will be visiting... and Ayala has gotten me off to a good start:

Israelis have no etiquette. Believe me.
Just remember the following rules:
1. The concept of a queue doesn't exist. Shove your way to the front of the line. Use your elbows.
2. You're an American, so people will be nice to you, and men will try to get in your pants even more than usual. Say no emphatically.
3. Everywhere you go (mall, store, open market, bus) your bag will be searched. No one cares about anything except for weapons and explosives, and since you won't have those, you won't have a problem. Just be prepared for it.
4. People will be very skeptical about the fact that you don't live in New York, LA or Chicago. No other cities are respected. My way of dealing with it is to terrify them by telling them how cold it is where you're from in Celsius degrees.
5. When in a car close your eyes and think of Jersey. It's the only way to maintain your sanity when it comes to Israeli drivers.
6. Don't get into a political argument about ANY topic with an Israeli. They love their politics and they love arguing. More than me. Yes, it's possible.
7. If at any point you somehow get lost, play the dumb American tourist card hardcore. Israelis love American tourists because usually they're a source of income for the country.
Everything else is negligible. :-)

So, hopefully the war will be over in the next year. And hopefully I can get the cash together. I'm thinking of selling myself - become and online medical transcriptionist or something.

So, so sorry

2008-12-30T15:56:00.000-06:00

Please accept my deepest sincere apologies. With the holidays and my first college semester ending, I have been lax in keeping up with my posts. Rest assured, I am working on 2 different entries that are sure to please.

Feliz Navidad and Merry New Year!!

Shameless advertising

2008-12-05T08:48:00.000-06:00

Huge. Fan.
Such a rarity to find truth on the outside of a cardboard box in the grocery store. But there it was, truth. See if you have them near you. Give 'em a try. You'll thank me.

A-typical

2008-11-28T09:37:00.000-06:00

I'm so grateful for the life I have now. It sure as hell doesn't fit into anyone else's life, my happiness seems to make other family members right pissed -
but I'm happy.
Like, boring, nothing happening, happy.
Both my husband and I have peripheral relationships with our mothers, non existent relationships with our dads, and both our siblings' are not in our lives by choice or circumstance.
Its a lonely, insular existence, but I really believe that - given the variables - this is the only way it can 'work'.
Our kids have parents who are not stressed out by their family. Our kids have parents who are happy in their careers. Our kids have a warm home and damn good food on the table.
We are living our life on our terms. Not a lot of people can say that.
So what if our terms don't include dealing with psycho-family drama? Why force yourself to deal with people whose interactions with you loathe? Just because you share blood? Bah.
We had 2 guests at dinner last night that showed us more courtesy and kindness than either of our families' have in half a dozen years.
Why can't we hold our families to the same standards we do people we work with?... or our friends? Why does blood give you a free pass to judge, disrespect and neglect and then be forgiven for it?

Look what the stork dropped off

2008-11-16T14:04:00.000-06:00

We've called him/her:
Squirt
Munchkin
Wizard ('cuz The Gurl can't say 'lizard')
Chuckles
Mr. Handsome

We wont be able to tell its gender for several more months. We're having a hard time naming it. Either way, we're referring to it in the masculine and I have to say, he's a gorgeous 'lil critter. We went into SuperHuge Pet Mecca yesterday to pick out some fish for the 43 gallon corner tank in the kids room, and came home with a Bearded Dragon. He's so cute! I fell in love the minute I set my eyes on him.
Introducing the newest member of the King Family. Daddy, Momma, Sawyer, Riley, Miss Minerva, Fred and Barney(see below) are happy to introduce:

He's a hard guy to get a picture of. I'm sure I'll post more later. I just went in to try and get him out of his tank to sit here and chill out with Momma, but he's all warm and zipped around like crazy.
Oh, and here's Fred and Barney. They're gay lovers. And they bicker alot. Ah, love.

More random:

2008-11-13T13:19:00.001-06:00

Fable 2 is slowly taking over my brain.
Life with a kitten absolutely effing sucks flaccid mule cock.
I have spent the last 2 days digging in my kid's noses.
Coffee doesn't work anymore.
The public transport system in Fargo is laughable.
The next person that looks at my cold sore is getting monkey-punched.
My daughter is a monster.
My husband is the sexiest stubbornnest person I know.
My left shoulder has been numb for two weeks.
Yes, I work at Starbucks. No, I don't have any coupons.
No, its not a bindi, its a pimple - slapnutz.
I have two tests today.
I feel fat.
If The Hubbins buys any more cake or cupcakes I may consider smiting him. Hard.

So proud

2008-11-11T21:13:00.000-06:00

Every year I try to buy one of those little paper flowers from the VFW guys. I'm not a gung-ho military minded person. I don't like documentaries or films about war. I don't watch movies about shooting up drugs either - everyone has their tastes.
But I admire those whose ideology or wallets lead them to serve their country. It's kindof like nuns, I hold them in such reverence. Such a sacrifice.

This year my husband and I loafed around the house. Cleaned the garage and re-arranged some furniture - but mostly played video games.
What with me getting the XBox 360 and Fable2 for my birthday and all...

(thanks to all who sent me wishes. yeup, still old)

I heard that Michelle Obama will not be using her place in the White House to take up major policy issues. She will be an advocate for civil service and help for the families of our service members. Like I needed another reason to like this woman...

But it is so hard being away from family. Think of yourself, away from your family at college - you get to go home for Thanksgiving, you get to see them over the summer, you'll be done school in 4 years and in that time maybe only be away from them 9 months at a time.
The Bush administration and its damned holy war have kept our troops far too long overseas. The time tables the military uses for the maximum amount of time an officer should be engaged in war are there for a reason. There was research done on the physical and mental effects of combat. - Especially after Vietnam.
But no, The Shrub decides to bend the rules for his own devices. It will be our service members and their families that will suffer. There will be a drastic increase in officers treated for PTSD.

To this day The Hubbins gets thanked for his service in the Gulf. To this day it makes a difference. Go and make the difference of a man or woman who has sacrificed their time and health and life with the ground you walk on in mind.

My New Therapy

2008-10-30T08:50:00.000-05:00

Screw the meds and liquor, none of that when there's FAILBLOG!!

I love this site, it has a random button just in case you need a little pick-me-up.
I've included a permanent link down to the right, go there when you need. Thanks be to Allah....

Here's just a taste:

see more pwn and owned pictures

You're quite welcome.

How could you not?

2008-10-26T10:58:00.000-05:00

So, here we were, The Gurl and I - coloring, laughing....

and Momma was taking breaks to nibble on those scrumptious little toes. It was wonderful.
Me and The Boy were cracking out to this, as the whole family has been for nearly three weeks now:
Yesterday was sunny, mild and tolerable as Fargo weather goes.
And then we woke up to this BS:

Who wouldn't love living here. IT'S NOT EVEN NOVEMBER YET!

Like a Jackal

2008-10-11T12:44:00.000-05:00

I call it my cackle. I have a loud laugh. It starts out with one rocketing shot upward and continues to maintain a hefty volume until finally I am snorting and tears are streaming down my face. My son seems to have inherited a version of it, poor kid.

Got an email from an old friend today- one that makes sure our friendship is always on his terms. He said he needed to hear my voice. If anything, he probably needs to hear me laugh. Not for nothing, but I have been told my laugh is infectious - if not downright uplifting.

And yet, I truly wish it wasn't so damnably loud.

The Husband finds my laugh to be similar to a shot of penicillin. Or meth, whichever. He's touted it's addictive qualities, and feels quite the King when he's able to reduce me to a pile of snorting. (Pun intended)

But I wonder if it's really the lilting sweetness of my uproarious cackling that warms the hearts of those in my life or if it's just a need for them to feel as though they have some small niche of goodness they're contributing to. It's like the All-American Instant Gratificationism. It's a sure-fire instantaneous ego stroke to make someone burble coffee from their sinuses.

Either way, I'm happy to serve.

My love hate relationship

2008-10-02T20:24:00.000-05:00

Baked goods and I are really good pals. Cakes, cookies, pies... you name it.

My worst weakness is grocery store cupcakes with frosting so thick and sugary that it actually crunches. Uhff. Evil.

Evan Tanner

2008-09-27T12:50:00.000-05:00

Most of you have no idea who he was. Any of you who have ever watched UFC know who he was. Last night I was watching a DVD of UFC 53 and working a little Google-foo on some of the fighters of the UFC.

And that's when I found out that Evan Tanner had died on September 8, just three weeks ago. He was an amazing fighter. He was a former UFC champion, and he was such a good, good man. He never fell into the shit-talking pomp and circumstance that many of the other fighters do. You never saw Evan in any interview say anything derrogatory about any of his opponents. You never saw him become overly boastful about his abilities. He was a quiet man of enormous stature at 6 feet tall.

He had a zen quality to him and how he spoke of life. He was well-read and well-spoken, and I still can't believe he's gone. I have seen nearly his entire career. His first official UFC fight was in 1997. He was respected and well liked.

He died in the desert, alone, on a camping trip. He died of exposure, and to read his last blog entry prior to leaving on the trip is haunting. He prepared so much for the trip.

He was only 37 years old. No wife, no kids - but you can read on his myspace about how he wanted to be a parent and grandparent some day. Please read his page. He was an amazing man.

To my son and daughter:

2008-09-26T09:54:00.000-05:00

I aspire to not being one of those parents that uses the phrase "When I was a kid", but on this occasion, I feel it's necessary.

See, I never grew up with cousins, aunts, uncles or grandparents. Both of my parents were estranged from their parents and siblings due to abuse and extensive histories of personality conflict. For a period of three years, my mother decided to try to rejoin the Italian fold, and my brother and I were introduced to a whole lot of people we never met. Then my great grandmother died in 1989, I was 13. She was the matriarch and superglue of our family. Her funeral was held on my mother's birthday in January, and that was the last time I was exposed to my tens of dozens of olive skinned brethren.

Families are a complicated affair. I never understood why I couldn't go to Disneyland with my grandparents just like all the other kids, why my aunt didn't take me out shopping like all my friends had the opportunity to do.

But now I know. My grandparents are judgemental, right wing, assholes.

I know that after trying to establish a relationship with my family on my own, after my brother died.

They rejected me because I reminded them too much of my mother, essentially.

In subsequent years, my dad would do the same. Some friends have come and gone in much a similar manner - judgement, condescension.

And recently, I have done the same to my mother. Some exclusions are made out of biased ignorance, some made out of necessity. My mother kept my brother and I from her family because she wanted to save us from their scrutiny. The thought that her parents would have the opportunity to abuse us much the same as she had been terrified her. But when they excluded me, they did it out of bias for all the 'trouble' my mother caused growing up. Trouble I had absolutely nothing to do with. Why have I lessened our contact with my mother, your Mimom? Because I feel that her own problems are hindering my own growth and stability.

And here we are now. Your mom and dad are desperately trying to rebuild your family. You look to us for guidance and an example of how to treat others. The last thing I wanted to do was perpetuate the cycle of exclusion and judgement that has been in my family for generations. But I have. Parenting is all about decisions. Daily, hourly decisions.

You will never have to clean my mother up off the floor after a night of drugs and alcohol. You'll never know what it's like to have your mother sell drugs to kids in your high school.
Your relationship with my mother has nothing to do with the things I went through as a child. Your relationship with her will consist of your interactions going forward. But I must tell you two, it is my job to make sure that you are safe and well cared for. Unfortunately, members of your extended family cannot separate their feelings about your father and I from their interactions with you two.

Daddy's sister and mother have decided that them feeling they are right is more important than being in your lives. They don't understand that each person has a different kind of path in their lives. Your father and I have been generous and kind and patient to the paths our family's individual growth has taken, but we have not received the same in regard.

Christmas dinners will never look how I always wished they would. You two may never have all your extended family in one room - let alone under one roof - ever, to celebrate with you.

And while it breaks my heart to have been judged by my grandparents, dad, and some friends, I understand why. It hurts your father that his family cannot extend the same patience that he always gives them. It hurts that your Mimom would rather be angry at me than to understand that I had to make a very tough decision for the betterment of myself as well as her.

My children, I never thought I could give you perfection. Your father and I are surrounded by people that were not given good tools to live and love - and neither were we. The difference between your parents and your extended family is that your parents are actively trying to learn from their lives, their fears, and from those around them. Breaking the chain of traumatic and uncertain childhoods is your father and I's most important goal.
And that involves really tough choices on our part.
I'm sorry I couldn't give you better, guys. Maybe next time you'll do it even better than your father and I did.
I love you both,

Mommy

Introducing Miss Minerva Mae

2008-09-23T07:48:00.000-05:00

She pouts, she locks herself in her room. No one really 'gets' her.

True Story

2008-09-04T13:23:00.000-05:00

A man who lived on a farmstead in rural North Dakota went out one morning to start his car several years ago. The car would not start. He proceeded to look under the hood and discovered that his battery was gone. He subsequently replaced the battery and thought nothing more of the incident.

A couple of weeks later he went out again to start his car in the morning and found a note tucked under one of his windshield wipers. The note read something to the effect of:

I am the person who took your battery. I feel terrible about it and really wanted to apologize. I was in great need of some money. Again, I feel awful about what I have done. Enclosed you will find enough money to cover the cost of the battery, plus two tickets to an upcoming Vikings home game. Please go an enjoy yourselves at the game and don't let the bad deeds of another spoil your good time.

The man and his wife took the advice of the criminal and traveled to the Twin Cities and attended the football game. As it is an over 4 hour drive, the couple were gone for almost an entire day.

When they returned to their home, it was nearly empty.

Having not even locked their home, it was easy for the criminals involved to simply walk in and clear them out. The fact that the next closest residence was several dozen miles away made the robbery even easier.

The point: It is not uncommon for people here to keep their doors unlocked, or to even leave their keys in their car at night. When reality comes to Bumbfuck Nodak eventually, I will not be surprised.

Hard Pill to Swallow

2008-09-03T19:41:00.000-05:00

What makes people miss a person when they are dead? Will you, I, anyone you know - be missed? Why? What thing or essence or purpose do you now bring to those in your life that will be a noticeable void once you die? Is it feasible or even healthy to live your life hoping or aspiring to people missing you when that day comes? Not "what will people say about you" at some service or gathering. Its expected that those you leave behind will -at the very least- pull some random anecdote or some old feeling up for everyone to share. But when the crowd goes home and goes back to their normal, everyday life - how will their lives be changed on a visceral level? How often will your departure hit them and pause their actions or thoughts? Will those thoughts be positive or negative? Will nostalgia and longing fill their minds, or will it be a guilty sense of relief?

Invigorated

2008-09-02T17:28:00.001-05:00

I learned from my Criminal Justice professor today that my university works closely with the local chapter of the Rape and Abuse Crisis Center to advocate tougher sentencing and rehabilitation for sex and domestic abuse offenders.
The deal is that student volunteers receive extensive training and direction from RACC, after which they follow one specific violence case from origination of the complaint to the (hopeful) sentencing of the offender. The volunteer gathers information on the victim, law enforcement professionals and members of the court system. The inevitable goal being to provide more accurate data on how offenders and repeat offenders' cases are being handled. Hopefully tougher sentencing guidelines and more thorough counseling and rehabilitation will be the outcome of these efforts.
In past years, students who showed great interest and aptitude for following cases were offered jobs by the courts to do the very same thing for them and to eventually provide judges with impartial, non-court biased sentencing recommendations.
It filled me with joy to think that I could play even a small part in such an honorable undertaking. Needless to say, my name will be first on that damned volunteer list.

Lifestyles of the Grumpy Princess

2008-08-29T10:55:00.001-05:00

Throwing things, frustration, squeeling, screaming, freaking out, dancing, obsessing, whining, negating, smelling good and -above all else- being the center of the universe.

Simplicity

2008-08-25T21:29:00.000-05:00

A man thanked me today for loving him. He thanked me today for lifting the weight of uncertainty and loneliness from him. He thanked me for being me. Those two words held me rapt for what seemed like endless minutes over the phone. Thank you.
He thanked me for acceptance, he thanked me for the way I see the world. He thanked me for making him a part of my life.
What an odd feeling I have now. Tomorrow begins my college career. Tomorrow I take my path by the balls and lead it my own way. And so, here I am, compelled to write of thank you's.
My gift is giving. My gift is attentiveness and attention to detail. I will remember what brands of cookies or what flavor of yogurt someone likes... how they take their coffee, what puts them at ease.
Its just, well, I've been choosing the wrong people to give to.
To give expecting to get back is impurity in motion. To give to show someone that you care about the ease with which their life is led is love in its truest form.
I know that he loves cinnamon. I remember he likes to keep his receipts, I've noticed how thirsty he gets first thing in the morning.
Just a thank you and I feel wonderful. No prompting, no asking leading questions about how he feels about the things I've done. Completely unnecessary. Just, thank you. Thank you for being you. All the time. With reckless abandon. Thank you for paying attention to me, for taking notice, for caring.
I can't recall the last time I've felt this appreciated.
Go forth and thank someone today. Thank them with your whole soul.

Muse

2008-08-23T21:18:00.000-05:00

It was impromptu mediocre Italian
instead of a feast for hundreds.
My heart, in small places, was set
on lemon chiffon
and buttercream roses.
A destiny of greatness it was not
but mediocrity would have sufficed.
None of it was dull
even the boredom and loneliness were
a whir of activity and tumult.
Familiarity is a hard scab to heal.
The bow of the back responding like
a tap on the knee.
And beatings taken
were a comfort in proximity at least.
To forge forward is a New Deal
and my hand could use a few wild cards.

You Know Dern Well!!

2008-08-21T14:20:00.000-05:00

I could watch this a dozen times and it just keeps getting funnier.

Saturday morning check-in

2008-08-16T12:31:00.000-05:00

My friend Cassie and I are like sisters. Strange, twisted, sisters in crime. We are linked in some weird ways. We ended bad relationships at the same time, I took her job and had to listen to her say "I told you so" repeatedly afterward, we found love at the same time, and our nether regions are linked somehow. We had GYN appointments on the same day without realizing it.

"Hey punkin, just wanted to call and let you know my appointment went fine."
"Good. What was the result?"
"My doctor gave me some stuff to follow up on. I'm thinking after 8 years I should probably pay closer attention to what my vagina is telling me."
"Ya think?"
"So what about you? How did yours go?"
"She essentially told me that there's nothing to be done about it. It's all about angle."
"You'd figure after spitting out two kids you'd maybe be a little - less small."
"Yeah, no. I'm back to square one. Kegals or no, It's not gonna change."
"Shit, that sucks. So there's no hope for either of us, is there?"
"It would seem not."
"Well, this new guy could possibly be pretty scary. Why do we have to go through this?"
"Seriously, Cass, it sucks. It's like really spicy Mexican food. You get a craving for it every so often, but it's not good for you on a daily basis."
"Yeah, and it'll make you poop funny."
"Did you just say big penises will make you poop funny?"
"I guess I did, I guess under the right circumstances. You're gonna write about this aren't you?"
"Are you kidding? A conversation that mentions penises, vaginas and pooping!?"

Bigger, Better, Fuller

2008-08-15T20:21:00.000-05:00

To me it's like the difference between goose liver pate and Spam. Gruyere cheese and toejam.

North Dakota is/was a prairie. Farm land, flatness and maddening wind. Taxes are low, cost of living is low, government programs are low, the people are gargantuan. Good 'ol farm stock here. The men are taller, the women are taller - and heftier. Forty percent of married African American men in this region are married to Caucasian women. The brothas typically like 'em healthy - and boy are they in luck out here. I think I have met 1 person who has Italian in their lineage, and every time I mention my heritage to a Fargoan they tell me about their favorite Italian restaurant (pronounced Eye-Talian) (shiver). Thank you, no, I'll stick to mine and my mother's cooking. Lest my great-grandmother Carmela roll over in her grave.
So I went home to Jersey. I hadn't been there since I was 7 months pregnant with The Gurl. Living in the prairie, you forget about trees. I like me some trees. I remember my Sophomore year High School biology project. We had to collect something like 50 different leaves and Contact paper them to manila. We only had the leaf and tree descriptions. It was hard. That particular Bio teacher had been assigning that very project for something like 15 years and could spot a leaf from a previous year's assignment like nothing. I remember that is when I fell in love with Japanese Maples. Man are they something in the Fall.
That's another thing, there's hardly a fall here. It's sortof like two weeks of winter cracking it's knuckles and stretching, and that's it.
Anyway, the trees. They're bigger and fuller out there. I've heard tell here that the City of Fargo does not allow the trees to grow past a certain height in fear of them being knocked into buildings by the fierce winds and frequent tornadoes. Way to cull beauty.
The grass is softer in Jersey. Seriously. New Jersey doesn't need Terminator grass that will last through 30 below temperatures. Florida was like that. Razor grass. Ech.
They make food there. Not just food, cuisine. There's nothing like a Jewish deli, a Greek pizza place, and a good Italian market to keep you going.
So the plan is: for the next 3-4 years I bust my ass at NDSU and get a degree that would be WAY more expensive elsewhere, The Ex gets enough job security to transfer, I try not to kill these people, and we load up the trucks and move to Jer-sey. New Jersey, that is. Swimming pools, good food, real people, culture, crappy traffic, and all the comforts of home I have come to miss. Were it not for joint custody and Baby Daddy Drama, my ass would already be packin.
I need to go back home. I need to go back to the place I belong. I belong with people who love me. There are several members of my huge family, that aren't judgemental Catholic assholes, and that I haven't seen since I was a pre-teen. I have second and third cousins who are dying to meet my children. I have people who want to tell my kids about their lineage. You have not lived life until you have sat at a dinner table so long you need 4 separate main course dishes to cover the length of people. I have family that want to bring me back into the fold and make me feel proud again of where I come from and of the richness in my veins. I went to a fantastic High School. My mom went there, and maybe one day my children will walk those halls. I may get to show Sawyer the very toilet my brother blew up with explosives. Ahhh, pride.

Things to do in Jersey when you're alive

2008-08-12T23:33:00.000-05:00

I didn't really do much at all. Didn't eat as much crap as I had projected. Actually, forgot to eat quite a bit. Didn't go to the Shore like I planned. No partying. No craziness.

I talked to people, random strangers and unrelenting friends alike. I soaked in a hot tub. I slept. And for the first time - really really the first time: I let it all out. All of it. From zygote to the week prior. I let it all out. I melted for about 3 hours.

After it was all done, it stormed like a sonofabitch.

"Maybe the Heavens feel the same way I do."

"Or maybe God is crying with you."

Maybe. May-be.

During a recent visit, and upon mentioning that I had been feeling a bit numb lately, my counselor told me that it all never really comes bubbling up until you feel safe.

What happened when I went Home was mammoth.

Three hours of howling. Pure, unadulterated howling. It all came together. It all fit. I said things out loud I don't think I ever consciously got upset about. I just couldn't handle it at the time I suppose. I had diarrhea of the memory.

So I got into Fargo around 11 last night. It was wonderful to have the surprise of my little ones being dropped off a day early. Groggy as I was, I couldn't have been happier to see them.

P.S.

2008-08-05T22:08:00.000-05:00

And just because I have to give voice to the pit in my gullet...

There is a woman I got to know in Minneapolis. Strong, sassy, born and raised out east. We became friends. Good friends. I respect this woman so very much.

She sat by me and my tumultuous life for as long as she could. And then, she bailed.

I thought she bailed due to some little squabble over some cancelled plans. But no.

Bigger reasons were afoot.

She has admitted to me that she had to stop talking to me because of the hell of my life, what I was putting myself through and - essentially - because she lost respect for me.

I never ever ever want to A) put anyone else in a position where they have to make that decision and B) let things get that bad that people who I hold in the highest regard lose respect for me.

I cannot really explain how sick to my stomach I am at this point. Furious. Enraged. Ashamed.

It's over, I know it is. But shit like this is a kick in the gonads. How could I do that to myself?

I'm so, so sorry hun. I swear to you and myself that you need never endure such masochism from me. Thank you for telling me.

Degrees

2008-08-05T19:41:00.000-05:00

Okay so I've joined a couple of new groups. You know, people get together who are like minded or share experiences or conditions.
I know a wonderful group of women. Some are weak, some are very very strong - all were at least once in their lives, gullible. Against their better judgement and the tiny voice in their head they forged ahead and let other people destroy them. Who wouldn't want to sign up for that? But the downside is that none of the women who are actually in the midst of this affliction will ever join this group. It's not like having cancer or being an alcoholic or quilting. It's an after thing. Like, "Whew, shit, I had cancer" or "I can't believe I spent all that time quilting".
Some have the terrible misfortune of joining the club by proxy - after they die. Every day, at least three women die at the hands of a male partner in this country. Why? These low base primates would say that if women weren't so unstable or didn't "ask for it" or didn't conduct behaviors that "made" them act in violence - none of this would happen. These men have no control and offer no sense of responsibility for their actions.
It's heartbreaking, it really is. And the stories are all the same: it starts off small, it starts off verbally or with intimidation, alcohol is involved, a slow degradation of the woman's sense of self takes place...
The most subtle cases of abuse are the hardest to get women safely out of. On average, a woman's chance of being physically injured by a male partner triples during and around the time she intends to separate herself from him -- even if physical violence was not the primary method of abuse. Of reported cases of domestic assault where the female victim ends up needing hospitalization, one third of those took place while the victim was trying to leave the abuser permanently. One. Third.
One out of every three woman you see today will have been a victim of physical, sexual or emotional abuse now or in the past. Studies show that effective intervention procedures by doctors and hospitals for abused women could cut our entire country's health care costs by 20 percent. The woman you walk past every day that are being abused are costing you money. Do you want that money to go toward temporarily mending their broken bodies and minds or do you want that money to go toward their recovery from abuse? Do something. Getting rid of old clothes, household items, books? Have some shampoos or soaps in your closet you will probably never use? Do you have 2 hours to spare to help a woman get her life and her self back? You may be one of those other 2 women out of three who doesn't feel fear, but who's to say your daughter or aunt or neighbor hasn't or doesn't now? Be that person that does that good thing.

In big bold letters

2008-07-30T01:20:00.000-05:00

So it's 1:20am and I just got home from the movie theater. Can I just say that if the following contains any spoilers, they are purely unintentional.

Holy shit!!!
That was by far the best movie I have seen in a long long time. I mean, I watched the Darjeeling Limited last night and found it wonderful. It's show of family, what it can do to you, and how some people cannot handle responsibility were wonderful.
But this? This was a - effing - mazing.
Frankly, I have become quite bored with movies. I go through the motions so that I can get to see the story through to the end. Not because I don't already know what's going to happen - ohhoohoho no. But because movies have become for me a commitment to fill a set amount of time. Entertainment has become inconsequential. But this? This? I have read the comic books and watched the cartoons as a kid- and nothing prepared me for the twists and turns of this film. I honestly was caught off guard by this movie. Fantastic, really. Refreshing.
So now that I have filled you in on that bit, lets move onto the more important part about this movie: Christian Bale.
Okay, so you get to see him bleed. Not enough, if you ask me. There's a scene where he's shirtless and there are scars all over his torso. Can I just tell you how I had to tell myself to start breathing again?! He is soooo pretty when he bleeds. Kind of like Brad Pitt. I never found him attractive until Fight Club. To see him all wiry and dirty and bloody really put him into the Maybe Pile. Oh, and what a pile of maybe that would be.
So back to Christian. Okay, so he's too tall for me, but I'm willing to forgive that.
As long as I can see him both sweat and bleed at the same time - in person- I can die fulfilled. I've actually moved that up the list before seeing the Great Wall of China.

And so there were some good previews too. Mainly, I'm looking forward to the next Mummy movie. Brendan Fraser makes me want to make a smoothie out of my own vomit, but Jet Li is going to be in it. And - like the last Mummy- I am fiercely interested in the evil villain. (Lest we forget Mr. Johnson as the Scorpion King. I wouldn't kick him outta bed for having too many legs.) Jet Li is as badass as they get. On my list, two notches below going to China, is to own every Jet Li movie.
Somehow the topic of The Predator came up. I know what that somehow was, but I have to respect other people's privacy. Mine? Bah. PRINT THE WHOLE LOT I SAY!!!! So topic: the Predator was sexy. Reeheehheeeally sexy. The dreds, the graceful skulking movements. The way he ripped out that guys spine and brain and swung it above his head? Brilliance.
But seriously, I find that creature right sexy. So when I found out that someone I know can make a very accurate copy of that sound I nearly shat ingots.
So here's me, jazzed about Jet Li, looking at Christian Bale bleed and listening to The Predator sit next to me. Uhff.
And I woke up in a shitty mood this morning? It's now tomorrow morning and I'm absolutely certain I will not be going to sleep. Too much adrenaline. That, and a friend of mine at work had sex on the brain when I went into work today. She's 19 I believe, and much like what I remember 19 to be about. Sex. Fun. Feeling responsibility and only fleetingly caring about it.
So she dropped a stinkbomb in my ear about another co-worker of ours and I feel guilty about knowing that much about another person without them actually having told me. That, and said information is like a car wreck, grotesque and eerily fascinating.
Shit ain't right, man. Shit ain't right.
So I'm actually going to go see Batman again tomorrow night. Obsessed, you say? Bah!
Anyone that knows me knows that I have only ever willingly watched a handful of movies more than one time. Shit, there are only three books I have ever read more than once.
It was just that damned good.
That, well, and I made my Wednesday night movie plans before my tonight movie plans came up. No matter!! I can't wait to see it again.
And yes, I have made no mention of Heath Ledger. I don't need to. He was amazing. Dead or not, he was that twisted psychopath. You really could not tell where Heath ended and Joker began. There was a scene where Joker was dressed in an ill-fitting nurses uniform. Every single joint in his body was Joker's. Bless him and his work. I wonder who they will get to fill his shoes.

I will save this for you.

2008-07-28T23:08:00.000-05:00

To My Dearest Children:
While I won't try to act as though I am a clairvoyant, I will tell you that I act as my best self each day. I am the best person I can be each day. I am the best mother I can be to you each day. I wish I could do more than that - but attempts at anything more would lessen my sanity in the long run, really. I know that insomuch that I bore you into this world that you are a product of so much of both my physiological and emotional efforts on this plane. To be your mother means that I am your comfort in the worst moments. I know to be your mother means that you test the limits of your world and yourselves through me. Motherhood is no drive in the park. It is the hardest job ever. You both look to me as the pillar and the archery range of your lives.
Things are rough at times. My son, you have fought our bond since 9:55 am on Monday, May 17th 2004. You want to be your own man and live life on your terms. Such respect I have for that aspiration. My little boy, it is my task alone to teach you the limits this world has before you hurt yourself. I would rather you pain my heart at your rejection than to go about your adult life hating the world. Know that I understand you will always need me to understand you are your own person - while you still need me there to whisper praise at you each night.
My dears, I am not meant to be the ticket taker on the Carnival days of your life. I am the one - as any mother's lot - to teach you of respect and the depths of love and kindness. These lessons leave me weary yet still yearning for your voices when you are not under my roof.
My little angel gurl, it is for your benefit that I have returned to college. I want you to look to me as an example of how strong, independent and unwavering a woman can be. Find your convictions, stick to them, let no human alive make you question how wonderful you are. You can do anything. You can become anything - at any point in your life. Your life holds before it a weight of regret you know nothing of yet. You will though. Everyone does. But I am here to show you that growth holds it's own forgiveness. I am here to show you both that, at the end of each day, it's okay. I love you. No matter what. I crave the smell of your heads' and the sound of your breathing.
And in a selfish way, I crave your thirties. I anxiously await that clarity that comes from surviving your teens and twenties. To look back in retrospect on the microcosm that was your life - while standing firmly in the enormity and the humbleness of age.
My sweeties, when you have become more than I have.... when you attain more than I have.... when I fear not a single moment that either of you will turn into the parents you could have had.... all of this would have been worth it.

'Cause Mama! Mama I'm Comin Hooooommme

2008-07-23T19:37:00.000-05:00

Will be in the Philly area from Aug 7-12th.

WhoooHoooooo!!!

Study of the Prophets

2008-07-20T21:49:00.000-05:00

I have seven books in my living room on Jesus right now. I have been very interested in the prophets lately. I want to know about the people that we know actually lived. What drove them, what inspired them? My readings on Mother Theresa tell me her motivation was love. She had a heart as big as a city. I don't care that she thought she was doing the work of a being I don't feel exists. I am inspired by her - enamored of her really.
The book I am reading now is called Misquoting Jesus. Seems to me the guy had a lot of good things to say and a lot of really bad press. Also seems to me that people who call themselves his followers wouldn't live up to his standards in a hot minute.
I hope to move on to Mohammad. Touchy subject, I know.

A gift to you:

Jesus said love one another. He didn't say love the whole world. Mother Teresa

Parley

2008-07-15T14:51:00.000-05:00

"Ma, I'm heading to the library, you need anything?"
"Yeah, that book I'm reading has no more renewals. Can you check it out under your account?"
"Sure. I'll do that."
"Good luck, I'm not so sure they'll do that."
"Oh, they'll do it, it's my effing tax dollars paying their salaries, the old biddies."
"Wow, you're in a mood."
"Yeah, I noticed that. I really think I just need to get laid."
(giggle)
"No, I'm serious, Ma. All I dream about are backrubs and footrubs and hot tubs and sex. And chocolate sauce."
(giggle) "Chocolate sauce?!"
"Yeah, I dunno, maybe there's some deeper meaning there."
"Or maybe you're just tired of boring."
"Well DUH."

I had designs on two different posts about some deeper shit going on in my brain of late, but after this exchange with my mother yesterday I just decided to say effit and be snarky. When my kids left for their dad's on Sunday I lost it. So many hours spent in menial tasks of survival and discipline and guidance. They leave and I can count the sweet moments on one hand. My closest friends have reminded me that these years are for showing them the ins and outs of life and that it's not at all fun. I know. It just sucks. I love those little shits.

And let me take this time to give props to all my long time real friends. You guys rock. You know who you are. Thank you. You're proud of the woman I've become and accept me and my big mouth and all the other cool shit I'm about. And to my new friends, thanks for giving me a shot. I can seem like a hedgehog. Really, though, inside I'm a sweet little sexy teddy bear with a whip and a black vinyl corset.

One final note on Fargo. I fucking hate it here. Did I say that before?
Trying to get a gauge on whether someone 'digs' you or not is like trying to decipher Braille with no hands. Urgh. The lesbians here blend in too much and the guys are either ambiguous or icky.
And me? I scare these people.

Am I? Is it? Should I?

2008-07-07T15:37:00.000-05:00

Am I bitter? No.
Is it fucked up and disappointing? Fuck yes.
Should I wallow about all my efforts and journeys? Probably not.

I am guilty of finding someone who is the emotional equivalent of a spark plug. Takes energy and can direct it and harness it. Unfortunately, this theoretical spark plug is unwieldy and unpredictable. Am I also an unwieldy and unpredictable spark plug to him? Ohhooohhhhooo yes.
Bad, bad me.
Bad Ange.
I've said and/or thought a few interesting little phrases the last few days. Phrases I would like to share with you:
Like trying to milk a bull.
I don't want wonderful sometimes, I don't want awful at any time, I want good all the time.
We bring out the best and the worst in each other.
My heart and my mind live in 2 different realities.

I don't know. I'm awfully sick of this whole ordeal. I just want boring. I want stable. I want effort more than lofty speculation on end results. I hate it here in Fargo. No culture, maddening wind, stares, glares and big redneck bears. I miss the Twin Cities. I fit in there. Definitely more so than here. I bought tomato plants a month ago and with a consistent dozen fruits readily on the plant, and with the utmost care given to them - none will give ripe fruit -- a testament to this place and how things have gone of late. I will sacrifice a higher cost of living if my children can grow up around more diversity and culture. I'll hopefully be taking a trip to MN in the next few weeks.

Bulletpoints

2008-06-21T21:42:00.000-05:00

"Wow, it smells like shit in here."
"Did Sawyer shit his pants? Did something die in here?"
"No, I mean it really smells like shit in here, not like 'like shit', LIKE SHIT."
"I think I'll take out the garbage. Fuck holding out to prove a point. It smells like shit in here!"
"Waitaminute! It smells like shit outside! Whatthefuck??!!!"
"Ohhhhoohohhoooo, manure. Which is a glorified term for SHIT. Sorry, the city girl didn't realize that anyone would be spreading 'manure' in a residential area. Fuckin farmers. Damn them and their damned feeding the country bullshit."

*After thorough experimentation I have found my happy place: Double Tall Nonfat No Whip Two Pump Carmel Two Pump White Mocha Latte. Hail be to thee and thine sweet goodness.
*I love the Max Headroom-esque glitches in vocal ability that a really good buzz brings.
*Potty training fucking blows donkey cock.
*Somehow I am down to 117 pounds. Don't get all 'ughch' on me, shit - I was 104 when I got pregnant with my son. I'm thinking that along with all the other trendy benefits of working for Huge Coffee Mecca - higher intake of caffeine and busting your ass contributes to weight loss.
*Yes, I kissed a girl. And yes, I liked it. And no, I don't care for Cherry Chapstick.
*Bullocks to all my friends who went to Jack Johnson this weekend. They are camping, drinking, tubing, and catching a fairly good show. Oh, and drinking. Did I mention drinking? I pussied out at the last minute. What with me being afraid of the water and all. Fuckin phobias.
*I cut nearly 7 inches of fmy hair and dyed it from medium auburn to Holy Black. Photos to follow. Totally representin.
*The Itching Season is upon us. Both my son and I awake each morning with the urge to scratch off the foremost two layers of our epidermis. All the pollen and particles of evil seep into the air overnight and attack.
*I have reached the point of loathing my wardrobe. Not a single thing in there either fits my body or my lifestyle anymore and it's depressing. There's only so long you can walk around in the 6 items you found on early clearance a month ago.
*I'm starting to take an interest in where music is going again. These past few years - well, really, since Shirley Manson fell in love and lost her ranking Angstful Bitter Bitch standings - I have been leery of music being recently released. I've been stuck in the dregs of my memory trying to recall all those really obscure bands and songs that I used to hear in the awesome days of my early twenties. I'm getting back into the now. I like some of the newer stuff - and that says alot.
*I foresee a summer of imbibing. I will be starting as a 31 year old university freshman in the fall and I think I'll spend my last few weeks of freedom of original thought being drunk to the point of drooling on myself.
*Totally developing ad envy. Some of my blogerina friends have aligned themselves with the proper channels and have all these fancy ads on their blogs now. Rather than it portraying them as sell outs, I feel that banners give a blog a feel of legitimacy. Like: "hey, I've got soo much rapt attention at my disposal that people wanna pay me for it!"
*Apparently absinthe is legal here in the states again. I've heard some speculation as to what the shit they're selling actually is, but really, I have no interest in something that may or may not exacerbate my proclivity for psychoses.

Not A Grrrl, I Swear

2008-06-21T11:24:00.000-05:00

So the summer drinking season is upon us. Normally I like porter and stout beers, dark wines and bold coffee. I like stuff that tastes like it should put hair on your chest.

However, The Husband brought some of this home last night and I must say I'm a fan. Much like Yuengling, these brewers might be regional, so I'm not sure if any of my non-Midwestern friends can get some, but I highly recommend you try. I'm all for supporting local folk, and the prospect of drinking something that was recently brewed is cool with me as well. I miss Yuengling. I never knew how much I would until I couldn't walk down the block and get it any longer. These Leinenkugel folks are pretty good as well.

Title as yet Undetermined

2008-06-17T14:54:00.000-05:00

Inspired by pensive wonderings of late and a timely chat-versation with my friend Cassie, it would seem I have some things to say about lessons, teaching, pain and guilt. Is it more painful to be the bearer or the receiver of a major life lesson? I think back on the people I have known these past 3 decades and change and see them all like variations on tornadoes and fertile landscapes - including myself. In fact, much of what builds our character can be likened and pondered in terms of many natural "disasters" and weather related schisms. The battles are such that the devastation is horrific but the landscape is renewed and/or strengthened after the tumult has passed.
I feel the same about lessons - especially those learned via Man vs. Man.
One of the ancient struggles.
Cassie and I have both hurt men. Whether these men willingly came upon our forceful path and aligned their latitude as such to purposefully encounter the bluster of our force is debatable. In the end, it matters not. Whether by ignorance or by masochism people have come into our lives at times of instability still holds the same end result. Pain. Theirs and ours. Be assured, to cause pain does not leave one immune to widespread reverberations - nor does it make the Hurt the only one with much to learn from the experience.
Each moment, every nanosecond of exposure to the elements of humanity holds the promise of even small snippets of enlightening. I say enlightening as a continuous progression - not like the stigma of enlightenment as the end result we assume it to be.
The men we have hurt needed it. I say this not to justify ill deeds- I say it because everyone needs to know their limits. From infancy humans are in a perpetual multiple choice exam of what is good and bad for them. I have been the evil letter D: the rough and hard end of the spectrum. I have also been letter A: the sweet and simple road that blesses us with a vision of goodness. I have needed to test those around me to gather the breadth of their mettle and the depth of their goodness - just as mine own has been tested by trampling and warmth alike.
We need those who will hurt us. We need to know just how far down we can go and still live. We need those who would wrap their soul around us and give us the shawl of their love. I know great appreciation of joy due to those who have marred and mangled me. I know the spectrum of pain by those who would give me love.

britney spears big boobs huge cock milf recipes

2008-06-05T23:16:00.000-05:00

This is the post where 78.3% of all internet searches land on my blog.
MWWAHAHHHHAAAAAA!!!

Share this with me

2008-06-05T22:28:00.001-05:00

I liken it to the difference between a real bagel and lox and one with "lox spread".
You cannot tell me that some cheap-ass grocery store bagel with overly salted and fake-flavor added cream cheese even comes close to a fresh bagel from a little bagel joint with real cream cheese, red onion and fresh lox. Seriously.
I've totally had a craving for that for like a month now. You think these Faaaargo-ans know a damned thing about good bagels?

So on to what I'm really writing about today.
I was YouTubing to find something to make me laugh. I did. I found 4 minutes of very well put together video. And like any other YouTube escapade, the journey from one video to the next is more interesting than what you actually find. Take for instance this chain of events:
-Search my mother's name: she was on a variety show in the early sixties where she sang and danced and was one of the "Kid listening to story" extras. Wonder if anyone bothered to put it on the net. Would be interesting to see. Nothing
-Search my name. Grit teeth at the prospect of some of my late teens having been caught on tape. Hold it, maiden name. Duh. Nothing. Whew.
-Search "angelique". Who is Mike Oldfield? Why does Tubular Bells -um- ring a bell?
-No shit! He did a song called Angelique? Wait, no, I don't want to see collages of some dude's unrequited love for this other Angelique. SHE IS AN IMPOSTER DAMNIT.
-Official video for said song does not exist. Balls.
-Hang on, funny. That's what I was looking for. Revert to original plan. Funny.
-YouTube remembers that I liked Snowball the Cockatoo and his rump shakin rythm:
(I know I've shared this before, but you can't go wrong here.)

-What's this? A Justin Timberlake loving parrot? Weh heh hellllll.

-Hm, kinda wierd. Looks like this bird may have the same spacial issues I do.
-Oh, Wow, Daisy! I have a friend who's daughter is named Daisy.

-That bird just wants out and has a bum leg. People will post anything.
-Hamster dance? Wow, I forgot about that song.

-Wow Seth, good work. Aspire to greatness, my man.
-What's this little gem? ... Because now I can't get this damnable song out of my head.

-Now THIS! This is what I'm talkin bout fool!!
See? compare Seth's little ditty with the grey cat (I did like the machine gun kitty though), and the last one and you have my point. Imitations are rarely, if ever, good enough.

Nothing ever really happens, does it?

2008-06-03T14:25:00.001-05:00

Tell me why it is that earth shattering events look like small -albeit fetid and bothersome- potatoes after time has elapsed? Take my family, for instance. In speaking with my son's therapist, it came to light that I had not seen a therapist regularly in some time. I had a great woman, Rosemarie, who retired after we had seen each other 2 years. I miss her. She was in her early 70's upon her retirement and she was a gal who didn't mince words.

So rattling off some of the -at the time - disturbing events of my childhood seemed passe to me but elicited a lofty eyebrow raise and a business card of one of the other therapists in her office. Is it always so? Do people who have had traumatic things/years/people happen to them need to keep a persistent light upon the coastline or will we ever be free to just let it all go. I mean, I'm perfectly comfortable letting it go. None of that matters now. My childhood is done. I've moved onto molding my own little ones. Is it better to lift the lid on the pot persistently or to just let it lie? One may speak of reopening wounds so that they may never heal, the other of irresponsibility and neglect. I have weird triggers: sounds, smells, words. Things stir in me and I feel very uncomfortable without ever being able to place my finger on why. But if the shitpiles I walked through as a young woman amount to nothing more than an irksome, fleeting pit in my gut - then what would be the use of digging it all up again? I do not fear this evil, for even if I do not know what it is, I know it's myriad of possibilities.

I am truly torn.

I learn from my life at a steady pace. I am able to shift with the needs of those around me at a fairly decent rate. I am taking on new challenges and exude some measure of confidence. There is also, my infamous tenacity. So what for? To make sure I don't end up going postal some day? I've been postal. I know the precursors for it. Dare I ask what hurdles there are without even registering for the race? It is one I do not wish to run. I am replete with goals to keep me busy and moving forward. But the question follows me. I look at Sawyer and how pissed off he gets at being tickled at length and see myself. Personal space. Was that a genealogical gift, a learned ism or a blend of the two?

With all else on my plate now, I darenot leave this be - or do I darenot pester it?

British Invasion and the Bush Marketing Machine

2008-05-15T12:14:00.000-05:00

I see it as a last ditch effort for him not to leave office looking like the complete douchebag that he is. What? Sending thousands of Americans to die on a half assed rumor? Wha?
Georgiekins has a serious case of the 14 year old boy "They just don't understand me" syndrome. He sits crosslegged on his bed hunched over Christian comic books where Jesus is portrayed as the world's enema and not the peaceful, fun loving dude that he was. In the words of that hippie guy John Prine: Jesus was a good guy, he didn't need this shit.
The email read: ( literally peeled from my inbox)
Last week President Bush signed into law the “Ensuring Continued Access to Student Loans Act of 2008’’, effective July 1, 2008. One of the components of this new regulation increases the Federal Unsubsidized Stafford Loan Limits for undergraduate students. For both dependent and independent undergraduate students the annual maximum increased by $2,000. Aggregate levels were also increased from $23,000 for dependent undergraduates to $31,000 and from $46,000 for independent undergraduates to $57,500.
Unfortunately, due to this regulation change we will have to delay our awarding process. Our records indicate that we have received your FAFSA information, however, please be aware that you may not receive your 2008-2009 Financial Aid Award Notice until mid-June

BASTARDS!!!
Don't these people understand that I'm about as patient as a canker sore?? What the hell do I care that Bushie is trying to make a little nice before he leaves? I mean, great, they're gonna let me put myself further in debt - Gee, Thanks. But I am in a holding pattern on what the next 6 months of my life will be like until I get an answer on my Aid package and I'm pretty sure my plane in running out of petrol.

That, and I've been watching too much BBC. Words like bullocks, bleedin, bloody hell are peppering my everyday vocabulary. Great way to cuss without really cussing. Us Yanks don't view bullocks in the same light as bullshit - though they are used in virtually the same context.
Anyway, I have the next 3 WHOLE DAYS off from both my jobs and I will be using that time to study, move, plan my son's 4th birthday and maybe get in a shag or two.

Hey. How's It Goin?

2008-05-05T13:00:00.000-05:00

So Happy Cinco De Mayo.

A holiday which means utter bullocks to me, other than another reason to love the wonderful combination of mediocre beer and spicy food. I have the day off today and am polishing up my math skills before taking the U's online mathematics placement test. I was always good at math in high school - loved it in fact. But it seems that a dozen or so years have eroded the shores of my skill with numbers. So its me, Pepperidge Farm, and Algebra for Dummies today.

My son is on Day 1 of wearing his Big Boy Underpants to school today. He's been doing it around the house and already I feel the strain on my wallet lessening. You have to practically drag him by his collar to get him into the loo if he's playing, but otherwise he's got it down pat. I don't even have to bribe reward him with candy any longer. My smile and a high five are sufficient enough at this point.

Riley is another matter. She lobbed a metal toy train at her brother's head yesterday after getting fed up with his persistent requests for it back. It would seem he inherited his mother's grating tenacity. Needless to say, even though I wanted to congratulate her on her impeccable aim, she ended up with a swat on the bottom and a long time out. For all her tininess, she is a very strong gurl. Her thighs are solid muscle. She is stout and strong and I foresee her being very athletic. My mother and I agree that field hockey would be perfect for her, but I have recently discovered that hockey outside of an ice rink is a thought unheard of up here. Pity.

My little gurl is just a thing to behold. Her imagination is boundless. Her sweetness will make your teeth hurt. It's strange, she and Sawyer eat the same things, use the same soaps, and yet she always smells so damned good! I'm certain that there's a gland ensconced just behind one of her ears that secretes the "Please don't kill me I'm too cute" pheromone.

As for me, there is far too much going on. I feel the wear of over scheduling in my bones. I have been making the doctor office rounds: eyes, brain, vaccinations, uterus.... making sure all systems are go for being a college student.

It was wonderful to be on campus. There is a palpable sense of focus and urgency at the U. I met with my advisor 2 weeks ago. Interesting cat, Stan is. Older gentleman - in his 60's. Looks like he hasn't updated his wardrobe, hair or eye wear since the late seventies. Good guy though. No BS, just the facts. Gave me a great list of classes I should start off with and sent me on my merry way. Expeditious. I like me some Stan.

I do not, however, like me some registering for classes. Ohhhhoohhh no, I do not.

The kids are in daycare Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I opted for taking classes on Tues and Thurs. I set out to take Econ 201, Eng 110, Spanish 101, Univ 189 (some lame ass course they make all freshman take), and Health and Wellness.

Turns out the powers that be don't think that your average freshmen have the wherewithal to sit through an hour and a half class, so 99.7% of all first level classes are on Mon, Wed, Fri in 50 minute increments. Farkin kids. Shit, I'd sit through a three hour class if it meant I could get it all done at once and not break my precious train of thought. Uff.

So, second meeting with Stan and now I have to take this damned math eval so I can fill some math requirements this semester BECAUSE THE ECONOMICS MAJOR CAN'T FIT A DAMNED ECON CLASS IN HER SCHEDULE.

In other news, I have previously written of my Picking Habit. Along with battling depression/the underlying need to flay someone, I am trying to squash my nervous habits and complete lack of holding a train of thought for more than a nanosecond. Turns out I am a ripe candidate for adult ADHD. Explains alot? Hell yeah. A little embarrassing? Yeeup.

So different meds and now I could literally plan out the rest of my life on half a post it note. Huzzah!

Wishing I Was Back In Philly A-'Pollin

2008-04-22T18:08:00.000-05:00

Here's to me not writing in over a month, hoping the PA primaries go well, and really missing my laptop. Bubba is dead. His hard drive is -as they say- done. I miss Bubba. The tiny idiosyncrasies he had - overheating, being a huge fatass...

I miss you all, how have you been? I'm working 2 jobs and am an official university student.

(Say, Yvonne, am I total derelict or is your site on the fritz? I'm dying to see your cards.)

Guilty Pleasures

2008-03-19T10:54:00.000-05:00

Leaving a small puddle of apple juice on the floor because the kids have already skidded on it twice and it keeps getting better.

Shoving my son's finger WAY up his nose upon his refusal to remove said digit for the umpteenth time.

Sticking the lint back in my daughter's toes after she spent 20 obsessive minutes clearing it out.

I'm an evil, evil mother. I seek out little sadistic moments that help me get through not ever being able to take a shit in peace.

My Tuesday:

2008-03-11T15:52:00.000-05:00

No work
Barfing
Computer maintenance
Back pain
Tension
Sleeping late
Immensely erotic dreams
Laundry

Details:
Day off from retail - hating the wierd schedule.
Caught whatever stomach bug my mom has.
Found a motherfucker of a virus.
In my feverish state I must have slept like a pissed off hedgehog.
My mother, well, she's still keepin it real.
I officially woke up at 2p.
So there was this one about a cat with 2 penises and a vagina, who had a litter of kittens, but no nipples to nurse them so they died.
I love having to wash "big boy pants" that my son soiled a week ago.

Someone plese send me something to lighten my day. I feel like hammered shit.

Laziness

2008-03-08T09:58:00.000-06:00

I totally pilfered this from Dorky Dad.
I'm like those Cliff's Notes dudes. I'm really not up to writing, as I pretty much belched forth my spleen in one of my more recent posts. Bleh.

And Dr. Phil Makes It To the Third Round!!!

2008-03-08T09:31:00.000-06:00

Poor, Poor, Hildegarde

2008-03-02T22:36:00.000-06:00

It is through a thick Cuervo haze that I come to tell you the sad story of the demise of Hildegarde. She was a big girl - all three rows of seating and tinted windows galore. If you recall, Hildy was bequeathed to me by some very generous people after I made The Big Leave in November. She left today on a flatbed with 386,511 miles on her - the last 3000 of which served me well.

It was a sad state. My mother and I were off to do some shopping. I pulled out of the garage, and went through the parking lot to head out and a ghastly scraping sound emanated from the passenger front wheel. I had known it was coming. Some clicking and a gangsta-esque lean told me that the suspension - and most likely my entire right front end - would one day just sort of drop off. Luckily it was just me and my mom, and not on the highway. Kinda really sad though. I told myself with as many miles as Hildy had seen, this next big tadoo would be the straw that broke the camel's back and we would have to part ways. So, I called the tow dudes, signed over the title, and off she went. It was a gruesome scene, really. The axle, shocks, struts, and all the other guts lay on the ground beneath the wheel well, while the tire itself had become wedged half beneath the passenger side door. Just awful. One of the shittiest parts was that Ma and I were heading out to shop, go to a movie, etc. AND I WAS HAVING A FANTASTIC HAIR DAY!! All for not, due to Hildy developing vehicular leprosy. Damnit.

In other news, I must give a shout out to my stellar psychic powers. I chose the apartment I live in, and both places of employment I have had here in Faar-goh based on the possibility of catastrophe. Having said that, my new job at Big Retail is just a short bus ride away. I am not at all as squeamish as these people-cicles about public transport. Growing up in Jersey, and having lived in and traveled to Philly made me appreciate trains, subways, buses, trolleys, etc. It was actually a relief today to call my insurance company and cancel my policy. Not that I paid much at all - like $400 a year for Hildy - but it's an expense I'd just as soon go without. And gas? Fahgetaboutit.

So yeah, I'm working at Big Retail now. If my name was something normal like Sue and this town wasn't so small, I'd totally spill the beans on what corporate monger I was slinging for - but too many stalker stories out there.

Working on my feet all day is actually a welcome change. I missed the micro-friendships you develop with customers on the sales floor and at the registers.

So my drunk ass is goin to bed. I have to sit through a child psychologist meeting tomorrow with The Soon To Be Ex and I want to be as lucid as possible for all the finger waiving and "constructive criticism" that this woman will be slinging.

A Banner Of The Obvious

2008-03-01T22:58:00.000-06:00

So why is it that people post photos of their naughty bits on online dating sites? Doesn't like, mystery exist any more? Doesn't the fun in getting to know someone lie in speculating on the dimensions of their bits and pieces? (And their mental fortitude for that matter.) And then it's all "Oh! I put my quarter in! I wonder what color gumball will come swirling down??!"
That pre-discovery thrill is why some people never get married. Me? I'm totally Nancy Fucking Drew. Don't post a photo of your Johnson. (Johnson?) It's like lacing Valentines candy with iocane powder. Not cool.

BFG and the Crane Kick

2008-02-29T22:33:00.000-06:00

So Hi. I'm Angelique, as you can clearly read on the banner above. Yeah, Hi. I write a blog about what I think and how I feel and people read it ( mostly women) and we all commiserate about shit. Yep, that's me.

And while we're having this AA moment, I'd like to point out the fact that even though I am nearly the Rock of Gibraltar, I am loud-mouthed, opinionated, sassy even; not a single person in my life respects me.

Gut wrenching statement, no? Well, the last 3 days or so have culminated in just that observation and I am mad as hell about it.

So I'm driving, and I'm all like..." How did this happen?" and "Who the fuck do these people think they're dealing with?" and then came the "So how do I go about tearing open my sternum and telling of the magnitude and severity of this bullshit?" followed by "Do I go down the list and rip each one of them a second sphincter?" which then led to "Naaah, that wouldn't be right. For one, it would be predictable, passive aggressive even. And frankly, it would take sooo long. Do I really want to commit to that much writing?"

Fuck. Yes.

So we'll go by age. Starting with the oldest.

My mother.

So here's a woman that has been a slovenly, irresponsible and a nearly incurable drug addict for 80% of her life - adult or otherwise. See, she thinks that just because I have let her back into my life that she can be my mother. No, no, no, not like that. Not like genetically - because that dismal fact is indisputable. I'm talking like mothering me. Because at 31, with two small children and two failed marriages, the woman who never completed anything in her life except excelling in mediocrity and failure tries to tell me - no- tells me every day how to parent. Ignore the fact that she is living under my roof. Proximity is no excuse for disrespectful behavior. And see, that's the thing. Each person who disrespects me is someone that has repeated and easy access to my person. People I wait in line with at Hornbachers? Total respect. My family? Some friends? My kids? Less than zero. They actually not only not respect me, they suck respect from me as to leave me feeling like a being somewhere between an amoeba and toe cheese.

So someone once said to me that parties in a relationship often have to make a choice between making that person happy or being right. With my mother, I choose making her happy, not because I have some altruistic heart of gold, not because after all these years I am totally turning the other cheek - but because there is absolutely no way to get her to either listen or have a conversation like an adult. Both result in misery in my case: if I am right, she makes my life hell for days; if I make her happy, I get to swallow the scaly pill of The Better Man and she gets to gloat. Either way, shitty.

So how does she not respect me? She sees me as the girl she never really raised and now wishes to take matters into her own hands with not only me, but with my kids. She does not see me as an adult. Does not care if I am conducting my home/children/life in a way that I have chosen. Nope, I'm wrong.

Next in line? The Ex.

See, up until a day or two ago, we were still fucking. Were still talking like friends, still swapping recipes and spare keys and cute little anecdotes about the kids. Wanna know what happened? I woke the fuck up.

I did what I always did around him: I glazed. A nice, warm, sweet sugary coating- just opaque enough as to not see the crusty, stale bread beneath. How fun is that, eh? So when many of the behaviors that contributed to me hightailing outta his life started resurfacing, I played beta female, rolled over, showed my belly and prayed he wouldn't rip out my throat. Sure, I fell in love with him for a reason. But I also left for a reason. They are not mutually exclusive. They are the same rabid animal. You just do one based on bad or incomplete information, the other, overloaded with intelligence.

So, yeah, he doesn't respect me. And honestly, I can't say as I disagree with that. Wasn't I the one who angrily yelped at him over the phone that he'd never hold me again? Wasn't I the one that told him I had fallen out of love with him - only to utter those three grody words not 4 months later? So yeah. That makes me a hypocrite, a liar, and completely fucking retarded. I don't respect people like that! So yeah, done with that.

Friends.

Here's how that one goes:

He's so awful, he did this, he did that, he said sorry!, everything is fine, I cant do this anymore, he's at it again, what am I going to do?, well I've made my bed..., things are good, he's so understanding, (sobbing) please kill me, just tell me that it will get better, .....

Now repeat that over and over, ad nauseam. For. Three. Years.

And follow that up with: yeah we're fucking, yeah I believe in him, no I know it hasn't been that long, I'm so glad you understand, hey how are things? you don't email anymore....

See where I'm going with this? So that's friends.

KIDS!

Mommy let some pretty icky shit go down. But mommy is movin up and out! So I don't have down The Glare. I have to repeat myself if I want to get their attention. My children don't respect me because I have not had the energy or the will to make myself a formidable authoritative presence to them. You have to give just as much love as you do discipline and direction. You cannot do just one - and you absolutely cannot let the scales tip on that one. Balance, Daniel-son.

So I'm hell-affied strappin on my BFG and practicin my Mean Face.

Yah. Noh - its my show here.

And as I have had to say to my son: Who's the boss? MOMMIES THE BOSS.

(RE-spect my athoro-TIE!!)

The Prodigal Cunt

2008-02-24T23:02:00.000-06:00

I just watched Diablo Cody win the Oscar for best Screenplay and I'm so exited for her. She's a Minneapolis gal and is every bit the writer I aspire to. She totally lost it during her speech and I can't say as I would have even been able to utter a single recognizable sylable were it me.
I'm so happy for her. Three cheers for all the goth chics out there.
She's sooo representin.

Ok, I had originally set the post to include just the above, but I have a few other things to say. First, Tilda Swinton is quite possibly the most frightening human being alive. Second, Cameron Diaz wore a lovely gown and tied her hair back in a half-assed ponytail. Ew. What was with everyone slipping on the floor just before the podiums?

Gumdrops and Rainbows?

2008-02-22T12:58:00.000-06:00

BAH I SAY!!!

Wanna know what I like? Here, I'll tell ya:

Pastrami on Pumpernickle Rye with Swiss and spicy brown mustard
My fingers sucked
These:
Um, all three of these:
Steamy Vampire novels
Duct tape
Mint flavored Bubble gum (no, not chewing gum, shit you can blow bubbles with)
Really bad puns
My daughters stinky toes
Pizza and beer
Pizza, beer, a movie and some sex
Facial scars on men
Popcorn salt
Unscented laundry detergent ( I am deeply opposed to smelling like 6 different things)
Having someone else take out the trash
Pink and Black
Black and Cream
Black and Tans
These guys: (VNV Nation)
Entropy
String Theory
Self adhesive envelopes
Historical fiction
Kipper
Swiffer Wet Jet
Baby wipes (I don't know what I did without them in my life)
Funyuns
Jalepeno stuffed olives
Man-scaping

Night and Day

2008-02-18T11:04:00.000-06:00

Just because my last post was so sad, here's something that will either make you laugh or have a heart attack:

Gut-plug

2008-02-13T08:02:00.000-06:00

So here I am, at my laptop. The sun has just come up and it's 8:02am Wednesday morning. It's been and interesting and thoughtful few days so far this week. My mother has temporarily ensconced herself in bed - apparently suffering from a stomach malady. I spent the night at my Ex's house, having volunteered to rub his aching back. Yeah, I'm a giver.
I've got a wicked case of the toots from that damned Double Quarter Pounder I ate last night. Those things congeal and form a lead weight once they are completely in your gut, I swear. EEeesh.
Monday was interesting. I have volunteered my services to help the women at the Y shelter do their taxes. So 9:30am Monday, I arrived there. The resident for whom I took a shower and actually put makeup on had to be woken up and reminded to come down to the computer lab. Not a great sign, but I kept my chin squarely aloft regardless.
So she saunters in 20 minutes late and I greet her with an exuberent hello and shake her hand. Now, I'm a firm believer in reading peoples body language - especially handshakes. I used to give the pussiest handshakes. Now I know better. So this gal gave me what I can only assume was a handshake, as her paw was extended toward me in some sort of offering... but it looked more like she was presenting me with roadkill and perhaps wanted me to cook it for her.
After establishing an email address for her (yeay Google!) I searched the IRS website for free services for her to efile. During my search, she informed me that she had spoken with a representative of a popular tax filing service and said rep estimated that she would be getting $2300 dollars back from her state and federal returns. Having just done my taxes the night before, I was seething with envy, as I was estimated to owe a little over half of what this wretch would be getting back.
So I looked at her W-2's. Her combined total income for 2007 was $1318. Nnnnkaaay. I looked in box 2 to see what was taken out for federal taxes - the box was empty. I looked in box 17 to see what was taken out in state taxes. Again, nill.
Well alright.
I ask her if she has any dependants to claim for the year - children? perhaps a deadbeat husband?
And here's where the tide turns a bit and Angelique has to swallow her emotions.
The woman told me her son died in 2007. After voicing a sincere apology to her for her loss, she went blank. She just stopped really being there. I plowed through her taxes and had to break the unfortunate news to her that since her previous employers did not take state and federal taxes, she would not be getting a refund. Luckily, though, she wouldn't owe any taxes either.
She broke down.
So after some consoling, some strong advice about future employers, printer trouble, and making arrangements to come back Thursday, I left.
After running some more errands I came home and searched the web. I found it. I found the story about her little boy. I held that poor childs social security card in my hands - a laminated sign that this little one once existed. I remember rubbing it between my fingers, hoping to pick up some sign of him, some idea of what this earth is missing now that he has come and gone in such a short span of time. His name was Marcus. Marcus Thompson.
His mommy left him with his daddy because she was evicted from her home. She left her daughter with another family member as well and tried to get things together. Her daughter is just a few months younger than my son. Her name is Serenity. Maybe it was her lovely name that saved her her little brother's fate.
I don't know all the details. I don't dare assume for the better or for the worst. What I do know is that this woman - after her son died - the county came and took her daughter away untill they figure out the full breadth of what happened. I would die, I would simply cease to exist were this me.
So here is the story. The circumstances are pretty cut and dry. I didn't sleep much Monday night. I couldn't stop saying prayers for little Marcus. Having met his mother, and having seen photos of his dad online, I can imagine him with red hair and fair pink skin. Blue eyes, pudgy little arms, and now - wings.

Dear Abby:

2008-02-09T11:23:00.000-06:00

So I have recieved some interesting correspondence from all you wonderful people out there. Some readers have been showering me with love and affection and offers to lavish me with expensive gifts.

(Which, incidentally, I will be posting that link shortly.)

Some of you, fair readers, are not so convinced of my greatness.

Apparently I speak too often, and with too much reverence, on masturbation. Pity, I had hoped some of my discreetly placed political and religious views would be the bit of flint.

So I talk of masturbating too much. Ohkay. Yep. You win.

Just like many of my fellow Gothy Bretheren, I am not ashamed of myself, my body, my animal urges and - most importantly - my sense of experimentation. I have been to several nightclubs yet so far - and in a few different states. Go to a Goth/Industrial club. Go ahead. No one's gonna grope you, no one will attack you with liquid eyeliner. We are a reclusive, exclusive and insular bunch. We are not the ones giving unwelcome advances.

Having worked sorta-security and as a dancer in a few of these joints, I know who the troublemakers are. The Flanels. The guys who come in with baseball caps and flanels hanging down. These guys are out for a night of looking at the freaks. They get liquored up, too brash, and end up pissing off someones girlfriend. Just because a gal wears a thong and some electrical tape does not mean she is asking to be groped. If you cant keep your greasy paws to yourself - don't go.

But I digress.

Masturbation.

I started masturbating shortly after I hit the double digits. I don't put much credence into astrology, but I am a Scorpio - we are a clan ruled by our groins. I think I had my first orgasm at 11. As disturbing as that may sound, I find it embarassing only because of the looks of horror regurgitating that fact to others has gotten me. It was only when I started having sex that the orgasms seemed to go away. Odd, eh? Strange that the act that's supposed to bring me pleasure sucked in epic proportions. Guys need nothing but time and pressure. Women? It's a gruelling game of chess. Do I fault men that they have it easier than we do? No. Making your average Joe happy is an easy task: less is more.

Which is why I have such respect for lesbians. Now THERE'S a task. I never heard any complaints about my abilities to please when I dated women. Now if they weren't so intollerably insane...

So you ask me why I do it and speak of it so often.
Because frankly, my dear... I don't give a damn.

If I want to clear my head, I mastrrbate. I've done it before dates "just in case", I've done it laying next to sleeping men, I've done it driving.
It's my damned body, shitface. How's a guy supposed to know how to please me if I don't have a clue? And believe me, I know exactly what I like. How many women can say that? Truthfully?
Certainly none of the right-wing WASP bitches I've met will ever admit to it.
And so I take the same tone about masturbation as I take about many political topics: If I'm not out killing people, and I'm paying my taxes - leave me the fuck alone.

Worry about the guy down the street downloading kiddie porn. Worry about the college freshman everyone knows is a date raper.

Leave my bits alone.

You Smell Something?

2008-02-08T09:19:00.000-06:00

I'm making big changes.

Doing big things.

Picking big wedgies.

(Wha?, Oh, sorry.)

I'm having a non-sequitor day.

Anyway, had two college tours yesterday. One with a smaller college, one with the local BigU.

I liked the options and the pricing of the BigU. I loved the intimate setting and warm atmosphere of the college.

Sooo torn. I wanna do the small college. I know that at 31 I may need a little hand holding to get me back into the "school" mindset. I must say, though, that I am frothing at the corners of my mouth to get started. The BigU was kinda scary. The whole campus takes up like a 30 block radius. Eeesh.

Monday means sitting at the local county government office and seeing what help I can get to get my life going in a better direction. Tuesday is filling out the FAFSA and finding a job.

Once I can figure out how much my local and federal government are willing to help me, then I decide on what college. It's my understanding that at my age, with 2 little crotchlings running around, and being the first one in my family to get a degree - odds are that they'll lob money at me faster than you can say Masters Degree In Shut The Fuck Up.

There's a slight twinge of guilt at becoming a grant/rent assistance leech, but shit, I've been supporting myself since 17 and I paid taxes for a reason.

This one.

All In 5 Days!

2008-02-06T12:46:00.000-06:00

I have recently read the following. (What with me being an unemployed, lazy cunt and all.)

The Non-Pep Rally

2008-02-05T11:37:00.000-06:00

At what point do you stop needing a mommy?
It was nearly three years after my brother died that I finally called my mom. I was in MN, she was still in NJ. She couldn't believe it was me on the phone, and was even more shocked to know that I had a 6 month old son. No one ever thought I would have kids. I never even babysat as a girl. Children are inherently irritating. Their goal is to soak up as much information as possible, and to find those who they will replace in the food chain and kill them.
I am pleased to escort my children through their journey of replacing me. I pray they hold my place in line with a firmer stance than I have - just as my footing holds better ground than did my mother and father's.
But for what it's worth, my mother is unable to share joy in my hopes and aspirations for greatness. She never really has.
And there comes a point, after being humbled by the world, that you stop trying to get your word in. You stop and assess the situation and really take stock of what it is your 7 and a half cents really will do to the situation. There is more to learn than there is to be taught. You can get a better grasp of your place in someone's life or any given situation just by stopping. Just stop, shut up and listen.
So I did that this morning.
Apparently, as I sat on the phone with county agencies, three different colleges and the local job force centers, my mother's internal emotional Vesuvius erupted.
All she ever needs is to have her feelings heard. Coming from an abusive, strict Italian Catholic household, opinions and feelings were not to be heard -especially those of children.
So that's her life's goal now, to make sure that her feelings are heard - no matter what the cost to others. And when the inevitable occurs - when the backlash happens because she is not providing any insight, any assistance - but merely regurgitating her emotions; her defense is always the same:
*I have every right to how I feel -or-
*You're not listening -or-
*You don't care about my feelings

Thus my predeliction for being overly analytical and practical. I am not an emotional being by nature. I have never been able to, as Mom has had the market cornered on that since before I was born. After Steven died, my husk cracked a bit, but the only emotion I am any good at displaying is anger.
I'm getting better at love, but it's so hard when anger is universal and love is dependant upon your subject.
So as I listened to her shoot down my aspirations of returning to school (returning be wholly inaccurate as I never really went in the first place), my heart sunk. I am foolish, unpractical and I don't care about how she feels in all this.
Yeah, why change history? Why, just this once, should she give me endless support without first seeing her shortcomings in my aspirations and accomplishments?

I can look upon her interacting with my children and smile. I don't think of all the early mornings of cleaning her blood off the floor after another failed suicide attempt, I don't recall all her harsh words, don't think about how she faked cancer my senior year just so I would stay close to home and "take care of her" (translation: take a job and pay for her bills and support my brother instead of going to college), I don't think on how many of her creepy druggie friends I would have to step over in the morning on my way out the door to high school. Nary a thought do I give to how she showered my now-dead brother with all her love and affection because not only did he look like her, he was riddled with social anxiety and drug addiction just as she was.
No, I smile. I smile because I am so proud of her.

Regardless of how she is not able to reciprocate.

Random acts of inertia

2008-02-02T02:23:00.000-06:00

My son peed in the potty last night. On command.
After much hullabaloo and Life Savers and praise, I strode from that bathroom with a glimmer of hope...which fell like the Hindenburg shortly thereafter.
The Boy just does not get it. REFUSES to get it. Doesn't care. Cannot abide by "getting it".

So then there were the trips to 3 different thrift stores to find a replacement caraffe for my coffee maker...the one I did find only works nominally, but works nonetheless.

Add that to my mother driving me bananas. I absolutely abhor people who try to attempt subtlety with all the grace of an inebriated flamingo - and in doing so are completely passive agressive.

And who'da thunk that if you get a book from the library that is an Encyclopedia, it will not contain ANY ACTUAL STORIES.

Still no period. Wondering if this IUD is worth the unpredictability. Nevermind the lack of worry and 3 day periods. Bah!

I'm giving serious consideration to going back to school. You think my previous ramblings on fellow co-workers were a blast...? just wait until I'm stuck in a room with 30 kids under the age of 20. Pheromones just oooozing from their greasy little pores. Yeck. It'll be cool, I can pay money to get an education and watch mating rituals of Homo Erectus. It'll be like watching the Merecats....!... only merecats have personalities. These post-highschool creatures are each about as original as the tune from Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
Honestly, how many other songs share that same damned tune? ABC's?! Baa Baa Black Sheep?! Recockulous!

Chapter 9: Anal Rape

2008-01-28T18:15:00.001-06:00

I sat across from him, nostrils flaring, as he spelled out the misgivings I have been so fervently attempting to hide. Priority. Responsibility. A mistake last week that could have cost him $3000. What do you do when you realize that, in trying to keep the casualties low to nill, you have created a fox hole in your office? I kept me, the kids, food, shelter, my mother - mostly afloat while I tried to do one of the hardest things in my 30 years.
Regardless of now- regardless that I am letting Him back into my life - like a morphine drip- the bag nearly bursting with expectation. Regardless of that, this has been hell. Ever had a migraine? Know that "hangover" that happens when the final throbs have ceased? That hangover has been looming in me since September. The hangover of doubt: the nausea of worry, those little black specs of shame.
I could have tried harder, but I am stuck in a selfish phase right now. So I would pop on email 5 or 6 times a day to check in on those that I love? So I would stay at my desk and eat my turkey burger while playing Bejeweled instead of going away from my monitor. Escape. Ever try to escape your life and fix it at the same time?
So I fucked it up. I cant handle that much responsibility now. Fuck me for trying to hold it together.
I wrote the letter - gloriously worded defeat. Gathered my shit, handed him my pitiful excuses and walked out. No sir, I haven't been thinking about this for a while, but perhaps I should have. Thank you for opening my eyes fully to how I've anal-raped my chances at a great job. Thank you folks, and good night.

Bless the warm weather (a whopping 36 F today) or I would have never been able to make my quick, angsty getaway from the office parking lot. Hildegarde needs at least 20 minutes of warm-up or she wont get out of first gear. Not only did I get out of
1st, I got up to nearly 80mph going East on 94 for the few exits I needed to get to Him. Go ahead Mr. Policeman, pull me over for doing 25 miles over the speed limit. Dare ye who fucks with a woman fueled by self-pity.
Bless the day off from work He had.
Bless the appointment He had to leave abruptly for so that I could sit here in his quiet apartment and sulk. Alone. Surrounded by my kids' toys, eating King Vitamin from a bowl I fell in love with at an antique store in Stillwater. Drinking Jasmine tea from a mug I bought my mother for its light feel in her arthritic hands.

The Picking, as I call it, started - well, progressed to full force really - just after Sawyer was born. I'd later be told it was a form of self mutilation akin to pulling out your hair and eating it. Niiiice. Good to know. While I should have devoured the tea to calm my nerves and left my pretty hands alone - I did just the opposite. Now, as I write the preliminary draft of this latest installment of emotional diarrhea, I do it with marred fingertips. I have deskinned my cuticles and the soft pads of skin at the tips of my fingers. How centering self mutilation can be. Focus, grasshopper.
So what now? Well, as epiphanies go, I think the blood on my fingers has been well spilt. The guidance I have received from the Rape and Abuse Crisis Center, the donations from women's charities, the shelter provided to me and my children by the YWCA - all need to be repaid. If I am to feel worth anything at all, I must find a career with less responsibility, similar pay and that gives back. So that leaves me to call my counselor, my contacts at the Y and other women's charities and get movin.
Time to mop the floor with myself. Time to clean up the puddle of scug I have become. Time to get my ass in gear.

Straight to my heart

2008-01-20T13:47:00.000-06:00

It's kindof how I imagine the Irish feel when they hear bagpipes.

Some 'splainin to do

2008-01-18T15:21:00.000-06:00

I know, I know.

You can all roll your eyes and wave your mental fingers at me... I know.

I know I said I was done with him, I know I said that I hated him and I'd never have anything to do with him ever again.... I know. I know. I know.

But see, there's the sex. And see, I'm 31. Do I need to draw you a diagram?!

And there's a difference now. This shit is on my terms. I'm not the weeping willow I was before. I'm a damned stubborn Redwood and no amount of huffing and puffing's gonna bring me down. No sir.

And I'm still going through with the divorce 'cause as far as I'm concerned, that marriage that was that thing.... you know... that person I was - that, that eewie snivelling heap of insecure and belittled... that just needs to go away. Forever.

I'm back - say it loud, I'm (um black?) BACK AND I'M PROUD!

So am I slightly ruled by my vagina? Maybe.

But I won't go back there. I won't ever be her again.

I'm not about to go out to the bar scene and pick up any 'ol virile twentysomething just so I can have a backup plan in case I run out of batteries. This guy knows me. I don't have to school him on how to do that thing that I like. He's got it covered.

So is it possibly out of laziness? I considered that. Jury's still out on that one.

Is it possibly because I am a bad girl and like sneaking around my family and friends and not telling them that I am friends with this guy - that was that guy and did all that shit...Um. No. I don't like lying to the people that love me.

They have seen me lower than any human should go.

But they hold me accountable for their respect for me, and I am just now slowly building that back up. They wouldn't understand that, instead of finding Random Fargo Frat Boy to schtoop, I'm schtoopping the father of my kids.

I'm not gonna say I'm a complete lowlife scum, but I'm not gonna sit here feeling justified and all "Bitch Pahleese" either. No talking to the hand. S'aldight? S'aldight.

Part masochist, part slave to loooove, but mostly I'm a derelict to reason -

2008-01-16T15:04:00.000-06:00

All things I have done within the last 24 hours:

had 2 doughnuts
2 dinners (one at lunch, one at dinner)
had lunch with my soon-to-be-ex:
(Did I stare lovingly into his eyes, did I yearn to curl up in his lap? Did his presence make me moist in my naughty bits?? HELL. YEAH.)
masturbated furiously
sent the kids to bed without brushing their teeth
had a total of NINE CUPS OF COFFEE
picked boogers from my daughters nose with a set of tweezers
slacked at work
busted my ass at work
shopped online at work (mmmm....want this.....)
signed the kids up for those Dolly Parton books
lied to my mother
unsuccessfully set a date for nookie with the soon-to-be-ex
regretfully sent the kids to be at their dad's for FIVE WHOLE DAYS

urgh.
See, among all the other crap that I'm trying to figure out, something came to me. I simply am not able to get my period unless I partake in one of our historically earth-shatteringly orgasmic sessions with the soon-to-be-ex.
So without the period-bringer, I eat. And I masturbate. Both in what would be socially unacceptable proportions... at what would be considered often inappropriate locations. Like popping into the restroom at Hornbachers... or at work.... or attempting to steal some time at home while the crotchlings beat at the bathroom door.
So, you see, I can't ever fully ditch this guy. The sex is not only too good, it's medically necessary.

That, and well - I love him. There. I said it. Standing in a door frame now.

Oh, and I nearly forgot:

2008-01-15T10:31:00.000-06:00

Going through Fremont Ohio on the way to my mothers, I noticed it. All I could do was blink - and then the riotous laughter came. Lucky the roads were good that day, cuz I ended up crossing lanes of traffic. I told Ma about it when I got to Jersey, and I'm not quite sure she believed me. But there, at the end of our first day of travel - there it was. We pulled over for the night and stayed at the Holiday Inn. Upon getting off the freeway and paying the toll (gnarrr! tolls!), Mom and I lost it. We cackled our way through asking the toll lady why on earth there is a street with the most odd name we had ever seen. I had to stop about 30 feet after we went through the booth to wipe the tears from my eyes.
Try Googl-ing it, other people have seen it too.
Prepare yourself: click here.

I'm particularly partial to the definition of "Vampire Erection".

So after fishing around on the Fremont Visitors Guide site, I found this. After putting in "Fangboner" into the last names, I ran the search and came up with 23 matches going back to 1874. My guess is that's where the name came from.
And they were a prolific bunch, that Fangboner clan... uh -huh.

Onward brave knights

2008-01-14T15:57:00.000-06:00

So I don't really know where to start.
... But the drive out to Jersey was peaceful. Even through Wisconsin and it's aggravating semi's - splashing my windshield with gunk and rendering me yelling and blind in the evening blackness. Even that, was okay.
I arrived at the border of Ohio with no actual cash and in need of some sleep, so I slept with the rental running until 6am when the daily limit on my ATM would roll over and I could pay the damned $1 toll.
Tolls - seriously - it was about $30 in tolls one way.
But it was peaceful, mindless driving. I didn't think - about anything. Until Pennsylvania. At which point I had an internal dialogue about fairness that resulted in a sniveling call to the Soon To Be Ex.
"Why me? Why all of it? You have a mother that killed your sense of self and is the reason for 70% of your isms - you have a sister that you both deeply love and absolutely cannot trust.... but you threw all of your inner hatred and self loathing at me... why? Why did I have to bear the burden? I was but a small sliver of the pie of pain in your head. Shit, you could barely balance an olive under all that cheese..."
Again, more rhetorical questions to the man that can only give me apologies now. I have stood on the pulpit and shown my scars, I have the nightmares still, I cry when I feel how much the children want us to just be in the same room for more than five minutes... all we have are what's left of our choices.
I chose to leave him to his pain. He is a better parent now that I'm not there to depend on - I hope. I hear tell of him getting a new PC and I am filled with anxiety at the hours upon hours of time he will still not fully admit to spending in front of that thing - the compromised parenting to play games and spend money we didn't have.
And even through the coffee jitters of anxiety I have to tell myself it's not my problem anymore.

So Pennsylvania - a state I absolutely adore for its mountains and views - hit me. Well, I hit back. I made it through that windy state by 7pm and got to my mother's in Jersey around 10. Were it not for the infamously poorly labeled highway system out there, I would have been there around 9.
A few odd things happened while in Jersey:
First, I was visited by a totem that I can only assume was sent by my brother. She was a Coopers Hawk.
While unloading boxes onto the front steps of a local charity thrift store, I had an urge to simply look up. There, perched on a thick branch not 12 feet from my head she just looked down at me. Just sat there, and looked.
So I spoke to her. I greeted her, asked her where her mate and her babies were. Then I asked her if she was there to look after me. She answered with a high pitched squeal and stomped her feet. Well ohhhkay. I spoke to her of how lovely she was, thanked her for her visit, and told her it was about time for me to go as I had much to do that day. At those words, she dropped from the branch - soundlessly- spread her wings and swooped away.
And that was that.
I ran back to tell my mother what I saw - filled with glee- I knew that my brother was familiar with my love of birds and knew that if he wished to make himself known to me, he'd have to go for the obvious. Secretly, however, I doubted some that it was even him.
During the next half hour I heard her again. I was loading the rental and heard her - about 100 feet away- screeching at me. She was nearly imploring in her call... lest I forget her.
So with her blessing we loaded up in the rain. It was 46 degrees that day.

When finished, we stayed at a friend of hers house. As I settled in for the evening, I pulled out my laptop and searched for a wireless signal. I found a few with family names or merely code numbers. The signal I chose lasted me nearly an hour before I lost it. Upon a second search, I found merely encrypted signals. Not giving up, I searched again.. and there it was..... steven. Soooo creepy.

We originally had a slew of places we wanted to go (translation: lots of eating to do), but we opted for just leaving. Screw it.
So three days, 1500 miles, wierdness, omens and 10 crappy road-meals later here we are. I have my mommy and my two beautiful children.
And so I begin this year much as I had surmised my last year: Everyone needs someone to take care of them.

We are all merely a chain of "taking care of". To break the chain is to be lost to yourself, your humanity and to others.

So Much of Nothing

2008-01-11T10:51:00.000-06:00

As you may or may not know, I traveled out east and picked up my mother to come and live with me and my children in the Frozen Tundra. It was a long trip, I racked up about 3000 miles in five days.
The trip had its oddness, supernatural touches and a little bit of fun.
That being said, I am safe, happy and sick again. I chose this print because I was visited by a totem while in NJ, and I rather lack the energy or time to go into details right now of all the occurrences of my trip. But I will give you this print while I build my strength to begin writing again.

Heavy

2007-12-27T09:04:00.000-06:00

I am weighted today. Burdened by the thoughts and emotions of this past year, of the struggles of my son, and of the death of one of the world's great women. Bhutto did not deserve to die, but I wonder if she needed to. Not many wish martyrdom, even when it is thrust upon them with all the streamers of glory billowing behind it.

What is my role? For whose benefit do I do the things I do each day.. mine? my children? my mother?
Bhutto wanted strength for her people. She wanted dignity and respect.
I want much the same. I want to be a good example to those in my life. I don't want to be one of those people that I would avoid making friends with were I to meet myself in a crowded room. Would I trust me now, would I be interesting and fun and positive? Not now. I am too entrenched in regret and fear. I am too scared to make the hard choices, there are too many monsters waiting to jump out and sabotage my intentions. There is too much unknown. It is so difficult now to judge which choices would prove most healthy in the long term. I have been living in maybes lately. It's as if someone hit the pause button on my stalwart decision making and my strong aspirations.
My prayers lie with what few good decisions I have made this year - and the need to perpetuate them - to follow their lead as if they were people of their own.

About A Boy

2007-12-14T10:53:00.001-06:00

My son was born during a time in my life where I just started knowing what it was like to be an adult. I was 26, we were living in a very spacious four bedroom - two story flat in Uptown Minneapolis. We resided there with "friends" of ours who also had kids. While we had so much room to move, we spent over 90% of our time in our one bedroom: the other bedroom being taken up by our four parrots and our living space was in the middle of all the day's traffic. Relations with our roommates were strained at best. There were five people - ages New to 30 who suffered from Don't Want To Be Here syndrome. Our roommates didn't want to be together, their kids didn't want the parents they had, Sawyer was not a fan of life outside the uterus, my husband had no desire to be a husband or a father, and all I wanted was to be back in Jersey where things felt familiar.

My son is a victim of circumstance... and - I believe- slightly faulty wiring.
Sawyer has never been able to deal. With anything. Much.
His highs are crazy-high, his lows are scary. He is a boy of extremes. Since birth I have always known deep in my gut that, while I aspire to such, a life of steady boredom and predictability would suit him just fine.
All I have been able to do is try. I have failed his needs. Between personal and intra-personal struggles with his father and I, job changes and relocation... he is not living his best life. (Nor am I, but, meh.)
He is acting up in daycare in a way that makes me wince each time I walk down that hallway - waiting for someone to rip the duct tape from my eyes.
Riley is so even-keel. She gets upset - sure. She gets sad or grumpy... but it never consumes her the way it does Sawyer.
Having had little ( well, none) experience with children prior to birthing my son, I have no real idea what normal is in kids. But my gut tells me that my son suffers from anxiety. He was born with it... being inconsolable, being unable to control himself...being absolutely consumed by an emotion or feeling.
So today I call around. I started with a woman I know who is a parent educator. The pediatrician, my therapist, daycare, the yellow pages.. anything.
I know in my heart that he was not born to a cozy, safe den - but I know that were those circumstances to arise, Sawyer would still not be able to relax.

Nearly Ate A Whole Bag At Lunch Today:

2007-12-10T16:41:00.000-06:00

Folly

2007-12-06T10:57:00.000-06:00

I woke up with a lingering in my mouth
there, in the corners, I tasted Them
fumbling, fondling, folding together
The Three, and with me
torpedoes cast out to kill elsewhere.
I tasted you, your lip gloss and aftershave
stuck to the ribbons on my soft palette.
Were we there on that soft brown sectional -
sneaking a snore and a shove?
Were we there, in that hotel
your husband in the corner?
Was I the boss,
did my orders fill your till, or do you want more?
Did I stare at your mercury pores,
and weep for that just beneath?
We were all this, I was all those, they did all that.
When I woke, urging the sun
ran my forefinger, slow
tracing.
Dried bits of pieces of me, pieces of her.
You tasted as sweet as 19
Can we go back to the soft brown couch-
that outdated furniture for our overdated times.
You threw it away.
I was thrown away. Regifted between the Doctor and Patient.
Will I find you at the bottom of a martini,
or in the corners of my mouth, underneath my nails.

Happy Birthday

2007-12-06T09:28:00.000-06:00

My little brother would have been 27 today.

...and that's about it. I don't have much to say about it this year. My vision of what he would be like is fading each year. I suppose that is the natural ebb of grief. I don't bargain anymore. I don't wonder what my life would be like were he still to be my little brother.

Steven was. He was my brother, he walked over the rockiest terrain of my life with me. He just was. I am an is, my children are an is.

And going forward, when asked if I have any siblings - my answer has and always will be: I had a brother once.

Lunch Date

2007-12-03T10:37:00.001-06:00

I'm having a long lunch with my boss today. I have been employed with him for just over three months. In that time we have gotten to know each other, and he is like a cousin to me. A big, dorky, cornfed cousin. He is a genuine man. He views his world and his impact on it by making sure that his contributions are honorable and that they speak of the man he is. I am so proud to know him. He is one of 9 children and all the rest are either still on the farm or close by it. He decided to strike off and make his own way. He may not have blisters on his hands, but he has the weight of hundreds of futures - the futures of our clients that he cares so deeply about.
Today we will discuss my employment. I know what he's going to say. He'll say the same thing a few of my other bosses have: you have such potential. When you are on - you're so on... but we never know just how much of the drama in your life will show up with you on any given day.
I know this. I have tried to make my work a haven for duty and not drama.
But choices I have made in the last few years did not support that. I was reprimanded twice on my last job concerning the amount and volume of calls with My Husband. The elevator job, the chemical job, retail clothing... all were affected by my outside life. I have allowed my turmoil to affect my career. I have been fortunate to have the boss I do now. He has been through it. Two other coworkers in the building have been there as well- one fled an abusive man, the other pushed away an unstable woman. I have such sympathy from them.
But last week, as I took part in yet another pointless argument while I was at work, I disrupted the peace here.
It has to stop. I have to stop. I have a bright future ahead of me. I will begin teaching a seminar next year at a local college on women managing money. I have so much that I should be proud of.
And yet there is this woman, this person that makes these self destructive choices and brings bad people- bad men- into her life. I can't be her anymore.

I have a wealth of warmth and experience to bring to not only my career, but those in my life who can give it in return - those in my personal life. I'm not going to convince anyone that I have love and affection to give. I'm too tired for that... don't even care to try - such has been my luck.
But to my career, I will have to sit across yet another boss and convince them that I have my shit together... because this time, I do - mostly.
All I have to do is stop taking the wrong kind of bait and hold out for good things to come my way.

Mmmmm..... sludgelike caloric yumminess

2007-12-03T08:58:00.000-06:00

(See Below)

So it's thick, extremely chocolatey and I have been burping up mint for over an hour. This will wake you up, fix your chocolate cravings, and make people want to kiss you.

Mmmmmm....... I can feel my thighs expanding.

Just happened to tug at my wallet today at the grocery store:

2007-12-02T17:47:00.000-06:00

So there I was, list in hand, ready to zip in, zip out and go home.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see this:

I now have a frosty four pack sitting in my fridge just waiting to be my next bladder infection. Review to follow.

(Starbucks Dark Chocolate Peppermint Mocha Frappaccino. Translation: pay a mere $7.50 and you too can gain two pounds.)

A Plea From The Beleaguered

2007-11-30T11:03:00.000-06:00

So I have this meth-like addiction to Scrabble. I know, I never set out to impress anyone with my coolness... But if I can score 60+ points on a word I have made my week. Pitiful, yeah, yeah. I hear ya.
Anyway, so I have this website I go to on a daily basis to get my fix, and I am running into technical issues.
I hook up to it from my laptop. Depending upon whose wireless signal I am hitched to, I run into proxy errors that prevent me from viewing all the content.
It will usually state an error that reads something like: "cannot connect to server, please make sure that your proxy settings allow 24000-24100".
So I have gone into my settings and, since you can only enter one number at a time, I have added 24000,24050 and 24100. But still I run into this error. This does not happen on every wireless server I hook up to, but in a little over half of them I run into this problem. How do I fix this without having to go in and adding every single number from 24000-24100?
If you, or someone you love could help this poor, feeble creature, please let me know.

Because I absolutely loved this game, and because this is how I roll...

2007-11-29T20:27:00.000-06:00

Same old same old

2007-11-29T11:35:00.000-06:00

You can try and mask bullshit, you can try and candy coat it and disguise it as something more pleasing, but in the end, it's still bullshit.
I remember what it was like when I made the switch and decided to leave my teenage years behind me. There were days I still enjoyed fluttering my eyelashes at random men - I still loved diverting my attentions.
But not any more. When you really really delve into a persons heart and mind, you don't have room or strength to divert yourself. So I know what it's like to go through growth and have to deal with small hiccups. My hiccups took the form of enjoying flattery. Other people, like - oh - I dunno, that guy I married, slip back into being a cross between Inspector Clusseau and The Hulk... part obsessive, part menacing and unpredictable.
Anyway, today's lesson: regardless of the status of the pin, steer clear of grenades.

Buildings in my mashed potatoes

2007-11-28T14:44:00.000-06:00

Signs, signs I say.
The Sick, the transmission dying out, the cold, getting passed up for the Habitat Home...urgh.
There are too many things against me right now.
I feel like the Is wants me to crawl under a rock and wither away.
With as crappy as I feel, it's nearly an option. I have been sick for a month straight. I still have loads more things to move into my apartment and items to get- none of which I have the energy for. I have been sleeping in three hour bursts that are interrupted by fetal-curling fits of coughing. Here's what I get for going organic and taking my multivitamin. Beh.

Night and Day

2007-11-26T11:22:00.000-06:00

I spent the holiday weekend in the arms of another man.
My aches were nursed- each in their own way. There was time and space for me to lay in bed, sick with yet another cold and ill with the tumult of the last few months.
So soft, so yielding were his arms, his eyes. I was looked upon with amazement and wonder, not anger and resentment. I am, merely, a woman. I am not responsible for the shortfalls of all women, nor is each man guilty of mistreating me - of disregarding me. But those last few days, I was treated, regarded, as a woman of some glorious value and wonderment. My apprehensions lay just so close to my ears still, but instead of a powerful symphony, they were but the chirping of crickets- soft, rhythmic and annoying if you really stopped to listen.
Days went by and I didn't stop, I didn't listen. Only as the crickets slept in the bright sunlight of yesterday afternoon did the silence deafen me.
What the hell am I doing? I cannot be with anyone else. I am bound to that man that hated me for his love, hated me. But this other man seemed vaguely familiar to me. I dreamt of him, I think, several times while I was holding onto hope with my fingernails. He swept me away with his love. He was as soft as an August breeze on my shoulders, and strong and solid as an ancient Oak.
Those eyes, those eyes -swollen and weary from trying to drink me in - they wept at our power. Those eyes smiled at our pains.

For some time this will hurt: the necessary and the frivolous... and which is which? Is to love again necessary to live, or frivolous and too soon? Is lovemaking needed to keep my heart from forming frost, or foolhearty for not letting her heal and harden some after all that pain?

If I truly knew what was best for me I would not have gone so far. I would not have taken the heart I grew into and nailed it to the wall for his anger to see. But I did, I sent the lamb of a fresh, young heart to slaughter... again and again and again. I have paid for law, I have paid for solace, I have paid for shelter. I must now find a way to pay for the right answers from my pockets.

Leftovers

2007-11-22T14:25:00.000-06:00

It was too early when they woke up. There was too much wind when we loaded up in the minivan. I was too angry as the kids dragged their teddybears across the pavement. Riley was too cute in her corderoy dress, Sawyer's hair was too much trouble this morning.
This day is about excess. It is about filling your belly until you can't move, about sneaking sips of liquor to the kids, about telling tales and putting up with quirks. There should never be a hungry mouth or a child in need of a tickle on this day.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It is simply about food, simply about nothing simple at all.

He met me at the door of his humble hut. Hands in his pockets, I would have thought he would be thrilled to see the kids in all thier coifed finery - but it was my eyes he looked for as the car turned into the drive. He held the gaze of the windshield and waited for the glare to subside from the spot where his eyes were transfixed. It was me in all my unshowered glory, me who hadn't even bothered to comb her hair or put makeup on who he wanted to see. It was almost as if I held more hope and endless possibility than even our own children.
But I don't.
I am a finely gated community. You may get past the guards once or twice, but the cameras will find you and you will be brusquely escorted out. I will clean up your cigarette butts and sweep over your boottracks the minute you leave.
And in my moments of revelation these weeks, I keep repeating in my head that this, this is what I have been trying so hard to avoid my entire life.
I remember the feeling when I realized that I had opened the gates and told the guards to go home. It was terrifying.
And now they are all back on the payroll - fat and lethargic from four years of too many desserts and too little excersise.
So here I am, several hundred moons later. I feel just as uncomfortable under lock and key this day as I had felt odd when I swung the bars open. But I have no other choice. I let a beast onto my property. I fornicated with him and had angelic little offspring. I showed him my turrets and towers, my bridges and tapestry lined halls. Instead of seeing the shelter I could provide, he only saw each brick as keeping him from unfurling his spiked wings and taking off into the endless skies.
Time and time again I afforded him the chances to grow into a prince as I once wished for. All I needed was a reason to leave my teenage hellion behind.
I figured if I could outgrow my demons, so could he.
And I was wrong. It was he who subjected me to "come here, come here, come here - go away, go away, go away". He wanted to be left alone, but not to be left to be alone.
And what did I want...what do I want...? It doesnt matter anymore. My hope died with that last venomous assault that awful Thursday evening. My hope and desire for needs went away when I realized that, with my sweet little girl in my lap, this man hated me. Truly hated me and all I stood for.
So what do you do when you realize that someone hates you? You hate them for not loving you and you go far, far away.

So as I left on this blaringly sunny afternoon, left with my carriage full of boxes, I drove in the direction of the work that needed doing today. He drove to a warm house full of people who believe his beauty and I drove to start my life over. I tried to kid myself these last weeks. I tried to think that it wouldn't bother me to take my favorite holiday and spend it alone, without my children, without my mother or any friends. The only faces I have seen today have been the morning with my kids, the afternoon shaking my head at this man I once worshipped, and this evening I sit here in the cafeteria of The Shelter and listened to a Native mother tell her 6 children tales of growing up on the Rez. Her oldest is 11 and they are telling tales of the bad kids back home and which juvenile hall they are currently in. They laugh like friends. They are partners in their life together. They speak lightly of bailing dad out of jail. He tends to the needs of his brothers and sister without her saying a word. He is no longer a child. He is her executive assistant.

When Sawyer was 2 and he would have to sit through Mommy reading books to he and Riley with tears in her eyes, him becoming a man long before his time was a reality. If I had stayed, he would have first been my comfort. After living through years of defending me, he would turn. At 14 or 15 he would begin to resent me for disrespecting myself so much and treat me as his father would. If I don't show my son I deserve respect, he will not know how to give it.

So I am lonely today. My belly is full now and even though I know that I have to begin the move, all I want to do is sleep. Far away, my dear friend Ayala and her wonderful family are enjoying good food and numerous reasons to celebrate. Ayala is 30, she has just been awarded her doctorate after years of toil, and she is surrounded by love. She is a woman truly blessed.

It will take me all weekend to move what items I have into my new apartment. After that, I will need a few bits here and there to complete the haven I will call my own. Tonight I will eat what is left. These next weeks I will be accumulating items from charitable women all over this town. Even though I am starting over, I will do it with remains and scraps from others.

This life, these choices are my own.

Two things:

2007-11-17T16:29:00.000-06:00

I am feeling two things right now, hilarity and this.

Conversations

2007-11-15T09:05:00.000-06:00

There were the speeches I made from the hilltops. I had just the right thing to say, I made my points perfectly, my thoughts were absorbed and I was validated. Hours of sitting and coming up with the right things to say... and then countless hours of just trying to get one word in.
It was all about motive. I feel that my motive has always been to have those things I could only dream about as a child. To go home after visiting friends' perfect homes and try to emulate their world to no avail. To hear of the 62 year old man - married over 40 years to the same woman - who would place fresh flowers on her nightstand every few days for over 40 years. Even when they only had enough money for cheap carnations, she always woke up to love, no matter on what side of the bed she opened her eyes. That is what I wanted, that was my motive. These things are real. It is not the expense from the pocket, but the sum paid in thought and love for anothers happiness. I did all that. The ironing, the coffee and packed lunches. The boot-shining, the leather cleaning, bringing him dinner at work, the impetuous pleading to take vitamins, the darning, tolerating the friends, singing his praises, defending him from his family's scrutiny, putting up with the endless influx of strange pets, back rubs, foot rubs, assuaging his ego, washing the motorcycle, surrendering my phobias, doing anything to see his eyes roll back in his head, giving in, giving in, giving in...
Such treatment and motive has been elusive to me. I have never, ever had the pure love of a whole individual in my life. I have never had unconditional love... until becoming a mother. I have my mother back, she wants nothing more than to see me succeed leaps and bounds above even her own dreams of my life. But I have only two people whose love for me is not tainted with regret, guilt and pain. Those two little people, for now, hold my aspirations and my strength in their tiny palms.
I am a human being. We make mistakes, we learn. No single human is above the pains and shortfalls of lessons. If your lessons hurt another, go learn elsewhere. If your lessons involve being hurt, may the pain be swift and may the lesson come quickly.
Love is loving someone for their humanity, as long as it does not impede upon your own. Love is conversations that actually happen, and where progress is made.

Absolutely, completely, 150% perfect:

2007-11-13T21:08:00.000-06:00

Even though I haven't heard it since high school,"Untouchable Face" by Ani has been ringing in my head. But I think it was only to lead me to this song.
Absolutely un-flippin-canny.

Absentminded

2007-11-13T12:17:00.000-06:00

You know it's gonna be one of those days when you stick your spreadsheet in the microwave and begin to read the directions on your lunch.

So, it's gonna be like that today.

Today, These Days

2007-11-12T11:20:00.000-06:00

I am not a whole person. I am days of women, hours of girls. They come and go, they visit and leave me. My welcome mat is threadbare from all the traffic. To be a whole person, and not exist of different people based on the phases of moon and flux of pain would be wonderful. I am weary of this. I am weary of the flux. I thought that once I stopped wanting or needing to beg, I would feel whole again. But when you spend a third of your life begging for love, pleading for clarity and unconditional affection, your energies run low. I exist on backup generator now. Moments, early as the sun rises, spent smelling my children and kissing them awake are what keeps my belts turning. Hours of book reading and making Saturday breakfasts with my son are that little mouse on a wheel for me. I cannot think, I cannot look back. It hurts me too much. I have allowed this, I have shaved off so much - including a decade of hopes and needs.
I had people begging me to just be their friend - my wit and energy added joy to their lives. I make my friends happy. And now I make them worry, dependent upon which woman wakes in me each day. I used to wait patiently for everyone to see... The tainted relatives, the friends only given one side... I wanted absolution for things I didn't even do. I wanted to say my Hail Mary's and everyone would see my pain, everyone would help me. Their recognition would make it all better.
Not only do I not need it, I don't care. I don't want it. I won't wait for it. I'm done waiting. That's all I've been doing.
The only thing that will make it all better is to get as far away from the nuclear reactor as possible. I was slowly poisoned, and often fell victim to leaks and spills. So here I am, nursing the infection. Letting the good cells regrow. Learning who I am. Today, just for today I will be okay. These days, these days are still filled with the words and evils I let in - but they are mine now. I don't have to defend myself any longer. I get to breathe.

History

2007-11-11T14:33:00.000-06:00

I wrote a few lines, many years ago, and they ring in my ear today.
Haunting, how your mind's scrapbooker chooses certain images and words and holds to them. I often think of it as referencial emotional recycling.
But these words, which are in full possession of The John, come only to me in snippets. I look forward to completing their lines once he returns my email.

My eyes have seen the glory
of destituting those closest
of control feeding blindness
and of endless blaming shame...

...

My Saturday:

2007-11-11T04:38:00.000-06:00

2007-11-09T10:07:00.000-06:00

I share birthdays with Spiro Agnew, King Edward VII, the father of psychopharmacology, Anne Sexton, The Incredible Hulk, and Pepa.

Apartheid was condemned by the UN General Assembly the day I was born.

The Berlin Wall fell on my 13th birthday. Napoleon took control of France on my birthday in 1799. Actor Billy Halop (Bert Munson on All in the Family) died the day I was born.

The inventer or the birth control pill was born this day in 1903.

Horoscope: Your friends are likely to notice some subtle changes in you that they can't quite put their finger on. You're likely to be a little too easily distracted and a little vague, both today and for the next few weeks.

Chinese Horoscope: Diplomacy is the key word for you right now. In order to succeed at home and work you will need to choose your words extremely carefully. (Don't I know it.)

Slap on the wrist and other things to chew your lip over...

2007-11-08T11:01:00.000-06:00

For a while, your fav bloggette will be speaking in pictures. The words I do wish to spew forth are not allowed for a while. The play-by-play is too little of a game at this point. Best to you, email me!

Bleh.
Zzzz.....
Really? Hm.
Feeling old: that baby is 17 now.

Stillness, quiet, desolation, hope.