Thank you so much to whomever? whoever? nominated me.
This is why I can't make money in writing. I can't even tell the difference between who and whom. I feel like if I just go ahead and use "whom" you will just assume that I am right and that I am smart because I use fancy words. It's like adding a "u" in the words colour and behaviour. Only cultured people spell like that. It's like wearing a monocle and lighting long cigarettes with twenty dollar bills.
It's so easy to take our surroundings for granted. We run across the same crap again and again every single day while that path from home to office to where ever wears deeper and deeper into the earth. There seems to be nothing interesting on our street, on the highway, in the parking lot. Nothing doing at the office or the kids' school or in line at the bank. Same old same old at the grocer and the cleaners and the big box store that we find ourselves in once a week every week whether we need something or not. Routines can get stale while we use our time walking and driving to worry about bills and think about dinner and wonder if the iron was turned off or try to remember whether the cable bill is due in three days or in five so can it be mailed or should it be paid online and who's turn is it to pick up the kids from -um- where the hell are they at on Monday evenings?
Lately I've been playing this scavenger hunt game of mine with Jake. We walk home together from the daycare every afternoon, which is about a mile down the street. I ask him to find me a Liberty Bell, a Flyers sign, a stray cat, a sign in another language, a bus stop, a Phillies emblem, an American flag, a brownstone home, a marble staircase, or to point out the direction of the skyscrapers downtown, where New Jersey is, where the sun goes down, and which way Poppy lives. It's a fun way to introduce him to our city and which way the world spins. It's a fun way for me to see Philadelphia through the eyes of a two year old.
I encourage you to do the same. Slow down. Take a good look at what surrounds you. You have filled your home with things you love, things that love you back. You have chosen to live in a certain neighborhood, a certain town. Spend some time with it. Get to know one another. See what you've been missing. Show your children why you fell in love with the place in which you are raising them. Stop for ice cream. Explore your downtown. And the next downtown over from you. Keep going if you have the time. Smell the proverbial roses. We are lucky enough to live in an amazing area full of phenomenal people, rich history, and world-class architecture. Our city is surrounded by gorgeous rolling countryside that spreads in every direction. That countryside is bordered by mountains and an ocean and a bay that is all yours, all mine, all ours.
Let's enjoy it.
I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I'm worried that Jake will be nabbed by someone. Yet. He doesn't leave my side and I don't turn my back. I can't even do that pretend-to-walk-away thing that I try every once in awhile when he doesn't feel like walking and I don't feel like picking him up. I take two steps and absolutely must turn around to make sure he didn't take a step toward the street instead of taking a step toward me. Jake knows this, and I usually find him sitting crosslegged on the ground with his head in his fists, waiting for me to give in and pick him up.
I'll start worrying about someone picking him up in about five years, when I struggle with myself whether to let the kid have a bit of independence or tie him to a kitchen chair. I'm guessing the independence thing will win out, as I am already sick of running to the corner for a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread or a can of corn or the need du jour. And if I let Jake go three blocks to pick up the pizza every Thursday, I'll save $4 a week. Not because I'm such a wonderful tipper, but because I'm embarrassed that I'm not picking the pie up myself because I'm too lazy to put pants that button on once I've taken them off and I'm humiliated that the nice delivery boy has to give up a "real" delivery run in his nice warm car to walk my dinner over to my fat ass. It isn't worth giving up your parking spot to drive between the shop to my front door so I just toss a twenty at the kid and thank him and pretend to limp as I walk in the house.
I'm such goofball.
The night that I thought there was a little girl missing somewhere nearby I let Jake sleep in my bed. I held him tight and he held me back. I listened to him breathe and I counted his fingers. I tried not to picture him in a strange house, with a strange man, on a dirty carpet near a stained mattress, next to an old bedside table that held a ratty bible and a roll of duct tape, and the only light in the room coming from a scuzzy fishtank. The sound of the tank was just a bit louder than the sound of his wimpers.
I used to work with sex offenders, in their homes. Someone's gotta do it, because no one is keeping these sick fucks locked up where they belong. I swear they all had old bibles in every room and dirty fishtanks and an obnoxious amount of duct tape holding things together in their house.
I still don't like duct tape or fishtanks, and it's been more than a decade since I knowingly sat down at a rapist's kitchen table. I associate visible, out-in-the-open bibles with sex crimes. Like it is a pisspoor sign of redemption and rehabilitation.
I thought about that little girl's mother, just blocks away from my house. Maybe just a few doors down from me. I didn't want to think about how close she might be.
I wanted to stay awake because she was awake. I felt like I owed it to her. I felt like I owed it to her because she was screaming to God and asking why it was her child and not someone else's and I'm someone else and it wasn't Jake who never came home for dinner that night. I was thanking God that I am someone else and my child was lying right beside me, giggling in his deep and peaceful sleep.
Sirens raged through the night. But sirens rage every night. The ladder house is right up the street and there are two police districts right over there behind the grocery store. One siren brought hope that everything was alright. More than one siren brought the fear that they needed an entire team to take care of the situation. Sirens that stopped within earshot meant that the monster who stole that little girl lived too close to me.
There is a registered sex offender a block and a half away. Blame him. Get him. Kill him.
I have taught Jake about Good Touch Bad Touch. My job has me working very closely with Women Organized Against Rape and I spoke to a couple of the counselors there about how and when to do it (now and gently, no matter how old your child is). They gave me a really good storybook that worked well. I thought it was corny, but Jake really connected with it. He was afraid at first, this is normal and I was warned he would be. He talked about his penis (what else is new, right?) and how he didn't want anyone to touch it, but then explained to me that some people have to in order to take care of him. He knows who is allowed and why and when and seems to understand this.
I have seen him be more assertive with adults he is uncomfortable near. He isn't so polite and people pleasing anymore, and while that may make me look like a bad mom and him look like an unruly child (read: bastardy arsehole), I am proud of him. He respects adults but doesn't have a problem shouting "STOP" when he doesn't want to be touched. Even babies have a right to personal space and privacy.
So, well it turns out that Amber Alert was a prank, and it had spread all over the country. I checked Snopes the next day when they didn't mention it on the news and I couldn't find anything online. I was angry someone did that, but not so much because it gave me a restless night full of loving my little boy and appreciating his safety and closeness and counting every single hair on his head.
Lucky for me, there was a question and answer exchange going on over at A Free Man and since I completely neglected the questions that Beth Fish sent me a few weeks ago, I should probably get on that soon too. I was given the task of asking Trish over at Light. Sweet. Crude. a few questions and Joe at Irrational Dad was assigned to asking me a few things. I feel terrible now because I only asked Trish three burning questions. She is a busy mom, and she is writing a novel, and her kids have actual activities that they are into rather than just licensed characters that they are obsessed with. I thought I was doing her a favor by asking her just a few but it turns out I'm a terrible question asker.
I wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that I'm better at talking about myself than I am at asking other people about themselves.
Here's what Joe wants to Knoe.
Maintaining one blog is quite a task for most of us. How do you find the time (and inspiration) to run 4 of them?
I am a spaz.
It would be completely annoying to the rest of the world if I didn't channel my energy and free time into a medium where it is completely acceptable to talk about myself whenever I felt like talking about myself. It would be completely annoying to my family if I had the time to act upon the compulsions that are constantly flying around my brain all the time so I channel and filter everything here.
I'm also very observant and I seem to have a way with words that other people get a kick out of and I find writing relatively easy. I can get a post out pretty quickly, and I think it is a good way to take a little time out from the day.
Blogging is like my smoke break.
Oh, and it's cute that you think I only have four blogs. See now, I only have four blogs on my blogger profile. I think I have a dozen or so on my dashboard.
With a few years of parenthood under your belt, what is one piece of advice you think all new parents should heed?
Everything your baby does is normal.
There is nothing that your baby will do that hasn't been done before. If you run into a difficult time or you don't know how to handle something, ask for help. If your baby is sick or delayed in some way, look for others who have been what you've been through. We are all in this together.
On the topic of parenthood, is there anything you thought would be easy that ended up being extremely difficult (or vicey versey)?
There haven't been any real surprises in parenthood. Sure there are no manuals, but the answers are out there and luckily I get paid from 9-5 to know them. It really helps on the homefront.
I knew I would love my baby, but I didn't know I would be obsessed with him.
I knew I would be tired, but I didn't know I would be exhausted in every sense of the word.
I didn't know how many senses the word exhausted had.
I was surprised at how easy it was to leave Jake at daycare and go back to work. I thought that would be hard but I couldn't wait for my maternity leave to be over.
I thought transitioning from "couple" to "family" would be easy, but it wasn't.
Has Dave found out about your $400+ purse yet? How'd that go?
Well Joe, and the rest of the world, how would you feel if you found out that your wife bought a $400+ purse?
He asked me if I was retarded and what the hell was I thinking.
(Slightly and I wasn't.)
Sigmund Freud, Keanu Reeves, and Florence Nightingale were all also born in the year of the dragon. Do you identify with any of these three people (and if so, how)?
I'm obsessed with being obsessed with all things that resemble sexual organs. I can't even look at Tupperware lids and not think of vaginas. When I was little (really little, like 5 or 6) I refused to pull the lid off the orange Tupperware bowls by the vag-tab because I was afraid that I was touching its vagina and I knew I wasn't supposed to touch vaginas that were not attached to me. I also stopped eating popsicles straight off the stick around the same time. I would let them melt into a Dixie Cup and drink them. Navel oranges don't remind me of belly buttons, they remind me of breasts. It's a sickness. I've brought it up in therapy several times with several different therapists but they all assure me that I am just fine and wasn't sexually assaulted as a small child. And to top it all off I know that seeing genitalia in everyday objects comes with a diagnosis.
I'm almost convinced that I'm not schizophrenic but I still won't hold a microphone in front of boys. Or pickles. Or bananas.
I like the Brady Bunch too. That Florence Nightingale is a really groovy chick.
Has your superpower (I'm obsessed with superpowers, and I'm referring to your sense of smell) ever gotten you in trouble? Have you ever used it for good?
Unfortunately no, although one time I stopped a coworker from eating a chicken leg that had gone sour. She was in a car accident and lost her sense of smell. I smelled her lunch from two cubicles over. She would have had a bad case of the pukes-n-poops if she ate that chicken. I mean, what if she got sick at work? How would the rest of us be able to use the bathroom after that mess? It's like I saved my entire company from sure demise.
If someone that's never been to Philadelphia makes a trip there, what is one place you would demand they visit? I'm talking "court-ordered-go-here-or-die".
I guess the Italian Market. Although there isn't much Italian stuff going on there anymore, it is really a neat place to bum around for a day.
If you are feeling adventurous, I say take the 10 trolley all the way out and back. You will appreciate what you have at home once you've been all the way up Lancaster Ave. If you are especially brave and it is daytime, get off around 52nd Street or so. You would be very surprised how people in our country are forced to live.
If, for some reason, you didn't have any children, what do you think you'd be doing right now?
Professionally? Probably the same thing.
For fun on the weekends? I like to think that I would travel more and spend more time and money on things that make me happy. Like hiking and camping and beaching and boating and exploring foreign cities and maybe checking out my own country once in awhile. I'd be living the life that I'm watching Dora and Diego lead. Those crappy little unsupervised brown bastages are having all the fun that I should be having.
Last March, you said that you do not want to have another baby. Have your feelings on that changed in the last (almost) 12 months?
Absolutely not. After the week that we just had with Jake I am considering getting my tubes tied.
I like being the mom of an only child. We are totally bff's (for now) and I really get to focus on watching him grow up and I get to fully participate in his childhood.
It would break my heart to ever say "not right now Jake, I'm taking care of the baby".
Also, it is WAY easier to get a babysitter for one kid, and I like getting babysitters.
I'm never torn in two different directions, I sleep well because I only need to keep one ear open and that makes me a better person when I'm awake.
I have a bit more money in my pocket than my friends who have multiple kids, and that is good when we could lose everything at any time. I have less stress in my homelife, and I like that too.
And I don't want to get fat. Is it just me, or is everyone who is finished having kids glad they don't have to go through that nonsense again?
Pregnancy is disgusting, miserable, and unnatural. I'm sorry, but putting a body in my body just isn't the way to keep me happy and comfortable.
If Jake was completely in charge of throwing you a birthday party this year, what would you see there?
We would eat pizza and hotdogs and hummus and rice & beans and drink coffee and Carnation Instant Breakfast.
We would listen to Life is a Highway and Mamma Mia over and over again and we would watch Geotrax until our eyes bled.
And a bonus, 11th question:
How about a "Would You Rather..." question from Zobmondo.com? Would you rather choose to see your future (without being able to change it) or know everyone else's future and not be able to tell them?
I would rather know everyone else's future. I like to be in the know about everything. Plus I'm really good at context clues so I could probably figure out what I was up to if I knew what you were going to do.
So here goes.
1. It makes me content to lie in bed before going to sleep and taking stock in the day and think about tomorrow.
2. We own a home and it is full of things that we want- not just things that we need.
3. I like knowing that Jake is in the next room sleeping in a bed that costs more than a full months rent in our first (and second) apartment and it is a bed he can have for the rest of his life, chew marks and all.
4. I like to go through every day knowing that I made the difference in the world to people who don't even know I exist, even if just by doing something as simple as double checking the credentials of their social worker.
5. I am happy that every item under out roof is something that was chosen and wanted, not something we had to settle on or have to make do with. When I was growing up I always promised myself I'd work hard enough to never have to make do.
6. I get to watch Jake learn something new each day. If it is close to his bedtime and I haven't heard him say or seen him do something I've never heard or seen before, I teach him something.
7. It thrills me (and scares me, but mostly thrills me) to know that strangers see our child and fall in love with him.
8. I love knowing that we will support and nurture him in a way that he can take that charisma and save the world with it.
9. Being close to my family makes me happy, makes me feel safe, makes me content. It makes me realize I am strong enough and capable of accomplishing anything I would like to do.
10. Nice temperate weather and the ability to be be outdoors to enjoy it makes me feel impervious. I find beauty and serenity in everything if the weather is warm.
There is more, but I'm stopping at ten.
Am I the only one in Philadelphia working today?
It's the pits.
Because I'm in a blogging rut, I'm challenging myself to list the top ten things I'm paranoid about.
Why top ten?
Because if I didn't stop there this post might go on forever.
1. Jake is going to die any minute now.
2. You guys wouldn't like me if you knew me in real life.
3. I might be a sociopath and everything I do in life is a desperate attempt to fight that.
4. I'm not as smart as people at work think I am. -or- People at work are going to discover that I'm completely retarded and they have made a huge mistake in keeping me on the job.
5. I'm not as pretty or as funny as I think I am.
6. I will never get a good night's sleep. I spend most of the darkhours convincing my brain that I am neither awake nor interested in what it has to say.
7. I have nothing to offer anyone. You are all just nodding and smiling and pretending to listen and shaking your heads as you walk away.
8. There are cameras everywhere. Even in my house. Or tape-recorders, now that the economy is in the crapper.
9. I might wake up tomorrow and my eyes don't work or my teeth are missing.
10. Either my house or my car is going to explode in a firey inferno. And I'll be trapped inside and die a slow death and my mind will be so full of regret over things I never did or said that I can't relax and let death take over and it will be slow and wicked and painful and I will interpret it as punishment.
And press "print", and what speed dial number do I have the therapist on again?
He might want to take a look at this.
disclaimer: I am well enough to know this is all ridiculous and outlandish and silly, but not well enough that it doesn't plague me from time to time.
And here is where this is all about me. I like to be overdressed for everything. Except work. And weekends. There is nothing that pleases me more than being 7% flashier than everyone in the room. It feeds my inner Hollywood.
And there is nothing I dislike more than wearing black. I like to waltz right in the parlor in something eggplant. Or navy. Deep chocolate brown. Maybe charcoal, but accented with something pink. I'm special dammit. I won't do what society prescribes.
So Macy's. I'm too old for the Junior Department but too young for the Missus and I'll never like that department marked Women's Wear. That is for teachers and ladies with hairs on their chins and giant underpants. I'm too fat for everything sold in odd sizes but too skinny for the stuff that runs in even sizes. It's too winter for short sleeves and too spring for long. I'm too poor for full price but too snobby for the junk left on clearance. Not only is it totally picked over, but all that is left is chintzy garbage in sizes 2 or 12. What about the rest of us? What about me? All I want to do is go to this damn funeral and look adorable and not wear something I already have and buy something I'll wear again. Aren't I entitled? Don't I deserve this? All I wanted was a nice aubergine hued shirt dress with a nice thick belt- with 3/4 length sleeves and in a fabric that cinched but didn't pinch that would look awesome with my black boots. Or my camel colored ones. Then again, I might have to step on the grass if we dump the old lady in the ground tomorrow, and my camel ones are suede and I'm not ruining those boots. So I'll wear my black ones for the funeral and then maybe Dave and I will drop by a swanky bar after everything is over and I'll change into my camel ones and unbutton the top button and put on a push-up bra and I'll look super hot and really get my money's worth out of the dress that doesn't seem to exist.
I'm such an asshole.
I'm going to stop in at Urban Outfitters at lunch and check out a dress I saw on Courtney's blog. She wore it on a date, which makes it perfect for me to wear to a funeral. I mean, I'll be there with my husband. And without Jake. And there will be a nice dinner. Perfect.
On to deeper things.
Dave and I have decided not to involve Jake in this funeral stuff.
Jake went to Dave's other grandmother's funeral. But he was just two weeks old and didn't know better. I spent most of the whole ordeal in the limo, with my shirt off. And in the reception hall, with my shirt off. And at Kat Kat's, with my shirt off. Jake spent most of it eating. Dave did the hard stuff.
Jake went to my grandfather's funeral. But he had just turned one. He thought he was at a big party where everyone that knew me when I was that old wanted to meet him and my Poppa was sleeping in the back of the room.
Now that Jake is a month and eight days from turning three, I don't think it's the right time for all this.
I don't want him to see his aunts carrying on like a bunch of lunatics. I don't want him to see his grandmother cry.
I don't want him to run around like a little jackass in the entry hall of the funeral parlor.
I don't want him riding in a limo without a carseat. (Please be warned, if you click there you may cry. Severed heads are in that link. That link takes you to the reason I do not allow my child in a limo. Or a partybus. Or a conversion van. Or anything. He is lucky I allow him on the citybus.)
I don't want him asking questions about the things people do while grieving.
I refuse to explain the concept of afterlife to him, or that there is such a thing as a time after your life.
I don't want to explain the pomp and circumstance surrounding the Catholic Mass.
I'm especially not ready to deal with my baby asking me if I'm going to die. If he's going to die. If his daddy is going to die. If anyone is going to die. I just want to let him be carefree for as long as possible.
6 Things I Value:
1. Ikea. It is less than a mile away from my house and it provides me with furniture that is practically disposable. I used to be the girl who couldn't stand feet or heads on her furniture, let alone the 4P's of motherhood (pukepooppeanutbutter&pee) but now I could care less. As I type, my couch is in the washing machine.
2. Community. A clean __, a safe__, a welcoming __, a sense of __. No matter where I go.
3. Cohesiveness. Remember when I said that we should stop pissing on each other and start pissing with each other? We need to stick together. We are all in the same boat. Let's keep it floating rather than sinking.
5. Money. I like my bills paid and food in my pantry. I like a roof over my head and a reliable automobile. No one is supposed to say they value money because it makes us sound selfish and rude. But dammit, I like the dollars. And I like what the dollars can get for me.
6. Honesty, trust, integrity, friendship, the arts, love, and whatever else everyone has on this list. I have to say that or I sound like a total sociopathic a-hole.
6 Things I Support:
1. You and your path through life. You're doing a good job, you know. Such a good job that you have a bit of time to take a break and sit down at a costly technological device and read what other people have to say. You are open to ideas that may be different than your own and enjoy discovering that there are a lot of people out there who think like you do. You know how to get back on your path if you wander off and things aren't working out for you. You know how to survive and thrive and help others to do the same. You take care of yourself so you may take care of others.
That's kind of what this life is all about, don't you think?
2. My family. Even if they are a bunch of retards.
3. My friends, especially since they are a bunch of retards.
4. Animal rights, women's rights, gay rights, basic human rights. My right to support the beasts and the fags and the ladies. My right to have a voice. My right to use it, however the fuck I want. My right to say we are all equal dammit, and if someday I decide to marry a special lady friend or my cat I want to go ahead and do it. Double points for Dave if I marry a special lady friend and him at the same time, right? I think Dave is really pulling for that right. The Trimarriage Act, we will be calling it.
5. Clean Air and Clean Water and Clean Land legislation. It does matter.
6. There has to be something else I care about. Ask me later. Five years ago I would have said "my local bartender". But now I'm lame. But I'm still a good tipper.
6 Things I Do Not Support:
1. The combination of Church and State. Not because I'm so concerned with the Church leaking into the State. No matter what Church we choose, we basically have the same morals and values. I don't want the State involved with our Churches. Especially now that we have the Muslim in office.
Can you imagine having to kneel to Mecca every ten minutes?
Christ, I'm kidding. About Barack. Not about doing other people's church and political crap as part of my daily grind.
2. My boobs. I can't do it anymore. No bra is good enough to lift them to that magical place where they once rested.
Somebody call the doctor.
3. Selfishness. Once you have everything you need and most of the stuff you want, how about sharing with the rest of us?
6 People I Tag
I would love to know these things about the following bloggers so hopefully they will play along (if they want to) and then let me know when they have posted so I can come read.
1. Amy Jo at Cheese Party
2. Samantha at Fish Face (check it! she finally started her blog!)
3. Rissabear at Puffy the Opossum
4. my Uncle Charley at Sagittarum
5. Sara at Growing Up is Hard to Do (when you're ready)
6. you. Please link to your post in the comments so we can all find out what makes you tick. And that's a serious tag-all. Not just a lazygirl way to deal with a sixth. Do it.
Also, if you are truly in the mood to do what I tell you, can you please click over there on the left and start following my blog if you don't already? Not because I need a bigger number to bolster my self-esteem (read:I need a bigger number to bolster my self-esteem) but the fact that I'm just a couple short of a number divisible by 5 is really effecting my obsessive compulsive tendencies.
PS-Amanda and I grew up in the same town in the same kind of family situation and she probably passed my brother in the halls of her elementary school a million times. We found each other online a handful of months ago and can't let a day go by without at least one email, tweet, or blog comment. This is why blogging is better than Facebook. I don't want to be bothered with the weirdos and the pretty girls and the boys who broke my heart in highschool but I want to connect with people who won't make me dredge up awkward teenaged feelings but help me get through the day today.
1. My birthday is my favorite day of the year, and on a cold Fuckuary day like today I find myself counting the days until it is here.
2. I'm a Leo. And born in the year of the Dragon. I am the walking talking spitting poster child for all of that craziness. So be careful. I just might own you by the end of the day, but don't worry, you'll have a great time with it all.
3. I was practically deaf as a child. I was always in trouble for not listening at school and home and someone had the lightbulb to have my hearing tested so I had a surgery and tubes and all that nonsense and now I can hear dog whistles. Seriously.
4. I was practically blind until two years ago, when I had Wave Front surgery. It's like LASIK for people with terrible vision and astigmatisms. It was the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm even going to go as far as say that perfect vision and the lack of glasses and contacts and migraines resulting from eyestrain makes me a better mother.
5. I can smell everything. EVERYTHING. Blame it on my bum ears and eyes. It's not a great superpower to have. I can smell crotches from a mile away. I mean, yours isn't bad, but that guy over there smells like he spent the better part of his morning up to his sack in a trash truck. See that lady over there? For some reason she always smells like a freshly opened can of Cream of Mushroom soup. I'm suspecting she may have a fungal problem.
6. I love eye make up, and I wish I was better at putting it on.
7. I like when my hair is messy and held back from my face with my sunglasses. It makes me feel pretty.
8. Sometimes I throw a little bit of my 5-9 personality into my 9-5 and I like the way I can make people laugh and forget they are at work for a minute.
9. I was sent to my room a lot when I was a kid. I listened to music and twisted my fingers and feet into weird positions and made funny faces in the mirror for hours on end.
10. I hate most 80s music. I love stuff from the 60s, 70s, 90s, and today. I never liked heavy metal or pop. But I love Britney Spears. She is a musical genius. In the sense that I won't turn her off the radio and I'll stare at her when she comes on television because she is obnoxiously hot. I've never bought any of her music.
11. The first tape I bought (or did I get it for my birthday?) was INXS Kick. My favorite bands when I was little were Simon and Garfunkle, Cream, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Jethro Tull, the Go-Gos, Joan Jett, Queen, Bob Dylan, Pat Benetar, and the Monkees. My favorite albums were Paul Simon's "There Goes Rhymin' Simon", the Beatles "Let it Be" and the "Red", "White", and "Blue" albums. I aspired to be as classy as the lady on Goat's Head Soup and as sexy as the girl on the Tijuana Brass album and when I closed my eyes I would see the cover of the McCartney album. I still do. Someday I will throw a party and you will see that my dining room table will be staged just like that album cover.
12. I am not the person I thought I would be.
13. I'm extremely sensitive to noises, lights, odors, tastes, and anything touching my skin. I don't have sensitive skin, I have sensitive nerve endings. I'm constantly overstimulated and have no idea how to shut things out but I've figured out how to act like a normal person in spite of it all. I notice everything.
14. I hate when people cough or scratch their dry skin. It disrupts my aura in such a damaging way that I can't help but get angry.
15. I took years of dance and piano but I have zero talent in either area.
16. I never understood why people would think that Jesus was white. I asked my Second Grade Sunday School teacher once, and she said that he must have been white because everyone else at the time that the Bible was written was a savage. I always disliked that woman and everyone else thought she was just wonderful. She told me to stay away from my best friends Jenny (Jewish) and Bethany (Jehovah's Witness) because anyone who wasn't a Christian was a liar. I told her that all people are good no matter what they are and Jesus would be mad at her for saying that. Mrs. Rishell, thank you for showing me your true self and giving me the gift of questioning those who are revered. Hateful racist bitch. I'm assuming you are dead and I think the world is better off without you.
17. I don't understand how people can say that they are close to God and then look down on other people or want to change what others believe in or have any sort of prejudices against people.
18. My favorite color is orange. And kelly green and royal blue and chocolate brown. I like to wear navy blue. I hate to wear black. I hate when anyone wears black pants because they look like they would smell bad. Like waitress pants. Like skunked beer and rotten blue cheese dressing and cheap frying oil. And they make me think that the only reason someone is wearing black pants is because they think they are fat from the waist down.
19. When I close my eyes and picture myself I think of myself in shorts and a tank top, struggling to climb across rocks away from water as the sun goes down and laughing at someone who has already made it back to steady land. I can't remember ever doing that in my life but I look so happy that I'll keep that image.
20. I like the way I smell when I have sunburned shoulders and cheeks and there is dirt on my skin.
21. I really like owls. But not so much the other birds. Ick.
22. I believe that there are dead people all around us. Both the icky spooky ghosty kind and the ones that look just like you and me, who go about life but haven't technically died yet. It's sad. That's why we should treat everyone nicely and fairly because we don't know how bad they have it in their heads, in their hearts, or in their homes.
23. I'm not nice to everyone. There are people who I really can't effing stand and I can't bring myself to be nice to them. I try to keep my mouth shut but sometimes it gets out. Luckily I am pretty good at being snarky without hurting people's feelings. I think.
24. I'm nice to most people I hate because somewhere deep inside I feel bad for them. I don't hate anyone that doesn't deserve it because of something they have done to me. I don't hate anyone that has done something terrible to someone else. I don't hate anyone I don't know. Not even crappy old Hitler. I hate what he did, I hate what he did from the bottom of my being but he's dead and gone and is probably getting his somewhere for now and forever. I'm sure it involves his anus being stretched to unbelievable diameter over and over and over again into eternity.
25. I stay up at night and think about people who's blogs I read, just like I do my real life friends. I wish more of my real life friends had blogs so I knew what was going on in their lives. It's way to easy to just say "same old same old" and move the conversation along to talk about the olden days when times were easier or tomorrow when it might be brighter when an old friend asks you what's up, but no one would post a blog that said "nothing but the rent" and call it a day.