Lesbians can't impregnate each other, stupid.

Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?

If I got someone pregnant, I would be quite confused and probably feel like I missed something in biology class. Preeetty sure I didn't, otherwise I know a whole lot of lesbians that would be popping out puppies left and right. And I would probably already have a mess of children by now. Awkward.

This is what it looks like when I type something that makes me uncomfortable.

If I got pregnant, I am not sure what I would do. I just spoke about this with one of my cousins recently. I hope that if I ever found myself in this situation, I would be able to remove my desires from the equation as much as possible, and make the decision that would be most beneficial to the little one. While I do not judge anyone else that has had or would have an abortion, it is not something that lines up with my personal code of ethics, so it would probably not even cross my mind, barring a very unusual circumstance. This is simply what fits for me.

The only situation I can possibly imagine considering terminating a pregnancy (I totally hate this phrase because it makes me picture Arnold Schwarzenegger blasting my uterus with a rocket launcher or something and then threatening his imminent return in his thick accent) is

Don't challenge me to a staring contest unless you want to lose

I opted out of the family Christmas experience this year. I had planned on spending it with friends, but I actually ended up alone for the majority of the holiday. Unless you want to count cats, which just sounds impressively pathetic. My reasoning behind staying in the city was that it would be less stressful. If you read my last post, you may have sensed that my hypothesis didn't necessarily hold up. By nightfall on Christmas, I was in rather a shit mood. After Christophucker "fired" me, I was walking down the street to get to the bus, grumbling to myself that it was stupid not to have gone to see my family, cursing about this and that, giving people dirty looks, you know...just generally spreading holiday cheer.

Fleece Knobby Todd

I was interviewed by some flaky chick named Laurie with her own cat sitting company, which shall remain nameless (except to say that they are called cat nannies rather than cat sitters and I find that amusing), on Christmas Eve day. This was a rescheduled interview, as she didn't answer the door or her phone, nor did she get my voicemail when I showed up for the first one. I don't know if flaky really covers it. She had pushed this appointment back an hour and a half, and was not home when I arrived. I had actually just given up and was about to leave when she showed up, ten minutes late and twenty minutes after I had gotten there. I entered her apartment and did my best not to make any faces. (My best at not making faces is not very good. It's a good thing she wasn't looking at me.)

Books, Bands, Vulgarity, and Janis Joplin

Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days.

I decided to randomly throw one of these out in no particular order when in strikes my fancy.
'Tough ass days'? Huh.
Hard saying! I have always had a peculiar (but not uncommon, I am finding) habit of listening to music that matches my mood, rather than counteracts it: Sad for sad instead of happy for sad, for example. I doubt that makes sadness any better, but at the time it usually feels like the right thing to do.

I can remember listening to Fiona Apple, The Smashing Pumpkins, Silverchair, and Veruca Salt when I was a freshman in high school and going through a very low period.

'Child Rape for Dummies' Book Sparks Controversy

                                                                                          Full story

This unassuming fellow(/creeper from creeptown), Philip R. Greaves II, was arrested yesterday afternoon for selling his self-published gift to the world, "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code of Conduct," the title of which reflects the content from his clearly demented vantage point. This how-to guide was, frighteningly enough, available on Amazon.com until recently. Authorities were able to apprehend Mr. Greaves after he sent an autographed copy to undercover police officers in the mail, for fifty dollars. [Anyone else notice he has a smug-fuck-of-a-grin on his face, even in his mug shot? Do you think that has to do with being a II?] Further pretentiousness:

I'm nuttier than a squirrel turd, and that is A-OKAY!

I used to tell myself I wasn't crazy. I'd say "Sometimes people think I am crazy, but I'm really not..." followed by whatever explanation about how my thought patterns or behavior are normal, sane, rational, whatever.
Well, it came to my attention this summer that I AM, in fact, quite round the bend. When people think of the kind of crazy that does NOT involve hearing voices in one's head and seeing things, but does involve neurosis and unfathomable behavior and thoughts, they are thinking of things that I think, say, and do. Or have in the past. Regularly. I am, fortunately, a rather high-functioning crazy person, but I am still motherfucking crazy, and I don't feel the need to split hairs about it. In fact, I feel the need to claim it. Proudly. Crazy isn't necessarily a bad thing...especially if you know you are, and you're working on it (It's the people that

Little kid: "I feel sick." Mom: "Where do you feel sick?" Kid: "In my room."

Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

I think that anyone I really didn't want to let go that started to drift, I have reached out to.

If someone drifts away and stays gone, I don't think they were meant to stick around.

It has been hard adjusting to all of the people that have come in and out of my life in the past year, though. There are people that I really thought were my friends that just kind of dropped off the face of the earth when I left the city I was living in. When they made no apparent attempts to contact me and see if I was alive, I didn't find myself concerned with keeping in contact with them. Most of them. I think I have kept in contact with about a handful of people from there. Quality not quantity, right? It is good to know who is fair-weather and who is not.

Aside from that, I have met several people that I have wished I could stuff into my suitcase and tote around with me. I don't think that would have worked out very well, but I still suggested it to them enthusiastically.

When I was a child, I hated children

Day 08→ Someone who has made your life hell, or treated you like shit.


The kids I went to school with treated me like TOTAL shit. I was the champion nerdgeek outcast-face in all of the land. Kids are fucking cruel, and a lot of times it goes completely unchecked. The recent rash of suicides among teenagers has made me think about a lot of this crap, actually.

I got made fun of for pretty typical stuff. I had freckles, I was a little chubby, I didn't have 'the latest' anything. I went to a Catholic school. A lot of my classmates' families had considerably more money than mine did, and were also different in a lot of other ways.

Maybe a baby will fix it

Day 07→ Someone who has made your life worth living.

Me.

Frankly, it was not until frighteningly recently that I actually knew for a fact that my life IS worth living. I had a truly terrible self image, and had gotten caught up in this self-defeating thought loop stemming from asking, "What's the POINT of all this?" and concluding that there was none. I was a philosophy major. Spending too much time thinking about if free will exists and a table is a table can fuck your shit up, for real. Also, some of the people that were around me just killed way too many of their brain cells and started spouting off with amazingly idiotic comments. ("Oh my GOD what if I'm like, just a figment of your imagination or like this entire planet is actually just a speck in some huge creature's fingernail or something?!"

Demented bankrupt teen-aged amputee zombies

Day 06→ Something you hope you never have to do.

For whatever reason, this one has taken me a million attempts to write. There are a lot of things I am not endlessly thrilled at the prospect of facing, but in every struggle there is a gift of some sort, so I have been struggling with how to answer this. Every fucked up thing I have faced has taught me incredibly important things that I very well may not have learned any either way, whether I realized it at the time or not.

So...The first things that come to my mind when I think of things that would top the list of "Damn, that would really suck out loud..." are, in no particular order:
- Facing dementia, in myself or anyone I love
- burying a child, or having a child face difficulties I am powerless to change
- bankruptcy
- having to repeat ANY part of being a teenager
- paralysis or limb amputation

Sneaking Suspicion of Inspiration

Day 05→ Something you hope to do in your life.

This fucking writing project is EXHAUSTING.
I'm being extremely dramatic, but seriously, I kind of feel like I've been doing it forever and I'm what, 1/6th of the way through or something? Coooooool guys.

I read a related quote the other day, the origin of which I can't recall. Something like 'I once wanted to change the world, now I just hope to leave the room with dignity.' That's a little depressing. What I hope to do in my life is touch the lives of others. I want to help people. I have been fortunate enough to have fallen flat on my face and been hurt badly enough to swallow my pride and let those that were kind enough to lend a hand help me back up. Those people have forever changed my life.

It's all a little bit awkward when you're with me :D

Day 04→ Something you have to forgive someone for.

Like I said, I'm not a grudge holder, but I get randomly mad about the weirdest shit.

When I'm sitting down with my hair up, and someone bumps into my messy bun thingy, causing my head to jerk rapidly from side to side, it makes my eyes pop wide open and causes me to want to jump out of my chair and turn around and punch whoever just did it in the kidney. Seriously, I briefly picture it in my head every time that happens. I think this might be slightly excessive, which is why I just picture it instead of doing it.

When someone walks at me on the street, (you know, when it usually makes you both do that retarded this-way-that-way-oooh-which-way's-it-gonna-be shuffle) I stand completely still and look them dead in the eye with a completely blank face, and wait for them to choose a side instead of doing the tard shuffle. I'm not sure why I react this way, I just do. It seems to scare the crap out of people. Even people that are significantly larger than me. They just don't like it.

Can You Kiss Your Own Butt?

Day 03→ Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Stellar segue. Wasn't I just talking about forgiveness? Yes, I think I was. Bravo, me.

I have to forgive myself for not living up to my own expectations...which it has been brought to my attention are super-human. That might sound poncy, but I swear on a stack of scrabble dictionaries, the thoughts and feelings I automatically have in reaction to not getting things exactly right the first time are ridiculous. I put an insane amount of pressure on myself. In some ways this is good. It inspires in me a fierce determination, and has led me to achieving most of the goals I have set out to reach. The main problem, however, is that when I am thinking like this, I usually can't give myself credit for the achievements. The first few years I was dancing and in color guard, I could give a beautiful performance that got a wonderful audience reaction, but if I didn't execute the choreography perfectly I came off of the stage furious with myself, ruminating about how stupid whatever I did was. On top of that,

Jibberjabber Forgiveness, blah blah Dinosaur

Day 02→ Something you love about yourself.

I would have to say I dig my ability to forgive. I am a very empathetic person, and as such it is almost impossible for me to hold a grudge. I am not perfect, there are certainly times when people just piss me off and my anger lingers for a while. In most situations, I try to put myself in the other person's position and to imagine not what I would do, but being them, and what it must have been like to do whatever they did. What led up to it, and what the motivation was. It is rarely an actual personal attack when someone does something that harms me.

Ninja Walletsnatcher Needs New Linens and L Passes

So...medical bills update: I got one of the ambulance companies to cut what I owe them in half. On the condition that I pay it in full in 30 days. They will not under any circumstances set up a payment plan for the reduced amount. Full amount of reduction now, or really full amount of everything over time. So, I got excited for a hot second and then they busted my bubble like the dream-squashers they are. What part of "indigent" do they not understand? And if they can just slash it in half on a whim like that, why in the shit-hell does it COST THAT MUCH IN THE FIRST PLACE? I tried to get the lady to tell me why, if no one performed any sexual favors, the base rate without mileage or anything else included for the ambulance was $1400. She, for whatever reason, did not find that question appropriate. I asked her what the difference is between the "Basic life support services" on one bill, and "Advanced life support services" on another. She had nothing for me. I don't think I made a new friend on that phone call. 

At some point yesterday, my wallet "disappeared." I have no idea when this happened, or how. My theory is

I Never Get Sick and I Always Have the Answer

Day 01→ Something you hate about yourself.

I hate how difficult it is for me to show my real self to others. I have a tendency to keep people at arm's length, if not much further away. I have a very strong desire to be close to them, but I usually keep that to myself, because I never want people to know that I want anything from them and *definitely* not that I need anything. I am working to correct the misdirected thinking I have that my having perfectly normal needs somehow makes me weak. I mean, god forbid anyone know I'm human or anything.

The hardest things for me to say are "Help me," and "I don't know." Sometimes a tractor couldn't drag them out of my mouth.

If I am sick, I will deny it and deny it and deny it (to everyone, including myself), until I pass out or projectile vomit

Upcoming Events

I have started at least 10 new blog entries, and I can't seem to finish them. Up to my standards, anyway. I'm having some blockage issues (yum). I was recently linked to 30 days of writing prompts by Craig, and I think I'm going to give them a try. Writing about these subjects publicly on the internet kind of scares the bejeezus out of me, but I suppose that's part of the reason I want to do it. Here they are, in case you want to do it yourself. Or salivate expectantly for my impending updates.

30 days of truth:

The hospital sent me a bill demanding a pound of flesh. I think I can work out a payment plan.

America, what is going on with our health care system?

For all of the hot air being blown around about health care reform, there hasn't been much change, has there? A lot of commotion, sure, but real progress? Massachusetts has taken some action. They decided to tackle the widespread coverage aspect before quality of care and manageable costs, but they have made a significant difference in the percentage of individuals that have coverage statewide.

Coverage or not, reform or not, this is not my primary beef with health care.

Text insults from a doody-head

Why is it that so many people lack class?

I suppose what I mean to say is, why do some people have terribly poor communication skills. i.e., often resort to "hitting below the belt" in order to illicit some sort of reaction and regain a sense of power or control. Get real, y'all. This is how little-ass kids interact. Oh, you took my play-doh, so I'm going to call you a puke-face or a doody-head and kick ya shins. Unfortunately, it seems that many of us don't leave these habits on the play ground.

First swipe and the fallout that follows

I was always kind of a nerd when I was in school, or at least presented as such. I was an honor student, I read classic literature for fun, I liked learning. I kept to myself more than other kids, I was a little bit of a suck up, and I was quiet most of the time. My "awkward phase" just ended like a year ago. I always got terribly upset when people were angry with me, and wanted to fix it immediately. I knew I wanted to go to college by the time I was like 4. Basically, I really wanted to project this kind of golden-child image. I wasn't really a golden-child, but I did try. At the same time there has always been this sort of weird dichotomy with me. This geeky, conformist presentation on the outside, with this sneaky, anarchist, middle-fingers-up hostile chick lurking around inside of me and popping her head out every once in awhile. It kept things ... eventful, to say the least. Until I addressed the problem and worked on merging the two. There are many examples of how this played itself out, but I was just thinking about one in particular.

Bend Over and Cough

I went to the doctor today; a new one. I fucking hate doctors.
I hate them out loud.

I went ahead and told this doctor, Ross, when he walked in. "Just so you know, I hate doctors, and I'm probably going to challenge everything you tell me." His face was all, "Uh, nice to meet you, too." He took it well, though.

He was very soft spoken. I have mixed reactions to soft spoken people. Depending on the situation, I either want to give them a hug or break dey jaw. With him, I was kind of neutral. He asked me the usual battery of questions about my past, family history, progressively more uncomfortable and personal topics. Hoss then did this thing that a lot of doctors do, which is one of the reasons I hate their faces off. Subtle manipulation.

How to alienate your date

I am SO. TIRED. And not like regular tired. Like, I just ran a marathon and single handedly saved the world from evil and solved the economic crisis while giving birth to a baby that will grow up to develop a cure for AIDS and also I'm an amputee, so I did all of that with one hand. Excessive exercise and one-handed heroics with a baby genius wriggling out of my twat. Exhausting.

I decided I have the plague, and since I am always selflessly looking out for others, further concluded that I should be quarantined. And put on bed rest. I'm a doctor. A traveling physician, as a matter of fact. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, it might make sense if you read this).

That lasted about ten minutes. See? I'm so good at what I do, I cured myself inside of a half an hour. Also, I think I was having an allergic reaction to sitting still. My health is so precarious these days.

In the Halloween spirit, I have a scary story to share. I went out to dinner with someone last night. I don't really date people that I don't already know. At all, ever. This was a good reminder why.

Cold Feet, Warm Boobs. [Updated]

I want to make myself a cordless electric Snuggie, and not take it off all winter. I am picturing myself landing an office job and taking phonecalls in said Snuggie, and hailing a cab, or grocery shopping. The possibilities are endless. Take your Snuggie to Work Day. I like the sound of that.

I am such a pansy about cold weather. I have a sudden nap-attack, and leaving the house takes about 400 times more effort because I'm all lethargic. I have been known to stuff those little shake up hand and foot pocket warmer thingers in various places throughout my outfit. I'm not above putting two or four in my bra. I love them. I would date those things. I decided I need ski underwear, and am now on a mission to get some. I don't have an appropriate pair of shoes at the moment, and am still wearing flip flops around. If one more person asks, "Arn't yer feet cold?" Ugh... Subsequent inquiries will be met with a flop to the face. The worst part about wearing flip flops in the winter that I have discovered is that it makes you a foot-fetishist magnet of epic proportions. Since everyone else has their feet safely nestled in the warmth of their boots, my poor, unsuspecting leg-bottoms have been eyeball raped by every creepy hoof-lover in chicagoland.

The Birthday I Spent in a Crackhouse

My last birthday was a complete hellhole shit show. It was September 4th. I think I have sufficiently recovered to talk about it, even though I still kind of don't acknowledge that it really happened. I mentally called do-over, like a little kid who fucked up in four square. This has caused me to have a somewhat bizarre, awkward reaction when people ask me how old I am. Sometimes I stutter. I'm hoping this response fades with time, because it isn't very cute or convenient. Not enriching my life a whole lot, I don't think. Nope.

Birthdays are always weird for me, for many reasons, but this one definitely deserves a special mention. I felt it coming the way you can tell you're coming down with something.

Thin Walls Don't Make Good Neighbors

My mother and I once lived in a one bedroom apartment, 505, uncomfortably sandwiched in one squat level between two other units, on the top of a small hill. The walls were about as thick and sturdy as a Club cracker, and had none of the cracker's buttery deliciousness. Which is good, because if they did, we probably would have had no walls at all. I ate a lot at this point in my life. I'm getting sidetracked. As I was saying, if I was on one side of the apartment, and a neighbor in the apartment on the opposite side fucking blinked, I could hear it. I was a kindergartner living with an uptight, working single mom. (Nothing against my mom, she's cool and everything but I didn't think she was very cool when I was four and I wanted to jump around and shit.) Needless to say, any time I did anything, ever, you know, like, breathe- I was SHHed and told we had thin walls and I was going to disturb the neighbors. I might be exaggerating ever so slightly, but in my bouncy ball baby brain, that is what it seemed like.

One fine evening, I was sitting on the couch, watching an episode of The Golden Girls. Then my mother did something that really spiced up our otherwise quiet evening.

Back Me into a Corner and I'll Break Your Neck in One Swift Move

Being a dominatrix has to be incredibly cathartic.

Just saying.

Seriously, think about that. You get paid however many hundreds or thousands of dollars to make someone do whatever you tell them to do, bind/gag/torture them, and humiliate them. They pay you to treat them like shit, and they're saying, "Thank you, Mistress," or whatever. Talk about a power trip.

I'm picturing a leather clad chick letting some goofy, naked executive off of a leash and taking a ball gag out of his mouth.

Sex, Lies, and Videotape. Without the sex. Or videotape. Ok, just some lies and forgery, and NAPS.

When I was a child, there was a period of time when my mother took very frequent naps.
After some investigation, trial and error, and the like, I eventually decided that these nap times were an excellent opportunity to ask for permission to do various things that I wanted to do. I also found these afternoon interludes useful for asking important questions about life, what in the hell there was to eat for dinner, and the occasional attempt at getting a permission slip signed. I swear I wasn't nearly as rotten as this paragraph is making me sound.

My mom and I got into a fight that ended with me being practically hysterical once, her being completely unconscious- because I was trying to ask her something or another, which was undoubtedly a terribly pressing situation. She responded with some weird sleep talk about helping myself to 'whichever pop I wanted to get from the window.'

Self-doubt and Happiness

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath


Quoting someone who stuck their head in the oven isn't probably the best starting point for an entry, but this struck home for me when I read it. My urges to isolate have gotten stronger and stronger the longer I am unemployed. I was actually doing pretty exceptionally well (for me) connecting with people, making phone calls, going out, and having a pretty good time. There was still the ever present undercurrent of anxiety, but I wasn't generally finding myself wanting to unzip my skin and jump out the window or anything quite that alarming. My confidence was growing, and I felt like things were going to go well here.
Then, little by little, I allowed self-doubt to creep in.

Keep your pants on. Probably.

The events of this day have encouraged me to question whether or not I should be considering becoming part of the sex industry, or permanently locking myself in my high rise apartment with my fat-assed cat, Duncan, a huge supply of ice cream, and regularly Tivo'ed Spanish soap operas.

I've been job hunting maniacally for a month. Job hunting is a special brand of self esteem enhancement and social interaction. Today, for instance, I got a call back about an ad I responded to online, about housekeeping. The guy was Extremely vague at first, and welcomed me to ask whatever questions I had. He asked me if I realized that this was not a 'typical position,' which immediately got some warning bells a'ringin He let me know there would be compensation for gas, 'special clothing' allowances(uh-oh)...

Redefinition of Rape Needs to be Aborted

H.R. 3, the "No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act."
I understood why some people might think this is a good idea...until I started to read the details, and understand the ramifications.
In order to allow for exceptions, this act has singled out "forcible rape" as eligible for funding, and set forth some somewhat bizarre classifications regarding other specific circumstances of sexual assault.

'The limitations established in sections 301, 302, 303, and 304 shall not apply to an abortion-- '(1) if the pregnancy occurred because the pregnant female was the subject of an act of forcible rape or, if a minor, an act of incest; or
'(2) in the case where the pregnant female suffers from a physical disorder, physical injury, or physical illness that would, as certified by a physician, place the pregnant female in danger of death unless an abortion is performed, including a life-endangering physical condition caused by or arising from the pregnancy itself.'

So...

"If a 13-year-old girl is impregnated by a 24-year-old adult, she would no longer qualify to have Medicaid pay for an abortion. (Smith's spokesman did not respond to a call and an email requesting comment.)
Given that the bill also would forbid the use of tax benefits to pay for abortions, that 13-year-old's parents wouldn't be allowed to use money from a tax-exempt health savings account (HSA) to pay for the procedure. They also wouldn't be able to deduct the cost of the abortion or the cost of any insurance that paid for it as a medical expense." --Nick Baumann

Also, if a woman is drugged and date-raped, coerced, or otherwise incapacitated without 'excessive force' (whatever that is supposed to mean), she's SOL: no fed funding. Statutory rape? Sorry kids. Oh, unless it's incest. Then it is covered...as long as you're underage. Incest between adults? Nope, not counted as rape by this definition. Limited mental capacity? Developmentally delayed? Not rape either, according to this proposal.

Who's in charge here?

Black History Month Is Racist

I mean, right?
There's no White History Month, and if there was, it would be called racist.
That's a double standard, isn't it?

This is what someone said when #Blackhistorymonth was trending on twitter the other day, and I all but came through the monitor. I hear people say impressively ignorant things like this, and I want to knock their blocks off.