Too close for comfort

Disclaimer:  If I happen to be married to you and you are reading THIS blog, you do so at your own risk.  We talked about this, Dood.  It may or may not be about you-you're taking your chances!

Once upon a time, oh...?  About five years ago?  I found out that my baby boy was not such a baby anymore.  

The family computer in the living room was not working one night, so I decided to go check my email in Boychild's room while he was at a basketball game.  I went turned on his light and looked at his screen and sighed.  He had so many downloaded programs on his computer that automatically started whenever it was booted up that it took ten minutes to close them all.  If you didn't, though, the computer wouldn't run worth a chit, so I resigned myself to the land of clicking x's and sat down at his desk.  Every time I x'd out of something, there was another layer underneath.  Exasperating.

So I'm sitting there clicking things closed, when all of a sudden the layer underneath revealed my little boy.  ALL of my little boy, in all his glory, in the exact same thing he was wearing when he came into this world.  Nothing but a hard on.  And OHMYGAWD he was farking NOT my little anything anymore.  Nice image to be burned into my brain for the REST. OF. MY. LIFE.

Now, I'm not the kind of mom who would ever go snooping, but when something like this hits you between the eyes like a two by four any reasonably intelligent person is going to do at least a little more investigating, so I continued to close things out until I was down to a blank screen. I opened AOHell and signed in as Boy (his password was stored) and went to look in his pictures.  Again.  OMG.  Then I looked in his sent mail, and sure enough, he is not just admiring his own goodies, he was SHARING them.  There is only so much I can take, so I didn't dig any further.  Suffice it to say I was FREAKING THE HELL OUT.

Now, Boy has some long standing problems due to a traumatic birth, the least of which is a sometimes childlike naivete. When confronted with what I had found, he said that "All of the kids I know are doing it."  I took away his webcam and computer privileges, and we had a talk about pornography and child pornography and how he had no flipping clue as to who those pictures were being looked at by.  I asked him if he thought a girl would think he was a nice boy if he sent her pictures like that, and that one stopped him in his tracks.  He looked at me with stricken eyes and said "You don't think I'm a nice boy anymore?"   I shit you not when I say that there is no way this child could have been playing me.  The upshot of the evening was that he promised it would not happen again.

Fast forward a couple of years and Boy is a young adult.  We are close, this young man and I, and he knows he can talk to me about pretty much anything.  The Unit was on the boat, and one night as we are about to eat dinner, the Boy says "I want to be circumcised."  Um.  Nice dinner conversation?  I looked at him blankly and said "What?" and he repeated himself "I want to be circumcised."  I thought back 18 years to the long months he was in the hospital neonatal unit and the conversation on this very subject I had back then.  If memory serves, I told the doctors "Not just no, but hell no you're not circumcising him.  He's been through enough."  Heh.  Hindsight is 20/20 and all that crap, right?  I asked the Boy what brought on this desire to trim up the young baloney pony, and if he was aware of what that particular procedure involved.  He replied that he was still a virgin because his girlfriend was squicking out on how ye old Johnson looked, and that yes, he knew what was involved.  Yeah, right.

I enjoyed reminding him of that conversation a few weeks later as he lay moaning on the couch grousing at me that his twig and giggleberries were killing him.  Killing him?  Killing ME is more like it.  Of course the damn thing has to fooking AIR DRY and be tended every several hours with antibiotic cream etc.  And since he only has the use of ONE hand (very obviously only one is NEEDED for some things, but evidently not THIS) guess who got to do said tending?  May I just say that I know that boy's wanker better than I ever EVER wanted to?

Fast forward another couple of years to the almost present.  I started my blog in September as a text based document, but slowly but surely have been learning (by trial and error since I know no 'puter geeks in real life) how to add little elements into my posts such as links and pictures.  As the birds can sometimes be distracting when I'm trying to write, I have taken to occasionally going over to the house to write instead of doing it (heh.  I said doing it.  Just sayin'.) here at the houseboat.  Two weeks ago, I ended up doing just that-preparing my post for the day over at the house on the Boy's (now a full fledged adult) badass computer.  As I am flipping back and forth between servers and typing in web addresses, these browsers are pulling up all kinds of porn sites in their histories.  I didn't really notice it at first, as Iwas actually working at the time.  When I mailed myself a picture from my IPhone and then tried to find it, however, I was in for a rude awakening.  For there in the Pictures folder are more damn pictures-LOTS more damn pictures-of Mr. Happy!  WTF?  

I let him know very SUBTLY, that I had found them.  I was giving about to give away my old phone and needed to update it, but told him I'd have to do it "At the houseboat, because I don't want to send a stranger pictures of your dick."  Heh.  You'd have thought I hit him with a taser. His head whipped around like Linda Blair's in The Exorcist and he said "What?"  I said "You heard me.  I can't update my old phone on your computer because all of your dick pictures are on it."  He looked mortified and muttered something about "I can take them off."  

Am I alone here?  What can I do to convince this kid he needs to keep his pecker in his pants?  I can't babysit him.  Legally, he is an adult.  I'm at my wits end, and I just don't know what to do. He wants to be an actor-maybe his calling IS porn-do I want to stifle his MUSE? *snort*  I'm sorry.  I know this is not funny, but if I don't laugh about it, I am going to lose my damn mind.  Any suggestions?

Mumbai--Answering the call?

Was the slaughter in Mumbai an answer to the call for Jihad from my post, "The election's over--now the Jihad starts?"

It seems an obvious "Hell yes!" to me, something I find more saddening than the murders themselves.

The US isn't the only place one finds sheeple, it seems. Extreme Muslims will kill because the wrong national leader isn't Muslim enough. I think we're fortunate that we have few extreme Christians that will kill for their beliefs.

Let me clarify: It is NOT right for ANYONE to kill for their faith--be they Christian, Muslim, or of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I'm just grateful that few Christians feel the need to kill over their faith given the large number of Christians in the US. If more Christians were extreme enough to kill for dogma, it could get mighty bloody around here.

You see, I live in a mix of Lutherans, Catholics and Methodists, with a smattering of Episcopalians and members of Assembly of God. I know of few Jewish folk in my area, so few that there is no synagogue closer than about 2 hours' drive from me. There are more Amish in my area than Buddhists.

Given this sort of religious distribution, even my very small valley town could be a slaughterhouse--if there were an abortion clinic closer than the three hours' drive that it is, Mumbai would have the potential to be repeated here.

Does this make the extreme Christians who think it's a call from God to murder a doctor who performs abortions better than the engineers of the disaster in Mumbai? Absolutely not. I could make a case for those Christians being worse, but I'm not the judge nor the jury here.

Nope.

I'm just another horrified human, looking about her world and wondering what the hell comes next as she lights a white candle for the spirits of those who lost their lives in Mumbai and those who soon could follow.

So--who are you?

The election's over--now the Jihad starts?

The link in the headline for this post leads to an article entitled, "Qaeda scorns Obama with racial slur and urges attacks.

What, getting Obama elected wasn't hard enough? Now we have to make with dealing with a fucking JIHAD because we have a President who is not Muslim ENOUGH to suit Al Queda and other Muslim extremists?

Well, you know, that's tough shit as far as I'm concerned. America has a President that WE are certain that WE like--we don't have a legal firefight over who actually WON this election--Obama took it in a landslide--so America has nothing to bitch about.

The rest of the free world doesn't seem to be bitching either. Foreign stock markets and other indicators of confidence in the American dollar seem to be slowly, oh so slowly, improving, and the world press seems to be quietly in favor of who we elected.

I should have known that some asshole wouldn't like who we wound up with, but who'd have guessed why? It was tough enough getting a Black president; who would have guessed that others of his race would be bitching BECAUSE we elected him? Bitching because he's not enough of the Muslim his FATHER was? Yes, that's archaic and nothing here is intended to be racist, except for wondering why Muslims are calling for attacks on the US because our similarly-raced President is pissing them off?

I'm going to just have to resign myself to feeling that you can't please everyone; some people would just bitch if they were hung with a new rope! Here's what should matter:

Americans are at peace with the results of the election and the resultant President.

That's it. The only people who should fucking COUNT on whether or not Barack Obama is a fit man to rule America or not is US! That's why we call our Government a Democracy. That's why we vote every four years for our President.

And that, is all that matters--Jihadists can piss off! It's NOT THEIR COUNTRY. It is OURS--this is the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, not the U. S. of any other place. If Muslims don't like their rulers, go do whatever you do (is it kill them, or am I way out of line) and get new rulers so you have something that is actually your business to concentrate on.

Our election is OUR business only--everyone else is cordially invited to fuck off and I'm outta here now--I have a convention this weekend and I still have a wig to style and need to get packed.

"Power to the People" has been demonstrated in the USA--if other countries want it, do what we did--staged a revolution and GOT it! Sitting in your own country and bitching about what is happening in MINE is out of line--my country isn't your business and neither is the convention I'm headng to--so go find your own politics and your own fun and leave Americans to deal with their own.

Bye!

30 days...of...oh, never mind.

So.  Over at my regular blog, I'm doing NaBloPoMo, or 30 days of posting in November.  It's fun, but hard, because I sometimes have nothing I want to say, yeah? 

But the idea of committing to something for 30 days was intriguing to me, and I started thinking about what other things I could do daily in November.  Diet?  Nah.  Exercise?  hmm...no.  Drink wine/eat chocolate? That's a given.  And then I thought, "Heyyyy.  What about SEX?"  

I found my husband and posed the question:  "We are having sex every day for 30 days. Starting tonight."  He said, "That's not really a question" and I said, "When do I ever ask you anything anyway?  Tonight.  BE THERE."

So that night we went about our business i.e. we did it, and we said, "Wow, this will be fun!  Go us!"

The next night we did it, and we said, "Nightly sex...woo."

The third night I fell asleep before John came to bed.  He did not wake me up.

And then we just gave up.  We've been together 9 years and yeah, I love my man and think he's the bomb and he totally does it for me and everything but god DAMN that was exhausting. After TWO NIGHTS!!  I read a study of this couple who actually completed a...oh my god, if I remember correctly it was a ONE HUNDRED NIGHT challenge, and they said that although it was fun, sex definitely lost it's luster.  

There's only so many ways a normal person can contort, you know?  

Useless Bitches Part 1: Bathrooms

Actually I don't consider 99% of women useless (or bitches). I consider a woman useless when she refuses to help herself, using a common household problem to make someone else jump up and act as her personal servant because she's just too good to do her own work around her own damned house, the particular woman I'm thinking of having gotten her house in the divorce. My opinion is if she got it, maintenance is her problem and she can quit calling on her ex-husband for household services.

This has been a bone of contention with my boyfriend the PS, a recently divorced (and very lucky--I did say he'd divorced her) and very nice man. His ex-wife called our house at all hours of the day and night, asking him to drive half an hour and more to their former marital estate to do/fix/clean up/restart/jump start/other thing she's got two hands and enough common sense to either fucking do herself or have her girlfriend do it for her (so it's not like she's all alone in this cold cold world--she left him for someone else). She's perfectly capable of doing these things herself, so she enters the Useless Bitch category.

Finally raising Hell about it all and threatening to leave put a (partial) stop to the calls, reserving them for the worst of disasters, ones where a friend would naturally help. (I don't think you pay maintenance to friends, but he disagrees, so every once in awhile we still have this particular fight.) Maybe I'm just a pain in the ass, but I just don't think someone who's taken you to court so she can be free of you, yet expects you to pay maintenance plus other sorts of fees that float into one's life, can still be your friend, having done these things to you, but that's my own personal opinion and another post.

Tonight's situation in my own home brought this to mind. You see, my toilet's plugged.

I don't know what the fuck Mom did but it's plugged. So, she and I are doing what we women of sturdy (even though both of us are disabled) Scandahoovian stock do: We're unplugging the fucker ourselves, something that apparently other women of Scandahoovian stock (who used to be married to my boyfriend) aren't capable of, even tho their doctors aren't trying to get them to have bilateral hip replacements or pain-controlling implants (remind me to blog about that asshole doctor sometime) and they happen to be in perfect health.

I was actually on the phone with the PS when my mom told me she'd plugged the pot--it never occurred to me to ask him to come help us. He's half an hour from here and works 3-11. While he doesn't have to be in early in the morning, he still needs sleep. Besides, it's just a plugged toilet--we can do it ourselves and if we can't, well, the landlord gets the job from there since he owns the place and we rent from him. So I told him I had to get off the phone, then began working on the toilet.

I'm writing this in between bouts with the plunger--two of three medical conditions that I have require that I only spend 15-30 minutes on my feet at a time, so I plunge and flush and plunge and flush awhile, then sit a bit, then repeat. Mom's taking shots at it as well--she's less able to stand but puts in the time she's able to in between the work I do. I'm sure we'll eventually get this fucker unplugged because we're not, you know, Useless Bitches.

In fact, while I've been plunging, I've been thinking. Thinking that it can't be possible to be a Useless Bitch all your life. Here I am, clearing my own fucking plugged toilet while I'm not in the world's best shape, so it has to be possible to teach Useless Bitches to do things like this, thereby turning them into Useful People (If they choose to be Bitches after that, there's nothing I can do about it and will have to leave them to their Bitchiness until they choose to un-Bitch themselves someday).

And so begins Lesson One: Plugged Toilets

Preface: Unless something radical has been done to a toilet, like, for instance, your son has jammed a handful of Matchbox cars down the toilet or your daughter put her Menstrual Barbie's first sanitary napkin down the drain, it's easy to unplug your plugged toilet.

Equipment:

1 dose of Mother's Little Helper medication (such as Xanax, Valium, etc) (optional, and just kidding) to keep you from offing the offspring responsible for the plug. Note: If the guy in your life did it, make his ass get to work unplugging it--he's just as capable as you are, unless he's a Useless Bitch too, in which case I'll have to write another lesson while you unplug your potty. Send me a note and I'll get to work.

EDIT: If you prefer, a bottle of wine or other adult beverage can be substituted for the Mother's Little Helper. It's being added because I don't drink so I don't think about adding it to the lessons. I'll try to remember in the future.


1 Toilet, plugged (and the reason for this party lesson)

1 Plunger--If you don't already have one of these it's time for a trip to the hardware store/Wal*Mart of your choice to get one, because you're truly screwed without one.

Procedure:

1. Stick plunger into toilet, up against the bowl outlet(the thing that the hole in the bottom of the bowl leads to) in the bottom of the bowl.

2. Push on the plunger, forcing the rubbery part to push air and/or water through the hole in the bottom of the bowl. The idea is to push a bunch of the water or air inside the plunger through the hole to make it clear out the junk that's plugging the toilet. Keep doing this several times, until either the water in the bowl suddenly rushes out the hole in the bottom of the bowl or you wind up low on water because it's slowly leaked out the hole but has left the toilet still plugged.

3. Flush the toilet, making sure that it doesn't overflow--most have a no-overflow sort of thingy (I'm a Useful Bitch, not a plumber--I don't know what the damned thing is called, I just know it keeps the toilet from overflowing.)these days, but very old ones may need their water shut off to keep from overflowing. The valve that would do that is underneath the toilet's tank--just turn it til the water shuts off. When you need the water again, turn the valve the other way and get water again.

4. Repeat Steps 2 and 3 until suddenly the water rushes out of the toilet bowl, then does it again when you flush the pot again.

5. Rinse the plunger and return it to its place next to the toilet brush, clean up any water that got out onto the floor or onto the seat (ew, ick water--trust me, you want that cleaned up!), wash your hands, and call it a done deal.

There! You did it! You did something your damned self, and have taken your first step into Usefulness! Congratulations.

I'll probably be posting Lesson 2 the next time we have trouble around the house or the PS's useless fucking ex calls again.

Until then,
Be Useful Unto Yourself and Those Around You,
Pandora

How it went down

Disclaimer:  If I happen to be married to you and you are reading THIS blog, you do so at your own risk.  We talked about this, Dood.  It may or may not be about you-you're taking your chances!

I sent a text message to my new friend to see if she wanted to go to a hockey game the other night.  She responded with "Sure."

The half a fifth of Jagermeister she got into the car with should have been my first clue.  The slurring should have been my second.  I guess the third would have been when she pulled out a doob.  I only take one or two hits at a time, and I didn't want to smell like a big fat joint, so I asked her not to light it and instead, pulled out my little one hit pipe.  Her eyes got real big and she said hungrily "You got METH?"  I looked at her like she'd started babbling in tongues.  "Meth?" I said.  "Are you on CRACK?"  She looked at me kinda funny.  I tried to blow it off.

I started talking about picking up the Egg from school and explained to her that he has cerebral palsy and epilepsy, but that he is a hockey WHIZ.  She started talking in a rambling sort of way about her ex-husband, who used to be our team's orthopaedic doctor, and how he would make deals with the team that if they won, she would flash them all her tits.  She talked about road trips they had taken to Albuquerque and Anchorage and and and, and each and every trip she spoke of involved her making out with someone, or getting fucked up with this team member or that, or all of them together.  I figured, "Okay, she's getting it out of her system before Alex gets in the car."  Meanwhile, she's steady sucking on that bottle.

We pick Alex up, I make introductions, and she leans back to say hi and offers him a swig out of her bottle, which he politely refuses.  He asked me if I had any of his medication as he was feeling seizure-y, so I asked her to pull the baggie they were in out of the glove box.  She pulled it out and was all "OH WOW...WHAT ARE THESE?  THESE LOOK LIKE LORTABS.  ARE THESE LORTABS?  THEY LOOK JUST LIKE LORTABS."  I grabbed the bag from her and handed it to Alex, who looked at me, looked at her and shook his head.  He took his pills with a sip of water, and when she said "Do you want me to put them back in the glovebox?" he just shook his head and rolled his eyes at me.  I shrugged.  What could I say at this point?

We go to eat at King Buffet and she is just plain drunk by this time, and slinging profanity from one end of the restaurant to the other.  I'm in a hurry to get out of there, because this is one of our favorite family restaurants, and there are kids in there, for God's sake.  She, on the other hand, was having a grand old time, and ate like she was starving, keeping up a running commentary about all her travels with the Seawolves again.  In graphic detail.  Oh, and did she mention that she knows _____ and _____ and _____ PERSONALLY?  Anyone that was mentioned, she knew personally.  And oh, did she tell us that she had been on road trips with the team to Albuquerque and Anchorage and and and?  I finally guided her out by the 2nd ice cream cone and poured her into the car, where she promptly picked up her bottle and took a refreshing swig.  I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

We got to the coliseum early, so she pulled out her IPod and proceded to show Alex a bunch of pictures from her former marriage of her and her ex-husband visiting the Playboy mansion.  Alex finally looked up from all the titty shots and asked "When did you take all these?  When did you go on these trips with the Seawolves?"  I hadn't thought to ask-I figured this had all been pretty recent, the way she was talking.  She tried to figure it out but I think math was beyond her at that point.  Turns out though, that this was all back in 1999.  

I bought our tickets in our regular section-we always sit where we used to have season tickets because we know everyone in that section.  She was not happy with this decision, as she wanted to be close to where the team comes out onto the ice.  I told her she was welcome to go hang out there (she wanted to go talk to the coach, who used to be a player back you know when) but that we were going to sit in our seats, and she could just join us after she had achieved her objective.  She said okay, then wandered off in search of alcohol as she'd finished her bottle.  We watched her as the team came out to practice as she leaned over the tunnel where they come out.  The coach did eventually come out and talk to her for a short while, then disappeared.  She staggered back up to our seats, the drink she was carrying spilling directly into Alex's shoe.  She starts fumbling with her phone.  I asked who she was calling, and she says "Walbs" (her nickname for the coach, who hasn't seen her in 9 years).  She said he had given her his number while she was down there talking to him.  Turns out, he gave her a wrong number.  Go figure.

Well, this pisses her off and she starts wailing about "That bastard is acting like he doesn't even KNOW me!  He wouldn't let me kiss his bald little head like Buddha for luck.  He kept telling me he had a JOB to do!"  Over and over.  Everyone is staring at us, and I'm wanting to sink into the concrete.  Eventually she realizes that she's out of booze, so she goes off in search of another drink.  When she comes back reloaded, she goes back down to the team entrance and spent the remainder of the night down there trying to get him to come talk to her again.  I let her stay down there until the team had returned to their locker room after the (losing) game, then told her we needed to leave as we had an hour drive ahead of us.  Fortunately, it was a very quiet ride home, with the occasional mumbling of "That asshole acted like he didn't even KNOW me."  

Next morning, bright and early, I get a text message asking if I have any money, presumably to loan her.  Was I wrong to text back an emphatic "NO"?  I just don't think I am ready for this.  For one thing, evidently she is living in the past.  For another, she is obviously more fucked up than I am prepared to deal with.  I don't have the resources to dry someone out who is not asking for help.  And from what I can see, girlfriend will eat/snort/injest in any way possible any mind/mood altering substance she can get her hands on.  Now I'll be the first to admit that I like my beer when the Unit is home, and yes, I smoke a little herb, but I don't want to have to be worrying about somebody chowing down on my son's seizure meds or snorting up all my fucking Ajax, ya know what I mean?  And although I offered to help her with a resume and to give her some suggestions as to where to apply for jobs, I'm now in the position where I don't want her using MY name as a reference, because I am not going to recommend someone for a job when I'm sure there are going to be problems passing a peepee test not to mention attendance issues and job performance.  That would be MY good name she'd be besmirching.  So, am I an asshole for reneging on my quest for a third wyfe?

hell yeah

The really great thing about being a liberal democrat in the military is the debates you can get into. Today, for example, I heard that Obama wasn't qualified to be president because of his lack of experience.  "But,"  I countered, "Bush had experience anddd...look where we are now."  My friend (and he is my friend, differing political leanings aside) mentioned that Bush was only a governor.  I said, "What sort of experience are you looking for then?  You can only have presidential experience if you've been the president!"  I'm still totally unclear about what he qualifies as experience.  

Or...

The conversation a few guys were having about "The republicans are the only supporters of the military, just wait, you can say goodbye to our 3.9% raise." I looked at my one liberal co-worker, who shook his head slightly at me...we have a "keep your mouth shut" agreement when it comes to politics at work because debating with a bunch of staunchly conservative military men is a huge waste of time.  Instead, I IM'd my friend and said, "Yeah, because god dammit, our raise is the most important issue right now.  Our country is in debt, and Bush's administration raped our manning to fund more weapons systems technology and research from greedy, bloated corporations.  We have back-to-back endless deployments, and shitty equipment.  Our personnel are dying EVERY.DAMN.DAY.  Civilians are jobless, retirements are lost, the economy is tanked...(blah blah blah, I could go on, but...you get the picture)"

After I thought about it for a bit I sent another message: "When do you think the comments about Obama wanting to overturn "don't ask, don't tell" start?  Because who cares about the escalating male on female sexual assault problem...maybe they shouldn't let STRAIGHT people in the military."

Anyway.  I get irritated a lot, when I don't have my 'not listening' filter on.  Honestly.  If our only repercussion in the military is losing our 3.9% raise over the next couple of years?  In order to fix the mess the Bush administration landing us in?  I...absolutely think it's worth it.

Absolutely.  Thank you, America, for voting smart this time.

~ag

Yes We Can... and we did.

Dear President-Elect Obama,

At the risk of being crucified in the same manner as your impeccable wife was for saying such things, this is one of the few moments in my life where I can feel truly proud of my country. I was born into the Vietnam War, on the heels of the Kennedy assassination. I came of age during Watergate and endured the Disco era. I bought into the Reaganomics that set the table for the very financial mess we are in today. Two Gulf Wars. Three terms under a Bush, watching corporate greed and corruption rot the core of American ingenuity. And just a few days ago I saw Mayor Bloomberg extend term limits in his own self interest in a manner that circumvented a public referendum and put democracy to shame. Is it no wonder that I have become disenfranchised?

What a joy it was to pull the lever (why is that New York still votes in this antiquated fashion?) for someone I actually believe in. To not view the election as a choice between the lesser of two evils, but to honestly feel that both candidates were the best possible choices each party could have presented at this time. I waited in line to vote for the first time in my life. I witnessed parents taking their children with them into the voting booth... sharing the experience and the ownership of the process. I saw people of color walking a little taller, with a greater sense of ownership in this country that has historically wronged them in the most heinous of ways. And I was moved. Tears came to my eyes when I pulled that lever.

Please, Mr. President-Elect, make good on your hopeful promise of an administration that is intelligent, diverse, levelheaded, bipartisan and focused on the long term. Help us to join hands with the rest of the world and eliminate the prejudices that are based in fear and ignorance. Nurture creativity, the arts, the sciences... feed the American ingenuity that has withered on the vine. Because we, the American People, are behind you and hunger for your integrity and bold leadership. Please tell me that finding unity will mean striking a new path rather than merely finding consensus and compromise within the old boundaries.

You have a moment not unlike the one President Bush had after 9/11. We are poised and ready to serve for the sake of the common good. Lead us down that difficult path. Don't succumb to the seduction of money and power. Remain true and steady and good. You are our one last hope, Obama-Wan Kenobi... don't fuck it up.

A small epiphany

I spent yesterday evening with...hmm...let's just say with someone close to me (not a wyfe, or a bitch or a Purv).  We had planned a trip to a local casino as she had a comp night coming in their adjoining hotel.  We met early, gambled a little bit, ate a nice dinner, then returned to playing penny slots.  I got to where I was up about a hundred dollars, and decided to take the money and run.  I looked around for her, but couldn't find her so I went back to the hotel room by myself and turned on the election returns.  Despite my winnings, I was a little bit glum as it was obvious my candidate was not going to get nearly enough electoral votes to win.

However, as I watched those crowds all over the country cheering, tears streaming down faces and cheshire cat grins abounding, it was hard not to catch a little of their joy.  I got to thinking about just exactly what is it about this man, this new president, that means so much to so many people?  Thousands and thousands, virtual oceans of people of all shapes, sizes, colors and sexes.  What do they see that I missed?

My friend came in and I told her that the results were in and that Obama had won.  She shook her head and said "I'm just scared.  Not because he's black, mind you.  But all that talk about him being a Muslim?  What if he really is?"  I just looked at her and thought, "Oh, here we go."

A few minutes later, as Obama started his acceptance speech, my friend kept interrupting my watching this history in the making.  I thought my lack of response to her comments would make it obvious that I really wanted to listen to what he had to say, but evidently it took a while for it to sink in.  Among her comments "He sure talks good for a black man.  I mean, you can understand everything he says.  He talks real clear." and "Well, I guess all the blacks are happy." and "Can you imagine the conversations at the Shingle Mill?".  That last one definitely gave me pause.  I can imagine the absolute shitstorm of the 'n' word that had to have been flying around in there last night.  In any case, I tried to tune her out and concentrate on what he was saying and how he was saying it.  I mean, THIS IS HISTORY, dammit!  I want to hear it happen!

As I watched and listened, I couldn't help think back over all those emails I'd received about his pastor, his supposed connections with terrorists, the Muslim issue and also about the stupid racist ones I got mocking the potential new First Family and the watermelon under a box propped on a stick and so on and so on and so on.  I must have received hundreds of different "I looked it up on Snopes" emails that turned out to have been photoshopped with the Snopes logo on them (because I do check).  All I could think as I absorbed what he was saying and how he was saying it was "This man does not look like a baby eater to me."  Have I even once really listened to anything he's said, or considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I should come out of my little comfort zone long enough to see exactly what it is that he has that has moved this many people to invest this much hope in just one man?  Have I started to become what I am surrounded by?  I always prided myself on living by the credo "the only thing constant is change" (thank you Hereclitus) but I'm beginning to wonder if that is the one thing about Obama that I feared the most, the reason I supported McCain.  Change.  Fear of the unknown.  

I did not fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning.  I had to be home early to care for my sick bird, so I got up around 6 to get ready for the long drive home.  I thanked my friend for the fun we'd had the night before and for inviting me.  We chatted for a few minutes before I left, and one of the last things she said to me before I left was "I just don't think he'll be a good president.  Well, maybe he will be for the blacks."  I was stymied for an answer.  All I could think to keep my mouth shut was "You pick your friends, not your family." (Gawd-sometimes I am so subtle I just KEEL ME.)  I hugged her neck and I left.

On the way home, as I traveled down our struggling to get back to beautiful coastal highway, I thought about that.  I was raised by Yankees.  My daddy was in the Seabees when I was growing up so I was exposed to many different people and cultures early on, and believe it or not, my mama taught me manners.  Cursing was bad, but the impression I remember most was that the absolute worst, dirtiest word of them all was 'the n word'.  It just was not used in our home.  My children don't use it, and neither does my husband, at least in my presence.  The only even vaguely racist thing I can remember my mother ever saying in my formative years was one day as we were pulling into a parking lot her saying "I'd better never see you doing that," and she pointed.  I said "What?"  She pointed to a car with a white woman getting out one side and a black man getting out of the other and she said "I'd better never see you get out of a car with a black man."  I blew it off at the time because it was such a bizarre thing to hear coming from the mouth that had taught me that we were all equal in God's eyes.  But it stuck with me, and every time I've lusted in my heart for a dark complexioned man (oh, yes, you'd better believe it!) I'd think "Better not let yer mama see you get out of a car with that one!"  

So I got to wondering.  Is racism something that sneaks up on you?  Do you absorb it by osmosis or something?  Am I really more of a racist than I thought I was?  Has being down here for three quarters of my life just seeped in through my pores like so much poison to the soul?  I know my immediate family does a lot more mocking of accents and racial stereotypes than they ever did when I was growing up.  Is that racism, or an attempt at humor?  And was that racial pride I saw on that man, that president's face last night?  Maybe a little, if you are talking about color.  But what I really saw on that man's face, that president's face, was reflected over and over and over again in that crowd.  I saw it in mens' faces and womens' faces, on children and old people, black, white, asians...Hell, I even saw it in a couple of DOGS faces.  What I saw wasn't  just pride in how far blacks have come, I saw pride on that man's face, that president's face, in how far we, as humans, have come.  All of us.  Americans.  And I think every person in that crowd felt that racial pride, that hope that maybe, just maybe we can finally quit focusing on what makes us different and start working on what makes us alike.  Because therein lies our strength.  Our melting pot.  One race.  Human.

So I don't know about you, but I know this about me.  My candidate didn't win last night, but maybe I did a little.  I won a tiny bit respect for myself for examining myself and my motives so closely, and I won a lot of respect for that dignified, classy  presidential man.  Commander in Chief of my son, our president, Barack Obama.

Feel Good About Voting: Babeland Is Giving Away Free Sex Toys If You VOTE.

Babeland, which offers "sex toys for a passionate world", is giving away free sex toys - specifically "sleeves" for men and vibrators for women - if they present their "I Voted" sticker or ballot stub or even on your word of honor, apparently.

So go check out Babeland - if you're in NYC or Seattle. We've got three locations here in NYC I think.

Because voting feels good!

Indeed.

And of course if you're not into it, there are lots of retailers out there giving away free stuff...just for exercising your right to vote. We can in this country, so let's make use of our right.

Binge and Purge

Throughout this entire election cycle, I've watched, horrified, at the same bizarre whirlwind of the Republican Party that has been witnessed by everyone -- from McCain's choice of Sarah Palin as a running mate, to the frenzy she stirred up by her racist, xenophobic, anti-woman, rhetoric, to the horrific reality that these people may be in office: A man who is such a doddering old fool and has been so clearly "handled" that he makes George Bush look like a maverick, and a woman who makes me look better qualified to be the leader of the free world.

I'll admit that I've enjoyed the endless array of humorous barbs aimed at the McPalin campaign, but the sad fact is, that they are funny because they are eerily true. However, in spite of the fact that even conservatives are speaking out against the McCain ticket, the Republicans remain contenders, nonetheless. Polls may put Obama in the lead, but there are some major election-related issues that could wreak havoc.

On this upcoming day, we have to put our rantings aside and worry about the one issue that could really derail this election: election fraud and voter roll purging. As I'm sure you well, remember, the 2000 election was decided, not by the people, but by the Supreme Court. This was not by issues having to do with the campaign but rather by issues having to do with the polls. The Republicans well know that if there is not a landslide in Obama's favor, they can stall the entire electoral process by claims that so-called irregularities in voter registration or voting processes caused their demise. We cannot allow this to happen.

Republicans have already started claiming registration problems in many states. All battlegrounds. The fact that they have started making charges means they are collecting evidence should they need to make some sort of widespread claim that ACORN (that "terrorist" social services community organization) and other groups conspired to fix this election by registering fake voters and other such ridiculousness. This is in spite of the fact that intelligent republicans are already claiming that the party has no proof of voter fraud.

The thing that makes me go "hmmm" about all of this, is the clear subterfuge -- voter fraud is code for the same kind of outright vote suppression laws that were used in many states to keep minorities and the poor from voting. Poll taxes, literacy tests, hidden polling places all were supposedly done away with when the Voting Rights Act was signed into law in 1965.

But by then it was too late. Many felt unrepresented and disenfranchised already. Many still lived in places where they could not even find a polling place remotely close by. And, most importantly, most felt that their votes did not matter and that no one in government spoke for them. The challenges to voting rolls that the Republicans are proposing, ALL have to do with the people our society has marginalized. Even if they try to participate in the political process, they can't.

But, with this very election, voter registration among minorities and low-income Americans is as high as it has ever been. Surely this is in part because Obama is himself a minority. But I think the bigger issue is that his campaign was so organized that for the first time in perhaps their entire lives, the underrepresented found organizers at their doors, registering them to vote, offering to drive them to the polls, making them feel like their participation is valued.

Poll-watching is happening in droves for the first time (by both parties). Lawyers have been enlisted to carefully monitor polls everywhere to make sure our election is decided this evening, rather than months away after rolling around the court system.

So be mindful of this somber fact when you go vote today (and you WILL go vote today). Your vote MUST be banked because so many others may be purged. We cannot let another election be "stolen" by these kinds of shenanigans. Voting is one of the rights guaranteed to us. If this election fails due to voting issues, I will lose faith that voting even matters.

So go now...get off your computer and get your butt into that election booth.

And, to add a little bit of levity to an otherwise somber post, please enjoy THIS. (Then go vote; seriously. Go).

The "Deciders"

Remember when George W. Bush, while defending Rumsfeld, said, "I'm the decider, and I decide what's best?" We all looked at him, horrified by his hubris but also uncomfortable in this (supposed) democracy that our president uses words that hearken back to dictators. Perhaps this foot stamping was due to the fact that he felt so powerless and "handled." But it concerned us.

Now, with the election nearing, we have a new group of deciders -- or should I say, "UN"-deciders. In some ways, undecided voters ARE like W in the fact that they must think they are more powerful than they really are. Today, the New York Times profiled some undecided voters and called them both "sheepish" and "proud." I don't get them. I am suspicious of anyone who is even marginally undecided in this race. If you are even slightly, SLIGHTLY sympathetic of the views that Obama puts forth, there is not one tiny little bit of you that can think that McCain could be a good idea.

So, it makes me think that undecided voters really have decided and just like the attention that the news media brings them. When they say that there is very little difference between the two candidates I get suspicious. When they claim that "one issue" is a sticking point, I become enraged. This is not a one-issue election.

David Sedaris, one my all-time favorite writers, has an essay on this issue in the most recent New Yorker. In it he states:

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

So-called undecided voters infuriate me. Very few elections have been as high-stakes as this one. We are maligned by the world and have our allies mocking and dismissing us; our economy is the worst it has been since the Great Depression; we are in a senseless war where tens of thousands of people die every day. Come on people! Undecided? And because of what? Tax cuts? Abortion? What is wrong with you? Wake up and look at the dismal state of this nation. See the forest for the trees. That is, if you are really undecided at all.

When the McCain campaign dragged out "Joe the Plumber" who originally stated he was undecided, I looked at a man who was thrilled to be in the spotlight. He even seemed high from it, and likened himself to Britney Spears! Guess what? Surprise! He wasn't undecided and when given the chance to have more attention routed his way, he started campaigning for McCain.

I actually spit coffee out of my nose when I heard him say that electing Obama would mean the end of Israel. Israel! This guy? Has he even HEARD of Israel? I mean, come on Joe...at least say that the deciding factor was something believable. * Plus there was that time when he likened Obama to Sammy Davis Jr. on television, but whatever. I'm sure it's the Israel thing that got him to finally decide.

I think the real undecided voters are the ones who haven't ever reported that to the media -- or to anyone for that matter. They fit into 2 categories: First, we have those Bradley Effect folks who apparently say they are voting for Obama but then, once in the privacy of their voting booths, they just can't get their racist selves to vote for a black man. But I actually think this number is smaller than one would think.

The bigger group of undecideds are, what I optimistically call, the "Anti" Bradley Effect folks. These are mainstream republicans, old school guys who are actually pretty moderate. They identified their party as a a type of gentleman's club. Where you are a doctor or lawyer, you make a lot of money, you vote republican. But now? This republican ticket? With yahoos at rallies practically wearing white hoods? THAT is not how this republican intellegentsia wants its party portrayed to the rest of the country, let alone the world. As a result, they are fleeing -- some more obviously than others.

These are the Anti-Bradley Effect voters. The ones who claim to be voting republican but when they are behind that curtain and they think about the sad, ignorant, illiterate masses that embarrass them at McCain rallies they just will not be able to push that McCain/Palin lever. Whether they vote for Obama, I don't know. But I have a feeling they may just throw it away rather than choosing a republican party that no longer stands for its old principles.

I have a feeling -- a hope, yes, but also a very strong feeling that intelligent moderates are the quiet undecided voters. The sleepers. And maybe they'll do just that. When the alarm goes off on Tuesday morning, perhaps they will hit snooze and kind of forget about that "whole election day thing."

Here's the deal. The so-called undecided voters are attention seeking small people who are actually voting for McCain. The real undecided voters are intelligent. Let's leave it to the smart folks to decide.



*Oh, and PS: I found this guy when I was searching for Joe the Plumber.

Division of labor

I do believe I've come to a decision as to how I'm going to divvy all this up.  My blog is going to be where I discuss my life in general, and this is where I'm going to come to rant.  About anything.  Including the Unit, if I'm so inclined.  I have asked him to respect my 'privacy' *snort* and to keep his nose out of this one, and he has been duly warned that if he chooses to go against my wishes and decides to read it anyway, he does so at his own peril.  Venting it here will hopefully keep me from bottling things up and stewing as I tend to do when I am angry or frustrated about something.

For instance, I find it ludicrous that he will allow me to stick his love wand in my mouth and I have express permission to wipe ANYTHING on him that I want but he will not let me borrow his fucking fingernail clippers because that would be ICKY.  I can talk about stuff like that here without fear of reprisal.  Just thinking about it makes me want to go in there and moosh every one of his damned hats.

But it won't be just for bitching about him.  It will also be where I can vent about things in general that make me want to pinch someone's head off and spit down their neck.  

Like, who is designing clothes these days?  I am a big old fashion DON'T.  But there is a good reason for that.  When I go shopping, I have a choice between looking like I'm twelve or looking like I'm some little old lady in those nice little GrrrAnimal for Grandma sets they sell in the department stores.  I have a choice of looking like a Golden Girl or Hannah Montana.  I am of the mind that there should be a cutoff-that past a certain age and number of children, one should not run around with low rise jeans and a midriff baring shirt, letting the stretch marks and muffin top fall where they may.  So in order not to offend anyone's sensibilities, I now buy most of my clothes in the mens department and just walk around feeling all butch.  

So.  For the present, at least, that is how we are going to roll.  We shall see if that is how it turns out, keeping in mind that (as I'm so fond of saying) the only thing constant is change.

Howdy Hi There

I guess the best place to start is always with introductions, so let me get right to it.

I am Derfina, aka Jackie.  I write a blog called Life in the River here.  I am just tickled silly to have been invited to contribute to Ornery Women.  I'm not sure just exactly what I will be adding to the pot, but I tend to use a lot of garlic when I cook, so hopefully it will be savory enough for you to want to come back for more.  Hmm.  Food metaphors this morning.  Mayhaps I should nosh on something before I write instead of drinking coffee and getting stoned.

I live a charmed life.  In retrospect, that is.  Most of the time, myne is probably just as sticky and full of bumps and potholes as yours, but when I sit back and reflect on it, I am just the luckiest person I know, because it all seems to work out in the end, and when it's all over, the bumps and potholes and sticky messes seem much more funny than they felt when they were happening, and I'm all about fun.

I live in a tiny little houseboat in Podunk, Mississippi, where the summers are looong and sweaty and sweet.  I live with my husband Johnny, who is referred to as the Innocent Bystander in my blog, but will probably be referred to by his original tag, the Unit, here.  He is a captain of a jackup barge (self elevating work liftboat) and currently works in Nigeria, although he's also worked in Trinidad, Venezuela and here in the States in the Gulf of Mexico.  He is also currently doing some research on a job possibility in India, but that is just now being bandied about so it is not on my radar at the moment.

The Unit is one of the main sources of funny in my life.  He is the schmear on my bagel most of the time, and the rest of the time I just tune him out.  We also have three birds, so tuning out is a good ability to have-three parrots in a tiny houseboat with no carpet can be...shrill.  So I guess my filters were reversed.  Instead of a mouth filter I got ear filters.  I can turn my ears on and off at will.  *snort*

The Unit is cool.  He has little pet names for me.  Besides derfina, there's noodle, wiggle (ugh), beavis and my personal favorite, pretty.  (I'm not.  No one's ever gnawed their arm off to get out of bed with me, but I'd go more with plain than pretty.  But plain would not be a good pet name, now would it?  Hey, plain.  Nah.  I  like pretty.)

I have cute little pet names for him, too.  Hoss, Dude, Asshole and Dickhead are a few of MY favorites.  He'll answer to just about anything.  He's groovy like that.

I have some friends who are recurring characters in my little blogging world.  The Purv is one.  She has been my friend since high school, and I am planning a post devoted specifically to her on my blog, but some things have to stew longer than others if you want them to come out just right, so that is still a work in progress.  She is very understanding about the fact that when the Unit is home, our friendship goes into a kind of holding pattern, as we are a labor intensive couple-when he is off, he is off 24/7, so we are together just about every minute of every day.  But as soon as he leaves, we pick right back up where we left off.

There are also myne wyves.  First Wyfe prolly would have been my lyfemate had she or I been born with a dick.  We don't get to see each other much anymore, because I made her run away from home many many years ago to be with her Boogerschmearer of a husband.  My bad, and I pay for it every day I don't get to see her.  Second wyfe works at the orthopaedic clinic where I used to work, and I love her dearly and I want to take care of her and make sure no one ever hurts her EVER and again, I pay every day for the fact that I am too lazy to get off my ass and go see her more often.  (But then, she could come see me, too, yes?  Roads go both ways, no?)  I also have a wonderful boobielicious candidate whom I am grooming to be myne third wyfe. ^^groucho eyebrows^^ 

And then there are my bitches.  At one point when I was still working, I had about a dozen.  Now they are down to two, The Blonde One and The Serious One.  The Gaited One is still out there somewhere, but she seldom joins us when we have a margarita night.  I drink with my bitches.  I snark with them too.  They are wonderful in that they love me despite the fact that I let them down on a regular basis.  They are beautiful strong womyn who don't need me to take care of them, so they don't qualify as wyves, but I would stand in front of a train for any one of them, even those who have gone on to bigger and better things who I haven't seen in years.

These are the basics.  I'm not sure how often I'll be blogging here.  When the Unit leaves, I will have some time to dry out, and once I have two non alcohol soaked brain cells to rub together I will figure out some kind of schedule where I work over here two or three days a week and the rest of the time concentrate on my blog.  Who knows.  I've been known to spread myself too thin, though, so I am not going to make any commitments that I can't keep.  I hope.  As I've been known to say probably way to often:  We shall see.

I Present My New Kitten! Miss Laretta (Kincaid)

Photo: Dale Harris

Well, I didn't go with little Rain, the kitty I mentioned that was available for adoption from www.zanisfurryfriends.org that I found on Petfinder.com - that I mentioned in a previous post; things didn't work out that way. The lady who was fostering her was in Long Island, they were going to have to come over and do a "house check" - which I don't fault them for, that's understandable; but I have been adopting and owning pets for 16 years and I just don't have time to wait for them to bring her over just to see if I liked her...and then have a complete stranger come into my house and tell me "your place is a shithole and not good enough for our pet" - because, to be honest, my place is not the epitome of Better Homes & Gardens.

However, my pets seem to dig it, and they seem to dig having a Mom who loves them and makes sure that they get to eat before she does. Considering that I saved all these critters (I have four, now including Miss Laretta)from either death or living in a cage, and that they get the best food and health care...well, that speaks for itself. I was not responsible for Nina getting cancer and dying. I have to accept that...and move on. Did she have symptoms? Sure, but I am not a vet and I didn't see them. I did drop 6k on her two years ago to save her from diabetes and got two extra years of life out of her and gave her shots religiously twice a day for two years...so I think I'm a good pet owner.

Anyhoo, I hope that Rain finds a home - she looks really precious and please click on the link above and check her out for yourself or someone you know.

Here's the story on Miss Laretta: I was, after a weekend in which I was despondent over things in my life, leaving for work and heading toward the train at Union Square. On one side is the subway station, where I was intending to go. On the other side, is a Petco that has a KittyKind adopting station, where you'll find anywhere up to 25 cats in cages, many kittens, waiting for a new home. As I started walking towards the train, my feet suddenly seemed to have a life of their own and I headed in the opposite direction - toward the Petco.

An hour later, I emerged, beaming, with a small little girl kitten in a carrier...headed for home with me.

She is four months and two weeks. I have named her Laretta in honor of my old friend Larry C. Sullivan, a.k.a. Laretta Kincaid to his close friends. Her name in the shelter was "Loretta" and it seemed like a perfect idea to me.

She is a spunky little critter and I adore her...and the other pets are taking to her just fine. Spud is starting to groom her.

I think all is right with the world.

Moving Up and Onward...and the Setbacks.

Artwork by Augie Pagan

It's so hard to examine oneself when you :

1) Think you're kind of a mental fuckup even though you think you're relatively okay compared to some of the whack jobs out there
2) Think you're being stupid for getting upset when you come across photos of your ex...two months after you've broken up (granted, from the night we broke up, and right next to pics of my cat Nina who passed right afterwards)
3) Feel one day like you're doing FINE and the next, well, today I guess, like you are not FINE and wondering how the FUCK did that happen?
4) You are very different than you used to be in post-breakup mode; an almost asexuality has descended up on me like a wet blanket.

I think, since my descent into and subsequent emergence out of the nether regions of my mind a couple of weeks ago that brought with it panic attacks, intense depression, and a feeling that I would never again be okay, I have started really to get so much better. I have had all this great stuff happen for me: the article about my being an acting teacher and my philosophy in the New York Examiner, my being added as a staff writer for TheFabMarquee.com, and the putting together of the fundraiser, readings, and all those things that come with trying to stay busy and being successful at it - on top of taking on more work from my day job so I stay late - and it has really helped.

But all that is questioned when you can get thrown off balance just by accidently coming across photos of yourself with your ex on the night you broke up, that you had forgotten about, wedged next to pics of your dead kitty. I find myself hoping sleep will come quickly and I can get off this train to self-pity and mourning.

Mourning for what? My cat, yes; she was my baby girl. I will be having a new cat come by for a visit that I found on petfinder.com - her name is Rain and she's a tortie-maine coone mix, about 2.5 years old. Since I'm running a geriatric center over here for animals, I need to get some young ones or else when they all start to kick the bucket I'll have to be locked up. But mourning for my relationship? Still?

I'm not used to this. I'm older now...and I'm amazed that it takes so much longer...even though months ago I knew that this man and I were destined to only be friends, that we just wouldn't be able to make it work, although I desperately wanted to because he was only one of three people since my ex husband and I parted ways that had been a kind, loving person who didn't just want me for a piece of ass.

Getting over and getting beyond...it seems to come only in spurts. What do I have to do, lock myself in a room and avoid all audio/visual stimulation in case Brad finds his way into it?

We talked on the phone for the first time in a week today; second time in two weeks, as per my prompting that I just couldn't talk to him and recover. But we spoke like 10-15 times and at one point, it was like we were having conversations that we used to have: how to help him pick out a printer...things like that.

It really was okay until I saw those pictures. Then my mind went into a gridlock.

Artwork by Clint Scism

I know eventually I will be okay, but want that to be now, because I have to be around this guy a lot over the next few days and suddenly I just want to stay at home and not go anywhere, not be anywhere near him, for I am afraid that I will cry. And the strange thing is, is that if he suddenly said to me, "Dianna, everything was a big mistake, we should try another chance," I know that it wouldn't be worth it because it wouldn't work. He can't give me what I want...and I can't do the same. We can give love and friendship and loyalty...but sometimes that isn't enough.

And I want to know, when those things aren't even enough...what is everything worth anymore? Just sex? Just pet dander and allergies?

I have to now spend the rest of my evening trying to forget these past two hours...and try to move on. I have a man in my life who adores me and I adore him, but I can't be intimate with him because I have this fucking block. It's not fair.

I just want to move on like Brad has.

Couple of things I want to just say, for the record:
1) I'm so sorry that my first time at a Yankee Game in old Yankee Stadium was with him. On the night we broke up. I am forever disgusted by that and will try to really think of the next time I go to a game as the "real" time.
2) I'm so sorry that my first cruise was with someone who I was broken up with two months later. And that during that cruise my hopes for our relationship were suddenly increased to the point that I thought it was actually going to work...only for it to come crashing down.
3) I'm almost sorry I met him...and then have to say no...THAT was worth it. For it was. I just wish that so many firsts for me were not with him - for I really don't think he was worthy of being "my first" of anything...since he never gave enough of himself to me like I gave to him. He tried...but his giving of himself and my giving of me are like night and day.

Sigh. Sorry to bore...but I'm sad and angry at my being sad. That's what sucks...when you can't even cut yourself a break.

Fare Thee Well, Nikki!

We say goodbye to Nikki, who has contributed some insightful and intense articles on this blog site, but who, as per her final entry here on the site a few down, seems to feel that she doesn't jive with the others on here. We have lost some other people either due to time commitments, difference in opinions, or due to their cover being blown and some will be joining again at a later date, perhaps under a different name.

But I suppose that in starting this site, I wanted to make it a place for women to vent, while still being able to also have the option to just talk about important things going on in their lives. Perhaps this site isn't "Ornery" enough for certain people...or the writers.

Either way, I also don't want to alienate the blogging community and have this site labeled as a bunch of cunty writers who go to other women's blogs, leave comments that are somewhat insulting (calling them fat, etc), and then use this blog as a launch-pad for a rant on them or their philosophy. There is differing in opinion and writing about it - and then there is just lashing out. There are blogging meter sites out there that, unfortunately, link my name to the blog as the sole author, so when a post is written it says "Billychic wrote: ____"...and yes, I don't want to be responsible for certain posts that I think are too negative and draw negative attention to this site.

I want to entertain our readers as well as educate them, if possible, and I hope that all of the writers on this site share my opinion. I know that many of them do. However, writers on here have a responsibility to remember that they are representing this blog when they leave rude comments elsewhere and decide to expound on said comment...and if they wish to do so they can write that particular entry on their own blog. This doesn't necessarily apply to things like politics, etc - for that can get heated, and its supposed to; however, I would hope that we could all maintain a sense of decorum when we write - or leave comments on other writer's sites. The same way that I wouldn't allow a post that represents bigoted and racist rants (which I tell writers when they join) I also don't want us to write inflammatory material that alienates everyone completely. We can complain...we can even go tell someone from our personal lives to go get fucked. I do it quite often. But it seems to defeat the purpose of writing about how most women are such assholes...when this is a woman's site.

So, we wish Nikki all the best, and if you wish to read her writing, which I recommend you do, you can check her site: http://www.iamnotbitterbut.blogspot.com.

Royal Pink: A Chick Band for All Seasons - A New Monthly Sun Night Party!

Royal Pink, one of my fav chick bands in NYC, (they are so nice and so naughty) is playing a regular monthly gig on the Lower East Side at Mehanata (a.k.a. the bulgarian bar) - 113 Ludlow Street between Delancey & Rivington. There's one this Sunday, the 19th; doors open at 8.



From the email:
Are you ready for the queer punk dance party of your dreams? Because this Sunday night your pinks are playing at the first ever anonymous, the new and extremely fabulous monthly party at mehanata. Yes, it's a school night, but we know you will risk being a little sleepy on Monday morning in exchange for some quality debauchery. Here are the details:

please join us for the first night of a new monthly party:

a dance party for queerpunx and our friends.
bands. djs. plenty of dark corners.
wear something you can get dirty in.

sunday, october 19, 2008 – doors at 8 pm
and the third sunday of the month from now on

october 19 - MIX Festival closing night afterparty

featuring
Inner Princess (genderfuck/genrefuck punks)
Royal Pink (dirty-girl feminist rockers)
and more...

plus projections by the MIX Festival crew!

just $5

at mehanata (a.k.a. the bulgarian bar)
113 ludlow street between delancey & rivington
F/J/M/Z to delancey/essex; B/D/Q to grand; V to 2nd avenue

[inspired by - and we hope in the spirit of - Homocorps, the Clit Club, Rock n Roll Fag Bar, and all the other parties where the dance floor and the dark room are both alive and well]


NOW THAT SOUNDS LIKE A PAR-TAY.

:)

Is 30 Really the New 20? I Sure As Hell Hope So.

So, I've accepted that fact that I'm not going to be a superstar by the age of 25. Partially because I'm already nearly 38, but also because I've gotten to know the industry like the back of my hand already, and find it startling that so much of it is about not just who you know (or who you blow) but also that you actually seem to get ahead if you're younger and less talented...and yes - skinny.

Look. I'm not just bitching because I just lost out on a part to someone else who, if she stands sideways, you might not see her; I wish her the best with keeping her boyish figure. Oh, and also the fact that I'm wondering if she's even old enough to have her period...

I am actually in a good age group, where there are lots of parts for women my age. The problem is that I might actually look too young (YAY!) so I have to compete for younger parts and then lose them to women that are more suitable for that age (NOT YAY!). I mean, it's not THAT bad - I've actually had another good year where between acting work and voice-over work I have been able to live comfortably (as long as I dont buy anything for myself or go on a vacation)...so I can say that I'm a working actor.

But when I go to an audition and see the sea of ladies that are younger...I try to chant the mantra that "30 is the new 20" in my head...and it just doesn't fly so well. The only thing I have on these other ladies is experience and acting ability (in most cases). Then there are the really talented young ladies that piss me off...because I am not above being jealous. But I'd rather lose the part to someone who can act, than someone who is just eye-candy.

Is that true? The 30-20 thing? Who came up with that? Some crusty old bat who was trying to deal with the same issues that I am? Because I'm approaching 40 and I don't know if they have the same mantra but in a size 30-40.

I also get discouraged because people don't take the work seriously. The just go from talking about what they had for dinner with a fellow auditioner, and then walk in. And sometimes they get the part. I am auditioning for people who were a baby when I was 18. It's a little weird. I applaud people for getting the gumption to try to make films or produce bdwy and off-bdwy shows when they are in their 20's - but I know part of the money is coming from their parent's trust fund - and I question why I'm even there when I would be willing to put money down that they couldn't tell you the difference between Elia Kazan, Tennessee Williams, or Jimmy Stewart.

But I might be just really assuming too much - except that when I try to have conversations with so many of the people I'm competing against and they have never read any Williams or seen a Hitchcock film, I have to ask myself: where is the industry going? Why am I here? And, most importantly, WTF?

How to Get My Mojo Back: What to do when you just don’t feel like the Rockstar you are