You Know What? No.

I'm not going to be like that. I have no reason to be like that. I have good friends (whether they live by me or have lots of time or not) and amazing family who will always support me and give me shelter and love when I need it, mush, mush, etc etc etc, ad naseum. Plus, the fantastic comments I got at the Sad post lead me to reason that you girls are all too spectacular to listen to me whine all the live-long day. So I can't guarantee I'm stopping for good, but I'll give it an effort.

Part of me is angry at Bruce for twisting the knife, I suppose, by writing about girls. ("The knife you stabbed yourself with?" you ask. Yes.) I stopped being a big part of his blog a long time ago, but since it played such a huge part in our early relationship I still see it as 'mine' somehow. Most of the territory I'd marked as 'mine' for him is faded, the feeling isn't that strong. I guess my metaphorical pee is taking a longer time to rinse off that particular area, that's all. Why should I be angry with him? It's his fucking blog, after all. He wrote it, it's supposed to be a fairly accurate account of his life, and I'm sure it is. Girls are pretty awesome, after all. Especially those who drink beer. I'm glad somebody realizes it. Maybe if it was the "best of the last quarter of 2007", I'd feel less pissy about it. I don't know. What I do know is that in a few years I'm likely to look back on this post and the Sad post before it and cringe at my own sensitivity to crap that doesn't matter anymore. But isn't that what a blog is for?

Warning: Sad.

Today is a bad day.

Most of it was fine, but I keep getting hit in the face with things that are bad, or things that make me feel bad. Or things that make me feel bad for feeling bad about them, because what the hell? I shouldn't feel bad about that anymore! Or because, well, sometimes it just sucks to be lonely.

#1. I was struck in the car today on the way from one house to another that I am borderline depressed at my life not turning out the way I always wanted it to. I've done what I thought was best, all the time, and yet? Here I am, alone again. Back where I started. Oh, wait, now I'm three years older and much more jaded. Oh! And still technically married. I'm a catch, ladies and gentlemen.

#2. Just ran across Bruce's list of great things for 2007 and, unlike some of the other things that have struck me and made me sad and jealous in really sick ways on his blog since we split up, I don't think his listing of "girls" and "girls who drink beer" are really something I can interperate wrong. Nope. Why am I like this? So bitter and sad and wanting everyone else to be too? It makes me feel sick inside. I did this because we will both be happier. Why can't I be happier first for once? See? I'm a selfish bitch.

Anyway, those are the two things I can think of that made me cry today. I'm hoping to seriously lower my score for tomorrow. Seriously.

Moody

Every single month I get to the point where I'm almost crying in frustration, not understanding why I'm so down and gloomy before I realize: Hey! This happened last month, too! And then I realize, Hey! This sucks! But at least I know what it is!

G-B-C-B

This is the longest week in history. Next week will be the shortest, and the the week after that will be cruel, because it will beat this weeks record for longest week ever. I'm skipping right past looking forward to next week, into dreading the week after that. There's something depressingly pessimistic about the mindset I'm in right now. It's a little crazy. Stupid menses.

So yeah! I'm making the Green Bean Casserole for Thanksgiving this year. Yeah, that's right. I'm the Green Bean Casserole Bringer. It's a title of reverance, because one year somebody (I'm not naming names... We'll call her Dant Aebby) made it using frozen green beans, and didn't cook it long enough to cook them. We ate raw green beans in a sea of mushroom soup that year, and none of us will ever forget it. Ever since that fateful year, Dant Aebbie brings the rolls. (Store-bought.) Everyone is happier. Especially those relatives too polite to not clean their plates. (Not I, I will happily zip past you and scrape into the garbage. If you can't be honest with your relatives, who can you be honest with? Although I'd probably fib on the exact reason. "Oh, guess I'm just not in a bean mood!" or something similar.)

Does your family engage in the "Who eats first?" dance?

Dove Video

What do you think?

Dental

Is it wrong for me to choose a dentist based only on the fact that their receptionist had a fabulous German accent? Is it?

Seriously, I went through the entire phone book, and the only place that wasn't rude or over-the-top or crazy expensive was the one with Andrea, she of the cool accent. And she understood that I'd probably need medicine before my appointment, and she called it medicine. I love that.

I get to meet her on Monday. It's been so long since I've heard a real live German accent in person. I'm excited.
_______

In other news, the dog got his ass spanked this morning for picking the wrong socks to munch on. Why is it always the things you like the best? Why?

Sob.

I'm So Vain, I Probably Think This Blog is About Me

Well, after the little mix up in the comments last week, I decided it 
might be time to dye my hair again.  It was a little joke in my head when I called it "Redneck week", because... Do you really want to see how bad my roots were? I thought you might.



You see, after I posted this picture of last Monday:



The lovely Jess commented ever so kindly that she noticed that I'd gone dark with my hair and she liked it. It was really very sweet (and let's face it, sort of funny) and it got me thinking. So I decided to dye my hair dark. And now my roots look like this:



I think I like it better. What about you?

Dear Fergie,

Please don't use any more euphamisms about female body parts in your songs. This means the songs you do on your own time, and the ones you do with your band. I, for one, don't posses anything I'd ever refer to as either "my hump" or "lovely lady lumps".

I'm also pretty confident that you need to seek a gynaecologist's help with any part of your womanly anatomy that "wanna go down" when someone "come around".

Sincerely,
Sarah

PS: London Bridge? Seriously? You have a part that resembles a this?

Beautiful

Daughter, By Nicole Blackman

One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.
I will kiss her before I lay her down
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive.

I'll tell her about the power of water
the seduction of paper
the promise of gasoline
and the hope of blood.

I'll teach her to shave her eyebrows and
mark her skin.
I'll teach her that her body is
her greatest work of art.

I'll tell her to light things on fire
and keep them burning.
I'll teach her that the fire will not consume her,
that she must take it and use it.
I'll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything
to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,
just as long as she feels something.
I'll help her do her best work when it rains.

I'll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I'll teach her to develop all her selves,
the courageous ones,
the smart ones,
the dreaming ones,
the fast ones.
I'll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life.

I'll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The
and when people are shocked
to ask them why they so fear a small quartet
of letters.

I'll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down the evidence.
If she has no paper, I'll teach her to
write everything down on her tongue
write it on her thighs.
I'll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men.

I'll explain to her that it's better to regret the things
she has done than the things she hasn't.
I'll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins.
I'll say she should make men lick her enterprise.
I'll teach her to talk hard.
I'll tell her that her skin is the
most beautiful dress she will ever wear.
I'll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname,
that forced intimacy is san ugly thing.
I'll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on.

I'll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I'll teach her to follow the words.
I'll tell her to stand up
and head for the door
after she makes love.

When he asks her to
stay she'll say
she's got to go.
I'll tell her that when she first bleeds
when she is a woman,
to go up to the roof at midnight,
reach her hands up to the sky and scream.

I'll teach her to be whole, to be holy,to be so much that she doesn't even
need me anymore.
I'll tell her to go quickly and never come back.
I will make her stronger than me.
I'll say to her never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

Never forget what they did to you and never let them know you remember.

Animal House

My dad came home for lunch this week with a scrape on his knee and another on his ankle. Apparently, the people he was hefting a giant table with both decided to let go of their end(s) at the same time, leaving my dad with the whole table to drop on hisself.

Huck was very concerned that entire day, nosing around the wounds and trying to make sure that my dad would be ok. He's fine, as far as I know, but the way that the dog was worried warms my heart.

*edited* Huck is being more attached than usual - which is a huge feat for a mama's dog, to be more attached than usual - and Linus the cat is following me around.

I love them both more than is healthy, but this is driving me a little bit nuts, you know? *edited*

____________

I haven't been talking about the animals as much, but I have to vent a little bit. Huck has taken (since we've moved) to sometimes running off and smelling things and totally ignoring us as he does. I know this is mostly a hound thing - he's off smelling things and they totally take over his brain - but I also know it's partly him deliberately disobeying us. It wouldn't bother me so much, but he's not afraid of the streets yet - no car has come by while he's "exploring" - so I'm worried that he'll be hit by a car. It's not that he's fast, because he's not really fast, it's more that he's wiley and can do a 180 on us when we try to catch him. Any suggestions?

Linus is adjusting very well to having three stories to explore. Once he mastered the idea of a staircase, he very much liked the idea of them. I watched him, and you could almost see the wheels a-turnin'. He very much likes this method of defying gravity to build levels upon levels.

I am a Girl, Part I

Before anyone reads any further into my blog, they should know where I come from. I come from a land of ice and snow, as they say. I also come from a land that really only exists in my own head.

I don't think it will be easy to tell everyone all about my life, and I have a feeling it might take more than one post to get it all out in the open, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

The memories I have of being a child are very few. I remember our yard, when I was three, and loving that we had many trees to play in. Weeping Willows, I learned when I was older. I played in the branches for hours, until my mom would call me into the house or my Grandpa Roy would come to visit. When he came to visit (during my Grandma Mavis' shifts at work), I would squeal and then run into the house for a stack of books. I always wanted to be read to, and he was always delighted to read to me. The higher the stack, the better, according to Grandpa Roy. He read me them all.

When Grandma Mavis retired from the nursing home, Grandpa Roy didn't visit us as often. His readings were fewer, and Mom didn't have two hours a day to devote to my stories, and she bought me some books on tape. Disney, mostly. My favorites were Bambi and The Fox and the Hound. (Now, every time I look at Huck I think, "I'm a Hound Dog!") I listened to them all the time, and read along with the pictures and words.

I remember the first time that reading really "Clicked" with me. I was in the third grade, and we were reading "Socks" by Beverly Cleary. I'm very into animals, and I think I always have been. Mom says that she was always worried about me as a toddler, for fear that I'd wander off and try to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. I believe her. I would still like to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. One could say it's a lifelong dream.

Perhaps you could tell me (on your own blog, unless you don't have one) the start of the story that you think defines you as you. I'd love to read it. If you feel like it, send me the link. You know I'm always interested in that sort of thing.

More Girl Stuff

Ditto both you gals! Except that I'm not on any hormones, and I don't keep track of the dates, and it all still seems like I'm in seventh grade again, terrified for two weeks of every month that today will be the day, and I'll end up walking around with a mess on my hands.

And yet, I still don't prepare. What's wrong with me?

I get the stomach upset, too, usually the day before/the day of. Also a feeling of hopelessness about my life and my status and my future. Crampiness only on the day of, and not until a few minutes too late to be any sort of warning signal. It's fun to be around, I swear! Just ask Bruce.

Also, like Jess, I need to sulk and mope and feel bad for a while before I admit something might be amiss with my hormones. But like Susan, I seem to forget every month, genuinely, why it might be that I'm cranky. Is denial one of the symptoms? Worth checking into...

Guys Need Not Read

Once again, I'm here to expunge the numerous benefits of using a device labeled as "Instead". It can be found on the top-most or bottom-most shelf of your local Walgreens. And sometimes, your local Target. Basically, you have to be willing to spend more than 30 seconds in the feminine aisle. Don't expect to pluck and run, you might have to search a few seconds longer than normal. Once again, I must warn you that it is not for those women who aren't at ease with their fluids. I have to mention that I don't blame you at all if you're not, I can't say I'm all about a mixture of mucus and blood - but my sense of thriftiness far outweighs any grossed-outed-ness I once had. Plus, I worked at a veterinary clinic once, and I loved it. You sort of grow immune to fluid. It's a fact of life. Anyway, you should get you some Instead if you're frugal, like I am.

Speaking of women and being proactive as a female in general, Twisty has had some bad news lately. Although I don't recommend posting at her site without having a pretty solid dislike for the patriarchy, I do recommend reading through some of her brilliant postings about it.

I never really considered myself a feminist before a few months ago. I always saw myself as a regular person, living my life, being pretty pissed off when a guy chose me for a job because I was hot and young. Being irritated by the women-folk around me who would play dumb or vulnerable to get attention or special treatment. And how sad is it that I really don't want to be labeled as a feminist, because of all the stigmata that goes with it?

No, I'm not a fucking butch lesbian. No, I haven't been embittered by a man who "Done me wrong". No, I'm not a bitch. But the more I read of that website, the more I realize that it's not about stereotypes, it's about overcoming them. She's an incredibly intelligent woman, sharing her view with the rest of us. She needs to be around for a lot longer. That's all I know. I don't want to be labeled as a feminist.

Really, all I've ever wanted was to be seen as a person. Period. I read her blog because I think that's what her point is. We all just want to be seen as people.

_____

But speaking of periods, I've been staying up late tonight. I suspect that the unspoken reason for that is due to my general sense of discontent all day long and a suspicion that I will be getting it at some point during the night. It's now 3:20 AM and it hasn't happened, and I'm ready to throw in the towel and say 'To hell with it'.

I've always been a middle-of-the-night sort of gal, what about the rest of you?

Now that you're older, what symptoms do you look for before the actual "coming"?

I've never had a schedule that was worth Jack. They say you're supposed to become more regular with age, but I've always been sort of willy-nilly. Are you, too?

Thanks for the girl talk. I miss my girls, and need a fix every now and again.