The Squirtful Joys of 2011

So the year is ending. You've read the blog so you know all the shitful things that have happened over the year. No need to rehash, yeah? Let's talk about the good things.  Now, mind you, some of these things aren't really things that happened in 2012, it's just when I found them and became obsessed.

And you know, in my self-centered, potentially sociopathic way, if I didn't know about it until now, it didn't exist.  I'm narrowing this down to two things per group, otherwise I'd be here forevers.

BANDS 

FOSTER THE PEOPLE

Ya know, I didn't want to like this band because they fucking look like frat brothers. I can't help myself though. I heard "Pumped Up Kicks" one day on the radio and loved the sinister nature of it so damned much, I just couldn't help myself. Past that, it was love.

GOSSIP

Gossip has been around for a while, I even listened to them before this, but they became an obsession this year? Why? I dunno. Maybe because Beth Ditto did everything I should have done with my life. Well, and also, because of her voice and the stripped down perfection of the band. See, thing is, when you have a voice like hers, you really can't have too much music going on. It would just be overkill.

INTERWEBS DISTRACTIONS

GLITCH

Goddamn, I love this game so much. I really do. It's so much fun and has all kind of stuff to do. It never gets boring and best of all, it's not Facebook dependent and therefor set to sink into a deep pool of suck.  They keep making it better, which is just awesome. It's going to be great until we all get really bored.

BLOGGING

Is this kind of a given?  Maybe so. And again, I know I'm late to the game. Still, it's been a great outlet for me. I've loved blogging so much over the past year and plan to keep it going. And just think, to be honest, I didn't think I'd make it a month.  Wow. We're past 300 posts now.

TV SHOWS

AMERICAN HORROR STORY

This is kind of a given as well. I did write a mammoth two part post over it. It's a great damned show though. I'm a little bit disquieted about what they plan on doing with it, but we'll see. The point is, I talk to people about it. I discuss the characters and their motives.  We quote from it. I'll probably be annoying people with that "You're gonna regret it!" for the rest of my life.

GAME OF THRONES

Ahh, Sean Bean and a grand cast of characters all acting out (with quite a lot of success) the scenes from what has become my favorite books this year.   What could be better than watching the cast of Skins find new jobs and seeing Jason Momoa be hot and threatening and barbaric? Nothing, I tells you. NOTHING!  The show launched a million memes, a new phrase in the consciousness of the country, and led me to:

THE GRAND OBSESSION OF 2011

George R. R. Martin's A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

That's wight, wabbit. See, the thing is, when I obsess about something, I don't just give it mild attention. I OBSESS. I comb through fan art, I read the fanfic, I read all articles, squee about the previews of stuff, make up songs, discuss theories, read the wikis....everything. I'm in full scale fangirl mode with this now. And I'm loving every second of it.

So yeah, while 2011 did, overall, suck a lot of my soul, there were things that revived it as well. At the end of the whole mess, I think I'm coming out with more soul than I walked in with. Not too shabby. Bye, 2011. Kiss kiss.

New Year's Eve, Day, and the Superstitious Mind of BHB

Even though the rest of the year, I snidely live my life with no thought to superstition, customs, or any other kind of belief, I have this total ritual and superstitious set of patterns for New Year's Eve and Day.

It actually shocks me a little how deeply I believe these, but I do. And, no joking here either. I'm NOT just going through the motions. For some reason, despite all logic to the contrary, I really believe this stuff.  It certainly makes for an interesting couple of days.

One New Year's Eve, I believe you should spend time saying goodbye to the year. I read people's lists of "Best of the Year" and "Worst of the Year." I let myself reflect on the tragedies, the victories, and the weirdness of the year that is coming to an end. I acknowledge songs, movies, shows, and otherwise that I loved. I think about my new discovers, about the things that are part of me now that weren't just 12 months prior.

At midnight, I let the year go. I welcome the new one. I smile to myself at the possibilities. And, to be honest, I always get just a little scared. If I have considered making changes in the new year, I make those resolutions then.  I try to set realistic ones that I'll actually accomplish, not ones like "lose weight and be really great with my money" because that crap never happens.

On New Year's Day, I try to control my actions as much as possible, because I, irrationally, believe that whatever you do on NYD is what you'll be doing for the rest of the year.  I try to keep my temper in check, hope everyone else controls theirs, talk to my friends, be happy, do the things I love, and eat my peas.

The deal with the blackeyed peas, of course, is that every pea you eat is another bit of fortune you'll have for the year.  Clearly, I should eat more of the damned things. I think my roommate believes this too because he bought more than he usually does.  He hates the things, so the blackeyed pea-eating is always on me.  He eats the cornbread though.

So yes, as it's past midnight, my two days of ritual and superstition have started.  It annoys me a little that I'm this into the changing of the year, but I am and there's clearly nothing I can do to make myself see it differently.

It's just part of the strangeness of me.

Standing in the Way of Control

I think I'm going to do a series of self portraits for the year. Actually, I don't even have to plan this. I will do them. I have this kind of obsessive need to do them.

As I've mentioned before, said portraits are always far more emotionally accurate than physically accurate. Case in point: the one on this blog. This is exactly how I'm feeling right now.

Why?  I dunno. I guess because there is a lot of energy around me. The year is about to end. People are out of pocket. I have no idea what the new year is going to bring or how things will play out for me.

All I can really do is concentrate on the good at the moment. GRRM surprised everyone with a sneak chapter to the new book. My roommate and I had a really fun day. Christmas money was used to pay off a couple of bills with enough left over for pizza.

I'm going to try and be proactive about some things this year. I want to go out of my way to avoid negativity and anger, both in myself and in others. I want to savor the moments of good and plan things to make more of those good moments happen. I want to set things in motion to building a more stable life for myself, in every way that it can be stable. Most of all, I want to actively work on my own happiness and the happiness of those who matter to me.

So yeah, motion.  It's a good place to be.

Pluck Out Your Eyes

So it seems Israel is going through issues because the crazy extremist Jewish groups are spitting on little girls and calling them whores when they believe they dress immodestly.  They hate women. You know, there really is no other way to put it. They hate them and all that women stand for. Bastards.

I write a lot of these posts, I know that. And normally I talk about how if you, as a woman, are living in an area where crazy religion is crazy and it's causing you harm, get away from it as soon as possible.  I know this isn't easy. I know that in many cases it's impossible.

Honestly, if I ever get really rich, I'm setting up a company to remove women from places where they're oppressed.  The idea of watching a generation of crazy religious men die off with no crazy religious children to follow them makes me overjoyed.

However, that's the stuff I usually say, so I'm going to take a different tactic with this and go to the flipside.  I realize I'm using a verse from the New Testament here, but the idea is probably there somewhere in almost all you people's religions. I'll even use King James version, as some of you darlings believe this is how Jesus really spoke.

Matthew 18: 9 And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.

If you are feeling lust . . . it doesn't say to spit on people or beat them for dressing bad. It doesn't say call them whores or do anything really, other than modify something about YOU. Do something about YOUR situation to change the circumstances, not someone else or everyone else. YOU.

Now, I think plucking out your eye is a bit much. Though, on a practical note, if you have lots of eye pain, you probably won't be feeling much lust.  Unless you get off on that kind of thing . . . but I digress . . .

And considering we're talking about all you religious extremists out there, it always seems like things can never go too far or you. So really, maiming your own self shouldn't be that much of a problem.

I'm sure it can be argued there are places in holy books where it talks about dressing modestly and stuff like that. However, that is someone else's issue. That isn't yours.  Someone else's relationship with their creator is between them and said creator.  Stop focusing on other people, and focus on yourself.

See, if you're wondering why your religious beliefs piss everyone off, it's not because of Satan or whatever enemy you happen to have. It's not because it makes us ashamed or guilty about what we do in the sight of God. It's because you're all a bunch of scary assholes who make the world a harder place for other people.

Stop it. Mind your own business. Tend to your own sins. Control your own behavior, and if need be, pluck out your own damned eyes so you can't feel lust.  It shows devotion and is easier to handle than trying to get ALL the 8 yr olds out there to wear whatever it is that you think they need to be wearing.  Hurt yourselves. Leave the rest of us the hell alone.

Besides avoiding sin, plucking out an eye has some other benefits.  It makes pirate always an option for costumes.  It you buy a parrot, everyone will think it's cute. And, as a bonus to everyone else, when we see your crazy fundie ass walking towards us, we can get away before you start talking or spitting!  We'll know you by the lack of eyes.

Trust me, it's always nice to have a way to tell you people apart from the rest of us.

What The Smug Pigs Revealed

This year for Christmas/birthday season, I received two new technological gifts. One is a Kindle Fire and the other is a Roku 2. The Kindle, while desired, was unexpected and therefor delightful.  The Roku was a planned gift but I'm still quite happy I have it.

The Kindle gives me freedom to read and whatnot when I'm away from my computer. Yes, I know I can do that with those things called books, but my mental condition makes books a bit difficult at times.  Having ways to distract myself while my mind is bouncing too much to read is very helpful.

The Roku will allow us to stream Netflix onto the TV.  This is going to be very helpful on those nights when nothing is on.  We can just plan for other things to watch or play Angry Birds.  The Roku's controller is a bit difficult to get used to when you first start killing the piggies, but we're adjusting.

In fact, I had a blast tonight.  Due to poorness and a certain disgust with what we felt was a gouging industry, my roommate and I haven't bought a gaming console since the Gamecube.  This has saved us a lot of money and frustration, but it also cut out a part of our lives that I used to really love.

When Nintendo first came out, my brother and I got one. We played the games together, solving them piece by piece.  We came up with our names for the monsters and other things, worked for hours to get through quests. My brother and I are several years apart, and this was really a bonding experience for us, a nice place of common ground.

My current roommate (who was not my roommate at the time) came into my life on a more day to day basis during the Nintendo 64 years. We played through Mario, Quest 64, the fighting games, and lots of other stuff. Like with my brother, we made up names for things, found our own strengths to help each other, and really enjoyed the commendatory of playing video games together.

As I said, circumstances took that away from us. I've still played games. I have a pretty intense Sims addiction and play other online games.  But those are solitary affairs for the most part.

But tonight, I found that joy I used to have while playing video games with someone else. We cheered each other on. We insulted the pigs. We screamed when we would mess up and did happy dances when we finished the levels.  We were loud. VERY loud. Things are already starting to get mocked and labeled.

It was awesome.

Even now, hours later,  I'm in such a damned good mood because of it.  I'm really happy I'm getting to have this experience again.  I needed it.

The True Meaning of Christmas

A while back, I did a post about this holiday season thing we have going on.  I talked about how while some people celebrate the birth of Christ, not everyone does and how we should be okay with that.  I talked about all the other holidays happening as well.  Christmas means one thing, but the season can mean a lot of things.  It kind of led me into this personal question though. What does Christmas mean to me?

I see nothing wrong with how other people celebrate, but, at the same time, I tend to concentrate on that concept as well. But to me . . . what does it mean to me? Is it just about the baby Jesus stuff? Santa? Walmart? Pie?

So kind of in a private way, I went looking for my own reasons for celebrating, for understanding what this holiday, with all of its mess and craziness and lovely moments and expectations, means to me.  I think I found the answer.

I found part of it in a discussion a woman was having with some people about why she does so much baking during the holidays.  Normally, she isn't one to make candy or pies or cakes . . . but her mother was, so was her grandmother, and her aunts.  When she was a kid, these women would bring these things to Christmas celebrations.  Quite often, she would find herself in the kitchen watching as they cooked them, sometimes even helping.  These women are all gone now and have been for years.  But when she cooks at Christmas, these women are right there with her.

This led me to making a decision about what my Christmas dinner would be.  My roommate and I decided to fix something nontraditional that our mothers and grandmothers loved to eat.  It's a simple meal, a poor people meal, really, but something they made often.  When I ate it today, I thought about all those meals I had with these women.

I found part of it today as well. A woman that I know miscarried a baby three years ago. She was late in the pregnancy and knew it was going to be a girl. Now every year at Christmas, she goes and buys everything she would have given to her daughter . . . all the toys, all the cute little clothes, all the small surprises . . . and gives them to a needy family with a daughter.

I also found my answer in decorating the tree with my best friend, in watching holiday specials with my roommate, in sending and receiving cards, in singing Weezer songs at the top of my lungs with my brother as we drove home from my grandfather's house.

To me, the true meaning of Christmas is that it's a time when we focus enough on the moment that we truly make fundamental and valid memories. Most of the time, we just stumble along and don't pay that much attention to what's going on.  We make some impressions of our lives, but not that many.

However, because we designate holidays as times with special meaning, we actually pay more attention to what is going on.  So, in essence, we're really living.    Not just getting more physical stuff to add to the pile of our other stuff, but gaining tangible, meaningful impressions of this experience we're actually having.

We celebrate our dead.  We miss them.  We go through rituals.  We make contact with others, offering them cheer and goodwill.  We give to others.  We have meals with them. We sing. We revel.  We truly, truly live.

So really, as to my understanding of what a deity would be, this is a truly holy time of year. We're living.  We're living with meaning.  We're making our own impressions of things and giving other people impressions and memories of us.  Tis the season of making contact. Tis the season of reaching out, reaching to, and reaching beyond.

And if you're one of the faithful out there, I don't think you can be offended by my theories here.  You believe God created part of himself as a human and sent it to live a human life.  That's what I view as the true meaning of this season.

It's the celebration of connecting with the fact that you're alive and human.

37 in Review

I turned 38 today. Wow, just reading that sentence is a shocker for me. 38. That seems so old.  I guess it's really not. Wait, who am I kidding? I've been out of high school for 20 years! People my age are already grandparents! Old.

Once I get home from the festivities (not, mind you, festivities FOR my birthday, but for Christmas), I always have these hours of depressive reflection.  Another year gone by and oh god, what did I do with my time?

The thing is, even though this year, like every year, I'm on the verge of tears for some reason, I think the list is pretty great.

• I started drawing again.
• I blogged almost the whole year. I'm 300+ posts in.
• I did a 20 page book for my SIL.
• I survived Oklahoma's insane ass weather.
• I made new friends.
• I strengthened the relationships with the friends I already had.
• I went to therapy.
• I worked very hard on getting some of my financial issues solved. (okay, I made some calls and wrote some letters. That should count, dammit).
• I told some great stories.
• I entertained people.
• I served the cats in a manner which was pleasing to them. 
• I made people laugh.
• I made ME laugh.
• I found a lot of new music.
• I read some really great books.
• I gave comfort.
• I actively planned things so that I would know I was participating in life.
• I gave thanks and felt a deep amount of gratitude for my life.
• I managed to get through some crisis situations without having to be sent to a facility for mental break down. 

Overall, I think it's a good list of accomplishments.  Goodbye, 37.  I consider you a damned good year.

BEST OF AMERICAN HORROR STORY, PART TWO

5. The Two Sides of  Moria When women look at Moria, they see a kindly old woman in her 60s in a modest maid's outfit. Her hair is badly dyed a bright shade of red and she's missing one eye.  She offers advice, doesn't seem to think too highly of men, and is very loyal.

When men look at Moria, they see a sexy young redhead in a fetish french maid's outfit.  Her stalkings can be seen as she slinks around and when she bends to wash the floor or make the beds, her black panties are on display.  She seduces, she teases, she draws them in, giving them their every fantasy and leaving them guilty for falling prey to her charms.

At one point, she says that women see the truth of things and men see what they want to see.  Her dislike for men is understandable.  She was being raped when she was shot for what was mistaken as willing adultery. She was buried in the yard with no means for escape.  Her bitterness runs deep.

The best part about the two sides of Moria is that the perception can happen at the same time. At one point, Ben is yelling at her for tempting him to cheat, talking about how sexy she is and how she prances around the house in her little uniform trying to get him horny.  This makes total sense when you see it from his POV, the vixen maid is smirking back at him as he screams. But from Viv's POV, he's yelling at modestly dressed older woman.  To her, he looks completely insane.

4. Vivien As Rosemary A lot of people have issues with Vivien.  Then find her to be shrewish and needlessly dramatic.  Granted, she should have just walked away from Ben long ago. Of course, we wouldn't have a story then, would we?

The show plays with iconic images a lot and the faces of the feminine are well represented. Our three main female leads function as a warped mock up of the three faced goddess. Constance is the Hag, the former mother with  twisted offspring. Violet is the Maiden, only one with only the smallest shreds of innocence.

Viv is the Mother. The Broken Mother. The Bleeding Mother. When we first meet her, we find her at a doctor's appointment, a follow up from a miscarriage. She's still hurting and aching.  She's very lost about the whole thing. By the second episode, she's pregnant again. And her pregnancy becomes one of the central story points.

It also makes for one of the best moments of horror in the show. Constance and Moria decide that the baby will grow better if fed organ meat.  And some of it is given to Viv in raw form.

At one point, she is presented with a raw brain. It LOOKS like a human brain.  It's some of the best acting in the series as she begins eating it with a look of disgust but resignation and slowly begins to savor the taste, eating faster and faster with more satisfaction. It's like the monster baby inside her is in complete control.

Of all the things that happen to Viv, I think this eating scene is my favorite in terms of pure horror value.

3. Addie's repeated warning.  I will admit, I didn't like the first episode of the show. I found it to be clunky and gratuitous and lacking in almost all horrific charm. There was, however, one exception to that, and it was a big one.  In fact, it's the one thing that made me press on into the second episode.

We see two little ginger bastards sneaking into the house. Little Addie is standing outside, looking up into the house's windows. She informs the boys that they will die if they go in there.  They scoff at her and proceed in, all the while, we hear her repeating, "You're gonna regret it. You're gonna regret it."

Ahh, even now, just hearing it in my head, I marvel at how perfect it is.  Addie's little creepy kid voice, the cadence of the words, the knowledge that she's right all weave into the words, making their ominous message sink into your bones.

For days afterward, we walked around the house repeating "You're gonna regret it" to each other. We even do it now probably more than is healthy.

2. The Tragedy of Tate and Violet. Violet is every angry teenaged girl.  The Darlene Connor of her generation.  She smokes, she speaks her mind to her parents, she cuts herself, and feels the world is a shit place. In these ways, she's the stereotype and probably gets on many people's nerves.

At the same time, she does love her parents. She tries to protect them, honestly, quite often comes off as more of the adult than they are. She sees herself as strong and smart.  She wants to handle her problems without help.  And until her paradigm is smashed, this works out pretty well.

Tate is part Mick Travis, part Kurt Cobain. A fake eye lash and a bowler hat away from being Alex D'large. He is first seen as one of Ben's patients, speaking of death and confusion and violence.  Much to Ben's dismay, he takes a liking to Violet as soon as he sees her.

You don't want them together because you know it's a mistake. You know they'll hurt each other. It's the nature of who they are.  You know that as much as Tate is the more scary of the two, Violet is going to make him hurt more.

Yet, somehow, they slowly begin to make you love them, in the same way they love each other.  And by the time he's holding her in the bath tub and begging her not to die, you know it's true for him. It's changed him. He really does love her.

Of course, before he fell in love with Violet, Tate did some things that will be very, very hard for her to forgive.  Right now, she's banished him from her sight.

Of course, they have eternity to work out their issues.

1.  Constance. If Tennessee Williams and Carson McCullers ever got drunk and decided to rewrite Sunset Boulevard,* Constance Langdon would be their Norma Desmond. Constance is a Southern belle who came to Hollywood to make her way as an actress. She knew she was destined for greatness.  We know this too because she talks about it a lot.

Instead, she's been given a life of tragedy and suffering. We know this as well, because she talks about that all the time too. Burdened by children who were far from perfect, a cheating husband, lovers who are never enough for her, money trouble, drinking problems, and the curse of being way too good looking, she languishes through her life, doing what she can to survive and cope. . . all of this is done with vast drama.

You don't have sympathy for Constance. She's a vainglorious bully who can't stay in her own house. She torments Addie. She had one of her sons killed.  She ruins the men who fall in love with her.  She's spiteful as hell to Moria, a woman she killed without justification and she browbeats the Harmons into doing what she wants.

However, even if you don't have sympathy for her, even if she's nasty and mean and unlikable, you still LIKE Constance . . .and for all of those reasons.  The woman is what she is and she is completely unapologetic about it.

It helps that Jessica Lange plays her brilliantly. She embraces this character, completely transforms into her. Even her body language is almost eerily perfect for a drunken Southern woman. Lange is sublime in this role and deserves every award she can get for it.  Hell, they should make up new ones for her.

Beyond that, Constance, as her name implies, is the human who survives despite the house's best efforts to kill everyone else. In fact, as she was evicted from the house once and then lost to it again, it's almost as if the house wants to keep her alive. She also has a lot of wisdom about how the house works. She understands how it can keep souls around, going so far as to make sure certain people don't die on the property so she doesn't have to see them again.

Selfish, vain, petty, vindictive, prone to long speeches and longer schemes, Constance is no one you would ever want to know, but someone who is damned fun to watch from a distance.

Well, there you have it.  The ten things I love best about the show.  I have to say, this post was a lot of fun to do.  It also kept me from morose posts about my birthday.  I'm sure we're all happy about that.

*In my imagination, dead writers always get together, get drunk, and write stuff.  Musicians do the same thing. Poets just snip at each other. Artists bitch about other artists while eating cheese and drinking expensive wine they stole from someone's house. And yes, in my imagination, this happens all the time.

BEST OF AMERICAN HORROR STORY, PART ONE

So American Horror Story's first season is coming to an end and I thought I would pay tribute to the show I disliked at first but totally grew to love. There are some things that I didn't put on the list that I DO believe are excellent. For instance, I love the theme music. It sets the tone so well. I also love how the history of the house is weaves into each episode. [Warning: full of spoilers and sarcasm.]

MY FAVORITE THINGS ABOUT AMERICAN HORROR STORY

10. Dr. Harmon's failed practice. Ben Harmon actually admits that his work as a therapist is all bullshit on the final episode. However, even before this, you're pretty sure that's how he feels. He uses therapy techniques instead of talking to his family and blunders into just about every mistake he can.

But the fun part is watching the constant failures with his patients. One woman kills herself. One may tries to confront his fear of urban legend only to become one.  One girl tricks him into seeing her so she can sneak through his house and unlock the doors so she and her friends can come back and recreate one of the home's previous murders.

The truly ironic thing about Ben's therapy is that the only person it seems to benefit is Tate.  Tate wants to continue working with Ben.  Not sure how well that will work out. We'll see.

9. Hayden.  One of the fun things about AHS is how it gives allusions to great horror themes.  Many of the characters function as icons of the horror genre.  Hayden is every Alex Forrest nightmare you could have. Bunnyboiler of the undead variety. She plagues Ben mercilessly  before she's killed and to the nth degree of that afterwards.

The great thing about Hayden though, is that she is a little more complex than just the scorned woman.  Unlike some people in the house, she's completely aware she's a ghost.  She helps some of them to accept this, even giving comfort to The Black Dahlia and Nora. She was even trying to warn Vivian that Ben was responsible for killing her (Hayden).

Hayden can play the villain, but is best when she's being a foil for Ben, Constance, or Tate.  She also has some of the best lines in the show.

8. The Very Unhappy Bliss of Chad and Patrick There is this almost PC need a lot of shows have to depict gay couples as happy and blissful, great, supportive, and wonderful.  That's not realistic though. Not for any couple.  And with Chad and Pat, we get two men who were once . . .possibly . . . in love, but who fell into hard times and eventually grew distance.  Left to their own devices, they would have separated and never spoken to each other again.

However, Nora and Tate decided they needed to die so a new family could move in.  And when Pat was on the verge of just walking away, Tate killed both of them, dooming them to an eternity in the house, with each other.

To their credit, Chad and Pat try to make the best of it.  They form what alliances they can.  They make agreements as to how to get along. This never lasts.  Almost any conversation can dip into bitter feelings and acid comments. They're now completely miserable with each other and it's damned fun to watch!

7. Marcy, the world's most frustrated real estate agent  and her war with the tour bus.  Marcy is horrible.  She's full of bias.  She's narrow minded, judgmental, and hates it when she has to show the house to "those kind of people," whomever she has decided that happens to be at the moment.

It's a nice bit of karma that this little snit of a person is stuck selling and reselling and reselling this house.  She gets someone in, only to have them drag her back into the house within weeks and demand she put it back on the market. I think for some people, this really would be Hell.

Of course, Marcy's efforts are constantly in peril due to the tour bus that drives by every day.  I mean, how would you feel if you were trying to sell a house and some guy was driving by telling the whole history of "Murder House" on his loudspeaker.

I have  feeling she'll end up killing that man.

6. The Montgomeries.  Dr. Montgomery came to LA to be a physician to the stars.  He built the house as an honor to his wife. The Tiffany glass, after all, has a color of blue that matches her eyes. Theirs should have been a fairy tale. It's what his wife Nora wanted, and certainly what she demanded. It did not, however, work out quite that way.

Dr. Montgomery is every "creepy evil doctor" rolled into one and given a nice big drug problem. Nora is a spoiled shrew.  And their son Thaddeus.....well......after he died and his father "fixed him," he was a far more scary monster than just about anything else that can be found in the house. It's still unclear WHAT he was, exactly, after his father sewed him back together, but it was enough to cause his mother to murder/suicide herself and the good doctor.

These days, Thaddeus keeps to the shadows, only coming out when someone needs the bejesus scared out of them or their throats ripped out.  Dr. Montgomery is oh so very helpful!  He chops up bodies so they can more easily be removed from the house.  He sees to all medical procedures (most of which end in someone's death), and gives the occasional piece of advice.

As for Nora, she still views herself as Mistress of the House. In fact, it was her want for a new baby that lead to the deaths of Patrick and Chad, as well as the rape of Vivien and her eventual death. Nora would have what Nora wanted, as always.

I think one of the best moments all season was how Nora's desire for a baby, the whole catalyst behind much of the drama happening, was brought to a climax with a bit of ironic self-realization. "I'm not really good with babies. Mother wasn't either. We always had nannies."  In the end, she just hands the ghost infant back to Vivien and walks away.  Nora, as always, is dissatisfied with everything.

And thus ends my part one of this post. I was going to do all ten, but it was getting way too long. Part two to be added tomorrow.

Why I Just Can't be Organizedly Religious

It seems the Pope has decided to chide parents for naming their kids things that have nothing to do with traditional Christian names. He doesn't want any more Apples or Dakotas or Ladygagas. Instead, he wants people to choose from the list of names Jesus said were acceptable.

Oh wait . . . see, the thing is, that never happened.  Jesus never said he cared what you named your kid.

And, yes, I don't think the Pope went so far as to state that you needed to pick a name Jesus approved of, it was more or less implied, like all the other hoohah the Pope says.

Look, I have no problem with people living by basic rules. (Don't kill people. Don't be an asshole to people. Don't be greedy. Don't hurt others.  Don't embarrass me by doing crap in my name.) Having some general tenants and codes for people to follow is fine.  It probably helps to make the world a better place.

What gets me about religion is when the knitpicky shit kicks in. Shave this! No, don't shave anything.  Don't cut your hair. No, cut your hair all the time.  Observe this holiday. Don't observe any holidays. Don't drink. Don't use birth control. Don't  talk to people who don't follow our ways. Don't eat this, don't eat that. Eat this now, but not later. Wipe your ass this way.

Yes. . . some religions even get THAT invasive.

And that's the problem for me. I dislike most organized religions because they get really invasive.  They don't just stop at giving you some guidelines, a message of hope, and fellowship.  They want to tell you want to think, how to live, who to be.

Maybe for some people, this is the best thing about religion. After all, when someone limits your choices, life certainly is easier. If you can't cut your hair, it certainly makes choosing a hairstyle easier. If you can only eat certain foods, you don't have to stress so much about the menu.  If you can only choose a very narrow number of things to name your kid, finding a name for them is far less complicated.

See, that's just not be though.  I can't buy the concept of free will and then follow something that limits my free will. I don't want my only real choice in life to be "Oh, I choose this religion that is now going to make all the decisions for me."

Life should be about our experiences. It should be about our experiments and chances. It's about our mistakes and our moments of hurt. It's about our consequences and our learning.It can be painful and you can fail and fail horribly. You will reach moments when you feel you've made tons of missteps . . . but at least YOU made them.

The alternative, while perhaps safer and less complicated, is just being cookiecutter. It's just following the path others have set for you. Oh, I choose to do this because religion tells me to. Oh, I choose to not do this because religion tells me to. Now I get married. Now I have a baby. Now I name it what they tell me. Now I raise it just like they tell me to. Rinse, lather, repeat.

If this is really the way things are supposed to be, why make us all different? Why give us all our own voices and hair shades, and curves, and quirks? Why give us all our own specific DNA?  If some deity out there just wants a bunch of people doing the same thing over and over again, why make them all different? In fact, why bother making them in the first place?  Paper dolls would have been far more pleasing.

So no matter what I believe inside my own little brain, I don't think I'll ever be setting foot in a church or a coven or an atheist sit in or any other kind of religious function (and yeah, lately, even the atheists seem like their own religious group).  Being me is how I express my beliefs.

By the same token, if what you want to do involves the buildings and the rules and the rituals, that's fine too. If that's what you need, it's what you need. Just please don't try and make me be part of it.

Because the saying is true . . . religious beliefs (of whatever variety) are like genitals. They're really cool to have and serve a great function. You may find your own to be life altering and perfect . . . but it's still a bad idea to wave them around in public and you shouldn't just shove them in people's faces.

The Other White Meat

I guess I blogged last night before I saw this, otherwise, this totally would have been  what I wrote about.  The long and the short of it is that two guys on a Dutch TV show had bits of their body flesh removed and  then cooked on air for each other to eat.  That's right, folks. Live cannibalism for your entertainment!

It's really hard to explain how much this squicks me. Actually, I probably don't even have to explain how much it squicks me. This is gross. Cannibalism is only acceptable in times of extreme snowstorms and/or your flight going down in the Andes.

Actually, even then, while it is excusable,  it isn't really acceptable. When I was in college, I read the book about the Andes situation. I read horror novels for fun. I watch most scary movies and don't bat an eyelash.  That book, being nonfiction, screwed me up for weeks. I had nightmares and would wake up with this overwhelming feeling that I had done something disturbingly wrong. Taboos run deep.

And when people try to argue that there are absolutely no sinister or harmful undertones in pornography,  I will always point out to them that when the facts of the Andes situation came to light, porn mags posted pictures of the half-consumed limbs left by the survivors. Yes, there is the part of porn is that is "we just like to watch people have sex," but there is the other side of it that is "wow, let's look at all the distorted and fucked up things people can do to each other."

Those two Dutch guys handled the whole shockshow of eating each other's flesh pretty well. They even seemed a little jaded by it.

It makes me wonder though, what was it like later? What was it like when they got home, looked in the mirror, and understood they were now a person who had consumed human flesh?

Maybe it meant nothing. Or at least, maybe it means nothing now.  But tomorrow? Two years from now?

How would you feel? Because, here's the thing . . . there is no going back from cannibalism. Once you take someone else's flesh into your mouth, chew on it, swallow it, digest it . . . you are different. You have stopped being whatever you were and entered the ranks of cannibals.

What would life feel like for you then?

Monday Musings

I don't believe in biological clocks that tell you to go have babies.  I'm sure people will scream SCIENCE at me. I scream bullshit and social conditioning at them. The biological clock thing is just some way we try to make women in their 30s feel guilty for doing other things with their lives.

On an unrelated note, I'm deeply into Captain America/Ironman slash right now. What a HOT couple!  Lots of great fan art out there if you know how to look.*

Speaking of patriots and rich people, I don't get why Republicans and other conservatives like Christianity AND Ayn Rand. These two concepts have absolutely nothing to do with each other!  Ayn Rand was one of the most confirmed atheists out there!  Are you just picking and choosing what parts you like from both? Again, these two concepts really don't allow for that.

On a somewhat related note, I'm growing increasingly more disenchanted with American politics. This is quite a feat, as I was pretty disenchanted with it anyway. I loathe all of the Republican candidates and loathe Obama. So no good options at all.

It seems like both sides of the political spectrum want to limit people's freedoms and spend money in ways that helps their agendas, but not really in ways that helps America as a whole. That really isn't the kind of place I want to live. Can we please find a way to elect people who act in our best interests and trust us enough to make decisions about our lives without trying to dictate that for us?

I'm also pretty disenchanted with Facebook. Facebook is doing some new big change and said change is bogging the site down so much that it's hard to get it to do anything.  If you've sent me messages on there and I haven't responded, sorry. I can't get the damned thing to work for me.

On the other hand, Glitch is wonderful and I downloaded a free app for my Kindle that lets me play piano!

Heh. I think that's enough musing for now.

*Looking involves turning off your adult content filter for Google.

Jesus Loved Sophie Best

Let me tell you, Coach is so full of shit that the last two times he was on Survivor, his obnoxiousness was so extreme that I actually stopped watching the show. I thought I would give him a chance this time. I almost wish I hadn't.

Coach has spent the whole game using motivational techniques perfected by Charles Manson and Jim Jones to carve together his little cult of believers.  As much as I hate the man, I have to admit he's done a good job.  He talked Ultrageek Cochran into switching sides so that he could go out in seventh place instead of sixth place. Not sure how that seemed like a good idea.  He also talked half of his tribe into ignoring their own best interests to follow his agenda.  He's a total rat bastard and if he'd just admit to that, I'd be cool with him.

Instead, he spouts all this bullshit about honor and being a warrior and being a Christian. I have no problem with honor, warriors, or Christians, but other than warriors, I'm not sure any of it has any business on Survivor. It really gets icky when you toss in people like Brandon.

I dislike Brandon, but I have to admit that there is a possibility that he has some mental issues. I'm thinking Survivor might want to up the requirements on their psych evals. Brandon should have never been allowed on this show.

I've talked about Brandon and his various issues before.  He thought the sexy woman was being sexy to tempt him so she should be kicked off the island . . . even though she was so not interested in him and never would be. He couldn't hold lies or schemes together.  He had crazytime outbursts at tribal council. During all of this, he was either belligerent or crying.

Over all, this made him the perfect flunky for Coach.  Coach lied to him all the time and use religion as a way to manipulate and control him. Coach went so far as to pray that they find an immunity necklace, all the while having it on his person.  When he displayed it, Brandon seemed convinced this was some kind of miracle.

Of course, Coach saw no problem with this. Controlling Brandon was needed for his gameplan. Controlling Brandon with religion and speeches about loyalty and honor seemed to be the way Coach functioned in the game. Here's a clue. If you lie to people using the word "honor" and if you manipulate and control others for your own personal gain by claiming to do it in "honor," you are NOT an honorable person. You're a scumbag.  Just fucking admit it and move on with your life.

However, admitting to his scumbaggery is just too deep a level of honesty for Coach. Instead, he allowed his warped views and Brandon's misguidedness to lead to one of the most horrible examples of "Christians" on TV I've ever seen.

Brandon was due to leave the island, though he didn't know this. Coach was tired of him though and felt he had the best chance of any of them to beat Ozzie at the Redemption Island game. When Brandon won immunity (all the while pointing up the the sky and thanking Jesus for favoring him over the other four), Coach worried that somehow Jesus wasn't on his side anymore.  He wan't sure how to deal with this.

The drama erupted back at camp.  This always happens when you have an alliance who has made it to the end but is having to do away with its own members.  The people at the bottom of the list suddenly get sulky and sullen because they tagged along with people like Coach instead of finding their own plots and ways to win the game.  Anyway, that one dude who's name I can't remember, the Scheming Chesty, pissed Brandon off and everyone decided to get rid of him.

But then Brandon had a moment of clarity.  He realized that the Bible (or so he assumes) says some stuff about how when you're playing a reality show game and someone lies to you, you should do stupid things and assume Jesus will protect you.  In this case, he figured that meant giving Chesty his immunity necklace so they could vote off the last woman on the tribe (Jesus doesn't want women to win things anyway, after all).

He goes to Coach and tells him about his new revelation and that Coach, as he knows "God speaks to Brandon" should go along with it. Coach says he isn't sure but promises he will pray about it.

Coach does pray. He makes like this big deal about praying, going through some big motions all afternoon. Then he says, with hurtfilled eyes, that Jesus kept telling him one name over and over again. He knew what he had to do.

On that tribal council, Brandon gave his idol to the other dude and proclaimed that Jesus would protect him . . . and he got voted off. Then, I'm sure, he thought Jesus would have him win the Redemption challenge. Redemption, is, after all, a word invented by Jesus. It was a SIGN!

He lost.

In the end, Coach, Sophie, and Chesty....um....Albert, I think.....were the final three.  Coach spouted his usual pompous bullshit. Albert (I think) oiled like a used car salesmen. Sophie was emotional, but gave what was probably a fairly honest assessment of her game.  Coach seemed smug and sure that his manipulations would hold true.

He lost.

Despite all the praying, despite all the pointing up to the sky, despite all the weeping, big doe-eyed looks into the camera, appeals to the higher powers, and toothachingly saccharine speeches about honor and warriors, and faith . . . the person who disgusted everyone off the LEAST was the person who won.

To me, that's always the key to Survivor.  Outwit, outlast, outplay . . .yeah, all of that is great.  But in the end, you need to be the person who everyone finds the least horrible. You need to be the person who isn't getting eye rolls and snorts of annoyance. You need to be the person who did enough stuff to be able to claim a level of game play, but not so much stuff that everyone wants to rip out your eyes.

This season, that person was Sophie.  It's actually harder to do this as a woman, as people tend to judge women on shows like this harshly. However, she had the luck of being up against to of the most smarmy and slimy players out there.  She sounded sincerely humbled when she spoke to people at the end.  Best of all, she dropped the bomb on one of Coach's scams. She had ammo and she used it.  This is how she won.

Or, you know, maybe Jesus just liked her best.

My Mother's Time as Trickster

When I was in sixth grade, my mom left husband #3 and we moved to Poteau to live with my grandparents.  This move was fundamental in how the rest of my life would go, my hopes, my dreams, and really the woman I would become. I'm not sure how it changed my mom, but it did put her in an odd place for a while.

My mother knew she was in a bad situation and needed to leave that asshole husband of hers, but she hated living with my grandparents.  Faced with the prospect of feeling like she was always disappointing my grandfather and the outright snide comments from my grandmother, Mom threw herself into overdrive to find a way to get out from under their roof as soon as possible.

She got her usual job in the food industry, but knew she could take shifts doing something else as well. One of her friends had this strange kind of private investigation/gift business going on.  She hired my mom to be a character actress.

In essence, Mom's job was simple. She dressed up in costume, met the gift recipient, pranked them, and then gave them their balloon bouquet. But what Mom turned this into was something of an art form.

She knew quite a lot about makeup and costuming.  She and her boss gathered up their materials from various places to create her looks.  The physical part was only a minor aspect of what she could do.  Within her characters, my mother fashioned personality quirks, speech patterns, physical movements.....even looking right at her and knowing it was her, I had a difficult time believing it.

The best one was The Bag Lady.  Mom had this series of mismatched clothes, a large bra she'd constructed really droopy breasts into, a fake butt, the worst hat in the world, and this way of scrinching up her face to where she looked like she had twitch issues.  She had a shopping cart and all kinds of stuff in it.

The basic gig is that she would walk up to someone or step into their place of business and begin talking to them. She'd talk about how she was their aunt or their mom's friend of something like that.  She'd bring more and more crazy into it and then, when they were totally of fgaurd, she'd give them their balloons.

She also had a clown costume. This one was less about the pranking and more straight forward. After all, you don't want to have people getting too emotional around clowns. Scary fuckers.

From what I have been told by various sources, the true magnum opus of my mother's work came in the form of no props or costumes, just her ability to make up believable bullshit.  Various friends of a man who was having a birthday had her show up at a bar one night to give him his balloons.  She walked in as her usual self, with only some basic facts of the man's history to go on, and convinced him she was his long lost daughter. By the time he was given his balloons, according to his own statements, he completely believed she was telling the truth.

As far as gifts go, what my mom did was pretty amazing. The balloons were the end result, but they were not the real gift being given. The gift was the experience. Having this strange moment in your life when some bizarre crap happened and thankfully, it was all just part of an act.  You were in it though. It's one of those experiences you would never forget.

So when the holidays rolled around, Mom was doing a lot of gigs as Santa Claus. She had a fairly deep voice, so she pulled it off quite well.  She'd walk into the lives of old ladies or guys doing construction, say her Santa Claus stuff, and give them their balloons.

I was at a new school and having to find ways to make new friends. I was sharing a room with my mom and brother, sleeping on mattresses piled high in the corner of a room. Most of my stuff was still in boxes and phone calls to my old friends in the old town were becoming less and less frequent.  However, at least two or three times a week, I got to come home to the sight of my mother dressed as Santa Claus,  beard on, red coat, and full of life in the way that people get when they have a really great creative outlet.

It really sucks that Mom's friend and her balloon business didn't take off. It was a good idea, sadly, our town just didn't have the population or funds to support it.  I hate that it ended because my mother was GOOD at this job.  I wish she could have found another one like it.  She was amazing and when I think about times when I thought she was cool as hell, this is one of them.

My mother was Santa Claus. My mother was a bag lady.  My mother was a Trickster in the truest sense. A prankster, a giver of gifts, a person who brought a moment to you when you realized life was more than just the mundane.   As a mother, she had a lot of problems. As a person, quite often things fell apart for her, quite often because of her own decisions.

But one time, my mom convinced a man she was his daughter.  And that's fucking awesome.

Touching the Machines

My best friend of some almost 20 years made me a wonderful birthday dinner and surprised me with a Kindle Fire as my birthday/Christmas gift. I was overjoyed by this and so grateful to her for it.  It was one of the sweetest things ever.

I like the Kindle. It picked up the wifi like a pro and fits well in my hand.  People complain that it's a bit heavy, but honestly no more than a book would be.  I can change the text size, which makes things quite nice for my aging eyeballs. The keyboard is a bit difficult for my fingers to manage, but I'm sure I'll get used to it.

Though, the keyboard did bring one thing into focus for me. The Kindle is a touch device, which means my fingerprints are constantly on it. I'm getting some sleeves for it, but until then, fingerprints and smudges.

This got me thinking about how much time I spend touching machines. . . . which, to be honest, is a lot of time. My fingers are on the keyboard right now. I have earbuds in my ears, I touch microwaves and computers, the Kindle, my oxygen tank.  Hell, at night, I'm hooked to a CPAP. I'm one voice box and a paradigm shift away from being Darth Vader.

Though, do I really see this as a problem? No, not really.  Some people might view machines as unnatural, but from my perspective, if it's made by humans (who are part of nature), then whatever it is, it's now part of nature as well.

Besides, it's not like I view the machines as cold unfeeling things. I have affection for them. I share a bond with them. To me, my machines have personalities. I even name them.  My current computer is Beatrice. I had one named Fernando, one named Jamber. I plan to name the next one Tony Stark.

I get really emotional about my machines too. When a computer dies, I'm not just upset because of the expense. I'm sad because I lose that machine.  It gets placed in some forgotten corner or sent away.  Man, now I feel guilty about that!  I should go visit the old broken computers and remind them I still love them. Look! I even still blog about you!

Anyway, the Kindle is now part of that family. Hmm, I've not named the Kindle yet. Best get on that.

Wondering How I Got Trapped in V

The government began the SOPA hearings today.  This totally sucks and should not pass.  If it does, there will be riots and lawsuits. Or, there would have been. It seems the government also passed some law that allows them to detail, question, and assassinate us or something. What the hell is happening in this country.

Here's the thing about SOPA.  It won't stop pirating. Nothing does.  What it will do is get a lot of people fired because their internet jobs will be shut down.  In an economy where we have lots of people without jobs, making more of them be unemployed seems really jacked up and stupid.

SOPA will also get a lot of politicians fired. I'm pretty sure anyone who votes for this will be voted out of office as soon as possible. Big business may finance your campaigns, but we still vote. You pass SOPA, kiss your Congress job goodbye.

Most importantly, SOPA will so very seriously and unrepentantly backfire on the companies that wanted it passed. Taking away our internet freedom won't get us back into movies.  It won't make us buy shitty albums or watch horribly boring TV shows.  Even the ones we were willing to see before, we'll stop.

I know that if SOPA passes, I will never set foot in a movie theater again.  I will find independent bands who work without a label and listen to them.  Even if you start putting out good movies again, even if you put out the best music in the world, I do not car.  You took away my internet freedom. I will never support you again.

SOPA is evil. Tell your congress people not to pass it. It's evil. Make it stop.

Pandora's Gift Box

My roommate and I try to keep things at least marginally organized.  Both of us have moved tons of times in our lives and dislike household chaos.  There are some things we'll overlook (dust bunnies and cat fur), but when it comes to stuff we might need at some point in an emergency, we like to know where we can find it.

Sometimes, we go past the marginal point and actually organize the hell out of things. Tools all live in one area in boxes according to function. Books are divided in genre and type. Everything in the kitchen has its happy little place.  The office supplies all have boxes and designations.

One of these boxes holds gift wrapping supplies.  The actual wrapping paper lives in the back room, but the gift bags, small boxes, and tissue paper all dwell in this box.  It's one of those plain white cardboard boxes that most people keep files in. I guess if I was ambitious and wanted to make sure we really know that it's for gifts, I would put wrapping paper on the outside of it. . . . yeah, that's not going to happen.

Today we pulled it out because we were organizing the holiday presents.  Once he opened it, we watched as all the bags spilled out and cats began to bat at boxes.   He began to empty it and we both realized that while it's a great idea to organize things, it's also a good idea to occasionally go through your supplies and see what the hell you have.

You can find some strange things.

Like orange tissue paper.  Why would we have that? I can't think of any gift I would give to someone that required orange. Valentine's Day cards with Frankenstein on them. I honestly have no idea why those were in there or why we even own them.   We also need to stop buying tissue paper because we have possibly a million sheets of it.

I'm not complaining though. It was actually a lot of fun to go through the box.  It was like discovering . . . okay, not treasure so much but certainly oddities. We both really enjoyed it.

And we learned some things, like how we don't need to buy more tissue paper.  We also discovered that we need to get some gift bag that will work with orange.  Fall gift, anyone? Maybe next year?

Disoraganized Halfassery

A while back, I started a process to get something accomplished for myself.  It's taken me a long while to work up the courage to even do this, as it's somewhat embarrassing. However, the benefits far outweighed the possible loss of dignity, so I went ahead with it.  I'm kind of glad at the time that I didn't realize embarrassment would be the only problem.

Due to the jackassed way that companies have to deal with vendors, I find myself unable to get the product I need in the way that I need it.  It's a piece of medical equipment and requires like all these specific details and doctor's signature and blahdeblah.  None of this is fun.

The kind of key issue though, is that it requires me finding a company that actually has a way to obtain the damned thing for me in the first place. As I said, this is proving to be far more difficult that I thought it would be.  And when I thought about how my doctor tends to like things with the path of least resistance, I decided to do the work for her and locate a company nearby who could help.

Not sure if you're aware of this or not, but there are like 54, 000 medical supply companies in any given area.  I knew there was no way I would find what I needed on the first call, so I decided to organize the whole thing so I could keep up with them. I had the name of the company, phone number, if they had the product, if they would work with my insurance. Kind of like this.

Oh, wait . . .. so did you notice how everything is crossed through and x-ed out and how my tears of disappointment have stained the paper?*  This is because I called and I called and I called. AND KEPT BEING SHOT DOWN AGAIN AND AGAIN.

Okay, I have a couple of leads. One company sounded like they may be able to do it for me, though the woman never got back to me on the insurance issue.  Another company said they weren't sure, but would call me tomorrow.

Still, there are tons of these places in my area and I know I can't be the only person out there asking for this.  In fact, I bet they have a lot of people asking for these things.  It's bullshit that they don't provide them or at least have a place to order them. It's also bad business because if I can get a company to work with me on this, you best damned be sure I'll do business with them in the future.

But no! Instead almost all of these companies offer the same thing over and over. I'm not sure how "Oh hai, I gotz company an it is same as 20 udder companiez in dis place we all gotz zact same stuff" became a valid business model.  You see this on TV all the time. "Oh look, people watches that show! Let's flood the schedule with shows just like it. No one will get bored!"

This is kind of like my frustration with a certain plus size catalog.  Said catalog offers clothes up to 7X, but only certain clothes.  Like, maybe one out of every 20 items. Most things go up to 4X with maybe about half of them going to 5X.  Yet, they waste time offering things in medium and larges too. Because, you know, it's not like you can't buy those everywhere else.

Anyway, whenever they have clearance sales, you always see that all the smaller sizes are still in stock and none of the largest sizes are. In fact, those are always sold out.  But instead of realizing they could stop wasting space on inventory in sizes anyone can get from almost any store in a far timely manner and concentrate on the sizes that people have trouble finding but actually sell .  . . well, you get the idea.

So, that was my day.  A customer in need of a product that I know exists but can't get my hands on. At least I had a list!





*Not actual tears. This is a filter for Gimp to simulate coffee stains, but you know how I exaggerate.

Whiter Shade of Pale

Look! I even SIF myself in my drawings!  You'll notice you can actually see neck fat and chins, but there is hair placed to cover them. Also, while I got my eyes crooked, I don't think they're as crooked as they tend to appear IRL.

Anyway.

So I needed foundation, the makeup kind, not the fundamental kind . . . well, I probably need that too, but just in practical terms, I needed the makeup kind more. Plus, it's easier to buy Cover Girl at Walmart than it is to buy nurturing and stability. At least for right now.

Anyway, when we get home, my roommate explains to me that he had to get the next shade up from what I usually get because what I usually get is discontinued or something. In this case, it works like this. The shade Left in a Pitch Black Room for Ten Years is no longer available. Possibly Might Be Alive Poke It With Stick To Find Out is as close to pale as I can get.

I thank him for getting the makeup for me and all the while in my head I'm plotting curses on whatever normalizing motherfucker discontinued the whiter shade of pale that I like to slather onto my face.  I kind of want to kill them and suddenly feel overwhelmed by how the whole world is trying to make me look like everyone else. I lament how makeup, something once used for self expression and the personal basking of unique flare (you know, back in the '80s) had been twisted and over worked to become something to make everyone look the same generic color.

I open it up, run a bit on my finger, and test it on my hand to see how orange I'll be.

It blended perfectly.

I stared at my hand in horror. What did it MEAN?  Was the label wrong?  Was I suddenly darker?  Did the cosmetic emit some kind of toxin that made me believe it looked good on me?

And some logical part of my brain whispered that while I am pale, the makeup I used before always kind of made me look yellowish because of some undertone in it.  Perhaps they just experimented and decided this coloring of the newer one worked better for most people, even the pale people.

Then I shut that stupid rational part of my brain off and went back to curses and conspiracy theories.

The Nude in the Bedroom

I think I've mentioned before that my mother was an artist. From a young age, I had this perception of her as that. Even when she stopped painting, stopped singing, stopped allowing herself to be expressed in those ways, I still viewed her as an artist.  She was no longer an artist in motion.  She paused.

For this reason, I think if people ever ask me what was important about 2011 from a personal perspective, I will tell them that 2011 was the year I began to blog and the year I started drawing again. Blogging helped me get to the point where I would do art again and it was a very important step for me.

I like my process right now because it's hurried and furious, emotional and based more on memory than anything that is actually concrete.  I work fast and quick, refusing to allow myself to obsess over mistakes. It's not so important that it look right, just that it feel right.

One of my first memories of a painting is of a nude my mom did. The painting was in the bedroom she shared with my dad, resting against the wall by their closet. Or, you know, maybe it was actually on the wall. I can't remember that part.

It's actually funny what you do remember about your very young childhood.  I remember the sound of my footfalls against the wood floors. I remember the feel of those floors against my naked feet and the gruff texture of the rug.  I remember sitting on the floor and looking at the nude and thinking, "Mama painted this. Mama is an artist."

The painting was of a woman with her back turned to the artist. She's looking off an no part of her face is seen at all, just hair, shoulders, back, and ass. When I was little, and it being my first nude, I remember being a trifle scandalized that I could see the woman's butt. They get that social conditioning in early.

I was also weirdly proud that my mother dared to paint a nude, that she displayed it in her bedroom and that it wasn't trying to be anything other than just a nude. My mother tended to do landscapes, so her display of the human form was much the same. Straightforward. This is how it is, naked body with no value judgement at all.

I would look at the painting a lot and I think the woman in it was kind of my idol.  As a little kid, I loved being naked. I would strip down to my bare ass as often as possible and someone was always telling me to put my clothes on or chasing me around with a dress held out. But this woman in Mama's painting . . . she was an adult and if she wanted to be naked, no one could tell her no.

This was way before I understood about sexuality or exploitation or anything like that. At three or so, I was more concerned with the fact that clothes were itchy and 70s colored and I disliked them.

As I've mentioned before, all of my mother's houses always burned. And when that house burned, the nude painting burned as well. It's been years and years now, but the fact that we lost that house still hurts me. It hurts that I lost that painting. I wish I had it now, especially as Mom is gone now.

They say that much of our personality is shaped in those first several years. It's an interesting concept in my case, as I spent a lot of the time during those years staring at books with Bosch paintings and looking at the nude in the bedroom. What does the images of twisty punishments and pale nudes with flat butts instill in a child?

Oh yeah. You get me. Hah!

Winter Cuddle

It was basically a day of blah.  Neither of us felt all that well, with headaches and fever and upset stomachs.  We shuffled around like zombies and spent time trying to summon strength to do things. In the end, I think both of us were happy for the day to wind down.
I think even the cats feel bad, as they spent most of the day sleeping in little piles near each other. I realize, as cats, sleeping is like their primary function, but today it was more so than usual. The most active I saw any of them being is when they found ways to wedge themselves under blankets.  In a couple of cases, this was quite fun to watch.

Honestly, one of my favorite things to do is watch cats sleep. They get in the most interesting and adorable positions. They swish back and forth and truly become one with whatever they're on. They blend, becoming just part of the mound of color and shape.  I love it.

Basic Rules to Avoid Social Jackassery

You know, sometimes, I really think we're missing some critical aspects of our educational system.  Okay, we're missing a lot of the, but I'm talking about in terms of social skills.  As that is not the case, I would like to discuss some possible references for future clueless people.  This was my inspiration.

THE ZEROTH LAW: Never put anything online or in a text that you don't want the whole world to see.

The reason I put this even before number one is because it should be something we always keep fresh in our minds. At any point, everything we write or publish can come back to haunt us.  People can post our emails or texts or naked pictures.  If you're okay with this, no worries.  Everyone has a different level of what they're comfortable with the rest of the world knowing.

Never expect privacy.  There are billions of ways your stuff can get out for everyone to see.  Either own that or keep it offline.  Now, should people be kind enough NOT to post all your weird emails and naked pictures? Yeah, probably. But don't expect it.

What you put out there is your responsibility.  If you don't want people reading it or seeing it, don't give them access.

RULE ONE: Emails should be short.

I'm not sure when this idea escaped people, but it never should have.  Emails should never take more than a few seconds to read. If more clarification is needed, another email can be sent.

Every sentence should convey direct meaning.   Emails, even personal ones, can follow the basic rules of business writing.  Give succinct details, nothing more.

I kind of think it works out to this.  With rare exception, the first five sentences of any email can be assumed as sane.  Past that, your perceived sanity decreased  2 points per sentence.  As you can see, people get into the Bat Shit Crazy fairly quickly.

RULE TWO: Any hard and fast lesson on human behavior has to be filtered through common sense.

Pop psychology and quickie relationship guides are all the rage.  On any given day, you can find tons of articles about men/women/relationships/behaviors.  Some of these have great information. Others have to be taken with a grain of salt.

For instance, never take any guide over the meanings of physical communication behaviors to be set in stone.  In our article, the guy, on several occasions, talks about how the woman was leading him on because she "played with her hair a lot and made a lot of eye contact."  Okay, sometimes this has flirty meaning.  But not always.

I play with my hair a lot.  It's a habit. I curl it around and around my finger. And, sometimes, actually, most of the time, I do this when I'm alone. Clearly, I'm not flirting with anyone.  More disturbing, my niece has the same habit. I really hope no one thinks she's flirting with them because of that. She's three.

As for the eye contact thing, there are many reasons why people do that. Some people make lots of eye contact because they've been taught (or just have the general inclination) to look in people's eyes as a way to establish trust.  Other times, which seems closer in this case, people may be making eye contact with you because they're trying to find out at what point you plan on going postal.

RULE THREE:  Even if someone really hurts your feelings, never demand they apologize to you.

This isn't to say you don't have a right to state you were hurt. You can. This isn't to say you can't speak as to why their behavior led to you being hurt. You can.  State how you feel. Get it out there.

Their apologizing should be of their own accord.  And unless they have some vested interest in you or a situation concerning you, that apology may never come.  If they truly believe that their behavior was wrong or if they are truly sincerely remorseful that you were hurt, they will apologize.  If they're not, then it's just words, so why bother?

RULE FOUR: You can not logic someone into emotions.

I have to admit, this was a hard lesson for me to learn. There have been a couple of people in my life that I (mistakenly) believed to be the perfect match for me. I could give them hundreds of logical, rational reasons why.

You can't talk people into wanting you though. People either have an attraction or they don't. People either enjoy your company or they don't. There is no amount of arguing you can do to change that.

An example. Think about the most boring person you know. Now, imagine that boring person wanted to talk to you for three hours.  At first you'd try to be polite and attentive to the conversation.  A few minutes later, you'd start to experience a kind of mental pain.  This leads your mind to going into protective mode and tuning them out.  Even if you try as hard as you can to stay attentive, the total disinterest you have in what they're babbling about is making you want to do just the opposite.

Nothing will change this. No amount of logic on their part or will on your part is going to make them any less boring to you.  It's just not going to happen. Even if you wanted it go, it won't.

I guess this is always the part that frustrates me about people who grow angry when the person they love SO MUCH just doesn't love them back. Look, I've been there. Most of us have been there.  But past high school, if someone isn't showing actual interest in you after a couple of months, accept this and let it go. Life's too short to be an obsessive stalker.

RULE FIVE: If you have trouble in social situations, invest in some training.

Okay, for the love of god, don't let that training have anything to do with becoming a pick up artist. PUAs are skeevy rapey fuckers whose tricks only work on the deeply drunk, insecure, and/or dumb. There is a world of difference between having social grace and being full of shit.

However, some training with a therapist or a communications specialist might help.  There are people out there who can guide and educate you on how to interact with others. And there is no shame is taking such training. None at all. Social skills are just that . . . skills. Some people have more talent with them, but anyone can pick up the basics.

As a final note, I would like to say that many of the comments about the example article were totally against the woman who published this email. They pointed out that she should have told him she wasn't interested in him instead of saying nothing and just hoping he would catch a clue.  They have a point. It is polite to inform the person that you're not interested.

However . . . her failure to inform him of her intentions does not change the ways in which he reacted to the situation. If he would have followed some basic rules (like the ones I pointed out in this here blog), we would never have heard of this situation.  

Winter Blanket Bingo

To be honest, as cheap and as poor as I am, if I could manage, I'd turn the heaters off at night.  The air gets impossibly dry and static-y. The house smells like burnt something. And of course, I worry that it's going to skyrocket my gas bill. All of these things are bad.  Alas, the house is just big enough and poorly insulated enough that we need to keep things on at least the lowest setting.

Even still, my bedroom is always cold. Though, I have to admit, cold is a relative term. This bedroom is far warmer than the last one I had. Before we moved into Gran's old house, I slept in a 10x10 trailer bedroom on a single bed that was pushed up against the wall.  The only way to make the room functional (due to vents, the door, and plug-ins) was for my bed to be by the double window.

Okay, keep in mind, trailer walls are about as thick as a full package of printer paper. Also, it helps to know that my double window was missing a layer of panels. That room was hella cold and even with the heater on at night, I froze.

It isn't as bad here. I have a layer of stone then wall, plus real windows, curtains, and my bed is against an interior wall for the most part.  It isn't what one would call toasty though. Because of this, I have to sleep under many blankets.

My blanket method is far from conventional.  The problem lies in the fact that I have issues with so much continual heaviness on me.  Too many blankets causes my legs to go to sleep or my knees to ache for some reason. You know, more so than they usually do.

What ends up happening is this kind of blanket craziness. I have one thin blanket covering my whole body, the way normal people sleep. Then I have a series of other blankets covering the rest of me.

One really heavy, oversized wool afghan is at the end of the bed. It never gets completely unfolded, so it stays really thick. Part of it goes under my feet and then tacos over to cover the top of my feet. This way, I have a whole level of barrier between my feet at the wall. Then there is a comforter that gets thrown over my legs. Depending on how restrictive things feel, it's usually the first thing to get tossed from me when it gets too hot.

Another larger comforter covers my torso.  It's so horribly ugly.  It's from the 80s and has various abstract shapes in primary colors with swishes of black mixed in here and there. Part of this comforter is kept to the side because if the cat decides to sleep with me, it becomes the part that tents over her so she can stay warm.

Depending on how cold it is, I probably will have my hoodie on as well. My arms tend to flail in my sleep, so most of the time, they end up uncovered. With sleeves on, I can make sure they stay at least marginally warm. If it's ungodly cold, I'll also be wearing arm warmers.

Because we lose so much warmth from our heads, I also usually spend winter nights in a hat. Said hat is kind of this horrible first attempt I made at knitting a hat with ear flaps on Mr. Plastic Loom. It's just so bad, but it serves its purpose. As an added bonus, when I wake up, I always get to play a game called How Stupid does the Hat Look this Morning?

You know though, I'm not going to complain about the cold weather or my weird reactions to it. At least I can take steps to get comfortable. Where I live, summer heat makes it almost impossible to be comfortable when you sleep. I may bundle myself up in strangeness, but at least I sleep in contentment.

Knowing Your Deadlies and Why Capricorn Views About Sex

So recently, a group of clerics in Saudi Arabia sent out a report that if women were allowed the right to drive, it would cause all kinds of sexual deviance and horrible sinful stuff . . . instead of, ya know, just them getting their own groceries.

That was annoying to the point of being baffling. I rolled my eyes.  Today, I read this.

What was this dude? Like 12?  What rational, grown man who has ever actually, I dunno, spoken to or had contact with women would assume that eating a banana would make them thing sexy thoughts.  Usually the people who are this misguided about women are the sulking sad virgins who only know women from watching porn and mistakenly believe the wanton, unhinged level of lust displayed is how women really are.

Here's the truth. When you allow people to be open about their desires, when you give them freedom to live their lives as they see fit, eat what they want, wear what they want, make their own decisions about their relationships . . . it's interesting that you find many of them aren't really all that concerned with sex.

Oh sure, there are tons of people out there partying and hooking up with whomever they like, puking on the floor, and whatnot . . . but it's becoming less and less common.  It's a phase some people go through, but not all of them. And most people get out of it.

There are also a great number of people who just don't care.  They'd rather play video games than have sex. They'd rather read or mess around on Facebook or watch TV. That isn't talked about much, because it's maybe a little boring to many, possibly baffling, and quite certainly disquieting. We don't want people to be content. And we certainly don't want them to be content being alone.

However, a great many people are. A lot of people may go through their whole lives without a lover or children or spouses or random sex. Will they miss these things? Some of them will.  But most of them won't.  They'll say they do, just to not come off as some kind of freak.  But deep down, you don't really miss what tends to just cause everyone else annoyance, sadness, and a loss of money. The rare moments of belonging and fun don't really outweigh the messiness, resentment, and agitation.

Of course, I've always secretly believed that one of the underlining points of modern religion was to TRY and get people to be wanton and lustful.  If we keep telling people they want sex all the time, they'll want it.  If we tell them they should feel guilty about that, they'll feel guilty and then we can control them.  And then they have babies to follow our religion. And we get money.

I'm not saying all religions do this or that one is more guilty than the others.  Hell, or maybe I am! I'm going to eat a banana now and think about how great it would be to dip it in chocolate. Gluttony, folks. It's a different sin than that lust one.

Happy Hopeful Thoughts

We all need stuff to look forward to. It's the reason we don't go nuts and kill ourselves/others. It's a very good idea to take time and make note of these things in your own life. And I shall do that now!

• I'm looking forward to Christmas. Actually, I'm not just looking forward to the day itself, but to this whole holiday season. I like stuff about it. I like getting Christmas cards. I like decorating stuff. I like the music and the TV specials. Sometimes the holiday itself can be kind of anticlimactic, but the build up is always worth it!
• I'm looking forward to Project:Runway Allstars.  I love trainwrecks and sometimes it's fun to see them with people you already know.  Though, seriously, I love PR and want to see what's become of the sewtestants since they were kissed by Heidi and sent off the show.
• Also in the TV mode, I'm looking forward to the next season of Game of Thrones. While we will be deprived of Ned Stark's impractical sense of honor and duty, we will gain Stanis and his total level of humorless and joyless complaining.  We also get crazyass Damphair and the utter fail of Theon as a villain. 
• I'm looking forward to seeing if 2012 is really the end of the world as we know it. I get that a lot of people are terrified by the end of the world. I'm kinda not. Unless it ends boringly with lots of politicians interrupting my shows to babble about stuff. That pisses me off. Oh, and while we're on the subject, I'm NOT looking forward to a year of election-masturbation.  
• All though, an election year means lots of memes about politicians. Those are always fun. I can look forward to those.

Yeah, okay, so maybe that wasn't many. Then again, I did just stick with the fairly near future.  And there are some other things I'm looking forward to, but they're big game changing things so I'm going to keep silent about them. I don't want to jinx it.

Snow and Such

I woke up this morning to snow cheerfully and wetly coming down from an unforgiving sky. Bastard.  Actually, it wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have to go out in it. Even then, it wasn't as horrible as my last "go to Ft. Smith for a dentist appointment in the fucking ice" adventure.  This was pretty mild compared to that.

It's cold as hell though. We've opted to leave the heaters on. I hate doing that, for many reasons, but it's just too damned cold otherwise. Hopefully this frigidness will go away soon.  Hmm, if I had a boyfriend, I bet he'd be saying that as well.

Something I've been working on for about four years now is finally coming together. I called the People Who Know Things and they were pretty positive about it. Well, I guess the best way to put it is that I've done everything I possibly can at this point. Now it's up to others.  I kind of totally hate the fact that it's out of my control, but there's also something freeing about that as well.

It's getting close to my birthday and that always makes me pretty evaluate-y.  I think this year I'm going to make a secret list.  The list is going to contain all the things I want changed in my life, all the ways in which things aren't to my liking or expectations.  Once I have the list in play, I'm going to start thinking of ways I can change things.

I'm going to keep it secret because I've found that a lot of the time, when you discuss such things, they never end up happening.  Also, a lot of the things on the list are kind of radical at first glance.  I don't think that, in the end, they will seem all that radical, because the way to get to my goals is going to involve a lot of small steps that point things in the direction I feel they need to go.  Once there, the things I want to be different will hopefully just fall into place.

More importantly, there are some things I think I need to let go of.  I've carried them around or been emotionally connected to them for too long. In some cases, I think they're actually stalling me or even hurting me.  It's time to make whatever peace I need to make, draw whatever conclusions I need to draw, and walk away . . . even if that's just in a symbolic sense.

Maybe that's what 38 should be. The Year of Letting Go. The Year of Walking Away. Hell, in some cases, I think if I would have let go of things 20 years ago, I wouldn't be in some of the emotional messes I'm in now. Oh well. We walk away when we can.

Hopefully I won't slip.

Music as Sex

A while back, a friend on FB posted a question about what were the sexiest songs post punk. The conversation went on for a while and while I read the whole thing, I somehow managed to not contribute. So, as I have this blogamathingy, I decided to do it here.

To me, the sexiest music is always a combination of several things.  There has to be a slow, low ebbing beat that pulls you in and keeps you there.  Drums, bass, a combo of both, even a strong rhythm guitar. Whatever the case, it needs to be strong, steady, and  the undercurrent of the song. Sex is motion, after all, so motion is a required element in sexy songs.

The song also needs a level of moan and sigh, a sense of breathing and losing breath, the slow uncontrollable, unexpected whine.   This usually comes from guitar, keyboards, and vocals.  To me, in a sexy song, the guitar/keyboard/vocals should have a sense of having their brains fucked out.  Not made love to, fucked. And fucked hard to where there is no real impulse control over what happens. Guitar whine becomes a natural response to the rhythm.

Third, the song needs sensual lyrics.  This doesn't necessarily mean the lyrics have to be dirty.  That can be good, but in many cases, it can also become expected and hackneyed. Rather, the lyrics need a combination of both sound and meaning.

One of my favorite quotes about Cobain was that he sometimes choose words less for what they meant and more for the sound of them. This works quite well in sexy songs. Some sounds are just more erotic than others. Long vowels. Words that feel and sound like growls.

On a personal level, I also find songs with a sense of confession to them to be sexy. I like the vulnerability of being unable to control yourself, the knowledge that what you're doing is wrong or even dangerous, but you won't stop. You can't. I like songs that speak of secret desires, desperate longing, or forbidden need.  To me, sex is always best when not just carnal, but also knowing.

And what songs work on this list? Well, let's share a few. I decided to stay with songs that were more alternative and less rock driven, with a good mix of keyboards in it. Oh, and one of the rules of this was that no Cure could be considered, which is fair enough.

REPTILE (NIN cover) - Reznor/Murphy

A while back, Trent Reznor and, as my best friend so charmingly puts it "old ass scary fucking Peter Murphy" went on tour together. As a way to promote this, they would stop places and randomly play songs.  "Reptile" has always stood as one of NIN's sexier songs. The idea of something rather sinister and poisonous being so consuming as a lover is a rather common NIN theme, but perhaps best expressed in  "Reptile." Reznor takes a back seat in the cover and lets Murphy moan and scream his way through the song. And just when you think it can't get any better, they break into Love and Rockets near the end. Ahhh!

JACK THE RIPPER ~ Morrissey



I don't think Morrissey is sexy.  In fact, I think he's kind of Anti-sexy. I also don't think Jack the Ripper is sexy, or maybe I do. Then again, in a lot of ways, this song is more about being a predator no matter what. Oddly, in the lyrics, I see a lot of me, things I would say to someone.  Again, the element of confession and knowing better but going along with it comes up.  The guitar is sublimely seductive in this song.

TEAR YOU APART ~ She Wants Revenge



Oh, and speaking of predatory, we have this little number by She Wants Revenge. I love SWR for their sarcasm and darkness, for sinister electronics and vocals that edge on robotic. This song isn't confession so much as narration into the depths of someone else's sexual mania. Kiss hard. Skin pressed against me tight. I want to fucking tear you apart.  It's the kind of need that boarders on insanity, which, perhaps, last only a split second, but that second is such pure lust it could set you on fire.

YOUR JOY IS MY LOW ~ IAMX




"You bite . . . you bite to excite yourself." Heh. Oh my god, this song is so hot to me. And honestly, besides just Chris's whining vocals and the very wickedly dirty lyrics, the part that gets me the most is the "SAY IT!" The demand for confession, the direct order to admit what you don't want to say under other circumstances. Wow. Mind you, almost everything Chris Corner does is hot. I could have gone with almost every Sneaker Pimps song for this list. "Small Town Witch" has always been a favorite.

MY LEGENDARY GIRLFRIEND ~ Pulp




Because just . . . wow.