The Audacity

When my great-grandparents on my father's side got married , his family was so outraged by this that they didn't speak to them for over a year. You see, despite both families being Catholic, my great-grandfather was Irish and his family did not approve of him marrying a poor Italian girl. They saw her as very far beneath them.

My great-grandmother, who was a wonderful, bright, generous woman, once told me about that time. She said it was truly horrible. She felt like dirt. She felt dirty, unworthy of love or even of being alive. Understand that when she felt this way, she was a teenager. She was socially isolated, soon pregnant, and, on a daily basis, made to feel like she didn't deserve the basic love and dignity that other people could have, just because of who she was.

The people who did this to her weren't evil people. I'm sure they thought they were doing the right thing. I'm sure they felt it was important to take a stand, to show the world that this kind of union would not be approved of of accepted. It was important to define marriage as only fitting between certain kinds of people, otherwise it would destroy marriage forever.

In the end, my great-grandmother went on to become a valued member of her community. Italians and Irish people continued to marry each other. Eventually, no one saw that as a big deal anymore. It also didn't destroy marriage as an institution. The people who tried to stop the marriage didn't succeed. Well, I suppose they succeeded in making someone hurt and miserable. They made her feel dirty, unworthy, and marginalized. So I guess that's something.

Dan Cathy recently said, "I think we are inviting God's judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say 'we know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage' and I pray God's mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about."

My statement back to him is that in EVERY generation, there have been people who had the audacity to be 'prideful and arrogant' enough to think we could define what marriage is. There were people with the audacity to realize that it was not just wrong but downright horrible to force a girl to marry the man who raped her. So we changed marriage there. There were people with the audacity to realize we shouldn't value a woman's virginity over her life, so we changed marriage there. There were people who had the audacity to believe it was okay to live life as a single person, without social penalty or a tax penalty. So we changed marriage there.

People faced down angry parents and married for love. People faced down the leaders of their churches and began to marry outside their faith. People faced down social and religious stigma and fought for more humane divorce laws. People opted to remarry, despite the social and religious stigma against that. People married and chose not to have children. Slaved married in secret, just to have that one bit of happiness in their lives, despite the chance of horrible consequences if they were discovered.

Instead of being angry that our current generation is being audacious enough to open up what marriage can be again, be grateful to them, and to everyone in the past who did the same thing. People have died for the rights of sexual autonomy and personal choice in who we can love and how we can express that love. And all the while, ALL THE WHILE, marriage has never been destroyed and it won't be. It's just too much a part of who we are.

In the meantime, when people try to prevent others from having the basic marriage rights they have, they will tell themselves they are doing the right thing. They will assume they are taking a stand for their culture, their religion, and freedom. Hopefully, if things go the way they have in the past, they will not succeed in preventing the new marriages from happening. Nor will marriage stop existing as an institution. But they will succeed in making people feel dirty and unworthy and marginalized. The more extreme of them will hurt some people, maybe even kill them. They might even lead some others into suicide. So . . . I guess that's something.

Swinging Back

Sometimes when I should be writing my blog, I have this process of procrastinating and thinking at the same time. On occasion, this process yields very inspiring posts . . . the rest of the time, I just write something about my cats.  Last night, while in process, I read this reprinting of a blog post. It is amazing and you should go read it for yourself.

I didn't write about this last night (and did write about cats) because I knew I needed to think about it for a while. The ideas had to stew and just kind of let the important parts bubble to the surface. Yes, I do believe I just mixed metaphors. Cheers.

Anyway, I think the part that stuck out to me the most was when he discussed the phase and concept of "swinging back." By this, he means hitting back, defending yourself from aggression with equal aggression . . . or at least as equal as you can manage. Swinging back is a big thing. It's a defining moment of who you are and how you view your destiny. It always has consequences. It also has a set up.

See, in order to "swing back," you have to have someone swing at you first. You have to be put in a position where you need to defend yourself. The thing is, even being in this position sucks. No one wants to be here. No one wants to be the person someone else is attacking. But there you are. You're being attacked. And once you are attacked, you have a choice.

You swing back or you don't.

America, as a nation, was basically built on the principle of swinging back. We did not wish to be bullied by other countries. We wanted to be free to live our lives as we saw fit. Something about tea and taxes.  You know the story. What it boils down to is that, as a people, we swung back. We opted to defend ourselves, aggression on aggression, and accepted the consequences of whatever that would bring.

But here is the irony, and I think if there is anything about America that should change on a fundamental level, it is this . . . we value the concept of swinging back. We teach that it is what we should do. We hold up our founders, a group of people who rebelled against the Powers that Were, and won. And yet . . . when anyone who is outside the mainstream of what we find to be acceptable tries to swing back, we demonize them.

The angry black. The angry feminist. The angry gay.  The angry poor person. The angry old person. The angry Native American. Put just about anyone outside the WASPy acceptance group behind that "angry" and we freak out. THOSE people aren't supposed to swing back. THOSE people are suppose to just accept the aggression dealt to them, in fact, realize that no real aggression is happening and it's all in their heads. They're being oversensitive. They have no cause to swing back.

This is bullshit, of course. Because like it or not, there are a lot of people out there who are attacked on a daily basis, just because they don't fit in with the normals. Society, and individuals in society, swing at them and swing at them until finally they know they can either just lay down and die . . . or they can swing back. And when most of them DO swing back, they do so knowing full well that it may not solve anything, that it might even make things worse.

A few days ago, a friend of mine told me about an attempted child abduction case he'd read about. A woman was walking of of the store with her child when a man grabbed the kid. She screamed and tried to hit the man. He hit her back. And her child, who I think he said was about three, latched onto the man's neck and bit a chuck of flesh out of it. As his blood came gushing from the wound, he let the child go. He didn't die, but he was injured badly enough to be arrested and taken into custody (via the hospital, because he did have a chuck of neck gone now).

Now, I'm not saying that we should live in a hyperviolent society. I don't think that every slight and every insult should be answered with a kick to the head. What I am saying, is that for each of us, there should be a recognized limit to what abuse we will take. Once someone is reaching that limit with us, we need to walk away from them. If they won't let us walk away, we need to make up our minds if we are going to swing back at them. It may make things worse.

However, it will certainly make things change.

Battle Eyedroppage

The cats are going through some bad eye issues right now. It's because of all the fans and constant air movement.  Oh, and because of the particles of shit in the air. Most of said shit is cat fur, so you could say the cats brought this on themselves. But that would be cruel.

 A while back, my roommate did some research on eyedrops cats can handle safely.  Once he found one, he bought some.  Now, when cat eye issues happen, the cats get eyedrops. It really does help.  The cats' eyes are clearing up far faster than they ever have before. The stuff works.

This does not make the cats like it.  Even if it occurred to them that the eyedroppage was making life better for them, they would still hate the process.  Just, you know, because they're cats. If there is a stubborn, difficult way to react to something, this is going to be the way the cats react.

So the medicating of cat eyes becomes an Event in our home. Right now, we have two cats that need drops. The white cat is easier. She can be lured to me with toys or games. Once near, I secure her in my arms while my roommate goes to get the drops. One lift of the chin, drops go in eyes, my arm gets clawed, and she is sent on her way.

The brown cat is more difficult.  She knows things are going on that deal with her eyes, so her tactic involves hiding and avoidance. When she suspects my roommate may be considering giving her the drops, she scurries under his bed. He always finds her, which prompts a series of protest noises. Usually, he holds her while he tends to her eyes. Sometimes, however, he has to have me help in the holding department. She never scratches me, but she is deeply resentful.

Despite the drama, I do believe tending to their eyes with the drops is very much worth it. Nothing is sadder than a cat with gimp eye. It just ruins your whole day. But with medicine to clear up their eyes, we have less sadness in the catdom.

Dehydration Revisited

Remember at the beginning of the month how I wrote about getting stopped by a cop who said my driving was so weavy he thought I was drunk at nine in  the morning? Yeah. I talked about how it turned out to be dehydration. I didn't get a ticket, but I knew the cop was correct. I did not need to be driving. As soon as I could, I stopped the car and let my roommate drive for the rest of the morning.

Come to find out, this wasn't my only bit of screwed up judgment that day. This morning I opened my bank statement and noticed that my account had far more money in it than it should have.  The equivalent of my rent in too much money. I knew I got my rent money out of the account, but somehow, there it was. A home call to my landlord and a careful review of deposit slips later, and I realized that instead of depositing my rent money into my landlord's account, I had put it back into mine. I have no idea how I accomplished this.

The sad fact is, I don't even remember doing it. I have absolutely no memory of anything that happened that morning past getting into the passenger's seat.  That's how screwed up my system was. To be honest, I am lucky nothing happened while I was driving.

I think sometimes we focus too much on the 'don't drink and drive' message. Don't get me wrong. I know it's very important. However, I think we are giving people the wrong impression when we just emphasize the alcohol part of the problem. We should never drive when we have any kind of impairment. If we are too dehydrated, too tired, too sick, too emotional, too focused on something else, or having a fit of sneezes, we should not be driving. Our judgment is off and we could cause problems.

I will admit I've been guilty of this and not just with this last situation. When I was having a lot of sleep apnea problems during grad school, I would take off for my hour and half commute four hours before I needed to be there. I would drive until I just couldn't handle it anymore and I would stop and sleep for a while. This sounds  kind of marginally responsible, but it really wasn't. I would wait until I was in so much pain from lack of sleep that I had no choice. I should have been sleeping quite a while before that.  I was driving through windy, twisty roads too. It really scares me to think of what could have happened.

This has been a big lesson for me. I really need to start making sure that if  I'm going to be behind the wheel, I am as awake and as healthy as I can be. If I need some more time to wake up, I need to take it. If I need some more time to get more water in my system, then I need to take it. And if I don't have the time to do these things, then I have no business driving.

500

I knew I was coming up on my 500th blog entry, but I kind of missed it by a few posts. Or maybe I didn't. I'm not sure. I have some drafts lurking around here and there, which might account for some stray entries that didn't necessarily get published. Still, one way or the other, I'm counting this as the celebration of my 500th blog post. So . . . YAY!!!

Yay!

So yes, 500 posts of topics ranging from my mother to politics to cats to walking to being fat to days upon days of anime analysis. Or, practically anything else that comes into my head. Oh, and lots of bitching. I do much of that as well. We have had random art, bad visual aids, links that probably don't work anymore, and my strange wordsmithing.

How do I feel about all of this? Oh, deeply happy. I've stuck to this project for quite a while now and actually manage to really do it. I've regained my writing voice and helped to sort out my thoughts over various topics. Having a blog has afforded me a chance to really speak again.  I let myself get really silent for a long time. I'm glad I'm pulling away from that.

Moreover, if I suddenly drop dead and people miss me, they will have, at the very least, 500 things to go back and read.  That's quite a lot of stuff to leave your loved ones. I'm rather proud of that.

How have I changed in 500 posts? Hmm.....I might be just a slight bit LESS bitter than I used to be. No, really, I think most days I'm far more hopeful. I think I'm slightly less paranoid and freaked out about things. I'm drawing again. I'm writing fiction again.  I feel closer to the mother and grandmother I lost than I have since I lost them. I feel less inclined to deal with bullshit.  I also walk for exercise now.

Anyway, for those of you who read this on a regular basis, thank you so much for reading. It really does mean a lot to me. Here's to 500 more posts.

Walking Confidence

When I took the trash out today, a truck drove by and I didn't even flinch. I was happy about this, but it made me realize how far I've come in terms of this walking thing. I know I've discussed my progress in terms of the physical side of it, but there have been emotional achievements as well.

If you've ever wondered why you don't see fat people even TRYING to exercise, I'll let you in on a little secret.  We do not like to do anything that even looks remotely like a work out in front of others. Why? Well, let's just say that years of evil gym coaches and shitty comments from others have made us rather shy about it. As much as people lurrve to make fun of fat people on most occasions, there is a special kind of venom reserved for any fat person who has the audacity to try and   participate in physical activity.

This may seem counterproductive to you, but it's really not.  Everyone acts like they want the fat people to lose weight, but deep down, for many there is also this fear that when they do, they themselves aren't as special. After all, no matter what else was going on in their lives, at least they were thin. Make too many people thin and it kind of ruins the benefits.  But I digress . . .

When I first started walking, I would not leave the house without my earbuds blaring music into my ears.  The idea of going outside and walking while subjecting myself to whatever random comments might happen was just terrifying to me.  I'm not even exaggerating here. If I heard children outside, it was all I could do to force myself out the door. Some days, I would have to sit there for like twenty minutes while I reminded myself that it was only comments (and possibly thrown rocks). Most of the time, I made it outside. A few days, I couldn't.

Then one day, I forgot to bring my music.

Okay, if this happened NOW, I would probably just walk back through the house and get it. At that point though, I didn't really have the stamina to handle retrieving the player AND walking.  So I went outside without it.  I have to tell you, I was so on edge when I did this, so worried someone would say something.  No one did, thankfully.  So far, no one has.

It's gotten to the point now where I can walk my driveway and not worry about commentary.  It might happen at some point. However, I'm not going to let that stop my walking. I'm not even worried about it anymore. If I hear the kids outside, I still panic a little, but no where near as bad as I did when I first started.

I have to admit though, sometimes my mind wonders what my neighbors are saying to each other when I walk. Do they see it as a nice bit of cheap entertainment? Do they go to their windows and snicker, maybe make whale comments or discuss how the driveway now has more cracks in it than it used to?

They might.

It's far more likely that they have their own lives and own involvements and couldn't care less what I was doing.

Let's Complain about Changes, Shall We?

My therapist went on maternity leave today so I will be seeing a different person until she returns. I've known this would be the case for a while now, but it's still kind of jarring. Therapy makes me so vulnerable and the idea of having to try and establish that rapport with someone else is disconcerting.  Thankfully, the sub is the same woman who spoke with me when she had her last baby.  That makes me feel somewhat safer. You have to feel safe when it comes to therapy.

Speaking of medical professionals, feeling uncomfortable, and changes, there has been a recent change in the policies regarding people in my situation and how medicine is handled. If you have long standing prescriptions, the new policy is that you have to see your doctor every three months. BAH!  I hate this so much. I DO NOT want to go see my doctor every three months. For one thing, it means more money being spent.  For another, it means I have to deal with the doctor's office, subject to a waiting room of sick people and children. Every three months from now on, I will have this to dread. Just....wow. No. WHY? This is so annoying.

At some point, in theory, the repairs on the house should begin. This was supposed to start last week and didn't.  Perhaps it shall begin this week.  I just want it to be over with. I loathe the idea of people crawling over the house and banging on things. It's going to disrupt my walking. It's going to disrupt the peace. It's probably going to disrupt the general feeling of comfort and well-being in the house because we will know people are OUT THERE.  Yes, I get that I'm crazy.

Anyway, yeah. Changes. Lots of them. Well . . . okay, three. Still, changes that are making me give Stink Eye to the universe for disrupting my little patterns and schedules. Stupid universe.

Topic Control: Geekery

As we all know, it is Monday (or it was) and I tend to give the topic to someone else. Today, instead of getting a question, it was requested that I "wax geekfully" about something because said person who made the request seems to enjoy that. Very well. Oh. Warning: Spoilers and also GRRM discussion. If you are not interested in either, quit while you are ahead.

I've been watching the first season of Game of Thrones again.  The first time I watched it, I was still in the process of reading the books and I knew I probably missed a lot of little details. Watching it again afforded me the chance to look for clues, hits, small bits of storytelling that will be important later but just seemed like nothing in the moment.

For instance, when Eddard sees his daughter learning to swordfight, he is at first amused, but then gets this look of both fear and sadness on his face. When I first saw this, I assumed it was because he worried she might be involved in a battle someday. Having read the books, I think it was because she so much reminded him of his sister. Lyanna could also fight and Arya looks a lot like her. It was a very interesting bit of foreshadowing.

However, I think the most masterful bit of storytelling is how they are handling Theon. In the books, Theon is just an arrogant, smarmy bastard. Until the last book, I basically hated him. In the show, they've done a very good job of showing all of Theon's future decisions and actions as making sense to him. They touch on all the times when he tries to be a part of the Stark family, only to have it thrown back in his face. He was raised along side the Stark children and clearly loved them as his own family.  However, almost everything said or done to him in the first season seems to show this pattern that they feel otherwise.

So when Theon betrays them in the second season, all to prove his worth to his own biological father, it makes a lot more sense. As the audience, we love the Starks, so we don't want them to be betrayed, but given the way Theon was treated, it is understandable. He screws up badly and makes things worse for everyone, especially himself, but his reasons are valid.

I've noticed that GRRM explores the themes of motives and drives a lot. Love is a very strong drive in his books. Many of the characters' actions can be boiled down to them loving someone, sometimes beyond all reason. Other characters are driven by their sense of honor and duty.

However, I think the need to belong is possibly the strongest reoccurring character motive in the series. Most of the major characters are misfits in one way or the other. Dany is constantly in foreign lands. Jon is illegitimate. Theon is a hostage. Tyrion is a little person. Samwell is fat and cowardly in a society that values big strong brave men.  Arya is a tomboy. All of them are the square pegs trying to fit into the round holes. They are constantly in conflict between their need to find a place to belong and their need to have agency over who they are. This conflict leads to a lot of their problems.

As a reader, there are certain things you want for the characters you read about.  You want them to be safe. You want them to be happy.  You want them to find some justice in the end so that they know all the hell they went through was worth it. Moreover, I think as readers our souls are content if the characters know they have a place where they really belong. It settles something inside of them.  It allows us to close the book with a feeling of contentment.

58

She would have been 58 today.  To be honest, I don't think she would have handled it well. 58.  The idea of my mother being this close to 60 is unreal. She wouldn't have handled her 60s well. It would have felt wrong to her. Hell, the idea of it feels wrong to me.  It's probably best things ended when they did.

She said the best year of her life was the year she was 33.  Makes sense.  When she was 33, it was in the middle of an Interlude. This was the longest Interlude. It was between husband #3 and #4. She finished two years of college during this time. My brother and I were happy and stable in school. She had a decent-ish job.  There was this kind of possibility of a future.  It didn't last, of course. But for a brief time, it was there.

Though, I'm not sure if I'm vindicated or just really sad that she recognized this as the happiest year of her life, and yet STILL went on to get #4 and #5.

The worst part is, #4 was the husband that broke apart everything. He wasn't the most violent or the most abusive.  It wasn't even the husband that kept our lives in the most danger. But he was the one where she compromised the most.  This was the husband where all lines were drawn in the sand. She crossed them. So did I.

I've mentioned this before, but it's important to repeat. During #4, she actually told me that she would choose him over us.  She said that she would do so because 'we were going to eventually leave and then she would be all alone.  But a husband wouldn't leave her.  She wouldn't have to die alone.'

Two things about that.

First of all, she still died alone. She may have been married at the time and living with the man, but when she died, she was alone and asleep.  So, honestly, no real amount of planning on our part will determine who is with us when we die.

Second of all, and this one is far more important, there are worse things, so many, many worse things than living and dying alone.

There is living in compromise.
There is living in fear.
There is living with someone who doesn't see you for who you are.
There is living with someone who demands you drain all of yourself for them.
There is living with someone who is never happy.
There is living with someone who must manipulate all situations always.
There is living in such a way that you betray yourself (and your children) so much than you can't even look at yourself in the mirror anymore.

Living alone is better than all of these things. It's cleaner. It's less complicated. It's less dangerous. Living alone means you get all the choices. You don't have to argue with someone about how you kitchen will look. You don't have to worry about what they think of your dogs. You don't have to listen to them make comments while you're trying to talk on the phone. You don't have to ever think about what anyone else wants or needs. Only you.

I don't know. Maybe that year when she was 33 was just more than she could handle. Maybe the idea of being happy was so foreign to her that she just got scared. Maybe she didn't feel she deserved it.

Whatever the case, she's gone now.  I miss her, despite all of our hell, I still miss her. I do not miss her chaos, but I miss her. Happy birthday, Mom.

Interlude at the Gas Station

When Mom left her second husband, she already had Husband #3 lined up.  In fact,   despite the general bastardy of the second husband, I'm not sure she would have left him had she not already had another man in mind. This was her thinking process at the time. Okay, honestly, it was her thinking process most of the time.

Because the new man was waiting in the wings, the Interlude was brief. In fact, it really only lasted a few hours. However, when Mom woke me up very, very early that morning and told me to get ready and get in the car because we were leaving the husband, I didn't know a new man was already in the picture.  I thought we were free and clear of this insane nightmare and could just get on with our lives.  In other words, I was in a state of intense relief and pure joy.

Mom got us in the car and began to drive. This was her pattern. When she needed to think, when she was in a state of great anxiety or nervousness (and I'm talking far and above her USUAL state of anxiety and nervousness), she would drive.  As she drove, she  apologized for the husband she was leaving. She told us she knew life had been very bad and things would now be better. She promised us this.  She said she understood how wrong she'd been.

About an hour into this, she needed gas and we were hungry.  She stopped at a station and filled up the car. When she came back out to us, she had two bags full of stuff. Soda. Candy. Cupcakes. Donuts. Chips. Practically everything she could find. We sat in the parking lot and feasted on convenience store food.

As I ate, I was happier than I had been in two years. You see, Husband #2 took all kinds of issue with me being a little fat girl.  I guess he didn't think was cute enough for all his grand plans for me. There were many things I was forbidden to have. Basically all of the foods mentioned above. Mom was so afraid of him that she wouldn't even get me these things when he wasn't around. I had to rely on my grandparents or my dad to have sweets.

OH!  And here was the kicker. It wasn't like EVERYONE in the house wasn't allowed to have them.  He could. My brother could. Even Mom could, though she often didn't. It was mostly just me that wasn't allowed. Fucker. Anyway, for Mom to actually let me have these snack treats showed me that she was serious about leaving him.

And see, this time in my life, this Interlude at the Gas Station, is basically the epitome of every psychosis I have all wrapped up into one morning. You have the fucked up food issues. You have the Mommy Issues. You have the man issues. All in one morning. All tied together in a neat little package that would become my life.

See you have to understand, the Interludes between husbands were THE happiest times of my life with my mother. She was ours again.  She could focus on us.  And we had fun together.  We enjoyed each other and laughed and made up stories and songs. We didn't have to hide or compromise who we were. I was so happy in these moments.

In was never enough for her though. She would always need A MAN in her life. She would sell us out and trade our happiness and protection and well-being and everything else, just so she had a man. The peace and quiet wasn't enough for her. The calm, easy life wasn't enough for her.

We weren't enough for her. We were her children, but we weren't enough for her. Then again, if you hate yourself, can you really love something that came from your body?

See, it took me a long time to really grasp how abusive this was. Okay, I KNEW it was abusive, but I never understood how deeply. Her choices in men were such the perfect storm.  She chose men who sucked so she could always feel like she was the better person in the relationship. She chose men who sucked so we would hate them and always choose her over them.  She would present us in the worst light possible so that the men hated us and would always choose her over us.

We were also her little sacrifices. We were her example of showing the man how much she loved him. "Here. These are my kids from my own body. I love you so much that I'll let you do anything you want to them. Call them names. Boss them around. Beat them. Starve them. Abuse them. Put them out in the cold. It's all okay because I love you best." They would do just that and when she had enough, she would whisk us away to safety.  She got to be the savior.

So now I have HUGE Mommy Issues. When my female friends get boyfriends, I get nervous. I almost always LOATHE the boyfriends/husbands. In every conversation I have with my friends, the little girl in me holds out hope that she will say she's leaving The Man. This means she can be less miserable and we can get on with our lives.  Seriously, I like daydream about my female friends leaving their husbands/boyfriends. To me, they would be so much happier.

It's really screwed me over as far as possible relationships with men are concerned. My childhood was about finding happiness when men were GONE. This is now a visceral level response for me. If I am most happy when no men are around, how could I possibly ever have any kind of long romantic relationship with one? It just can't happen.

I know this isn't rational, fair, or even true, but part of me is convinced that men will always force you to compromise who you are and what makes you happy. They will demand all the attention. They will scream and be angry and mutter and stomp until they get their way. And no matter what you do, it will never be enough for them because at their core, they are evil and not to be trusted.

Like I said, I know that isn't reality. Well, MOST of me knows that isn't reality. There is always a part that won't accept it though. That part of me, the little girl who is so pathetically happy that her mother left the step-bastard, may never heal enough to accept that it isn't reality.  That part of me may always be sitting in a gas station parking lot and eating candy.  She'll stare at her reflection in the window and smile because she knows there will be peace again.

The Storm during the Interlude

My parents were divorced by the time I was six. My mother was involved with someone soon after, but for a brief time, it was just her, my baby brother, and me.  This was the first divorce, so I wasn't quite yet aware of this blissful interlude between men. I didn't realize how peaceful and special these times would be. Sadly, my mother never realized it.

There is one night from this first Interlude that stands out to me.  This is one of those things I haven't talked about very much because it was just so strange. I don't know what it means and I really never have. To be honest, it's hard to write about. When you read it, you may not understand why and I get that.  But I'm physically reacting to it just thinking about addressing the subject. I don't even know how to explain how I feel. Disquieted is maybe a good word.

It had been storming all night.  I was in my bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time the thunder would crash, I would wake up again. I kind of liked that though, because the rain was lulling and cool.  I felt safe.  I always feel safer during storms though, because to me, cloud cover is protection. I'm not sure why that is.

At one point, it wasn't the thunder that woke me.  My mom was sitting on the bed with me.  Her legs were crossed and she was leaning against the bed frame as she smoked. I could always tell her mood from her smoking.  When she was relaxed, she took long slow drags and the cigarette seemed to last forever.  When she was nervous, she took short, quick drags. Those cigarettes never lasted very long.

That night, her smoking was slow.  To be honest, when I think about all the times my mother was calm (which were not that often), this is most relaxed I'd ever seen her. I asked her if she was okay. She didn't say anything at first so I asked again, thinking maybe she didn't hear me.

"I had a dream that the house burned," she said. "It started burning and I died in the flames. Your brother died in the flames with me. I dreamed the fire spread out in a line and kept burning until it reached the church."

I don't remember what I said after that. I think I might of told her that wouldn't happen or something. I'm not sure.

What I do remember is how calm she was. You have to understand, my mother was NEVER calm. She always fidgeted and slightly shook and gave off this jagged, punctuated, nervous energy. Even when she was drunk, even when she was stoned, even when she was happy, she was this way.  Being sedate just wasn't in her nature.

Even her voice sounded calm. Actually, I think one of the reasons this memory is so strong for me is because it didn't even really sound like her voice. It was lower, more steady, and full of a gravity I don't remember her ever having at any other time. The tone of her voice haunts me almost more than what she said because it just felt so out of place.

The house did burn. In fact, it burned not long after that. The fire was contained so it didn't spread the mile or so down to the church.  My mother didn't die in the fire, though she did die on that land.  Physically, not even all that far from where she was sitting when she told me about the dream.

I'm not even going to pretend to know what this means. I have theories.  Some of them I don't have enough faith to believe. Some of the others scare me too much to believe.  What I do know is that I'm 38 years old now and I still remember how that night felt.  I still remember the chill on my skin from the storm outside and I remember the way the fire from that cigarette would look as it moved from her lips to the ashtray in her hand. I think even if my memory goes on practically everything else, I'll remember that night.

The Decisions of Increase

When you start to add more physical activity to your life, you soon realize it is a process of decisions. The first one is easy. "I want to sit on my ass less than I do now." Okay, cool. Past that, you have to start deciding how you will accomplish this and how you keep accomplishing it. That's where the more complex decisions begin.

Anytime you begin to exercise, it is always advised that you speak to your doctor.  You know what? This is awesome advice!  Well, it's awesome advice assuming you have a doctor, or a doctor who will take you seriously, or a doctor who knows anything about being very obese and how to add physical activity into that. Most people do not HAVE that doctor, so we have to make these decisions on our own.

As a side note: Given the number of obese people in this country, why DON'T we have more doctors who understand how to treat heavy people? Why DON'T we have the equipment to handle them and a staff who makes them feel comfortable when they come in?  Look, I'm not saying the medical establishment should claim that being overweight is fine and dandy with them. What I am saying is that they should just accept the reality of the situation.  Not having the equipment and knowledge of how to deal with fat patients because you think being overweight is dangerous is like refusing to learn anything about cancer because you think it kills people. Yeah, it does. Fine. Let's find the best ways to get people past it, yeah?

Anyway, chances are, when you start working out, you are the one who is going to have to be making the big choices about when to increase your activity levels. This isn't something you can avoid.  If you keep up with your activities, very soon your body will master them and need more in the way of challenges. Don't be afraid of this. Adding activity is a good thing. It means the exercise is working.

When you add something, make sure it is within your current abilities to master. Don't go from walking one lap around the track to thinking you can now do five miles. Add another lap.  If that proves to be too much, add half. Small increases are still increases. They're still a step forward.

Adding increased activity has a slight trap to it. As you know, many of us are subject to self-sabotage. One of the ways we do this is by adding more than we can handle and getting frustrated when it doesn't work. Worse, we add something we can handle, but only under better circumstances.  We take on too much and fatigue ourselves or end up getting hurt.

This doesn't always have to be about injuring ourselves though.  Sometimes we try to add something that just flat out won't work for us. For instance, I love swimming and could completely benefit from using this as exercise. If I had a pool of my own or access to someone else's pool, this would be a great option for me.  Sadly, I don't have a pool and really no one else I'm close to does either. I could go to a public pool to swim . . . but the thought of that makes me almost ill.

SO . . . if I decided I was going to increase my activity level with swimming (and told myself I would go brave the public pool), I would be setting myself up for failure.  Everyday, I would dread that time I was supposed to go swim and then feel a rush of relief when I didn't go.  Once that left my system, I would feel horrible about the whole situation and still not go the pool the next day.  This would serve to do nothing except make me feel like hell.

The main question, the most important question, you should always ask yourself when you are making decisions about physical activity is this, "Does it work for me?" Will it burn calories for me? Will it work for my body type? Do I have the time? Do I have the money? Will I actually do it? Can I talk myself into making it a habit? If you answer "no" to any of these, the activity probably isn't for you. But that's okay.  You will find one that does work.  Just keep looking.

If I can do this, anyone can.

Awkwardness . . . with visuals!

I am so sorry about not posting last night. There was a reason. And the reason is called SuddenLink. My internet was off for hours and hours.  Specifically, the hours I do my blog posts. So that didn't happen for me. Or for you, my faithful reader(s).
Anyway, to make up for the lack of post, I decided to include a random picture of one of my cats . . . not that he has anything to DO with my post, just because he's cute when he sleeps and this just happened to be what I did in my frustration last night when I didn't have internet. No net, so cat drawings. Yes, I am THE Cat Lady. "My cats never care if I'm boring." Actually, that is a total lie. They completely care when I'm boring.

Anyway, being boring is the topic of my post. Or rather, NOT being boring but being perceived as such.  My father randomly called today and we did the usual chitchat.  He asked me what I had been doing with my time. (Regional translation of this: "Whatcha been up to?")

I hate this question. It's such a damned LOADED question. On the surface, it seems to imply "I am very interested in you and your life and I would love to know how you have been filling your days and hours."  What it really means is, "Okay, lazy, how have you been wasting your life and your potential? Tell me now so I can judge you."

I'm sure some people would tell me I'm being totally paranoid about that being what he wants to know. But I'm not being paranoid. Trust me.

 Some people can get away with this by just a vague "oh you know, the usual." I can't. Or, maybe I could, but I always get defensive and actually try to answer this question. It gets really awkward. I did a chart!

Yeah, so anyway, this was my conversation. In the end, I come off feeling like my dad thinks I'm boring.  I have no idea if he really does and I probably shouldn't care. Our lives are very different and we don't have a lot in common or even really much to relate about. Despite that, and even if he really does think all the stuff I listed (which he probably really doesn't), he still calls me on occasion. I guess that's worth something. A blog post at least.

Topic Control: What Makes a Business Run Well?

So when I asked my friend for a topic tonight, I think I caught her off guard because she says, "Ummmmmm...........so what do you look for in a business, like one you want to go back to again and again?"  I'm not sure where she got the question, but I felt it was a good question and rather apt for the experience we had today while shopping.

For the last several trips to Walmart, an item that we regularly buy and very much need has been missing. This is not an unusual item. It's something very, very common that many people buy and should always be in stock. But it hasn't been. In fact, when we were in Fort Smith last week, we looked for the item at the Walmarts there. Again, it was missing. Today, when ended up at another store, where the item was located and bought.

This whole mess annoyed me to no end. A common product that a store predictably has shouldn't end up being the object of this much effort and drama. And yet it was, because Walmart isn't consistent. It isn't consistent because it isn't well organized.  Worse, when you point this out to them,they try and deny it.

The usual tactic of a business that is trying to deny things is gaslighting. Because they do not have the product in question, their defense is usually to make you seem like you're crazy. "I don't know that we've ever carried that product." Translation: You made that up in your crazy brain. "We may have gotten rid of that.  No one ever buys it." Translation: You are a sick, sad person and no one else buys the crazy shit you buy. "Are you SURE you didn't see any?" Translation: You are crazy and trying to get attention. Of course the product is there. You're just too insane to see it.

Ugggh. I really hate that.

So, okay, what makes a business run well?

1. A good business is well organized. This people in the business have a firm grasp of what is happening. They know where everyone is, how their product works, and when things need to be replaced. They do not assume organization is just something that is created and stays.  They constantly WORK at organizing.  They view it as an important goal and fire people when they begin to disrupt the organizing process.

2. A good business is consistent. If someone expects to find Product A at your place of business, make sure Product A is always in stock. That is actually a pretty simple concept.  People will return to your establishment if they know they will not be wasting their time when they go there. They will have good feelings about your company if you make sure you do as you have said you would do.

3. A good business owns their mistakes. Don't treat your customers like they are children and do not treat them like they are crazy. If you make a mistake, own it. If you failed them in some way, admit to it. Find a way to make it better. Find a way to improve what is happening. Assure them that the crappy service they had this time will not happen again.  Admitting you made a mistake not only saves you a lot of time, it gives respect to your customer.  It validates that you understand they had a bad experience and you plan to make sure that doesn't happen again. You are NOT going to make them believe you did nothing wrong. They know you did. Just own up to it and move past it.

There are a lot of places I boycott. Some of them are because they made me sick. Some got too expensive for stupid reasons. Some are Chick-Fill-A. The majority of them are places where their lack of organization led to inconsistent products. When I tried to complain about this, I was treated like I was insane. For these reasons, the places are avoided. Well, except for Walmart, which is damned near UNavoidable. For now.

I know I'm not the only one who does this either. People complain about the state of the economy in this country. One of the places people should look to for change is in the way businesses are ran.  People need to be responsible and organized. They need to make sure their place is consistent.  They need to respond to any feedback without getting defensive and chasing off customers. If they could do these things, their businesses will probably grow.

All The Other Opinions

I watched a movie last week, one that had a rating of 2.5 for my roommate and I before I saw it. I felt it deserved more than that, and as I rated the movie, I happened to glance down at some of the reviews. The first one I read talked about how they were puzzled at this movie having such low ratings when they found it to be delightful. It seems I wasn't the only person who felt this way.

I've talked about this on the blog before.  We live in a culture of opinion addiction.   Because we have forums and comment sections and the ability to Like things on Facebook, not to mention the countless other avenues for opinion sharing, we all feel like we have the right, hell, almost the DUTY to give out our opinions all the time to everyone.  We also feel we have the to give these opinions about things even if we have absolutely no idea what we're talking about.

And yes, I realize I'm giving my opinion right now, but consider the difference. This is a blog framed and shaped around my opinions. It is online and accessible, but for the most part, people have to seek it out. Honestly, you have to actually give a crap about my opinion before you would even bother reading the blog.

This opinion thing caused me some problems where the book I am reading is concerned. This book is the fifth in a series and I started looking at forums about it before I got to this book. People were very critical of this book and of the characters in it. They more or less acted like the characters did nothing in these books except horrible and immoral things. . . . and not in a fun or entertaining way. I stupidly allowed these opinions to sour me on the idea of the book. I felt heartsick about some of these people becoming what it was said they became.

I'm reading the book now and I actually find that I disagree with so many of the opinions concerning it.  I've found the book to be very good and don't think the actions of the characters were as horrible as everyone claimed. I don't even think a lot of the decisions they made were bad.  Had I been in their positions and possessed of their worldview, I would have made many of these same decisions myself.

In a way, I want to be annoyed with the people on the forums.  However, I realize that if I should be annoyed at anyone, it's me. I allowed their opinions to taint my feelings about the book, in ways that I find to be completely baseless now that I've read it. I also should have kept in mind some of the basic rules of other people's opinions.

For instance, people's opinions are usually very filtered through their own world view. I think most of us try to NOT be this way, but quite often we fail. We look at the world through our own lens and being impartial is quite difficult.  Most of us don't even function in the same reality.

For example, in this book, there are many occasions where the queen is announced  before coming to court and all of her titles are called out.  There are a lot of titles. When I read this, and noticed how the repetition of the titles happened quite frequently, I felt that the character took notice of this because she felt burdened by all of the titles. She wore each one of them like a 200 lb weight on her back.  She was being crushed by the titles. I see it this way because my world view is one where too much being expected of you is deeply burdensome and tiring.

However, I have read other people say that they hated this character because she kept insisting they say her titles all the time.  This person felt like she was bragging. I'm not sure why.  Maybe they don't like women with a lot of responsibilities.  Maybe they hate it when pretty girls are given too many gifts and crowns.

Note the difference though.  Same character. Same books. I see her as someone being crushed by her duties. This other person sees her as a vain braggart.  It is our perception of the character that creates our own reality of her.

Look, I'm not saying that the reviews, analysis, and discussions one finds on the internet are all bad.  In many ways, they are positive and helpful.  When I was thinking about buying something a while back, I read the reviews of it and realized it had a whole list of problems I hadn't even considered. In this case, the reviews saved me a lot of money.

I think it's a good idea that when we are reading the opinions of others, we take make sure to consider what may be framing and shaping these opinions. We all see the world as we see it.  One person's 2.5 Stars on a movie may be your 4 Star movie. Sometimes we just need to take the plunge and find out for ourselves.

Mid-July Happies

Half way through July, and I'm sitting here with a cat against my leg so that she can get warm. That's right, folks. Warm. By some miracle, this summer is turning out to be as mild as winter was. As it stands, even if the next six weeks are hot, it's still a deeply mild summer compared to the last several we have had. This is wonderful because heat makes people homicidal.

Despite the cool down, the fleas are staying away. We did the whole house vacuuming today and saw no fleas, even though part of said vacuuming happened under my bed . . . a safe haven for fleas during the rest of the year. I have no idea how people's gardens are doing, but I would assume well. Everyone seems to be in a chipper mood. For July in Oklahoma, that is almost impossible.

I remember at the end of June how I felt fairly, if in a reserved way, positive about the summer. Now that I am midway through July, I feel even better about things. It's been days and days since we even turned on the AC.  This is saving us a lot of money and, honestly, it's been the first financial mercy we've had all year.

So yeah, I'm going to count my blessings here. I can take sudden storms and brief internet outages if it means I get to sleep in comfort.  I can handle walking through the driveway with puddles in it if it means I'm not having to walk in deeply evil levels of heat. I will be content to sit in a humid room if said room is still tolerable despite the fact that my AC is off. And yes, I totally just typed "human" for "humid" and had to change it.

Whatever the case, I'm deeply thankful for the summer we've had so far.  Aside from some very unpleasant days, it's been nice.  It's almost making me enjoy the season again.

Of Ponytails and Shorts

One of the true advantages of growing older is finding that your own comfort and practicality completely outweighs giving a fuck what other people think of you.  This doesn't always work, but when it does it is awesome. Truly awesome. It makes life so much easier and quicker and, yes, happier for you.

I had a couple of these events happen to me recently and they both deal with the facts of summer. The first one occurred a few weeks ago. I had to drive my roommate to the store.  I wasn't going to be getting out of the van, but that meant I would be sitting in it while it was hot. I decided I would wear shorts instead of putting on full length pants.

This was not easy for me.  See, when I was in the fourth grade (and ironically at my least heavy . . . I think weighed maybe 150 and I was 5'4" at the time), I would go to school in shorts and people would make fun of me.  One boy actually went so far as to ask a whole group of people if they thought I looked as 'retarded' in shorts as he thought I did. Then he proceeded to make noises he apparently associated with people who have mental handicaps. This line of insults cut deep because they not only called out my looks but also questioned my intelligence. It was too much to handle.

So as much as possible, I try to stay in pants. I would rather go out in public with no bra on than be seen in shorts. In fact, the first several times I drove my roommate to the store in shorts, I put a pair of pants into my purse, just in case we had car trouble and had to deal with a wrecker or anyone else.

After I realized how much easier it was to handle the van while wearing shorts, I decided to stop bringing the pants.  If I break down, I break down. Whomever offers assistance will either have to deal with it or just move on.

The second event happened on Monday when I was dealing with the long ass wait in line. I left the house with my hair in a ponytail. Not one of those cute ones that looks so well done and perky. No, this was messy, crooked, and halfassed. It was also deeply comfortable, because it kept my hair both off my neck and out of my face.

As I was in line, part of my mind started reminding me that I should take my hair down from the ponytail so that I would look presentable. But then I realized . . . there was no point in doing that because A. it would make me hot and what little breeze there was would keep blowing my hair in my face and B. no one really noticed or gave a fuck what my hair looked like.

See, one of the advantages of being a fat woman is that most people view you as ugly. I realize that sounds like a disadvantage, and it most certainly can be, but like any disadvantage, there is always a perk. In this case, the perk is that 'if people think I am ugly no matter what I do, and until I reach some acceptable weight nothing else I do will change their mind . . . I really do not HAVE TO do anything else.'

To anyone who thinks fat woman=ugly woman, it does NOT matter if your hair is in a messy ponytail. They're not going to think MORE favorably of you if your hair is down.  You'll just be an ugly fat woman with her hair down . . . and in her face.   As for everyone else, they would probably assume, correctly, that you kept your hair up because it's hot.  They won't think less of you for it.

And really, even if they did, what does it matter? Making sure that you are as comfortable as you can be in all situations should always be one of your goals. There are, of course, some situations where that isn't possible. Many jobs have dress codes or uniforms.  Certain businesses or organizations call for a certain level of dress as well. However, in your day to day life, it's best to consider what makes you the most comfortable far, above, and beyond what will make other people the most accepting of you.

Why?  I think it comes down to lasting effect.  Most people will only marginally notice details about you.  Put simply, most of us are too busy to take a deep interest in what other people are wearing, unless of course this is what we do for a living or part of our religion. So . . why placate people who you may never see again or who won't even remember you five minutes from now over your own comfort, which you certainly will remember and will continue to affect the rest of your day?

Choose yourself.  You'd be shocked at how happy this makes you.

New Shoes

I suffer from fairly intense Buyer's Remorse.  Just about every purchase I make for anything sends me into a frenzy of worry and emotional regret.  It really makes me loathe the buying process. It also annoys the piss out of me because I know that being decisive is a good thing to be. It's something I want to be. My brain just never wants this.

I think part of this stems from being so poor. All financial decisions are potentially  disastrous in a monetary way.  Even spending too much on a bra might come back and bite me in the ass when I needed the money for something else. Big purchases send me into a very dark place. I was emotionally fucked for weeks after choosing my last automobile. I'm still not sure I made the best decision. Actually, I am. I know I made the best decision give my limited options.

This even happens in stupid Facebook games. I'll save up gold or coins or whatever to buy items I like, only to instantly regret them once I make the purchase. Any game that rewards you with a slow gain of premium coins always screws with me the most. Every purchase I make feels like the wrong one. Half the time, I'll sit there and let the premium coins build up because I just feel unhappy about doing anything with them at all. No one should get this emotional about a stupid social game.

However, I must say I am quite pleased with my new shoes. They look decentish and fit well. They also appear somewhat more durable than the last several pair and feel lighter on my feet. Normally when I go shoe shopping, it is a day of bitterness and remorse. Today though, I came out of there feeling positive and very sure about the decision I made.

In the meantime, I'm going to work on this issue I have with buying stuff. I want to make informed and logical decisions about purchases, but past that, I want to just let it go and accept that I did the best with what I had to work with. This constant emotional drain and analysis on what I did just isn't good for me. It needs to stop.

Shoe Blues

On my quest towards better health, I think it's a good idea to inform other rather portly people of some of the issues you will encounter that no one warns you about.  We've already discussed pain (summery: It happens and it's bad).  Now it's time to talk about a matter than is mundane, yet fundamental at the same time. I'm talking about shoes.

Shoes are a difficult thing for fat people.  Okay, most things are difficult for us, but shoes are pretty high up there. Because shoes come in standard sizes, with only slight variations in width, about 99% of all shoes out there won't fit me. The problem is that my feet are wider than the wide width. They're also frequently swollen. Because of this, it becomes not just a matter of width of the foot, but also depth of the foot.

I foot measures about an 8. However, because of the width/depth issues, no size 8 will fit me, even in their assumed 'WW' sizes. Because of this, I have to get shoes longer than my foot just to compensate for the width/depth. Most often, I have to go several sizes larger, which means my foot slides around in my shoes, usually resulting in the smashing of my toes. Shoes at this size are usually ugly, clunky, and sad. They are never comfortable.

Because I'm poor, the shoes are also cheap. Actually, this isn't just a matter of being poor. More expensive shoes tend to be even more Nazi about sizing than the cheap ones do. This is unfortunate, because more expensive shoes offer far better construction and last longer.

Of course, construction hasn't really been that much of an issue.  I knew my shoes were cheap, but I never had them on my feet for very long (see: ugly, clunky, and sad), I usually don't walk that far, and only put them on when absolutely necessary. My cheap shoes still usually lasted me a while.

I'm walking more now, in fact, walking daily for exercise. The walk is intense.  It doesn't last very long . . . not yet, anyway, but it's still way more walking than I've done in years.   And so now, my cheap shoes are becoming a problem. The cheap shoes were designed with the sedentary large person in mind.  Yes, they can take some pressure, but not that often and not for very long. They really weren't designed to be walked in daily by some fat girl. Because of this, they're falling apart.

So . . . if you are a heavy person who decides to start a routine of walking, keep in mind that moving a lot of weight around in shoes is very hard on said shoes. Walk for a month to let the routine become habit.  Once you know you're going to stick with it, invest in the best shoes you can afford. Now, you may not be able to afford much.  If you can't, just keep in mind that your shoes are going to experience a lot of wear on them. Keep an eye on them and note any damages. You don't want to be in the middle of a walk and almost trip because the back part of your shoe decides to break free (totally did not happen to me today).

HOWEVER . . . please take my advice and wait a month before you make any investments.  Do not be one of these people who decides they will now work out and spends hundreds on gear . . . only to lose interest within a few days. Make sure the work out is really something you are going to stick with before you turn this into a big financial investment. Otherwise, you just may end up still as fat, but with less money. No one wants that.

Just Say No

Yesterday, I got up at five in the morning so I could have a good parking place and decent place in line for something. The place where I was waiting opened at 8:00 am, and last year when I got there, it was about seven.  By that time, the line was already around the building and there were no close parking places at all. I did not want to deal with that again, so I got up earlier and hurried my ass down there.

Of course, even at six, there were still a lot of people.  Luckily, none of them had handicap parking stickers so I still managed to get a decent parking place. I also got into the park of the line where I could easily sit without getting in anyone's way.  By 6:15, the line was getting around the building again. Also about this time, the first screaming baby of the day began to scream.

So for the next two hours, I put up with screaming babies, morning sun, occasional drips from the building, and other people. I also put up with the judgement and snittiness of the people who work in the building as they would pass by us to get to their jobs. I thought it was all worth it though, because I wasn't in as much pain as I could be and there would be a pay off.

Except there wasn't.  The assistance that I was hoping to obtain lowered their max income limit.  Last year, I got this with no problem. This year, even on the meager stipend of disability, I still had too much money coming in to receive help.  I was very upset and disappointed about this at the time. I could have really used the money, even though it technically wasn't a lot of money.  When you're really poor, even an extra twenty bucks can make a huge difference in your life.

I understand that things are tough on everyone. I know the state has very limited money for their programs and I completely understand. So even though I was disappointed at the time, I'm not upset about being denied now.

However, I am upset about the fact that we weren't just leveled with about the income limits.  If they had simply placed a sign on the door of the building showing what would work and what would not, I think they could have saved a lot of people some pain and discomfort.  Most people would have looked at the sign, saw they had too much income for the month, and gone home.  It would have meant shorter lines, less work for the employees, less paperwork, and less denial letters being sent out.

I think there is this cultural aversion to disappointing people.  We avoid telling others no or that they don't qualify or it won't work for the, because we truly hate seeing people's hopes dashed .  .  . well, some of us do.  Avoiding telling people the harsh news may seem easier at first, but really, it just ends up wasting a lot of time and energy.  If you have the power to tell someone not to waste their time because it's never going to happen for them, by all means, please do it.  Even if you hurt them, you're doing them a favor in the long run.  You may be doing a lot of people favors.

Ugly Girls

On a recent episode of Charlie Sheen's new show Anger Management, the plot revolved around Charlie (former angry baseball player now shrink who handles anger management clients) coming face to face with a woman he used as a slumpbuster 16 years before.

If you don't know the term, a "slumpbuster" is an ugly woman that someone fucks in order to get them out of the "slump" of badness they happen to be in at the moment.  I'm not really sure what the logic behind it is. Maybe they believe that they're having some kind of karmatic reward for fucking someone who is ugly. Maybe they believe they are somehow sacrificing in some way because they did this horrible thing to themselves of sleeping with a less-than-beautiful woman.  Maybe they believe the vaginae of ugly women have some kind of magical powers.

Whatever the reasoning, the practice is offensive. The idea that someone would have sex with you just because you were the ugliest person they could find is horrible. Sex is an intimate act and to do that with someone while you are simultaneously making fun of them is shitty.

However, as bad as the practice is, the way the episode handled it was even worse. When this woman shows up to confront Charlie about doing this to her, she is presented as stereotypically as possible.  She is now a stalker who still wants to maintain a relationship with him. She even had a bunch of surgeries to become more attractive, the "joke" being that none of them worked.

No one really calls Charlie out for what he did. No one confronts him about how horrible it was to treat someone that way. They joke about it. They joke about him having sex with her. And they warn him about how she's a stalker now. In absolutely no way is this woman's dignity or feelings considered.

So instead of the 'life lesson' in the episode being something about how it is wrong to treat people like the butt of your joke, the lesson turns into 'don't fuck the ugly girls because they get obsessed with you and never leave you alone.' In other words, the only bastardly nature of your behavior isn't all that important.  However, ugly women are so desperate that if you pay them even the slightest bit of attention, they may follow you around for the rest of your life.

How could this have been a good episode? I think it would have worked better if Charlie met the woman by chance and remembered what he did to her. If he, 16 years later, realized that doing that kind of thing to someone was very immature and horrible. If he had some time where he really struggled with how he treats people based on their appearance and realized that he still has a lot of growing to do.

Of course, that would never happen on a show like this.  We treat ugly women like there is something morally wrong with them and because of this moral failing, it's completely okay to do anything at all to them.  In fact, it's best NOT to be nice to them because then they might start stalking you.  Sigh.

Phobia Time with BHB

Yesterday, I got pulled over by the police and given a warning for my driving stylings. Actually, I'm not even going to try and defend myself on this. The man said he thought I was drunk. I wasn't.  However, I was dehydrated and I think it was affected my reaction time. As soon as I got away from him, I hopped out of the driver's seat and let my roommate handle the rest of the driving for the morning.

PSA of the post: Dehydration is a big problem this time of year. Keep your fluid levels up. It is of equal importance to keep  your electrolyte levels up.  Don't allow heat and sweating to screw up your system.

Bigger analysis of the post:  I find that I am terrified to drive now.  I know I will get over it, but the idea of getting back behind the wheel is freaking me out?  And why is this? Well, that has to do with my androphobia. My comfort level around males is always very very low. When you put that male into a position of authority and don't give me ample time to prepare to deal with him, I'm going to have reactions.

I want to stress this police officer did NOTHING to cause me to fear him. He was very nice, respectful, and polite to me. Over all, most people would probably rate it as a very simple and easy traffic experience. And intellectually, I know it was.

On the other hand, the freaked out part of my mind is telling me a very different story. All of the police will now be watching for me.  If at any moment I do anything wrong, just one little thing, they will stop me. All of them. Like all the big mean males in authority and I will get beaten by nightsticks because that is what they DO and I will never have freedom again.

So yeah, the idea of driving tomorrow is a little scary.  I will still do it . . . and I will make sure I am properly hydrated and that I will obey all traffic laws.  And I know when I get to the store, I will probably be shaking.  I'll be happy I'm there, but I'll probably want to cry.

In a few weeks, provided nothing else happens to trigger me, I'll be back to my normal self again. Or, you know, what PASSES as normal for me.  If you read the blog at all, you know that's a fairly strange collection of things.

Thoughts and more Thoughts

I've been trying to wrap my mind around some theoretical stuff and it's not been easy. I know I can process it, but it involves math and my brain has this tendency to try and shut down when math is involved. It's a defense mechanism from years of mean math teachers. I wish it wasn't the case. In fact, I think I'm going to see what I can do about changing that.

I spent all of last night reading about theoretical physics and only processing what wasn't in equation form. Even part of that I got, but again, my brain was trying to scream "LALALALALALA" while I was looking at it. That is really frustrating and I need a way to train myself not to do this. I want to understand more about the topic. Stop freaking out about it.

I know this is possible because of knitting. You see, for years, I tried to learn to knit but my brain just refused to let me. Whenever I would pick up the knitting needles and open up my Knitting for Dummies book, part of my mind would just shut down. I have no idea why. Knitting isn't difficult. It honestly felt like some kind of stubborn refusal.

In the end, I literally had to move stitch by stitch, forcing myself to pay total attention to what I was doing. I have to admit though, even after I learned, I still have processing trouble with it. My mind rebels against any project and tries to blank out when I look at instructions. Whenever I talk about knitting with other people, my brain keeps telling me to shut up because I'm a fraud.

This has had some strange social implications. There is a knitting group in town that I think I'm refusing to go to because of this whole "brain against the knitting" thing. I know it is every Tuesday at five, but it seems like every Tuesday around noon, I forget about it. I think my brain is forcing me to forget for . . . whatever crazypants reason my brain has for not liking it when I knit. And I'm still not sure why that is.

In any case, I think there is some exploration to do here. I'm going to talk to my therapist about it and see if she has any theories. Hopefully there are some training techniques I can do or something.  You know, provided my brain doesn't shut down about those as well.

Beth

Tonight my roommate and I were talking about how the older you get, the more grief becomes a part of you. The longer you live, the more you know of pain and loss. During this conversation, I almost started crying.  I'd been down and emotional all day, but this almost tipped me over the edge.

It's strange how raw something that happened 32 years ago can still feel. In a way, it's almost not fair that this is so. Time should allow healing. Though, I know most days it does. It's just sometimes, especially on anniversaries, when it can't.

I know I blogged about this last year, but if you are new to the blog, I'll explain. On July 4, 1980, our house burned. The house was a familial home and beautiful. I loved it dearly and wanted to keep it for the rest of my life. Worse than losing the house, so, so much worse, is the fact that my dog Beth was under it.  She didn't like fireworks and she hid under the house. When the fire started, she couldn't get out. I lost my house and I lost a pet that I love dearly and who loved me.

Beth was gentle and sweet.  She was a St. Barnard, mostly white with some dark orange spots. She had big, sad brown eyes and a long soft tongue.  As a child, I thought she was the most beautiful dog I'd ever seen. I know it is love that colors this opinion, but it doesn't matter. Whenever someone says "beautiful dog," Beth is what comes to my mind.

Things were pretty chaotic for me as a kid, and Beth helped to calm a lot of that down. She was this sturdy, kind presence who wanted nothing more than to be by my side. She would hang out when I would play.  She would sleep on the bed to keep me warm.  She would run around the yard with me, though not fast because she had some hip problems. She was just truly happy to be, you know? She loved the life she had.

But she hated fireworks. And so when we decided to shoot them off, she hid. And when the house started burning, no one even thought about the fact that she was under there. I hope she was asleep. God, how I hope she was asleep, and that she just died before she felt any pain or had to be scared. I just really hate the idea that she died scared and alone. I hate that so much and even 32 years later, I can't stand the thought of it.

Losing the house altered a lot about my life. It robbed me of something that was deeply important to me and it set us into a deeper level of poverty. It altered my identity. I was no longer the girl with the big pretty house. I was the girl who LOST her big pretty house.

Losing Beth broke something inside me.  I felt so utterly betrayed by life. You have to understand, I was a very young child when this happened. Up to this point, I just didn't really comprehend how cruel and crushing life could be. But my house was taken away and my dog was taken away. My dog died and in a horrific way. I didn't know how to process it. It was just so completely horrible to me. Losing Beth changed the person I would have been. The grief just ripped up too much inside me.

So yes, I can understand why some people, as they grow older, have an ever increasing difficulty in maintaining positive and sane. How many days of devastation can we experience before we just decide to give up?  How many can we experience before giving up isn't even a choice anymore?

Making an Ass out of You and Me . . . But Mostly You

Two things happened recently that reopened one of my little hate boxes. The first one had to do with some asshat who decided Twitter was the perfect place to start making hateful comments to Felicia Day.  He questioned what use she was to geek culture and called her a booth babe. Naturally, people responded by ripping him to metaphorical pieces.

In his kind of apology, he said something like, "oh, well I made these comments before I looked at your portfolio." I guess he thought this was some kind of acceptable excuse, but it wasn't. "I'm sorry, I was totally ignorant of this stuff I could have looked up in two seconds and formed really shitty opinions of you anyway" really isn't a good apology. Or even any kind of apology.

However, I've noticed it is a fairly typical thought pattern with a lot of people. They don't take the time to understand even the most basic truths of who you are before they start assuming the worst. This might have even been an excuse back before the internet when people actually had to put out an effort to do research. These days though, it really isn't that difficult to click a link or use Google.

The other example of this happened in the comments of this post.  Two girls in their 20s, long time Harry Potter fans, posted a video parody in support of House Hufflepuff. Some guy's comment is 'Should be retitled, "Reasonably attractive girls pander to Harry Potter Fanbase".'  His assumption, based only on seeing the video, was that these two girls (who he decided to judge as only 'reasonable attractive,' which was insulting enough) ONLY did this video to pander to impressionable and horny male Harry Potter fans.  While he doesn't state that he sees this as a horrible thing, the word 'pandering' has become one of those buzz words people use to slut shame women.

Oh, she is sexy and claims she likes Star Trek.  But she really doesn't like it. She's just pandering to the men who do like it to earn favor/money/attention from them. 
Now, if this gentleman would have just clicked the link to learn about the girls who did this video, he would have found that they have a huge collection of Harry Potter fan videos.  They love Harry Potter and do these videos because they are the fanbase. Someone who knew the girls pointed this out to him and he gracefully admitted to being wrong.

Now, while I used two examples of misogyny, I don't think this is something that only happens to women.  In fact, I think this is something almost all of us do from time to time. When someone presents themselves to us, we react. Certainly, we can't help what our first thoughts about them might be. That's just how our brains are wired.

HOWEVER . . . I think before we take that next step, the one where we begin to publicly bash them and air our opinions about them out there for everyone in the world to see, it might be a good idea for us to take a few moments to do some research.  If we look them up and read about who they are and where they are coming from, we might realize they're not really what we assumed they were. In the process, we may discover some very interesting people . . . or at the very least, keep ourselves from looking like assholes.

The Song of the Wicked Old Woman

There once was a woman,
Bitter and old
Who hated all children
Both shy and the bold

She hated their weeping
She hated their crying
She hated their stench
She hated their lying

But it was their parents
She hated the most
For their lack of discipline
And each selfish boast

It was the parents, after all
Who raised all these brats
When they could have dogs
Or some sensible cats.

Instead, they bred humans
Who ruined all public places
And for this the woman
Wished to slap parents' faces


When she met children
Who drew out her ire
She'd tell herself stories
So she didn't set them on fire.

Once there was a boy
Obsessed with all fireworks
He'd set them off for days
Like all careless jerks

He worked hard all June
So he could by a lot
The louder the better
Would please the little snot.

But when July arrived
The burn ban was county wide
And no fireworks
So the boy just cried.

Another child wanted
Ice cream from the truck
He saved all his pennies
Found some dimes, just his luck.

He ran to the truck
With its loud muzak played
And ordered a cone
Like the one on display

But before he could bite it
The cone slipped from his hand
And hit the dirty ground
Now, isn't that grand?!

One parent kept screaming
At her child's t-ball game
She'd threaten the coaches
And issued out blame.

One day she screamed
At a kid on first base
When the ball got hit wonky
And knocked her straight in the face.

Yes, the old woman's stories
Tended towards hurts
Disappointments for children
And parents' just desserts

She'd laugh at her evil
And snort at their plights
And snarl at firecrackers
Shot off way late at night.

Hello, July!

I must say I am very happy that July is here. The start of July means we're in the downswing of summer. This is a prospect I hated as a child, as July always meant my summer vacation would be over before I knew it.  However, now as an adult, it's hot and shitty outside and I'd rather summer be over as quickly as possible.  July also means we're closer to the fourth and I am happy about this because soon enough the fireworks stands will be closed and I won't have to listen to random popping at all hours. Yes, I am most certainly looking forward to that.

I'm still walking and doing other exercise. I'm actually starting to find some strength in my hips, which is quite pleasing to me. I hope this is a trend that continues.  I one of the best things about walking is that it makes me get outside every day. This isn't something that has happened for me in a long time. There have been weeks when I didn't leave the house at all, weeks when I would just stay indoors and shut out the whole world.  The problem with this, for me at least, is that I get very comfortable with it. I start becoming fearful of The Outside and begin to do anything I can to avoid it.

But now I get to spend some time outside. I look at the world, enjoy my trees, enjoy the color of the flowers. I pretend I don't see the anthills or the wasps. Two days ago, I certainly pretended I didn't see the bug that was trying to land on my glasses. Yes, that bug never happened.

A few weeks ago, my roommate mused at what his life might be like a year from now (he's doing more physical activities and stuff too). I'm wondering the same thing. This time next July, what will my life be like if I keep moving forward with my activity level? I really hope I am shocked at the results  . . . in a good way. Not in some "her body is now monstrously sewn to some other body." No, I really do not want that.