Pale is the New Tan

Shit I'm Into

2009-09-15T09:31:00.000-07:00

KaiserCartel

Miniature Tigers:

Inspired Bicycles with Danny Macaskill (I've watched this a dozen times, and I'm not sure if it's the song or the tricks or the way the song and tricks are so beautiful together, but it gives me nerdy goosebumps):

Also:

- http://www.twitter.com/shitmydadsays

- http://psychoticlettersfrommen.blogspot.com/

- http://www.canitapthat.com/

- http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

- http://whywomenhatemen.blogspot.com/

- http://www.fupenguin.com/

Whatever keeps my mind busy these days...

Hate

2009-09-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

We're starting to hate each other.

I am "cold-hearted". I've "never felt a real feeling in [my] life". I'm "living a complete lie".

This is exactly what we didn't want to do. And here we are.

Fuck.

Separated

2009-09-04T09:56:00.000-07:00

So, I'm separated. That's the big secret. That's what has kept me away.

A big part of me feels like it's the right thing to do. But that doesn't mean that it's not heart-wrenching, stomach-churning, sobfest-inducing.

It's also hard because I feel like everyone wants me to do what they want me to do. I know what my parents want me to do. I know what Hubs wants me to do. I know what the rest of the extended family wants to happen. Like there isn't already a huge weight on my shoulders and a panic attack waiting around every corner.

Fuck this. I hate this.

.

2009-08-26T09:09:00.001-07:00

I don't know what is making me come back to this blog. I haven't been here in a million years.

My shit is falling apart in my personal life. My professional life couldn't be better, but another part of my life is crumbling, and it's too late to stop it.

I'm trying really hard not to feel sorry for myself, and that's become much easier since I found out a friend lost her baby at the 20 week mark of her pregnancy. No matter how shitty things feel for me right now, I know she's feeling worse. And I can't stop it for her either.

I'm really good at wallowing. Not so good at putting on my big girl panties and dealing with life. But I kind of have to... I don't want Bean thinking that the way to deal with sadness and disappointment is to just roll over and die. You know?

Do you see what I fucking deal with?!?!

2009-04-06T09:21:00.001-07:00

E-mail correspondance between a total douchebag, a co-worker (briefly), and me:

From: Doucheface
Sent: Mon 3/30/2009 8:41 AM
To: Chuck
Subject: Renewal

Why has there been no membership renewal sent to me this year via regular mail? T. Doucheface, P.O. Box 666, Hell, Va. 22666. Why is finding an e-mail address to contact Organization almost impossible to locate on the website?

**********

From: Chuck
Sent: Tuesday, March 31, 2009 10:48 PM
To: T. Doucheface

That is a good question Todd. I will forward this to the membership department. For emails, please click on the tab labeled "About Organization" then click on staff. This will give you every email for Organization that you possibly need. Hope this helps.

Chuck

**********

Subject: RE: Renewal
Date: Fri, 3 Apr 2009 16:43:23 -0600
From: Heather
To: T. Doucheface

Mr. Doucheface,

I received your voicemail, and I am not sure why you wouldn't have received your renewal card. I apologize for the inconvenience, and a membership application will be sent out to you first thing Monday morning so that you may renew by check through the mail.

Sincerely,

Heather

**********

From: T Doucheface
Sent: Friday, April 03, 2009 4:52 PM
To: Heather
Subject: RE: Renewal

Heather, Ok... This oversight has made my membership become now in an expired status. There is also a sanctioned tournament here this weekend. Not good... I am, Doucheface (I fuck you not, folks, he really signs his emails "I am". You are what? A dick? Yeah, I'm figuring this out.)

**********

From: T Doucheface
Sent: Friday, April 03, 2009 4:54 PM
To: Heather
Subject: RE: Renewal

Heather, Have there not been four days between Chuck's message to me and yours this afternoon? Why could that membership renewal card not have been mailed this afternoon? I am, Doucheface (Please notice that all of these emails are in order. Please notice that this Cunthead sent me two emails within 3 minutes of each other. Do people seriously have nothing better to do?)

**********

Subject: RE: Renewal
Date: Fri, 3 Apr 2009 16:59:48
From: Heather
To: T. Doucheface

Mr. Doucheface,

I get approximately 50 emails each day, so sometimes it takes me longer than I would like to respond, and I apologize for the inconvenience.

It can't go out today as the letter carrier has come and gone already. She was here this morning. And I didn't get to your email until this afternoon. However, I have attached a PDF file of our membership application. You may print it out, fill it out, and return it to us at your leisure. This is the only thing I can think of to get your membership in more quickly.

If you would like, you can also sign up at your event for a membership. However, it may take the membership up to 3 weeks to arrive here.

Sincerely,

Heather

**********

From: T. Doucheface
Sent: Friday, April 03, 2009 5:26 PM
To: Heather
Subject: RE: Renewal

Heather, Have been a member for over ten years and NEVER pay any money at tournaments! You have me in your data base so what is the problem? Who has dropped the ball on doing renewals yet finds the time to get approval for getting dues increased? No desire to be inconvenienced by printing something out at the library when it should already be in my mail box. When the parent organization does not have a clear contact link cor communication available on their website it appears that there is a real problem occuring at Organization Street. I am, Doucheface (Really, sir? You don't have a printer? Your neighbor doesn't have a printer? Really?)

**********

From: T. Doucheface
Sent: Friday, April 03, 2009 5:28 PM
To: Heather
Subject: RE: Renewal

Heather, Glanced at the form you atttached [sic] and it is one for a person who has never been sanctioned before...??!!! I am, Todd (Again, please note that these last two emails were sent 2 minutes apart. And, what the fuck, you fuckface? I am, I am, I am. You are a stupid fuck who wouldn't know customer service if it came up and punched you in the balls!!!!)

**********

From: Heather
Sent: Monday, April 06, 2009 10:01 AM
To: T. Doucheface
Cc: Bossman
Subject: RE: Renewal

T., (No longer address him as "Mr." He doesn't warrant that respect.)

I checked the list of people who had renewal reminders printed for them and sent out. Your record with all mailing information correct was included in that. The error was most certainly not here at our office, but with the postal service. You should have received a card. Once the cards leave the printing house, Organization no longer has any control over them. No one "dropped the ball".

As for not paying any money at tournaments before, no, you probably haven't had to. However, every member does have the option of renewing their membership at any event they attend that is sanctioned with Organization.

As for membership dues increases, several emails were sent out starting in December, allowing members ample time to renew at the old rate before the increase on February 1. Since you don't have an email on file in your membership record, you didn't receive the information. The increase was voted on by the board of directors and not a decision that was made by one person at our office.

Also, the membership application that I sent to you is not only for new members. If you take another look at the form, you'll notice that above the portion where you put your name, there is a spot for your member ID number. Also, on the right hand side, you can check a box that states that you are a returning member.

Obviously, this correspondance isn't helping solve any problems. If you have any further problems, questions, or issues you'd like to discuss, I suggest you talk to J. Bossman, my boss, our Executive Director (bossman's email).

Sincerely,

Heather

*****************************************

Some days, I really question my life's path.

Like this

2009-03-31T08:52:00.001-07:00

I really just want to feel like this again.

Pretty much

2009-03-11T15:48:00.001-07:00

This pretty much sums up how I'm feeling about life in general lately.

Today

2009-02-23T14:27:00.000-08:00

-last cigarette: in Memphis in October, sitting next to some slack-jawed yokels who were doing birdcalls. I kid you not.

-last alcoholic drink: a beer at Applebee's with my boss and my co-worker Fender

-last car ride: does my commute to work this morning count?

-last kiss: Bean, this morning when I dropped her off at school.

-last good cry: last week. I cry all the time, these days.

-last book bought: a pop-up book about the Titanic for Bean. That was forever ago. I go to the library.

-last book read: not including cookbooks? Little Children. Check it out.

-last movie seen: I finally watched 'The Notebook'. I poked vague fun at it for the last couple of years because I don't normally do chick flicks. Now it is recorded in my DVR so that I may watch it over and over and over if I want.

-last beverage drank: water

-last food consumed: hummus and pretzel chips

-last crush: the adorable vegan girl who works at the gas station across from where I work. le sigh.

-last phone call: my mom... to ask about Girl Scout cookies.

-last tv show watched: Golden Girls. This morning while I ate my cereal. I fucking LOVE Golden Girls.

-last shoes worn: are on my feet right now. Raggedy old black Converse. With really big holes in them.

-last song played: 'And Darling' by Tegan and Sara. Because I'm lame and emo.

-last thing bought: Tofutti cream cheese and agar from Whole Foods

-last download: oh, I don't know

-last soda drank: a tiny little 8oz can of Pepsi.

-last thing written: "total due = 563. pd = 553. w/hld = 10.00

-last words spoken: "Oh my God, she was chatty today!"

-last ice cream eaten: Soy Delicious chocolate ice cream with peanut butter mixed in.

-last webpage visited: http://www.gmail.com

I got really bored about 2/3 of the way through that, but I soldiered on. Because that's what I do.

Can't Think of a Creative Blog Title

2009-01-14T13:52:00.001-08:00

Usually I hate it when I hear my favorite bands' songs in commercials.

Jane's Addiction "Mountain Song" in the Mountain Dew commercial.

The Kooks' "Shine On" in a Michelob Ultra with lime or some such bullshit commercial.

But I'm really really extra super duper excited to hear The Panderers' "Come On" in the Little Big Planet commercial. I saw them live last April, they opened for Mike Doughty, and they were stupendous.

The entire song and video are here:

They have an extended version, but it's long as hell.

I'm stoked.

The Faces of Thanksgiving Dinner

2008-11-14T14:12:00.000-08:00

Don't worry. No mutilated animal pictures today.

I discovered that the Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary outside of Denver has a blog. The Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary is a safe haven for rescued farm animals, and they have chickens and sheep and pigs and cows and... wait for it... turkeys.

I am posting two links to blog entries from the Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary about turkeys and Thanksgiving. I know it's probably a pain in the ass to link over to a different website. I would post them here and provide the links, but the formatting doesn't copy well, and they have some really wonderful photos attached to the entries. Please read them. Please think about it. Please don't let your tastebuds be the reason that these animals continue to be slaughtered.

http://peacefulprairie.blogspot.com/2006/11/another-view-on-turkey-day-by-delisa.html

http://peacefulprairie.blogspot.com/2006/11/what-were-thankful-for.html

Crazy

2008-11-12T09:32:00.001-08:00

I had a dream last night where I was at an event for work, and a co-worker of mine and I were getting into the elevator to go back up to our hotel room. We let on a lady with a stroller, but there wasn't a baby in the stroller.

The elevator was really shallow, so we were all squeezed up against each other.

We kept pressing the buttons for our floors, but the elevator would just skip them. It would go up and down and up and down. 14th floor. 200th floor. 89th floor. 106th floor. 4th floor.

I wonder if it means anything.

Or if I just need to stop eating spaghetti before bed.

Smack!

2008-11-05T11:25:00.000-08:00

Ever feel like you got smacked in the face, only no one touched you? No one ever said a word?

I kind of feel like that today.

Ouch.

P.S. My tattoo is badass.

And since I'm feeling emo...

2008-10-29T14:12:00.000-07:00

I just got back from an 8-day work trip in Memphis. Aside from a co-worker getting beaten up, event attendees having their car windows shot out, having my phone stolen, and being called a "snowflake", it was a pretty decent trip. Beale Street is pretty fantastic.

I had the opportunity to hang out a little bit with a really great athlete attending our event from Mexico. Funny, nice, humble, solid dude. The problem? He shares a name with, looks like, and sounds like my ex. Bean's biological father. In fact, when Bean's father called me out of nowhere a little over a year ago, I thought it was this guy. We were all hanging out at a bar, and I told him that whole story, about how I thought I was talking to him and just shooting the shit like I'd just seen him the day before. Looking back on it, it's kind of funny.

Then he said, "So when we hang out and talk, do you feel, like, sad or whatever?" I said no, but I kind of do. I felt a little drained and a little sad afterward.

Part of me wishes I could be completely over that time in my life. But another part really holds onto it. It helps to remind me that things can almost always be worse. It helps to remind me what real heartache and devastation feels like when I'm being overly dramatic. It also helps to remind me what it was like to be young and in love. Before the fight, before his disappearance from my life, back when I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and was filled with optimism.

This guy sat across from me at our table and asked me, with a totally disgusted look, "Do you just totally hate him?" And I said no. Because I don't. I have the most beautiful little girl in the world. How could I hate the person who is half of her, half of who she is, with her tender heart and quick wit? I couldn't.

Aaaaand, now I'm feeling weepy.

I shouldn't blog on my period.

Committment

2008-10-29T12:58:00.000-07:00

I've committed the last few years of my life to veganism and animal rights.

And tomorrow I'm getting that committment put on my skin forever.

I will not miss it.

2008-09-08T08:42:00.000-07:00

There are several things about the house we're living in right now (and the neighborhood) that I will not miss:

1. The neighbors' dogs. For two years straight, they have barked at us every.single.time we've stepped onto the back patio. Actually, if they can even sense my presence in the laundry room, they go apeshit.

2. Our backyard. It's small. It slopes. It has been nothing but dirt and weeds since the day we moved in. When you're letting a large dog out after a snow melt, it makes for lots of fun on the carpet.

3. Speaking of the carpet. I will not miss it. Oatmeal-colored berber. Do you know what happens to berber with a large dog and cats who chase each other all day?

4. The bathrooms. It's been an uphill battle trying to keep the bathrooms from smelling like piss. Not animal piss. Human piss. Apparently, the former tenants had little boys (who peed on EVERYTHING) as well as an aversion to cleaning the toilet. There was orange on the underside of the toilet when we moved in. No shit.

5. The police. Now, I have no problem with police. What I do have a problem with, however, is being woken up at 3am multiple times by officers looking for someone who knew the previous tenants. How many times do we have to say that they haven't lived there in years? Also, random drug busts have caused patrol cars to block our cars in the driveway multiple times. And we don't live in a bad neighborhood. At all. I do, however, think we have a little meth head action happening.

6. Being 15 minutes from a grocery store. Can you say boonies? Yeah. A trip to Walgreens to get something for Bean's fever was at least a 35 minute affair.

There is a lot more I won't miss. But that's all I can think of right now.

Can't wait to move.

Soon, my pretties.

Blank

2008-09-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

I am starting to feel like I have nothing to say anymore.

It's weird, though, because I have all these great conversations and rants and diatribes and monologues in my head on a regular basis. I really do, they're spectacular.

But I don't seem to be able to get to a computer in time to put them down before I forget all about them.

My short-term memory has taken a massive dump.

Sigh.

Under contract

2008-08-11T09:39:00.000-07:00

We are officially under contract.

We are having our home inspection on Wednesday.

We close on 9/15/08, our anniversary.

As long as nothing goes wrong with our financing between now and then, we should be out of the house we rent and into the new home by October 1.

It's a pretty cool house. Bigger and cleaner than we expected to get in our price range, with a bigger lot. It's in an established neighborhood close to my mother-in-law. And, actually, that's great. I love my mother-in-law, and she watches Bean after school when Hubs or I can't make it out of work early enough to pick her up.

It had renters before, but it has brand new carpet, paint, tiled kitchen and bathroom. The backyard is an eyesore, but it has a clothesline! I'm very excited about the clothesline.

Wait until I post pictures of the godawful green awning that covers the back deck, though. It's spectacular. In a white trash kind of way. I'll probably wait to post pictures until we close. I don't want to get any more emotionally attached to this place until we figure out if it will really be ours.

Already sick of looking

2008-08-04T14:08:00.000-07:00

So. I've been house hunting for 24 hours now, and I'm already developing a nervous twitch. I guess I shouldn't say that I've been hunting for 24 hours. I've been looking at homes online for years, increasing my search in the last few months, and in the last couple of weeks, it's all I'm doing with my free time.

Hubs, Bean, and I all went looking at houses yesterday with our realtor. It was about what I expected. Saw a lot of mediocre houses that in one way or another, just weren't right for us. A couple smelled like smoke, one had a completely worthless kitchen with two cabinets and a butcher block top rolling dishwasher (trust me, there was no saving this kitchen on our budget). One was listed as a two-bedroom/one-bath, but really, it was more like one bedroom on the main floor and a big open loft area on the upstairs half floor with no door, no hope for a closet, and carpet that looked like death.

We were fortunate, however, that only one house smelled like urine. Human urine. What's sad is that we'll drive by houses, Hubs will say, "What do you think of that one?", and I will respond with, "It looks like it smells like pee. Human pee." This one did. Oh, the hilarity.

Tonight, we're looking again. From 6pm to 9pm. Only, I'll drive home, eat quickly, drive the 25 minutes back to the area where I work with the fam in tow, look at one house I'm 98% sure is waaaaay too small and too expensive, look at another house in the general area, then drive back down to where we live to look at houses down there.

Let me say that I'm not thrilled with where we live. But if what we saw yesterday in our more desired part of town is any indication of what we can afford, we'll sacrifice. There are some cookie-cutter communities close to where we live, and I hate cookie-cutter communities. But I also know that lots and lots of people love them. Their gleaming whiteness, their newness, their neat little square lots. So I'd be willing to fake it for a few years until we could afford what we REALLY want. And, frankly, if I'm going to live in a soulless neighborhood, there are some damn fine soulless neighborhoods in our general area that are also in our general budget.

But I'm already tired. I'm already tired of looking at houses, thinking about houses, thinking about money, fretting about the monthly mortgage, going back and forth between what I think we can afford and what I'd LOVE to just say "yes!" to. I'm tired of being in the car and driving and sitting on my ass. I'm tired of MLS numbers and FHA and talking about double-paned storm windows.

If I make it through this and haven't ended up as the main focus of a story on the Oxygen show "Snapped", I'll post pictures.

Isakov

2008-07-15T10:56:00.000-07:00

If you love beautiful music and brilliant lyrics, check out Gregory Alan Isakov. Phenomenal. I mean it.

I have his first two albums and then got out of the habit of buying CDs and paying attention to when new stuff comes out, so I missed the most recent "That Sea, The Gambler" when it came out last year. But after hearing the whole thing (LastFm, cough cough), I'm going to buy it. Yes, I still buy CDs.

The LastFm page:

http://www.last.fm/music/Gregory+Alan+Isakov

The MySpace page for you youngsters with the MySpaces:

http://www.myspace.com/gregoryalanisakov

Did I mention how wonderful his music is? It is. Check it.

I need some help.

2008-07-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

It's not serious. But I'm starting a project soon, and I need supplies. Old magazine spines, to be exact. I need the three inches of magazine closest to the spine since I'm not sure how far down I'll have to cut them yet.

If any of you readers/lurkers have any magazines you'd like to part with (all colors, all types of magazine, excluding hunting/fishing magazines), please e-mail me at heatherann007@hotmail.com.

I'm not even sure if the project will work, but there's no way to find out for sure unless I actually just try to make it and see how it goes.

Thanks!

Devil Spawn

2008-07-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

So, it's Sunday, and I'm vacuuming, trying to do something productive in the last few hours of my three-day weekend. And the doorbell rings. Maynard growls, and I sigh and roll my eyes because I know it's Devon, the hell spawn from two doors down who makes Bean cry on a regular basis.

Bean answers the door, and I tell her without turning to see the blond demon child standing in my doorway that I'm cleaning. They can either play out front, out back, or at Devon's house. Bean puts on her shoes, and they go over to Devon's house.

Fifteen minutes later, Hubs is looking out the window and pointing. "She's back," he says, "I'm betting that she called Bean.... stupid. What do you think?"

"I'm going to also go with 'stupid'".

I ask Bean why she's home already, and she confirms that Devon called her a name. "Snob." Whatever. Fucking brat. So Bean tells us she's going to ride her scooter out front. And that's great. We like physical activity and sunshine.

I'm vacuuming and watching out the window to make sure Bean is staying out front, on the sidewalk, and no slack-jawed yokel has run their car up onto our sidewalk and mowed down my child. And I see Devon.

In Devon's hand is a can of aerosol something. I think it's hairspray, but I still keep my eye on her. She's approaching Bean on her scooter, crouches down and starts spraying. At first I think it's silly string. But it's not silly string.

It's fucking spray paint, gold spray paint, and she's spraying it all over the sidewalk in front of our yard. In front of the yard that is part of the house that we don't even own.

So I run out of the house, yelling, "What are you doing? What is that? Spray paint, are you serious?!"

Hubs comes out and helps me with the hose. I'm foolishly hoping that I can spray the paint off before it fully dries. Not so much.

"Devon, do not spray our sidewalk with paint. Don't spray the sidewalk, don't spray Bean's scooter, don't spray anything!"

I go back inside, and I'm grumbling, Hubs is cussing, and we're both angry as hell.

"Why don't you go say something to her mom," he says. "She's just going to keep being a beast until someone says something. She can't keep destroying our stuff. This isn't even our house!" (I should mention that the day before, Hubs found some cables that HAD been attached to the side of our house, pulled off, with part of our dog's kennel hanging from it. More of Devon's handy work.)

"I don't want to. Her mom's so.... normal, and I don't like confrontation. You go."

"Fine. I'm going."

"Put on some pants, though," I say. "It will make you seem more credible. And less like a crazy neighbor in his boxers."

Hubs storms out, and Bean is still out front riding her scooter. Devon is cautiously hanging by the edge of our property line. A minute later, he comes back in.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," he says. "I didn't go. I don't even know what to say."

So I shut off the vacuum and walk two doors down, Devon following me, but keeping a safe distance. I ring the doorbell, and her mother comes down.

Poor Tracy. So nice. So normal.

"I don't want to seem like I'm tattling on your daughter," I say, "but Devon just sprayed gold spray paint on the sidewalk in front of our house. I figured you probably don't even know she has the paint, and it's dangerous, so I thought you should know." (Don't you like how I play the safety angle, rather than the I-might-discipline-your-child-for-you-and-in-a-way-you-won't-like angle?)

"Oh, God," she says and calls Devon in.

I walk back home, and Bean comes in a few minutes later. "I heard Devon screaming in her room," she says.

And for a minute, I feel a pang of guilt. What if they spanked her with a wooden spoon? Or a belt? "What was she screaming?"

"That she hates her parents, and she hates us, and she hopes she never sees our faces again," Bean says.

"Oh," I say. "I hope that's a promise."

So hopefully we won't see her for a while. And even then, I don't think Bean will be playing with her any more.

But her memory will be there. Every time I pull into the fucking driveway and see that big fucking gold swirl on the sidewalk.

Ugh.

It's out in the open now, and okay to blog about it.

2008-06-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

So I found out a week ago that I am not, in fact, the oldest child. I have an older half-brother out there who I have never met, who I didn't know existed.

My dad told me that he dated a woman before my mother who had gotten pregnant. But she'd been a stripper, and he'd heard things from his friends about her that hinted that the child might very well not be his. So he stopped hearing from her. And they last spoke when my mom was pregnant with me and when my dad and my mom were about to get married.

I'm not sure why he finally, after a quarter of a century, decided to find out for sure. But he found this guy, Dennis. And they took a paternity test. Dennis is my dad's son, and my older half brother.

When my dad told me, I wasn't upset. When he asked if I was sitting down, I thought someone was dying. This is obviously a surprise, but it's not something I'm upset or angry about.

I am, however, irritated with my dad's behavior back then. Those excuses (and that's what they are, excuses) are very similar to the flimsy excuses Javier gave for not finding out for sure if Bean was his child. I've been Dennis's mom. And it's incredibly hurtful. She chose not to further contact him. Or try. I'm not really sure. I made that same choice, also. It hurts when the father of your child doesn't seem to care enough to even find out for sure. I guess I held my dad to a higher standard, and more than anything, I'm shocked that he could live so much of his life with this uncertainty hanging over him.

Knowing how hard it has been (and still is) for me, I can sympathize with Dennis's mom. I can imagine how she probably felt. Granted, she opted to tell her son that his father was dead rather than reveal the truth, but I know about that sinking feeling in your heart when you realize that your choices have caused a domino effect that will continue to impact your child for the rest of their life.

So there will be an extra chair at Christmas dinner this year, and I'm actually pretty excited to meet him. And, from what I hear, he's interested in getting to know this part of his biological family.

So, sufficed to say...

2008-06-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

... I gave up on the Eight Belles post. It still burns me up to think about horse racing in general. And anyone who knows me who may be reading this pretty much knows that I want to punch all jockeys and "trainers" square in the balls. 'Nuff said, I suppose.

I haven't been in a posting and commenting mood lately. Or a position to do so, really. I'm trying to use whatever creative tendencies I have left for work. I've hit a breakthrough, and now I have all of these ideas that I'm really excited about, that I will continue to work on.

A lot of this surge of excitement and creativity has come from a recent work trip out of state. It was like summer camp. I was really reluctant to leave my family for 9 days, but I was busy while I was away. And I met some really amazing, amazing people. And then I was bummed I couldn't bring them back home with me. A lot of these people are enthusiastic about what they do, creative, excited. And it rubbed off on me.

So forgive me if I don't come around much. I haven't been this excited about work in, well, ever.

I love meeting new people.

Eat me, Blogspot

2008-05-09T09:06:00.001-07:00

I just had this really awesome blog/rant worked up about Eight Belles and horse racing and animal breeding in general, and blogger ate half of it.

*sigh*

Maybe this afternoon.

We might be screwed.

2008-05-01T08:34:00.000-07:00

So I'm looking out my office window (yes, I'm blogging from work, but I'm caught up, so I'm allowed), and it's snowing. When I walked in, co-worker was all, "Isn't this great? Is it a relief for Hubs?"

Actually, no. It's not. It's snowing here, but out at Hubs' job, it's still dry as a bone. Their lake is completely drained. They don't know when they'll get water next. If it doesn't rain by tomorrow, we're kind of screwed.

Let me explain why. When you are growing new grass, when the grass seed is germinating, it MUST stay wet regularly. Or it dies. It dies, and you have to start over. Hubs' lake at work ran out of water the night before last. So, all of this snow I see out my window right now doesn't mean shit if it doesn't happen out where my husband works.

I actually just spoke to him. Since I hit the 'enter' key to make a new paragraph. Some dark clouds are rolling in, so my fingers are crossed. And my toes.

Even if it does rain, I am so livid with his job's new owners and managment company. They've been putting the cart before the horse for nearly a year. They've been making elaborate plans for a clubhouse and restaurant, and not looking at the big picture. The big picture being, if there is no golf course, there will be no restaurant. (So, I gave it away. Hubs works at a golf course, and they've been re-designing/rebuilding it for nearly a year.)

Hubs' best friend (and boss) has tried to tell these people over and over and over that the leaking lake is a HUGE problem when that is the source of all the water they use for the greens. Finally, they broke it down like this: "No one will want to buy expensive homes on a dead golf course that they can't use that has a dried up, stinky nasty lake!"

You see, the new owners are developers. They are the most evil of the evil. When they were being told, "Hey, we can't water in greens with no water", they didn't care. They didn't take any action knowing that these guys who have worked so hard all this time (Hubs has been there for 10 years, almost) were going to get laid off. The lightbulb only turned on when they realized that they'd lose tons of money. The golfcourse is secondary to them. The homes they'll build are primary. The golfcourse is a plus because they can sell the overpriced homes for even more money, they'll get richer, they can afford a third Bentley, and an even newer set of tits for their wives.

The owners/managers told the guys to get estimates on what it would cost to line the lake with PVC or whatever. $600k. And they can't do it until winter when the ground is at its hardest. They also got an estimate for a chemical they can put in that water to slow the leakage, and it will work about 60% better than what is happening right now. $98k. So, obviously, the chemical is the best option. However, there is no fucking water to put the fucking chemical in! And they don't know when they'll be able to fill the lake again! The greens could die between now and then! There's a good chance they will!

I am so tired of my husband working so hard for so little money, no one listens to him, and they get by on the skin of their teeth constantly. It's awful. And it's stressful. I'm waiting and waiting and waiting, checking my bank account every day for our 'economic stimulus package' because I'm afraid we'll have to live off of it for a while. But the IRS hasn't deposited my checks (since we owed, of course), so I don't anticipate it happening any time soon.

I don't really hate anyone, but these new owners.... I think I might hate them.

Uncomfortable

2008-04-29T08:24:00.001-07:00

So, at my evening job, I work with this girl. She's 21, she's funny, we get along really well. And most of the time she's pretty great.

But she hates kids. I mean, she hates them. She gets freaked out by carrying the high chairs or cleaning them off. In her defense, cleaning those things is pretty freaking disgusting. Mashed food in the straps. *gag* But she's really visibly freaked out by children. The other day, we had clean day at the pub (which, by the way, is also disgusting. Did you know people can spill beer over ten feet up on the wall? Yeah.), and one of the managers brought her 4 year-old. This girl kept moving away from this little kid like she was diseased. She also has a shirt with a little boy and girl on it that reads "I hate children".

You know what? She's 100% entitled to her feelings and opinions. That's fine. That's one less hungry mouth to feed in the world, one less consumer gobbling up resources like it's an Olympic sport, since she won't be creating any new life. And I get that some people just don't like children. I don't like all children. That's totally fine and reasonable.

But it makes me really uncomfortable when she's so vocal about her hatred for children. She even made a comment once about my (very polite, respectful, clean and well-behaved) child. For example, it would be like someone going on and on to my friend about how much they can't stand Asian people when my friend happens to be married to an Asian man. It's offensive.

So instead of putting on my big girl panties and saying just that, saying, "You're being offensive. Cut it out, man", I make sure that all the families with small children are seated in her section of the pub.

God, I love a good show.

2008-04-24T13:54:00.001-07:00

Last night, Katey, Ben and I drove from Colorado Springs to Boulder through Denver rush hour traffic to see Mike Doughty play at The Fox (with The Panderers opening).

And, God, it was so worth it. The Fox is, really, the size of a bar. A large-ish bar, but a bar. I love going to shows in small venues where you can stand 30 feet from your favorite musicians.

I think the thing I loved most about the show last night is how connected to the audience Mike Doughty and The Panderers were. The only show I've ever been to with visible security and extra separation from the musicians and the fans was a Tool show. And, really, I love Tool, but the Tool show I went to a year ago sucked. It sucked hard.

I love interaction at shows. I love when I can tell that an artist really loves what they do. I've been to some good shows, damn good shows where the musicians were just totally aloof. Humble, but closed up. Which is cool. I understand that. But I love these kinds of shows better.

The only real gripes I have about the show are that I really really REALLY wanted to hear more stuff off of Skittish and Rockity Roll. I like the new stuff. A lot. But, dammit, I wanted to hear "40 Grand in the Hole".

Also? This is not a show gripe. It's a people gripe. The meathead standing next to me taking up about 3 feet all around him of dance space. He was freaking me out a little, and he almost hit me in the eye with his elbow at one point. Rock out, dude, that's great, but realize you're not the only one in the room. And? A group of CU girls standing two feet from me talked through almost the entire opening set. As the music got louder, they got louder. I didn't drive for over 2 hours to hear about what some stupid boy did or didn't text some girl about. Just as Katey was about to say something, a guy went over to them and said, "Excuse me. I came to hear music. And you guys are really loud. Could you go out in the lobby if you want to talk?" YES! Thank you, random guy.

Anyway. Yes. The show. Awesome. One of the first songs Mike played was "Fort Hood", off the new album "Golden Delicious". It was even more powerful in person than on the CD. And it's so fucking fitting that I went to this show and heard this song one day after the Pennsylvania primaries. I'm getting so sick of the Obama and Clinton pissing matches. I really am. There is so much at stake, and there is so much positive change that can happen, and they are kind of acting like children.

So, watch the video. Listen to the words. Really listen. It's phenomenal.

Also? I forgot. Check out The Panderers. They sound like Mike Doughty and Cake had a lovechild, and they rock.

P.S. If you ever want to fake sick the morning after a concert or a late night of partying or whatever? Just pretend you have diarrhea. No one wants you around, and no one will question your absence.

Pray for rain

2008-04-21T09:01:00.000-07:00

My husband's job is in serious jeopardy.

His job depends on there being rain. And there hasn't been. At all, really. There have been fires and 70+ degree days with lots of wind. No real moisture, though.

It wouldn't be quite so worrysome if the lake they have didn't leak. But it leaks, the new owners don't want to pay the $500k it would cost to line it, so they're losing water all the time. They lose water, and they only get their lake re-filled every so often. They count on rain in those inbetween times to tide them over. And it's just not happening.

I really hope all the local yokels are happy now. It's dry as hell, there have been fires (I could see flames from my back porch from one of these fires), and my husband (and a handful of others) might lose a job, but I hope they're happy that they can all wear their fucking flip-flops.

So pray for rain for us. Rain or the decision to line the lake.

Finally

2008-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

After two and a half years, we are no longer Penrose St. Francis's bitch.

I've been paying between $65 and $75 every month for the past two and a half years for an ER visit.

Last month, I got a bill for the balance of $235. So I called and asked if I could pay half then and the last half this month. They said it was fine, so yesterday afternoon, I paid off the last $117 of this stupid bill that has been hanging over our heads.

Finally.

So, great, this extra $65 a month can go toward healthcare now that Hubs' company has dicked him over royally. But that's another bitch for another day.

hm

2008-04-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

When did I become the most boring person I know?

When someone I haven't seen for a while asks me what I've been up to, what's new, my answer is always:

"Oh, not much, really. Just been working."

And it's the truth.

Stuck

2008-04-08T13:20:00.000-07:00

I've been in this kind of low-level panicked mode the past few days. Constant upset stomach, on the verge of tears.

Hubs and I are not renewing our current lease when it's up. We want to buy a house. However, we'll be trying to get 100% financing. That, paired with having the taxes rolled into the monthly payment, severely limits what we're able to afford. We don't want to live in a crappy neighborhood, and we don't want to live in a home the size of a shoebox. So we're really limited to one particular area of town. It's near where we live now, and the idea of it makes me absolutely miserable.

I was really hoping to get away from the Walmart. And the water and sanitation plant. And the army base. And the two sets of train tracks. I'm panicked at the thought of trying to re-sell in this area in 4 or 5 years because it's not a super desirable area. It's been hard coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to feel like I settled. If it was up to Hubs, he'd probably live 5 minutes from his mom for the rest of his life. But it's so far away from everything. I wish we could afford to live in a different neighborhood. But the home prices are super inflated compared to the average income in this town.

Which leads me to my job. I'm completely unhappy with it right now. I feel like people here don't have any faith in my ability to do anything even remotely creative or difficult. I'm quiet, so I'm not constantly brown-nosing my way into a better position, but if someone asked me, "Hey, can you come up with an idea for this?", I'd really give it a shot. I would try. I get the feeling that they see me as some sort of mental midget, too. I'd leave, but we're trying to buy a home this fall, and really, this is the town of very little opportunity.

I'm feeling really trapped by life right now, and it's giving me palpitations. And not in the fun way. I feel bad saying that, too, because I love Hubs. And I love Bean. I just... feel strangled.

Maybe it's just PMS.

In less than 3 weeks....

2008-04-04T13:08:00.000-07:00

In less than 3 weeks, I will be in Denver eating awesome vegan diner food with Katey and Ben before we go to Fox Theatre in Boulder for a show.

For a show to go see this guy!

Mike Doughty!

Oh, yes, there will be rockin' good times.

I'm so excited! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

In the past year, I've been really fortunate to be able to see a couple of my most favorite bands ever (read: EVER!) play live. Up close and personal, too, not at some huge arena that charges $70 a ticket.

Last spring I saw The Decemberists with My Perfect Diamond opening. And last fall, I saw Interpol with The Liars opening.

By the way, Paul Banks should just dump Helena Christensen, move to Colorado, and have my freckly pale children.

Anyway. Yes! Mike Doughty! Live! For the very first time! Very exciting.

And this? Is why I don't like other people's kids.

2008-03-31T08:36:00.001-07:00

Okay, that's not entirely true. There are some kids who are totally wonderful. My daughter has a wonderful friend named Katelyn who doesn't have a mean bone in her entire body. And I wish all little kids were like that.

Bean has a "friend". Devon. Well, had a "friend" Devon. Devon lives two doors down, and she's the only kid on the street Bean's age, so by default, they were "friends".

Devon and Bean argue pretty much every time they play together. Oddly enough, they're always playing over at our house. Devon has this habit of completely trashing Bean's room, and Bean quickly realized that even though someone else destroyed her room, she was responsible for putting it back together. I won't help.

Devon also invites herself to dinner. And to spend the night. Only she tells Bean to come ask me. The answer has been no every time. (By the way, am I the only person in this God forsaken world who was raised not to invite themselves over for dinner or to spend the night?)

Well, Saturday, I was taking Bean to the park. I was getting ready when Devon rang the doorbell. Bean told her she couldn't play, but I told her to run over and invite her to come to the park with us if she wanted to come along. Half an hour later, I went over with Bean, exchanged cell phone numbers with Devon's mom, and we went to the park. It ended up being too crowded, so we went to a marsh wildlife preserve deal right by the park instead.

The whole time, there was no arguing. It was great. We walked around the marsh, visited the nature center. It was over an hour of blissful getting along. On the way home, I told Devon she could go home and ask her mom if she could play for a while, and then come over. I was feeling generous.

She did come over, and after about 20 minutes, the arguing started. I went in Bean's room once to tell them to quit, and eventually I just got sick of it and told them to start straightening up because it was time for Devon to go home.

Five minutes later, I snuck up to Bean's room because I heard more arguing. I peeked in the door, and Devon was saying, "... so then I'm just going to take one of your things. I'm going to take ..." Then she saw me and stopped. I said, "It's time to leave. Right now. Bean, you can finish cleaning up after you walk Devon home." I was livid. Really livid. And desperately trying to restrain myself. I couldn't believe the nerve of this kid trying to walk out of my house with one of my kid's things.

Bean came home from walking Devon, and she was sobbing. Devon had called her stupid.

In the next five minutes, I found out Devon had done/said the following:

1. Told Bean she was stupid.
2. Called Bean a name for trying to keep her from breaking/tearing shit up.
3. Made fun of Bean because she likes to play with her parents.
4. Told Bean she has a big butt.

Then the doorbell rang. Devon had forgotten her sweater. I couldn't even look this kid in the face because I really thought I might lose it. Not physically. I'd never get physical with a child. But I was really afraid of unleashing my arsenal of hurtful words on this kid. Which is totally unreasonable. But I wasn't exactly feeling reasonable.

So she got her sweater, and when she left, I slammed the door. I slammed a door on a seven-year-old. I? Am so mature.

Yesterday, Devon came over to play like nothing had happened. No, Bean couldn't play. I wasn't letting this venomous little cleptomaniac back into my house. Especially after I found out that she'd tried (and possibly succeeded) in taking things from my home before.

I would go over and say something to her mother, but, frankly, I've been to her house, and I don't think that would make much of an impact. The house is a disaster area, and the father can't even get his lazy ass off of the couch to get the door. He just screams at other people to answer it.

I'm trying really hard not to be so angry at this kid. Because I'm an adult. And because I'm almost completely certain that her home life has a lot to do with why she is the way she is.

But Bean doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She doesn't want Devon to come over anymore, though. She agrees that a real friend doesn't upset you every time you play together. And a real friend doesn't say mean, hurtful things just to say them. I wish she would stand up for herself. But I don't stand up for myself, either, though, so I suppose she gets that from me.

I can't wait to move.

Old man crushes

2008-03-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

I have old man crushes. It's really odd. With all the young, heartthrob-y actors in Hollywood, I have crushes on old guys.

I have never been especially interested in watching political crap on television until I discovered Keith Olbermann. Now, he used to do sports correspondance, and I never thought twice about him then. Maybe it's the combination of nice suits with coordinating ties, salt and pepper hair, the glasses, the cynicism, and the knowledge of politics that makes everything he has to say very, very interesting.

In the same political vein, I find both Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert wildly attractive. Colbert kind of reminds me of a cartoon character. Maybe that's what I like about him. And, I know, I know, mid-forties isn't necessarily old. It's actually not. However, since I'm 25, I'm going to say that mid-forties is older.

Then we have the old guys who just have phenomenal talent. And that is hot, too. Bruce Springsteen, Al Pacino, and *drool* John Malkovich. Good night, I love that man.

And then there is the bizarre that I can't explain. My psychoses all come to light when I tell people that there is something oddly attractive about Billy Bob Thornton. Shut up! Who are you to judge me?

Ungrateful Panhandler

2008-03-18T08:41:00.000-07:00

There is an old homeless guy who sits on the corner of Pikes Peak and Tejon all the time. Every time I show up for work and round the corner to the pub, he's sitting on the bench asking for change.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a whole dollar. And I gave it to him because, really, I didn't need the dollar to pay for parking since I was paid up. And I like being able to do something nice for someone else when I can. It's winter, it's fucking cold as hell some days, and a cup of coffee (or gin, whatever) goes a long way to keeping someone warm when they have no place to go.

Last week, as I was approaching his bench, he was asking someone if they could spare a dollar, and they said no. Then he turned to ask me. I told him, "I don't have ANY money, I'm sorry."

And as I walked away, he said, "NOone has a DOLLAR to spare today. NOone has ANY change."

Excuse me, old man, but I most certainly do not have any money to give you. Why do you think I'm coming to work? Because I need to make money. I have, like, three pennies and 10 pesos. I can give you the pesos, but it wouldn't get you very far. I am not lying. I have nothing. Besides, I don't even think I got a 'thank you' last time I gave you a dollar. And now you're giving me attitude? AAAAACK!

I usually have a really tender heart for the homeless and/or disabled people in this city. But that.... really rubbed me the wrong way. I have a kid who I have to feed, clothe, and house. I cannot always give these guys money. Can.not.

Letter from God

2008-03-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

"Letter from God"
by Scroobius Pip and Dan le Sac

And I? Am feeling like a big stupid jerk.

2008-03-06T10:08:00.000-08:00

Oh boy.

My co-worker, the pregnant one. She's not at work for the rest of the week. Why? She's having a miscarriage. She is understandably heartbroken, and so is everyone in the office.

I feel so awful for her because I know how badly she wanted (wants) this. And she was so happy. But at her obstetrics appointment earlier this week, they could not find a heartbeat via vaginal ultrasound, and they actually think the baby stopped developing at 5 1/2 weeks.

I have talked about how I don't know what it's like to be excited about a pregnancy, to have the people around me excited, that I don't know what it's like to have a proud father present at an ultrasound, and at a birth. And I have talked about how jipped and jealous it makes me feel. But I also don't know what it's like to want to make a baby so badly, but having a body that won't cooperate. I don't know what it's like to want and hope and pray for it for 8 years, have my prayers answered, then have that hope snatched away. And I guess I'm glad that I haven't had to go through that.

But now I'm left feeling this terrible guilt. Over the jealousy, and the bitterness. Even though I was happy for her, those feelings peppered that happiness for her. And I'm feeling really awful. I feel awful for her, and I feel awful that I let those thoughts sneak in and affect my overall feelings about everything.

So, if anyone reading this can send good thoughts her way, I'm sure she and her husband can take everything you're willing to dish out.

I'm sorry to disappoint you.

2008-02-29T08:16:00.000-08:00

To whomever was searching for

"little girls in swimsuits beauty pageant pictures"

and found my blog, I apologize.

You will not find any pictures of little girls in swimsuits. Ever. At all. Not even once.

*hoping and praying that this searcher is just some pageant mom looking for ideas for her pageant daughter's competition swimwear, and not some dirty perv*

Trying hard not to be bitter.

2008-02-28T08:55:00.000-08:00

My officemate is pregnant. About 2 months along. And really, truly, deep down I am genuinely happy for her. She and her husband had a miscarriage 8 years ago, and they've been trying/not preventing ever since. So they really are over the moon. And I'm so glad for them. They'll make wonderful parents.

But it's also been non-stop pregnancy/baby talk since she found out. And even though it's exciting and fun, and I get to remember when Bean was little, it's kind of hard.

We've pretty much decided that we're getting to the point where we probably won't have any more kids. Hubs is 7 years older than I am, and he has said that he doesn't want to be 55 when the youngest graduates high school. So our window of opportunity is getting smaller and smaller. We want to get into a home of our own right now, too, and that's expensive enough. Nevermind factoring in prenatal visits, hospital fees, pediatrician copays, diapers, clothes, baby furniture. Not possible.

Because we're not having any more kids, I will not ever know what it's like to have anyone be excited about my pregnancy. Hell, I won't even know what it's like for me to be excited. I won't ever know what it's like to have an excited husband present at an ultrasound. I won't know what it's like to have the birth of my baby celebrated without the underlying feeling of anxiety, apprehension and disappointment. As supportive as my family was, no one was exactly happy that my barely-graduated self had a newborn of my own.

I just feel cheated, and that it's my fault for doing things so ass backwards in life. I'm trying really hard not to feel that way and to just let the happy, excited feelings take over. But I just wish I could know what all of that feels like.

No more baby talk, I swear I'm done now.

When you don't fit.

2008-02-25T08:58:00.001-08:00

I have always kind of felt like I don't fit in one way or another. I've always felt kind of awkward and out of place. I still do, sometimes.

Lately, it's been overwhelming, and I've all but shut myself off completely from anyone not related to me. I don't get together with my Quinn's friends, didn't go to the holiday party, I put my headphones in during my day job and just tune everyone out.

I think a lot of it has to do with mothering. When my daughter was small, none of my friends had kids. And they didn't want to hang out anymore, really, because I was suddenly in another class. I didn't belong. And we lacked things in common. And the women I would run into who did have little ones my age were usually older, and they didn't really want much to do with having a teenage mother as a friend.

Now that my daughter is older, and I'm pretty sure I'm done having babies (yes, I realize I only have one child), all of my friends are having babies. Or they have very young children. And I feel... irrelevant. Not that I don't matter to them. But when I give advice or talk about my experiences (to try and find a common topic), I wonder if they think, "Well, that was AGES ago. It's hardly relevant now."

And I still don't feel like I fit with my childless friends because even though my daughter is older, I'm not childless. We have completely different life paths, and I feel so out of touch.

I feel like my friends are becoming members to a club that I was kicked out of when my Bean started kindergarten.

Vegan strip club

2008-02-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

Oy.

There is now a vegan strip club in Portland, OR. It's supposed to be the first ever. All of the alcohol and food is vegan, and I guess a lot of the "dancers" are also vegetarian or vegan.

I haven't blogged about this since I didn't really have an opinion about it until recently. I found a YouTube video from a Portland show Good Day Oregon in which a reporter went to the club and reviewed the club's owner, Johnny Diablo.

And now I'm pissed (not work-safe).

So... the girls are meat? "The only meat we have is up on the stage." "We put the meat on the pole, not on the plate." Okay, I fucking get it. I get the pun, I really do. But something tells me that this guy lost a lot of vegan support in the community.

For someone who has dedicated over 20 years to reducing the suffering and exploitation of non-human animals, he sure doesn't seem to mind exploiting and objectifying the human ones. (I'm sure there will be comments about being a feminazi, wah, wah, waaaaah!) I really don't care have a problem with strip clubs. But I have a huge problem with, essentially, the idea that staring at naked women who are paid to dance is some sort of "replacement" for meat. Like that's what these women are. Meat for men to savor.

Well fuck.that.

Also, did anyone else notice? The one time one of the "dancers" did actually speak in this interview, her face wasn't shown. Hm.

I'm going to go scream into a pillow now.

It's the lyrics, man.

2008-02-14T13:05:00.000-08:00

I can be kind of a music snob. Not like my brother. Also, if you've ever seen me dance in my underwear with a hairbrush microphone, singing along to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing", you'll probably just have to take my word for it. I can be kind of a music snob.

I don't always necessarily listen to the most obscure stuff that would win me major street cred with my aforementioned music snob brother (I love you, Ian, promise!). But the lyrics, man. I love being able to pick up new little nuances or find new metaphores and symbolism the more I listen to a song.

Lyrics are sexy. Good lyrics, anyway. And that's probably why I don't develop middle school crushes on movie stars and why I DO develop middle school crushes on musicians like Colin Meloy, Mike Doughty, Paul Banks, or Mark Lanegan.

I put some videos below from Mike Doughty. An amazing, phenomenal musician and lyricist. Phenomenal, really, I promise. And since I was telling the lovely Badgergirl (http://www.velocibadgergirl.blogspot.com) that she might like Mr. Doughty, I picked out a few of my favorites.

Rising Sign

Unsingable Name

40 Grand in the Hole

White Lexus

For the good of mankind?

2008-01-30T08:54:00.001-08:00

I've gotten into many a heated debate with people over the years regarding vivisection. Mainly, about being anti-vivisection. I've heard every argument FOR vivisection. Mostly, I hear, "But what if they found a cure for AIDS or cancer through testing on animals?"

Even though I am vegan, I should say that I would never refuse a medicine that was most likely tested on animals to save my child's life. I depend on an albuterol inhaler to breathe on occasion. But I also don't take antibiotics unless I can't function at all. So, I'm obviously biased.

But here is the thing. A lot of animal testing is NOT for the good of mankind. The article below is why I get so enraged about animal testing. A lot of people might say, "Well, you don't know what it feels like to be in chronic pain." And you know, that's probably true, but I fail to see how THIS kind of testing is OKAY:

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,326355,00.html

Naked Mole Rats Can't Feel Burning Pain
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
By Charles Q. Choi

Rochelle Buffenstein/City College of New York

Even though it is sensitive to touch, the naked mole rat doesn't even flinch when inflicted with burning acid.

As vulnerable as naked mole rats seem, researchers now find the hairless, bucktoothed rodents are invulnerable to the pain of acid and the sting of chili peppers.

A better understanding of pain resistance in these sausage-like creatures could lead to new drugs for people with chronic pain, scientists added.
Naked mole rats live in cramped, oxygen-starved burrows some six feet underground in central East Africa.

Unusually, they are cold-blooded — which, as far as anyone knows, is unique among mammals.

• Click here to visit FOXNews.com's Natural Science Center.

"They're the nicest, sweetest animals I've ever worked with — they look frightening, but they're very gentle," said neurobiologist Thomas Park at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

Scientists knew the mole rats were quite sensitive to touch — perhaps to help replace their almost useless eyes.

After probing their skin, Park and his colleagues unexpectedly discovered the rodents lacked the chemical Substance P, which causes the feeling of burning pain in mammals.

Acid test
The researchers discovered that when unconscious mole rats had their paws injected with a slight dose of acid, "about what you'd experience with lemon juice," Park said, as well as some capsaicin — the active ingredient of chili peppers — the rodents showed no pain.

"Their insensitivity to acid was very surprising," Park told LiveScience.

"Every animal tested — from fish, frogs, reptiles, birds and all other mammals — every animal is sensitive to acid."

To explore their pain resistance further, the researchers used a modified cold-sore virus to carry genes for Substance P to just one rear foot of each tested rodent.

Park and his colleagues found the DNA restored the naked mole rats' ability to feel the burning sensation other mammals experience from capsaicin.

"They'd pull their foot back and lick it," Park said.

Other feet remained impervious to the sting of capsaicin.

"Capsaicin is very specific for exciting the fibers that normally have Substance P," Park added. "They're not the fibers that respond to a pinprick or pinch, but the ones that respond after an injury or burn and produce longer-lasting pain."

Curiously, the researchers found that mole rats remained completely insensitive to acids, even with the Substance P genes.

This suggests there is a fundamental difference in how their nerves respond to such pain.

"Acid acts on the capsaicin receptor and on another family of receptors called acid-sensitive ion channels," Park said. "Acid is not as specific as capsaicin. The mole rat is the only animal that shows completely no response to acid."

Why so insensitive?
Scientists theorize naked mole rats evolved this insensitivity to acid due to underground living.

The rodents exhale high levels of carbon dioxide, and in such tight, poorly ventilated spaces it builds up in tissues, making them more acidic.
In response, the mole rats became desensitized to acid.

"To give you an idea of what they experience, we normally all breathe in carbon dioxide levels of less than 0.1 percent. If people are exposed to an air mixture with as low as 5 percent carbon dioxide, we'll feel a sharp, burning, stinging sensation in our eyes and nose," Park said. "We hypothesize that naked mole rats live in up to 10 percent carbon dioxide."

Researcher Gary Lewin, a neuroscientist at the Max Delbrück Institute for Molecular Medicine in Germany, noted, "People may say, 'So what — it's weird, but what has it to do with human pain?' I think that is wrong, unimaginative and short sighted."

Lewin noted that all vertebrate pain-receptor systems "are built in a highly similar way, so the mole rat may tell us how you can unbuild the system."

Help for people
Specifically, Park noted this research adds to existing knowledge about Substance P.

"This is important specifically to the long-term, secondary-order inflammatory pain. It's the pain that can last for hours or days when you pull a muscle or have a surgical procedure," he explained.

As such, these findings might shed new light on chronic pain. Park said,
"We're learning which nerve fibers are important for which kinds of pain, so we'll be able to develop new strategies and targets."

Lewin added, "We really do not understand the molecular mechanism of acid sensing in humans, although it is thought to be pretty important in inflammatory pain. An animal that naturally lacks such a mechanism may help us identify what the mechanism actually is."

Park next plans to study distantly related animals that dwell in similar circumstances, such as the Mexican free-tailed bat and the Alaskan marmot, which both spend large amounts of time in high carbon dioxide caves or burrows.

"How are they surviving down there? It'd be interesting if we saw some parallels there with the naked mole rats," Park said.

The scientists detailed their findings online Jan. 28 in the journal PLoS Biology.

• Click here to read the full journal report.

Copyright © 2008 Imaginova Corp. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Well, Dr. Lewin, call me wrong, unimaginative, and short-sighted, but this really chaps my ass.

If we replaced "mole rats" with "house cat" or "Golden Retriever", people would be appalled. But, no, it's okay to inject mole rats with a cold sore virus to see if, once injected, they'll react to the pain of acid.

This is not a cure for cancer. Or Parkinsons. Or spina bifida.

This is a bunch of scientists who get paid way too much to shoot up animals.

I realize that I am probably overly-emotional about animal rights 90% of the time. And this may very well be one of those times. And that is probably why this entire entry is so disjointed.

I'll be quiet now, and I'll come back when I am able to group sentences into paragraphs in a more orderly manner.

Judged

2008-01-24T11:11:00.000-08:00

I guess that, aside from the hectic holidays, the reason that I haven't been as interested in blogging these days is because I feel judged. Not here. In other areas of my life.

The thing is, no one has said, "Wow, you suck. You're wrong." But I feel it. Don't worry, it's not you. It's me. And this is one instance where that might actually be the truth.

Unless you're a mother, you cannot imagine mother's guilt. It's crushing and overwhelming. And I feel like people think I'm a lackluster mom. Maybe because I feel like I've done a subpar job.

Do you ever wish you could rewind your life? Keep it pretty much the same? But tweak a few things?

I do.

Lately I've been living in a constant state of "If I knew then what I know now, I could've been a much better mom." And some days I would give anything to go back and do things over.

Does it have something to do with knowing that I most likely had one shot at this mom thing, and I didn't fully appreciate it? That I didn't take full advantage of it? Probably.

Well, you can have another baby and do it differently, you say. No, I don't think so. I'd feel like I was jipping Bean. That's a huge part of why I don't think I want another child. I can't stand the thought of Bean one day thinking that I loved her younger sibling more than I loved her.

So. Yeah.

The gift of cancer

2007-12-14T11:48:00.000-08:00

I was listening to the radio in the car on the way home the other day (which is weird because I almost never do this because 97% of what is played on the radio is horrible, ear-piercing crap. But I needed to hear the traffic, so what are you gonna do, eh?), and I heard a commercial for a local tanning salon.

It went something like: "Give someone special the perfect stocking stuffer this year! Give them a gift card to Get-Orange-Real-Fast Tan!"

PERFECT! Just what I always wanted! Cancer! How did you know that I wanted cancer for Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus?! It's perfect! Thank you!

I mean, really.

Since when did peeling skin, wrinkles, age spots, a distinctly fake even color, and cancer become a great gift?

I work with a girl who tans. I told her I'm too freaked out about the health implications to tan anymore. She said, "Well, we're all going to die some day, I want to go with a tan."

I really hate this smartass comment when I tell people that I don't tan because my grandfather died of melanoma. And I'm mole-y, like him. And my dad has had some suspect moles removed, too.

So I shot back, "Yeah, well. My grandfather died of melanoma. It's a pretty fucking miserable way to go. It's painful, and really, not a lot of fun. I'd like to be around for my daughter as long as possible. Besides, I don't want to look like I'm 40 when I'm 30 like the rest of the obsessive tanners I know."

Boo.fucking.yah.

Wear your sunscreen, people, because cancer is NOT sexy.

I caved

2007-11-27T08:18:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember, I've been unable to breathe through my nose at night. Even if I'm not at all congested, the second I lie down, I feel like I'm not getting enough air through my nose. So I've been a total night breather.

Until I was pregnant, it was never a big deal. But then I started sleeping on my back, and it caused snoring. I don't snore every night, but at least twice a week, Hubs is kneeing me in the back telling me that I'm snoring.

So a few days ago, I finally broke down and bought BreatheRight strips at the request of Hubs. He told me that he gets scared because I sound like I can't breathe.

I was really doubtful about how well they would work, but as soon as I put one on that first night, it was like I could really breathe. But I didn't sleep well because I had to consciously make an effort to keep my mouth totally closed. I could breathe, but it's a habit that I've had for decades.

The second night was better.

And last night, I slept great. I can't believe that these things actually work. I woke up, though, with my BreatheRight strip stuck to my leg. I guess I still have to get used to having something on my face while I sleep. But I asked Hubs if I snored, and he said no. And I feel like I really did sleep better.

The thing with these strips, though, is that they pull the bridge of your nose up a little and out. So my schnoz looks huge when I have one on. I told Hubs, "I guess I'm not exactly the sexy thing you thought you were getting when you signed up for this marriage thing. I just need curlers in my hair and a green face mask." He informed me that I think it looks a lot worse than it does, and that a little nose strip is a hell of a lot sexier than watching me sleep with my mouth hanging open.

Happy Turkey Day?

2007-11-26T15:43:00.000-08:00

Even as an omni, I never understood replacing 'Thanksgiving' with 'Turkey Day'.

The past few years I've tried really hard to make sure that my focus on Thanksgiving is about taking a step back, looking at my life, and really being thankful for all the things I take for granted. I'm grouchy today, so I'm not doing that right now. In fact, I just sat on the phone and bitched with my mom about the incessant football monopoly that has taken over not only the television at my house, but also the computer.

Anyway.

I think it's kind of sad that instead of taking personal inventory and trying to think about everything we have that's right and good, Thanksgiving is an excuse to stuff ourselves silly. Think about it. It's become a holiday that surrounds a meal. Not just a meal, but a turkey.

It's probably easier for me to be self-righteous about it, though, since the past couple of years I've had to make an entire meal for myself at these family get-togethers. The holiday CAN'T be about bonding over a turkey anymore (and actually, thinking about it has me a little queasy). So it really has become about spending time with the people I love and being thankful that we CAN all be together (even if they're eating turkey).

It still irritates me when I get emails and text messages that read: "Gobble, gobble, happy Turkey Day!" Seriously, folks, just leave me off of the fucking mass email next year.

But I am thankful to be remembered. :)

And this is why I fantasize about running away and not coming back.

2007-11-16T08:28:00.000-08:00

Okay, so not really. But I threatened it this morning. I was at the end of my rope. Because this is how the last 12 hours have gone:

1) After work at the bar, I had to stop and get bread so that I could, you know, pack a sandwich for Bean for school today. I have a cold, so I kept telling myself, "Self, don't forget DayQuil and NyQuil. Don't forget it. Or you'll never sleep." So what's the one thing I forget? The medicine. But somehow I managed to walk out of the store with not only bread, but two kinds of soy milk, a pineapple, some apples, and two chocolate oranges. *sigh*

2) Every time I would crawl in bed during the night after one of my many runs to the bathroom to piss (when I'm sick, I chug water like a maniac, and then I'm up all night), dearest Hubs wanted to cuddle. I can't handle touching when I'm sick. Don't kiss me, don't hug me, don't touch me, it's hot in the bed, my face feels like it's going to explode because of course I forgot the NyQuil, and I can't sleep with you touching me!!!

3) *music playing while I try to make myself not look like the undead for work*

Hubs: Why are you always listening to those guys who sing songs about whales?

Me: They have one song about a whale, ONE, and that's what you cling to.

Hubs: All they sing about are whales and pirates and crosswinds and tradewinds and whatever.

Me: You're a jerk. And you like Van Halen, so shut up, douche.

Hubs: That's so funny I almost peed myself

4) We have two litter boxes. One is in the laundry room, the other is in the office. We have one in the office because that's the room where we kept Izzy when we brought her home, and that's where we still keep her food and water and box. Not only did I have to chase the dog out of there after he devoured the rest of the cat's daily food, but I went to clean the box before work, and it was turned on its side. On its side with a great big clump of something on the floor. I nearly cried while I was vaccuuming up the mess.

So here I am at work. Obviously not working. Because I feel like I'm dying. And I realized that half of the items of clothing I'm wearing belong to Hubs. I'm wearing his track pants. And socks. And shoes. And hoodie. Thank god I have my own underwear on.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-11-14T10:17:00.000-08:00

Well, wordless except for the captions. And this.

Buzzard making schmoopy with Bean's bear.

Buzzard making schmoopy with Izzy.

Ooh, scary. (Mine's on the right. And it's pretty cute if I do say so myself.)

See? She thinks they're scary, too.

But this thing is scariest of all. It's at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, and it is called "The Big Pig". They guessed that this is what this thing would look like after they found it's fossilized remains. Doesn't Bean look a bit apprehensive?

Be the change

2007-11-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

"You must be the change you want to see in the world."

-Mahatma Gandhi

I realize that this was said by Gandhi, so of course it's true and profound.

But sometimes, when I think about this, it strikes me all over again. I tend to be a little cynical (imagine!), and this quote seems to pop into my life on a coffee mug or a bumper sticker or a t-shirt when I'm feeling most down about the state of the world and the actions and attitudes of my fellow human beings.

I see this and realize how hypocritical I can be. I get pissed off and irritated with people, with the world, but I can't hope for people to behave any differently toward me (or anyone else for that matter) unless I stop acting like such a turd. And in case you don't know me all that well, I can be a turd. A lot. A smartass, passive-aggressive, snarky.

Consider this my promise to try to be the change I want to see in the world.

Chew on This

2007-10-17T09:14:00.001-07:00

I generally tend to think that the people at PETA are a bunch of wackos, and I'm always mildly irritated that people tend to think that my veganism means I'm a member of PETA. But the following video is really powerful. Really well done. If it's more than you can handle, I copied and pasted the text from the video below. But if it's more than you can handle, maybe you should re-think the way you eat. ;)

I should probably preface this stuff by saying that I love my non-vegan friends and family. I don't browbeat them with the veganism message. I don't think they're horrible people, but I disagree with eating meat. Doesn't mean I love them any less.

I also removed from the text some of the more offensive points (and many of the points involving environmentalism) that were made, or the ones that make me shake my head and want to run as far as possible away from PETA. Feel free to watch the video, though. It's all there. I just didn't see much point in putting up something that, in not such a nice way, says, "Eating meat makes you overweight". That's not necessarily true. Obviously. And it just seemed mean.

So let's try to keep the hate comments to a minimum.

CHEW ON THIS
GO VEGETARIAN

1.) Because heart disease begins in childhood.
Meat has no fiber but is laden with fat and cholesterol, which is why the late Dr. Benjamin Spock, in the final edition of his book Baby & Child Care, recommended against feeding children any kind of meat.

2.) Because a vegan diet reverses heart disease.
On the American Heart Association (AHA) diet, which includes meat, patients’ arteries continue to clog, while Dr. Dean Ornish’s vegan diet unclogs arteries. In one study, AHA dieters experienced a 28 percent average worsening of clogged arteries, while dieters on Ornish’s program experienced an 8 percent improvement in their arteries.

4.) Because you shouldn’t have to lie to your kids about the food you eat.
Children would be horrified to learn about the cruelty and violence involved in turning chickens, pigs, and other animals into nuggets and other “foods.”

5.) Because in every package of chicken, there’s a little poop.
A USDA study found that 98 percent of broiler chicken carcasses had detectable levels of E. coli, indicating fecal contamination.

6.) Because meat is filthy and bloody.
There are more than 50 million cases of meat-related foodborne illness every year in the United States, thousands of which lead to death. Animals accumulate dangerous chemicals in their flesh and fat (which meat-eaters consume), including dioxins, antibiotics, pesticides, herbicides, and even the most toxic form of arsenic.

7. ) Because it isn’t fair.
Killing other animals is an act of exploitation and violence, and we do it only because we have the power to.

8.) Because no living creature wants to see her family slaughtered.
Cows love their calves, sows love their piglets, and chickens love their chicks. Farmed animals love their families and mourn their loss.

10.) Because you wouldn’t eat your dog.
Most people are horrified that some cultures eat dogs or whales, but these animals suffer no more than animals commonly consumed in the U.S. The difference is only cultural, not moral.

11.) Because mad cow disease is in the U.S.
Any animal with a brain could contract a version of mad cow disease, yet millions of pigs and chickens are still being fed the remains of diseased animals—in violation of World Health Organization recommendations and the laws of Japan and Europe.

12.) Because it’s violence that you can stop.
We may feel powerless to stop war or other forms of violence, but we can choose not to support slaughterhouses by rejecting flesh foods.

13.) Because no one should have to kill for a living.
Slaughterhouse workers have among the highest rates of injury and illness in the country, and working in a slaughterhouse would dull anyone’s sense of compassion.

14.) Because it takes a small person to beat a defenseless animal ... and an even smaller person to eat one.
If you’re eating meat, you are paying others to commit acts so cruel that if committed against dogs or cats, they would warrant felony cruelty charges in most U.S. states.

15.) Because no animal deserves to die for your taste buds.
A human being’s desire for a momentary taste of flesh is not as important as another animal’s desire not to be tortured and violently killed.

18.) Because you can’t eat meat and call yourself an environmentalist.
Funneling crops and water through animals rather than using those resources directly is our country’s top way of wasting water and polluting. Factory farms demand more water than all other users combined and produce 130 times as much waste as the entire human population of the United States. Farming animals also requires more than one-third of all greenhouse-gas-emitting fossil fuels used in the U.S. and has destroyed three-fourths of our topsoil, a permanent environmental catastrophe that can’t be corrected.

19.) Because they’re defenseless.
Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer called speciesism the “most extreme” form of racism because animals are the least able to defend themselves and the easiest to victimize.

20.) Because when animals feel pain, they scream, too.
If you burn them, they feel it. If you give them electric shocks, they feel it. Animals feel pain in the same way and to the same degree that we humans do.

21.) Because they don’t want to die.
Animals value their lives as much as humans do.

22.) Because they feel fear.
Their hair stands on end, they urinate on themselves, and they shake, just as we do when frightened out of our minds with the prospect of being hurt or killed.

23.) Because no matter how you slice it, it’s still flesh.
Other animals are made of flesh, bone, and blood, just as we are, so “meat” is just a euphemism for a decomposing corpse used as food.

24.) Because commerce is no excuse for murder.
The chicken, pork, and other animal mass-murdering industries are huge, but it’s time for them to go the way of the slave trade (which also had strong economic incentives).

25.) Because even prisons aren’t this crowded.
Animals on factory farms are crammed into so little space that many of them are unable to do anything natural to them for their entire lives.

26.) Because this is not what wings are for.
Chickens, pigs, and other farmed animals never get to breathe fresh air, feel the sun on their backs, build a nest, nuzzle their young, or do anything at all that they were born to do.

27.) Because everyone wants to be free.
We know that it’s true of birds let out of a cage and of dogs taken to the park, and it’s equally true of farmed animals: They desire freedom, just as humans do.

28.) Because eating fish doesn’t make you a vegetarian.
Fish have the same ability to respond to pain that birds and mammals have and are also interesting individuals in their own right. According to a review of the science published in Fish and Fisheries, fish are “highly intelligent”—they have long-term memories and learn from one another, use tools, form social hierarchies, and “can even be favourably compared to nonhuman primates.” Explains marine biologist Dr. Sylvia Earle, fish are “so good-natured, so curious. You know, fish are sensitive, they have personalities, they hurt when they’re wounded.”

29.) Because might doesn’t make right.
In our moral development as a species, we’ve reached the point where it’s time to recognize that other species deserve consideration, just as we finally recognized that slavery was wrong, that women deserved the vote, and that children should not be abused as a method of child rearing.

30.) BECAUSE YOU KNOW THIS IS WRONG
Common sense tells us, and we know in our hearts, that our fellow animals have the same kind of feelings and desires that we do and that we should not kill and hurt others in order to eat them.

For more information and for a free vegetarian
starter kit, visit GoVeg.com or call 1-888-VEG-FOOD.

For more information on all these
issues, please visit GoVeg.com.

I'm feeling ranty.

2007-10-10T08:45:00.000-07:00

(This whole Wordless Wednesday thing is really not working out for me. I always seem to have a lot I've been thinking about come Wednesday morning.)

I haven't posted a self-righteous rant in a while. I think it's time.

I happened upon the NY Times article entitled "Is the 'Mom Job' Really Necessary?" (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/04/fashion/04skin.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&incamp=article_popular&oref=slogin&pagewanted=1&adxnnlx=1192031322-8EoA8/E2+Pcn1BYZ3bF32g) through my internet adventures the other day. If you don't want to/can't read the article, basically it's about a new plastic surgery craze often called the Mommy Makeover. It usually includes lipo, tummy tuck, and a breast lift (with or without implants).

The article does a pretty good job of showing both sides of this, but the whole idea of a Mommy Body Makeover just pisses me off. Let me say this: women are free to do whatever the hell they want to their bodies. Plastic surgery is a personal choice. I have my own feelings about it, about how this whole plastic surgery thing is going to damage our daughters when they grow up because we, their mothers, are perpetuating the myth of a perfect body. But whatever. Do whatever you want, really, and I'll try to just ignore your choices.

Anyway. Off-track much?

So, plastic surgery is a personal choice. However, I find it absolutely maddening that these plastic surgeons are marketing unneeded surgery to mothers to erase what carrying a child and giving birth to that child has done. They are implying that a body that's carried a baby is flawed due to its changes. If women want plastic surgery, that's fine. But am I the only one who is pissed that a bunch of middle-aged men in pristine white coats are the ones coming up with unnecessary surgery that mimics a spa package?!?!

There are times when I cannot stand what I see in the mirror. Absolutely. But I'm not going to get my boobs done or my thighs lipo'ed to make a very rich person $15,000 richer.

It just makes me so sad that we (mothers) put our bodies through hell to carry and deliver a child, and then the entire world tells us that we are not okay afterward, that now we have to be fixed. Guess what? I'm not built like Jessica Biel. I never was, and I won't get surgery to turn me into that. Because that is not me.

And I refuse to participate in a ritual that is turning women into a bunch of Fembots, completely warping my daughter's perception of what is real and beautiful. How would I ever expect her to believe in her own beauty as a woman one day if I can't accept myself just the way I am?

How they found me

2007-10-08T15:10:00.001-07:00

I have this nifty little device that will tell me the keywords people put into search engines to bring up my blog. And I thought I'd share some of the more interesting ones.

- fake tan routine ruins life (yes, yes it does)

- vegan elitist
- vegan skinny
- vegans and pale
(I'm all of the above... except for skinny.)

- pale white wives photos
- really pale women photos
(This is probably a fetish... right up there with Catholic schoolgirl costumes and small boobs and androgyny. Sorry I don't have any extraordinarily pale photos of myself for you searchers.)

- stare at her boobs
(I don't know about this one.)

Ah, good times.

Not So Wordless Wednesday

2007-10-03T14:47:00.001-07:00

So.

I got pregnant my senior year of high school. And if that's not enough, when I was seven months pregnant, barely graduated, the guy I cared about, the father of my child, accused me of getting pregnant on purpose and/or lying about the paternity of my child. It rocked my world. I cried so hard that night I can't believe I didn't throw up. I think I knew that I wasn't going to hear from him again. And I didn't. Not when I had her, not her first Christmas. No birthday or holiday after that.

When I realized, fully, for the first time, without naivete, that he wasn't coming back, that we weren't going to raise our daughter together, it was soul-crushing. To this day, it's still one of the most heart-rending experiences of my life. I still feel it like it was yesterday. Unless you've experienced it, you have no idea how worthless it makes you feel to know that even doing the most important thing you'll ever do, nourishing a life that someone else helped you create, that that is not enough to make that person take your phone call.

A little over seven years passed (seven years and two and-a-half months, to be exact) since the last conversation I had with Bean's biological father when I was pregnant to when he called me at work a couple of weeks ago. It was a conversation I'd long given up having, and I was totally unprepared. All of the little mock diatribes I'd worked over in my head over the years just would.not.come to me, and I cried. I cried so hard that afterward, I was embarrassed for being so outwardly emotional at my office.

And since then, this is pretty much all I think about when I'm quiet. Whenever I'm done thinking about the things I have to think about, when there's a moment's peace and quiet, this creeps in. Seven years ago creeps in. This recent conversation creeps in. And with it comes all of the times I ever thought "what if" about my life.

I feel guilty thinking "what if", but I guess it's natural. I am happy where I am now, but I can't help but wonder what if I hadn't had to go through all that. What if I didn't have to explain to Bean what a biological father is? What if I hadn't had to shell out nearly $200 a month for health care for her? What if I never had to worry about explaining to her one day the details of why her biological father never saw her?

Luckily I have a husband who loves me because of, not in spite of, my neuroses that has come from all of this. All my insecurities, my neediness, my rotten self-esteem, he takes it all in stride.

All of these paragraphs above, however, are probably not helping things. I've been making this whole situation too much about me. How does hearing from him make me feel? It hurts me to re-live all this crap I've pushed down and tucked away for seven years. Me, me, me. Even though it is, to some degree, about me, it's more about my daughter. It's about trying to guess about what she'll want in the future. It's about trying to find the path that will cause the least resentment and pain for her down the road.

Anyway. Even though he was supposed to call me back, I have a sneaking suspicion I won't hear from him again. And that makes me so sad for Bean. I wanted to be able to give her the information she needs when she decides one day that she wants to talk to him, that she has questions. I hate thinking that now I'll have to explain to her one day why he wasn't around and that he didn't keep in touch with me so that she could contact him when the time was right.

But you can't force someone, right?

I wish you could. I wish I would've had the know-how and the tools to make him accountable the first time around. I wish I would've been smarter, tried harder. Not a holiday or birthday has gone by that I haven't wondered where he is and if he ever thought about her, and I hate that I'll keep on wondering that now. (Wow, me me me again.)

They both missed out on so much. And it's not fair.

Another group to which I do not belong.

2007-10-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

I really thought I was over the whole inferiority complex thing, but apparently, I am not.

Most mornings, I'm taking my last sip of coffee, counting the cats to make sure that they haven't escaped, telling Bean, "I asked you to get your lunchbox three times already", and trying to lock the door while holding my coat, my purse, my lunch, Bean's lunchbox and/or homework folder, and (nine times out of ten) also my shoes.

I'm lucky that I've brushed my teeth and put on make-up, truthfully. It's a toss-up whether or not I've remembered socks for myself. My hair is never done. Ever. But I remember my deodorant.

I'm flying to school, and I get her there justintime most days. I kiss her and practically throw her in the direction of her classroom, but I always remember to yell, "I love you!" and wait for the eye roll.

It's only when I've left her, and I'm making my way off of school grounds that I realize how little I fit in with these other women.

There's one. She's on the PTO. Maybe one of the grandmasters of the PTO. And she's British. I'm pretty sure, British. And she is always perfectly coordinated in very hip, stylish, young, but not too young to look like a respectable mom clothes. Make-up, perfect. Hair, perfectly styled. Nails, manicured. And she smells good.

PTO Mom stands around in a group of other perfectly coordinated moms with designer handbags (which, by the way, is so odd to me since we live in a community that is mostly populated with enlisted military folk) and highlights and nails and perfectly clean little toddlers who are dressed better than me.

Then there are the sporty moms. The moms who look like they've just come from a run with their perfect ponytails and matching UnderArmor workout clothes, and their nice, clean, white sneakers. You know what? I wear ratty black pants with a hole in the rear, a Wonder Woman wifebeater, and sneakers from my sophomore year of high school. But I work out at home, so I guess that's okay?

Anyway.

I try to talk to the stay-at-home-moms who always seem to have their act together, but I get this paralyzing anxiety, and I lose any ability I have to talk like a normal person. The only person I can even mildly relate to is Bean's Brownie troop leader. And even then. I can't really relate. My child doesn't have a learning disability, I don't hate 1/3 of the teachers at the school, and I don't think the Renaissance program is a stupid idea (probably because my kid always gets academic recognition at these things). I haven't breastfed three children, my boobs are actually the same size (don't ask), and I don't deal with the same things that she deals with on a regular basis as a stay-at-home-mom.

I should learn to give myself more credit. But until I do, I will just keep doing what I do and try not to trip over the untied laces of my All Stars (of course I don't have time to tie them, pffft) when I walk past the Moms.

I don't understand.

2007-09-25T14:11:00.000-07:00

Do people lie to me because I like to believe that deep down, people are generally honest and good? Is that just too tempting to pass on taking advantage of?

I take people at their word far more often than I should, apparently.

My heart is breaking all over again. You would think that seven years would deaden things like this.

I never cease to be let down by other people.

My favorite little person

2007-09-25T08:49:00.001-07:00

I have a lot on my mind right now, but I don't even know where to start. So I think I'll just skip it and show some pictures of someone who is easily my favorite person under the age of 25.

First day of school this year. The girl has her mommy's crappy posture.

At Watercourse. Best vegan food ever. Seriously. Cheesecake, buffalo seitan strips, biscuits and gravy. Her favorite is the banana bread french toast. (Sometimes I look in the mirror, then look at her, and I can't believe that I actually birthed something this gorgeous.)

At her birthday party. Some of the parents stayed to play, too, and that's always fun.

I made this. In a Halloween theme per Bean. She's borderline obsessed.

And just because I thought it was the most clever thing I'd seen in a while:

When did I get old?

2007-09-24T10:04:00.000-07:00

Bean's birthday party was yesterday. I realize that her actual birthday was weeks prior, but it's just easier all around if I schedule her party at least 10 days afterward.

We went to Pump-It-Up for her birthday party because I didn't want to have to clean up after a bunch of kids and because Chuck E. Cheese is lame now. Do you know that they don't even have the band with the mechanical animals anymore? It's all on a video screen. What a rip-off.

Anyway, have you ever been to Pump-It-Up? It might be the most fun place ever. Giant inflatable slides, boxing rings, an obstacle course, a jousting ring. It's great.

So tell me why I was so exhausted after the party that I slept for two hours. (Which led to being wired at 11:00pm, telling my husband, "I'm bored" while he was falling asleep on the couch.) I nearly rolled my ankle racing a seven-year-old through the obstacle course. I got a rug burn type deal, and let's not even get into how I hurt my butt.

After play time, we all went in to do pizza and cake and presents. And, I love my girl's little friends, but I couldn't wait for everyone to leave so that we could just go home. When we got home, Hubs wanted to watch the Broncos lose, Bean wanted to play with her super cool new toys (I love that my daughter asked for science-related stuff for her birthday), and I wanted to curl up and fall asleep in bed. So it was win-win all around, really.

When I get caught up, I'll post pictures of the party. The slides, the presents, and the kick ass vegan ice cream cake (that I made, that's right).

I'm still tired. So tired. When did I get so old? ACK!

I am convinced

2007-09-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

I have seen these tired ass decals all over almost every truck belonging to an army guy in this town. (Scroll down if you dare... it's semi-unsafe for work)

I'm convinced that any man who feels the need to display these on his car probably has never seen a woman like this in his life. And if he has, he has never actually touched her.

Unless he paid for it, of course.

Thumbs up!

2007-08-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

I don't flip anyone the bird when I drive anymore. It's rude, it's not very ladylike, and it can get you a ticket for being an aggressive driver.

So, instead, I give douchenozzles on the road a very enthusiastic thumbs up. You can't just give it out any old way, though. It's an art:

1. Don't do it with your kids in the car (if you have kids). While it's a totally non-aggressive, non-threatening gesture, I've found that it actually makes people even angrier. And that, of course, is why I do it.

2. Don't dole it out to any old jerk. I usually save this especially for people who are extraordinary assweasels. The people who drive dangerously and with wild disregard for other human beings on the road.

3. You can't just give a thumbs up whilst looking straight ahead. A large, cheesy grin is a nice complimentary gesture. I often wait until at a stoplight, get the other driver's attention, and give them two very enthusiastic thumbs up along with the aforementioned cheesy grin. On the rare occasion that I'm not wearing my sunglasses, a very exaggerated wink is a nice touch (with mouth wide open as if to say, "Yeaaaah, wooooot, go you!").

4. Feel free to add other obnoxious, yet non-threatening gestures. I occasionally like to throw the "YOU ROCK!" horns, and for the asshats with a very special place in my heart, I'll give them the old school Arsenio Hall Show fist pump.

I guess that's about it today. The number of people making my commute to work a living hell has multiplied exponentially these days.

Video blogging

2007-08-20T12:11:00.000-07:00

You know, I'd probably update more often if I could get my shit together and figure out the movie setting on my camera. I find it a lot easier to sit in front of my camera and talk crap for two or three minutes than carving out time to try to be witty and snarky and interesting via typed text.

Maybe I should do that.

Amazed

2007-07-30T09:33:00.001-07:00

Some days I'm amazed at my ability to not be a smartass. And every trip to the grocery store is like a test of my will power. I'm not joking. I think I'm being tempted to be snarky by having these people so deserving of the snark placed right in my path, just to see if I can withstand the pressure to laugh, snort, chortle, or roll my eyes.

Ah, the grocery store.

Yesterday, I was going through the refrigerated juice section, and there was a family of five standing around their cart. Three grown children, and the parents.

I probably wouldn't have noticed them if they hadn't been standing exactly where I needed to be.

Anyway. The son was holding up the generic orange juice, and he said, "It says the orange juice is from concentrate. That's not good. We shouldn't get this because they add all this other stuff to the concentrate, and it's just not that good for your body."

That alone is not reason enough to make me pause.

But the fact that their cart was stacked high with soda, Hamburger Helper, chips, and white bread made me do a double take.

I don't care what these people eat. Or drink. Or freebase. I just thought it was a little odd... and silly... to worry about juice from concentrate as opposed to freshly-squeezed when there's so much other over-processed crapola in their cart.

So I excused myself, squeezed past them, grabbed my gallon of OJ from concentrate, and went on my way.

Wordless Wednesday collage

2007-07-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Please tell me if the pictures don't show. I suck at uploading.

Redneck truck:

Look how high I am!

Fatty McButterpants:

I know I promised pictures of redneck trucks, but...

2007-07-17T10:23:00.000-07:00

I've been just too lazy to upload pictures from my camera to the computer, from my computer to Photobucket.

But I've seen this super thing around blogs called Wordless Wednesday, and I think I'm going to adopt them for my blog, too (and I'll put the redneck truck in there). Some days I want to sort of update, but I'm too exhausted or apathetic to write about my extrasuperultraboring life.

I try not to complain about my life being boring and routine. Because I have friends who would kill for boring and routine. Boring and routine means that nothing is going terribly awry for now. And that's alright with me.

------------------------------

I think Bean has been getting fevers associated with mosquito bites. The past few days, she's gone out in the backyard to play and come back with at least three mosquito bites. And an hour later, she's got a fever and a headache, and she'll nap for three hours. Her highest fever was 102.3, so not terrifying, but still high enough to give some medicine to bring it down. But she'll go to bed and wake up with no fever. But as soon as she goes outside and gets bitten again, she's got a fever again.

Our little area is rife with West Nile Virus in the mosquitoes, so maybe it's that. Or, my brother reacted the same way to mosquitoes when he was little. He'd swell up around the site of the bite, and he'd get fever. The pediatrician had told my mom that it was something like mosquito-induced encephalitis. Kind of scary.

So for now, I'm keeping her out of the backyard. I'm sure the bugs are just loving the weeds that have grown to the height of her knees. I've got to get her outside, though, or she'll start to get nutty. Maybe the park tonight.

------------------------------

Speaking of the park, have you ever noticed how cliqué-y the park is with regards to moms?

I took Bean to the park the other day, and we were swinging.

A couple of (obvious) military moms showed up with four kids between them.

Now, I make a point of calling them military moms in particular because I live in a military town. And the park where I take Bean is very close to the army base, and therefore, a lot of military wives/moms take their kids there. And if you're not also a military wife and mother? Forget about it. They won't talk to anyone outside their little group.

Anyway.

Bean and I were swinging, and I was watching their interaction with their kids. Or lack thereof. They promptly parked it on the bench and talked on their cell phones while their kids called for them to come push them on the swings or catch them at the bottom of the slide. "In a little while!" the moms would call. Now, I understand having children. And I understand the exhaustion. And I understand just wanting to park your ass on a bench and let them entertain themselves. But it's what came next that sort of pissed me off.

One of the women's oldest boy, probably Bean's age, was on the tire swing. You know, they do it horizontally so three or four kids can fit on. Bean had been wanting to ride on it, but she was waiting for other kids to get on so that it would be more fun and more balanced. So she went over there to get on with him. I followed and pushed them so that they could swing and spin and laugh and scream. And because their feet couldn't touch the ground.

So I pushed them for about five minutes, and Army Moms just sat on the bench on their cell phones. Then the little boy's little sister wanted to get on, so I slowed down the swing. And the mom shot up and said, "No, honey, you can't. They're bigger than you and will go too fast." I told the little girl we were leaving in a couple minutes and that she could get on with her brother then.

So it was time to go, and Bean wanted to go down the slide a couple of times so I sat and waited for her. I looked over to the tire swing to see Army Moms piling all four kids on and spinning them and pushing them faster and higher than even I was pushing Bean and the little boy.

And then, as we were leaving the park area, Army Moms went back to their bench.

Huh. This might be nothing, but if felt very... exclusive. Like heaven forbid they might actually have to *gasp* speak to me. Or let their little ones play next to my kid.

I know it probably seems like nothing, but I felt like they didn't want to interact with me OR my child, and they gave some crusty old excuse to their daughter just to avoid the social interaction.

I really try to be friendly to other moms and kids when we go out in the hopes that I might make a new friend. Or that Bean might make a new friend. I don't know ANY moms around here, really. My husband's and brother-in-law's friends' women are slim pickins'. I mean, I like a few of them, but I wouldn't call them friends, and one woman I avoid all together because I just can't NOT stare at her boobs because they are ALWAYS.HANGING.OUT.

So, yes, tomorrow. Redneck truck. And maybe some other photos. Who knows?

Rednecks

2007-07-12T15:21:00.000-07:00

You have no idea what I have to deal with on a regular basis.

I live out in a little community out in the country, sort of. And generally I like it, save for the times when I'm walking the dog on a dirt road at night, surrounded by a field that's just a little too "Jeepers Creepers"ish. And the neighbors' dogs. They bark every time I step out onto the back porch like I haven't been living there for, ohhh, 8 months.

But anyway. Rednecks.

I try really hard not to judge people. I do. Honestly. But every time I go to the grocery store, it's an internal struggle whether or not to photograph all of the insanity.

The family of five dressed in hunting camouflage shirts AND hats. Yes, really. Dad, Mom, and the three kids.

The family in which the dad AND two sons had the most spectacular mullets I've ever seen. It was like a man's haircut on the front and sides, all the way to the crown of the head. And then just long, stringy, unlayered shoulder blade length hair. And Mom even sported a femme-mullet.

The family of women, mom being in her 40s and wearing her overall shorts like I did in the 6th grade. In 1994. With the straps all snapped in place, but worn off of my shoulders so that the bib-type part was hanging down in front of my crotch. Don't act like you don't remember. The family of women who bitched the entire time in line, then proceeded to peek into my cart, survey the amount of groceries I had so that they could gauge how long I would take in line. All while standing half a foot behind me.

While all of this is appalling and unforgivable, the worst was the big bubba gas-guzzling extended-cab pick-up truck in the parking lot one day. I should've known when I saw the rear of it going into the store, and there were decals of all the folks' names in the family, including someone named Li'l Bud. On the way out of the store, I had the pleasure of seeing the front of the truck since it was still parked there. Along the top of the windshield, white lettering read "Kill 'em all, and let God sort 'em out."

Really. Really, really, truly, I promise. I said aloud in the parking lot, "Fucking rednecks, I swear." I handed my daughter a bag of fruit to hold while I rummaged through my purse to find my camera and fending off the question, "Mommy, what's a redneck?"

And I snapped a picture of the front of the truck in all it's hideous glory.

But because I'm low on time, I'll leave the photo for tomorrow. ;)

I'll be catching up on blogs tomorrow, too. I'll be full of comment-y goodness.

Spectacular Loser

2007-06-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

I can't stand it when people bitch about their jobs constantly. But I think I'm turning into one of those people. This is my only work bitch blog for the week. I'm limiting myself:

With my supervisor having one foot out the door, things have been weird around the office. So, yesterday, my co-worker T asked me to read her resumé. I know she's going to school for a different line of work, so I asked, "Looking for another job?" Ordinarily, I'd never ask a question like that, but she and I are kind of friends, so it was okay.

She informed me that she's applying for my supervisor's job. So she'd be my supervisor. Sort of. With more responsibility and quite a bit more pay. And I found myself really depressed.

I'm not hating on T, either. I'm hating on myself. Because I could never even DREAM of applying for that job. Our executive director would laugh. Mostly I'm upset because it's become increasingly clear that I am a computer monkey. I am not an integral part of the company, and the bossman has no desire for me to move up. Or over. Or anything. I'm constantly being passed up to do things that would REALLLLY look great on my resumé.

I'm really miserable right now, and I'm tired of feeling like a spectacular loser every day, but I feel dependent on this dead-end job due to its flexibility. That's the only thing keeping me here, really.

Here's the thing. I'm fucking smart. I am. I know it. And, snobby as it might sound, I sometimes think I'm too fucking smart for this job. And I cringe knowing that people would whisper about how much potential I had before I ended up a pregnant senior in high school. Maybe setting my sights so low has made them right about me.

And then came the conversation with T that absolutely wounded me. She said it wasn't that I couldn't do the job, but that I don't have "drive or passion" about anything in the office. I wanted to scream at her, "And you do?!?! You're going to school to get out of this freaking place and do something you love!"

Here's the thing. I can have drive. And passion. But I don't come up with changes to implement here on my own because I feel like it's not my place. Now, if someone gives me an idea or a request, with a little direction, I can totally take it and run with it. But no one thinks enough of me to give me that sort of responsibility.

*sigh*

Do you know that there are people who are paid to blog? Yeah. I think that's my goal in life. I'm sure I could come up with TONS to talk about if I was financially motivated to do so. And I love writing. And I could be a stay-at-home mom. Being a SAHM would be awesome. I'd be my own CEO. And I'd never get passed up for promotions because no one else can be Mommy. And I like that. No one else can be Bean's mommy. And I'd get to pick her up and drop her off every day. And be more involved with her school.

Too bad that's not in the cards. I could totally deal with that.

Cuddlytarians

2007-06-11T13:14:00.000-07:00

I generally try not to talk about veganism with certain people in my life. It either gets heated, or they try to convince me that I'm going to shrivel up and waste away due to malnutrition, or they try to persuade me to agree that an omnivorous diet is "what works, we've been doing it since the beginning of time, see my eye teeth, murrr murrr, murrrrrrrr."

Today, co-worker D thought that I would really "get a kick out of this story" she told me. Apparently, her daughter went to a girls' weekend in Vegas or something. And all the girls were eating at a Mexican restaurant, having margaritas, laughing, getting tipsy. Her daughter had "a really amazing chicken dish", and everyone was trying it and raving and going into the throes of ecstacy over the dish. One girl there was vegetarian, and she said, "What the hell, I'll try it, too!" And then, I guess she said it really was delicious.

What the hell, now, people? First of all, that's not a funny story, and I'm not really good at pretending to be amused by things that simply do not amuse me. I can only imagine the look on my face was a mixture of fake smile, smelling rotten garbage, and possibly constipation. Second, that 'vegetarian' is nothing of the sort. She is, however, a damned 'cuddlytarian'.

Cuddlytarians only refrain from eating food made from the cute animals. No steak, veal, lambchops. But chicken is okay? Oh, that's right. Because they're not cute like cows and lambs. Because they're hatched from an egg rather than passed directly through a vagina with no protective shell.

Aside from having the most hypocritical, backwards logic, cuddlytarians make me angry because they are the reason why people think it's okay to make vegetable barley soup with chicken/beef broth and still call it 'vegetarian-friendly' or why honey is an ingredient in an instant noodle bowl which is clearly marked 'VEGAN' on the side.

Whatever people want to eat, that's fine. I may not agree with it, or I might find it disgusting, but I'm sure people think the same about my food. In fact, I know they do. However, it really pisses me off when people label themselves something they're not out of stupidity, or to up their hipster street cred.

If you're pescatarian, say so. Don't say you're veggie, because clearly, fish have eyeballs and parents, therefore, they are not part of a solely plant-based diet. If you're an ovo-lacto vegetarian, don't call yourself vegan because you're not. And if you call yourself a vegan whilst throwing cheese and butter down your gullet, you will confuse people, and a real vegan might ingest dairy due to your stupidity.

Phew! I feel much better

*end rant*

Rich beyond my wildest dreams

2007-06-08T09:40:00.001-07:00

My husband's "company" was recently bought by some rich folks. Some very rich folks. We're talking movie star/Montgomery Burns (eeexcellent) rich. A house with over 20,000 square feet of space, multiple pools, homes in at least three other cities, a personal chef, and they're currently vacationing in Europe. So, rich.

Steve has been telling me lots about them lately, and I can't help but think, "Who would I have to kill to have even a fraction of that?"

Don't get me wrong. I'm generally pretty happy with the life we have. No, we don't own a home, but we rent a pretty nice one for a pretty decent price. We have a new-ish car (since I totalled the other one), and we have a car that's paid off ('nuff said). We have enough money for rent, food, utilities, bills, and occasionally we can go out and do fun things. Every once in a while, we can even put a little away into savings.

But sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be able to give some of that wealth to my daughter. I have no concept of what it must be like to be a kid in a family like that. I would love to be able to put money aside so that Bean would never have to worry about college. I would love to be able to take a yearly vacation with my family. Having a cleaning crew come in once a week would rock my world!

Today, as Steve was leaving for work, he said, "Well, I'm going to work... to make my rich boss a little richer." It wasn't in a begrudging tone, he doesn't hate on these people for being wealthy. It was in a tone that I use all the time. That we're resigned to the fact that it won't ever be even remotely like that for us. That most of the working class in the world are just a bunch of pack mules in the scheme to make the upper class a little richer every day.

My Promise

2007-06-06T15:43:00.001-07:00

I am crawling out from under my rock.

Consider this my promise to check in with the blogs of the people who check in with mine so frequently.

I can't complain about lack of adult interaction if I don't actively seek it and make an attempt to keep up with other adults.

Body image advice from the stars.

2007-05-23T14:28:00.000-07:00

I was watching Maxim's Hot 100 on VH1 last night (I know, I know, why torture myself, right? I'm a glutton for punishment.). I was watching the countdown of the hottest 100 women in the world according to Maxim's experts (and by experts I mean self-important egotistical shmuck editors).

Anyway, Eva Mendez was on talking about a photoshoot she did for Maxim where where wore only a very adorable pair of boots. I was only half listening to her because I was preoccupied with pulling excess fur off of the cat before it ended up on the couch. And then I heard, "Blah blah blah, once you let go of looking perfect, blah blah blah, it's like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. Blah blah blah, more confidence, blah blah blah."

And I thought to myself, "Shut up, Eva Mendez. Of course you can say that. Saying that doesn't mean much coming from someone who is.... wait for it.... PERFECT looking. In every way. No really. Even the slight overbite is cute."

Moral of that story, I can't listen to body image advice from perfect people. They haven't a clue.

The one thing, though, that I try to remember when I'm wondering why he doesn't seem to notice the cellulite, or the deflated boobs, or the tree-trunk thighs is this: people don't see us standing perfectly still in front of them. They see us in movement. They see us walking, running, talking, laughing, playing. They don't see a statue, they see movement. And a lot of that is missed in movement. They see us as we relate to the world around us. That, at the very least, is partially comforting.

Long time, no blog

2007-05-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I'm compelled to update, but I do. I did, after all, go through the trouble to start this thing in the first place.

I should update, maybe? Just... in general, yes?

I'm becoming increasingly disgruntled with work. I regularly want to punch everyone's lights out. We have a new part-timer who is sweet. She really is, she's wonderful. But she and my other officemate chatter incessantly. I was so annoyed yesterday that I put my headphones on and turned them all the way up because I just could not bear the sound of their voices anymore.

Also, my officemate, whom I feel badly speaking negatively about, has really started to make me angry. The other day I heard her telling someone, "Oh, I'll have Heather do such and such." I said, "You'll have me do something? Or you'll ask me to do something?" She looked embarrassed. And she should have been. I hate to act five, but she is not the boss of me. I don't work for her, she isn't my supervisor, and she won't have me do anything. If anything, I'm the one with seniority, but I won't pull that card.

But then I did put some things aside that could wait, and I helped her, and she blathered on with our part-time lady forEVER. She was not working for at least 45 minutes. So I packed up the unfinished work, put it back on her desk, and did my own thing. I won't be taken advantage of at work.

As far as NOTwork goes, I'm still sort of... feh. I'm still unable to really be affectionate, I'm still feeling betrayed and upset, and my self-esteem is still in the shitter. I want to just get over it already. Or I wish I'd never found out in the first place...

Hanging on.

2007-04-30T10:58:00.000-07:00

I'm going through some things right now, and I honest to God feel like I can't talk to anyone about it. And it's a damn lonely feeling.

Any shred of self-confidence I may have been getting back has been smashed. I spend a shameful amount of time berating myself, and I'm constantly taking personal inventory and further beating myself down. What's happened has set me so far back in how I feel about myself as a woman.

And I feel like I'm overreacting, I should just shut the hell up and get over it already. And I'm not really even angry anymore. But I'm just upset about how this has made me feel, and that I can't stop talking shit to myself.

I don't want to be distant and aloof, but I can't bring myself to be open and affectionate.

I feel violated, and I keep wondering what I did. What is it about me?

Ugh.

A Music Meme

2007-04-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

I've never done one of these, and I just now saw that a friend tagged me to do one. Normally I might not, but it's about music, so what the hell? Now, I can't insert little song clips or anything fun like that because I suck, so if you're interested, you'll have to look the artists up.

So I'm supposed to pick seven artists/songs/albums that I've featured in my life recently. I'm going to pick artists since there are probably 10 times as many songs than artists that I could fill this with:

1. The Kelly Deal 6000: You remember Kelly and Kim Deal from The Breeders? Yeah, it's that Kelly Deal. And her stuff is amazing. Some of it is haunting, some of it is fun. This girl can rock. If you rent the movie "May", her song "When He Calls Me Kitten" is featured on it. It's fractured and beautiful, featuring a de-tuned guitar. I also like "Brillo Hunt".

2. My Brightest Diamond: Shana Roberts is the frontwoman for this group, and she has a voice like no other. She studied opera, and it shows. She can go from operatic to squealing and rocking out in no time. I love "Magic Rabbit", "Dragonfly", and "Freak Out" (super fun dance around in your underwear song). This band has pretty much changed my life.

3. The Decemberists: I realize it's slightly dorky to love a band that does sea shanties and songs about whales. But almost all of their songs are stories. And they're amazing live. Colin's voice is amazing, and they feature quirky little things like accordians. Besides, who doesn't love a band where one of the members will do an a capella version of Michael Jackson's "Rock With You" whilst climbing over fallen drums and splayed out guitars after playing a two hour show? I love "Red Right Ankle", "Sons and Daughters", "And Here I Dreamt I Was an Architecht", "Yankee Bayonet", "California One Youth and Beauty Brigade". Hell, pick up any album, and the songs are great.

4. Mark Kozelek: Lead singer of Sun Kil Moon and Red House Painters. If you like sad, slow, autumnal music, you'll like him. "Metropol 47" and "Love at First Feel" are my favorites. Also, "Ocean Breathes Salty" by Sun Kil Moon is fantastic.

5. Mark Lanegan: Former front man of Screaming Trees and QOTSA member, his solo stuff is really amazing. The album "Bubblegum" in particular... it features PJ Harvey on a couple of songs. It's slow, sexy, and he has one of those whiskey and cigarettes voices. My favorite songs are "Methamphetamine Blues," "100 Days" and "Some Strange Religion". The whole album reminds me of frosty November mornings. Because I'm an emo dork.

6. Interpol: Call me a pretentious indie hipster, but they're great. Their music is the kind of music that makes you stand on your bed in your underwear with a hairbrush as a microphone and pretend you're a rockstar. Or maybe that's just me. Their music is smart and, well, hip. If you really want to rock out in your skivvies, "Cmere" and "NARC" are good songs for that.

7. Mike Doughty: The former frontman of Soul Coughing, this guy writes lyrics that you'd want a guy to write for you. His lyrics insinuate that he appreciates the quirky/simple/less-noticed things in life. Every album is golden, but "Haughty Melodic" had to grow on me a little. My favorite songs are "Tremendous Brunettes", "Sunken-Eyed Girl", "Unsingable Name", "Down on the River by the Sugar Plant", "40 Grand in the Hole". Hell, who am I kidding? It's all good, good stuff.

Leave me a comment about some musicians I might not know about. I love new stuff! :)

Beauty Pageants for Six-Year-Olds

2007-04-13T10:39:00.000-07:00

My husband and I watched this program last night about beauty pageants for little girls. My husband was horrified. And, really, it was pretty weird, watching these little girls prance around with Texas beauty queen hair and fake teeth. Yes, fake teeth. Little snap-on veneers that cost upwards of $200 that look like grown-up teeth. It's scary. Like that touched-up picture on the internet of the cat with human teeth.

Anyway. Bean came in and said that she wanted to be in a pageant. Absolutely not. No, no, no, no, no. Now, I try to encourage my kid to be into her own thing as she is her own person and doesn't necessarily need to act the way I do and believe in the same things, but I draw a line at pageants. And here's why:

1. Say what you want about it being all in good fun, but there is a definite sexualization of these little girls. I mean, come the hell on. Why in the world does there need to be a swimsuit portion? I think the swimsuit portion of ADULT pageants is eye-roll worthy. What purpose does having these girls prance around in bikinis with their fake tans and Barbie hair and Playmate make-up serve? It's creepy. What's also creepy is that when they're dancing, they make poses that resemble the '40s pin-up girls - tuchus sticking out, hand at their mouth, their mouth in an 'o', eyes wide, as if to say, "Whoopsie!".

2. We adult women bitch all the time about being held to an unrealistic, cookie cutter standard of beauty. But little girls in pageants are being force-fed that same standard. Fake hair, fake teeth, fake tans. All of them are cookie cutters of each other. And the little girls who opt out of the fake teeth and hair teased within an inch of its breaking point, they often walk away with nothing, and that can't feel good. It kind of sends the message, "This is pretty. If you don't look like this, then you lose (in more ways than one)."

3. Women will compete against each other until the end of time. It's often bitchy and cutthroat. Why would I want to introduce my daughter to that at the age of six? On the program I watched, one little girl didn't win anything, and while the girls winning were being crowned or given sashes, she said to her mom, "I look better than them." I really try to instill in Bean that there is so much more to a girl than how she looks, that being the prettiest isn't what it's all about. But pageants do just the opposite, I think.

Here's the thing, too. I think Bean is one of the most beautiful little girls I've ever seen (biased mom talking). Pretty hair, big brown eyes, adorable. But I wouldn't want to ruin her hair by curling and teasing it. And she has a whole life to cake her face with make-up. She doesn't need that right now.

I guess I don't dislike the idea of kids' pageants. I just wish it could be about cute kids, not making little girls look as grown-up and made-up as possible with the most expensive gowns to see who comes out on top.

Being Early

2007-04-06T08:54:00.000-07:00

Being early really goes a long way to making me feel.... serene? Put together? Streamlined? Something.

Usually, this is how the morning routine goes. I get up, eat (or work out and then eat), get Bean up, get her breakfast, make sure she knows to get dressed, take a shower, get some coffee, do my makeup, occasionally do my hair, put on lotion, get dressed, brush teeth with Bean, brush her untameable mane, make sure she's got her lunch and homework folder, make sure all lights are off, heat is turned down, doors are locked, and then it's off to school. We always manage to be behind the eight ball. Always. Even when I get up 15 minutes early, I still am rushing, rushing, rushing. I usually get her to school after the first bell and BARELY before the tardy bell. And then I catch the army base's traffic, and by that point, I'm irritable.

Well, after an unfortunate incident earlier this week where, being so busy and scattered, signals got crossed, and as parents, Steve and I were not where we needed to be when we needed to be there concerning Bean's school, I decided I'd had enough. I was going to get my shit together. Get it streamlined. Be more organized.

Today I did all of the things mentioned above (with the exception of doing my hair), including working out, AND I made Bean's lunch this morning rather than lastnight. And we made it out the door 10 minutes early! We even took a longer way to school because the way we usually go is full of construction and the most inept flagmen/'slow' sign holders of all time, and they made us late this week. And I was able to walk Bean through the playground to her class door and say goodbye rather than kissing her quickly and throwing her down the hall to class like I normally do so she won't be late.

And I felt such relief. I even made it to work 5 minutes early. It's so much easier in the longrun to be early. I know I have had 24 years to figure this out, but I'm a slow learner.

Funky

2007-04-05T08:46:00.000-07:00

I've been having a really hard time, lately, with my mood. I'm waking up every day dreading work, dreading the commute, dreading opening my e-mail.

And it's starting to spill over. It's affecting the way I deal with other people. Seems like I mostly just want to curl up on the couch, watch movies, and be left alone. But I can't exactly do that. There's quite a bit going on in my life, not bad, but just things, and I don't even feel like sharing. I kind of feel like it doesn't matter, and that no one cares. As if that's not enough, I'm finding it really difficult to react to things the way I 'should'. Like, I have a hard time getting excited with people. I have a hard time empathizing and crying with people. It's like I'm on autopilot.

Emo and whiny, I know. And I don't have any reason to feel like this. Nothing bad has happened.

I don't quite know how I slipped into this funk. And I'm really hoping I'll slip out of it as quickly and quietly as I slipped into it.

'Are you okay?'

2007-04-03T09:33:00.000-07:00

Don't you hate this question?

Or, rather, don't you hate this question (or some version of it) when you're feeling perfectly fine with a full night's sleep? It implies that you look like shit.

This is how it happened to me this morning:

Co-worker: Rough night? Or morning?

Me: Um, neither, actually. But thanks anyway, though.

Co-worker: Oh. I just thought - well, you usually have make-up on.

Me: I do have make-up on.

Co-worker: Oh. Usually it's more... obvious. (trying to remove foot from mouth) I put on a LOT of make-up today to cover up. I swear, it looked like my husband gave me two black eyes.

Me: *insert starey face here*

So, here's what I get from this. I usually wear a lot of make-up. And, not only do I look like the undead without make-up (which I already know, and that's okay), but without eyeliner or a good cake-like under eye concealer, I also look like death. YAY!

The only problem with being nominated...

2007-04-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

... is that you have to accept. I was nominated for the Thinking Bloggers award by my dearest Badger. I don't necessarily think I deserve is as my blog is mostly a bunch of kvetching and moaning and incessant droning on and on about nothing. But, thanks, chica! :) So part of my nomination deal is that I'm supposed to pass it on to five other bloggers. I actually think that most of my choices were nominated already, so I'll just nominate whomever I love to read based on... well, it's arbitrary, so here goes:

Blogspot hates my guts, so I'm just linking you. I've been trying forever, and it's just not happening.

I'm going to go ahead and nominate That Chick Over There at http://jasonfortheloveofgod.blogspot.com. She makes me laugh harder than almost anyone. And she's probably one of the kindest, most sincere people I've ever not met. :) And the woman can seriously write.

M over at http://2under2whoknew.blogspot.com. She's funny and silly and juggling the woes of pregnancy with a little guy running all over. She's creative with her child wrangling, and she's just awesome.

Brown Eyed Girl at http://putthefunindysfunctional.blogspot.com. If you want to get a peek into the life of an insanely strong woman, check out her blog. This lady can handle everything that's dished out to her, and she still has a superb sense of humor. She's awesome. (Have I said 'awesome' enough yet?)

Gerbil over at http://theresapenguinonthetelly.blogspot.com is one of the wittiest women I've ever had the pleasure of reading. :) The hilarity that ensues in her daily life is totally worth a look.

I'm not sure if it's a rule or whatever, but even if it is, I'm going to re-nominate Badgergirl at http://pardontheeggsalad.blogspot.com. She rocks so hard in your face! And if there's anyone in the world I'd go into a book trade with, it'd be this girl.

So, yeah, phew! Let's hope this all linked correctly. I'm slow.

Nothing Funny About Borat

2007-03-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

I have a blog entry saved as a draft detailing the manifestation of my really horrible, terrible body image, but it was really emo and whiny, and I know that no one wants to read about it.

So I'm going to talk about 'Borat'. Steve and I rented it last weekend at his request. And there really wasn't anything funny about it. It was the most uncomfortable hour-and-a-half that I've had in at least a year. Really, just... ugh.

First, I really don't see what's so funny about making fun of an entire country of people. What's so funny about making them look like sister-screwing dimwits? Nothing.

Second, there was some really offensive stuff in that movie, even for Steve, and we all know how much men like the juvenile humor. The movie bashes Jewish people, homosexuals, and it even goes so far as to make innuendos toward incest. Like, father to son incest. Not.funny.

If you haven't rented it yet, don't waste your money. Because there's nothing at all even slightly humorous about even joking about having sex with children. Really. Disgusting.

Mean Girls

2007-03-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

I finally acted on my overly-sensitive, over-protective mommy feelings this morning.

When I opened Bean's lunchbox to empty out anything she may have left behind and to pack her lunch for today, I saw a folded sheet of notebook paper. On the outside it read "To: 19 From: 24". All of the kids have numbers in the class, and Bean's number isn't 13. So I asked her what it was. She told me she found it on her desk. Inside, it read, "Don't tock to Samantha." I asked her who wrote it, and she thought it was Trinity because Trinity and Bean have problems.

I'm only hearing one side of the story, but Trinity is always telling Bean not to talk to her. Or that she's a baby. Or, my personal favorite, that she's dirty. Apparently, Bean is dirty because she wears the same pair of jeans more than once a week. She does that because I do laundry in the middle of the week, for pity's sake! I actually took a gift card that we've been saving that Bean got at Christmas to get her a new pair of jeans because she was so upset that if she wore the pair I'd given her to put on again that week, that Trinity would make fun of her.

Anyway, when I saw that note, I was livid.

Even if it wasn't meant for Bean and just mysteriously ended up on her desk, some other little girl was probably getting her feelings hurt. And that's not okay. I don't remember this kind of catty, nasty girl behavior until probably fifth grade. These girls have the rest of their lives to be torn down by other women (which is, by the way, extremely counterproductive in my opinion, since they should have a little fucking solidarity), and first grade is not the time to start.

We hurried to get our morning routine done so we could get to school early. When we got to school, I sent Bean to class and got signed in as a visitor. I asked Mrs. Higgins if she had a minute to talk, and I showed her the note.

I hate to come across as an overly-sensitive, over-protective hippie, but this just wasn't okay with me. At all. Mrs. Higgins told me that they've already had to talk about some bullying issues, especially the girls. Apparently, one girl has to go to a counselor once a week to help her deal with the more "aggressive" girls. I told Mrs. Higgins that I wasn't trying to be a "tattle-tale", but that I would want to know if Bean was being nasty. I said that when Bean comes home talking about someone being mean to her, I tell her to be as nice as she can be because sometimes these kids aren't very nice because maybe their parents or brothers and sisters aren't so nice to them at home.

She said they'd talk about it, and she thanked me for bringing the note. She also said that Bean is very sweet, very environmentally conscious, and that she loves me (Bean, not Mrs. Higgins).

The part of all of this that strikes me as incredibly ironic is that even though I hate that these girls are already cutting each other down, when I thought someone was hurting Bean's feelings, the mean mama bear in me said silently, "Huh. Well, at least my kid can spell 'talk' correctly."

I guess we're all mean girls sometimes.

Here's a picture of my girl doing what she does best. :)

Speeding in School Zones

2007-03-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

Monday mornings are when I feel most ranty, so I'm going to start off today with a good, cleansing rant.

I was driving my daughter to school this morning, and we slowed down to somewhere between 18 and 20 miles per hour on her school's block because there's, you know, a big sign that states the school zone speed limit hours. And this lady came up so fast behind me that she was literally three feet from my back bumper. I was looking in the rearview mirror, and she was doing one of those hands-up-in-the-air-what-the-hell-are-you-doing motions.

What the hell?!?! We were in a freaking school zone! There were little kids walking around, crossing the street. Fewer things in life incite that kind of fiery anger in my heart than speeding through a school zone. Seriously. You have somewhere important to be? Leave five minutes earlier. If Bean walked to school, I would like to feel safe sending her off, not praying that she wouldn't get mowed down by some crazed mom in a minivan. What if it was HER kids? Would she appreciate that kind of behavior? Probably not.

P.S. Riding three feet from my bumper only makes me drive slower. Just an FYI.

(There is a vaguely 'meaty' flavor to the generic diced pineapples I'm eating. Gross. Sorry, Bean! Won't be sending these to school with you anymore. I had no idea!)

In other news, my ears are finally accepting my 10g jewelry. I'd post a picture, but I don't think anyone wants to look at my ears. I only have to do this one more time. One more time! And then I'm done forever, and I don't have to put my ears through anymore.

Well, in theory, I suppose I never had to put my ears through this in the first place. But I have. And Steve is actually being a really good sport about it aside from the random pirate jokes (which I don't really mind anyway).

I'm ready for summer. It was 73 degrees yesterday. I had on flip flops, a tank top, and jean capris. It was wild. A record high, probably. I'm trying really hard not to get too used to the weather, though, as I'm sure we're due for at least one more freak snowstorm before we're done until fall. But 73 degrees is just so PERFECT!

I've decided that, for now, no tattoos. They're freaking expensive! And I've been eyeballing the new Canon Rebel digital for a while now. And I'd rather spend a lot of money on that than tattoos. I'd definitely get more use out of it. Just thinking about the camera makes my hands itch, desperate for the weight of it. GAH! Soon. Soon. I'll put it on layaway with a generous downpayment. So, yes. Tattoos can totally wait. Besides. You get to a certain point when you're so punk, you don't need tattoos to prove it. ;)

Domestication of a Heather

2007-03-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been taking a lot of pleasure in the domestic part of life. I'm more efficient cleaning, I'm cooking and baking, I'm folding laundry and taking Bean to the library, getting ready to sign her up for soccer, doing homework, going to Brownies, making lunches, hosting sleepovers.

I'm turning into a soccer mom. And that used to scare me. Years ago, I used to tell Steve, "I'm not ready to be that person. I'm not ready to give up who I am to be a 'soccer mom'."

What I didn't realize at the time, though, is that I didn't have to get the mom haircut, sport the mom jeans, and turn into a suburbian Stepford mom-wife clone. I didn't have to change who I was.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. I think being more involved in my role as a wife and a mother these past few months has caused me to change who I am a little. But I shed the parts of me that needed to be shed. And when I realized that at the core, I am still essentially the same person, it was easy to change things and let go of things that aren't important... or that I can do differently.

My personal life, my home life, it's never been better, and that really impacts how successful I feel. How efficient I feel. How happy I am. I am really happy more often than not these days. I mean, I have my days where my mood plunges into an abyss, but that's a chemical thing rather than being directly proportionate to how things are going in my life.

I think I'm maturing, learning how to make the important things in my life a priority, and that feels awesome.

Weekends are supposed to be for resting, right?

2007-03-12T12:43:00.000-07:00

Well, resting, cleaning, spending quality time with the family. Yes?

Mine wasn't at all restful. Aside from a hellish pre-St. Patty's Day meeting we had at the pub where the servers aired all their grievances about the host staff (where we got no rebuttal), I had three little girls at my hous for about 18 hours.

That's right. My little one plus two. Bean had made friends with a girl in preschool, and now that we're on opposite ends of town, I occasionally have her and her sister over to spend the night with Bean. Besides, their mom is a young single mom of THREE children, and I know sometimes it's nice to have alone time.

I brought them home, and Taylor, my daughter's best friend, is afraid of our dog, Maynard. I don't understand how anyone can be afraid of such a loveable little guy. But she is. So while I was preparing spaghetti, there was much screeching and running and enticing the dog to chase them so they could run away.

After dinner, I thanked God silently for having a small family. The amount of dishes used for one meal for three children and two adults, OY! I set them up in Bean's room with a game and a movie while I worked out. After the workout, I got them popcorn. When they were done with popcorn, they wanted ice cream. And that's fine. Bean doesn't eat like that all the time, and it was all in good fun.

Well, the little buggers were up until midnight. And of course Steve crashed at 9:00 leaving me to stay awake to keep an eye on them. There were a couple of arguments and some tears. Oh, the drama of first graders!

When I woke up the next morning, it was to more squealing and, in a French accent, "I'm so sorry about zee belly hair." I should explain that. We imagine that Maynard, if he could speak, would use a French accent, and that he would apologize profusely for leaving his little grey stomach hairs all over the carpet.

I looked at the clock (6:30) and made Steve get up with the girls while I slept an extra hour since I wasn't feeling well.

Only I had forgotten about the time change. But I didn't. I just thought for some reason that it changed in the middle of the night between Sunday and Monday rather than Saturday and Sunday.

I didn't really sleep at all that next hour, though, so I got up to make cinnamon rolls. From scratch. Because that's what you do when you're vegan and can't pop a can of Pillsbury.

After breakfast and even MORE dishes, I tried to corral all the girls to brush their teeth. Taylor's sister just flat out refused, and I finally conceded that her mother would just have to make her do it later. It's harder than you'd think to try and get three girls to brush their teeth, get dressed, and get their things in order to leave the house.

We left 45 minutes later than I'd anticipated.

And after dropping them off, the house was in shambles, so I cleaned.

And now I'm wondering where my weekend went. I'm beat. Bean was beat this morning. The animals are still recovering.

I just have to hold on until Saturday now.

"Hey, girl! Hey! You! GIRL!"

2007-03-08T09:08:00.000-08:00

My ass felt like it was conforming to the shape of my office chair the other day, so I decided to take a walk during my lunch break. It's been really lovely lately, and fresh air always helps me re-focus at work.

I about halfway down the block I hear, "Hey! Girl! *whistle whistle* Hey, Girl! *insert inappropriate, immature language here*"

I, in very colorful language, without giving this guy the satisfaction of even looking in his direction, told him to grow up.

When I was younger, I'd usually blow it off. And you'd think that with age, I'd learn to let this roll off of my back the way I let other things roll off my back. But I got angrier and angrier.

First, what women would actually respond to that? Show of hands? Anyone? Really?! No one would actually walk up to a total stranger acting this way and say, "Take me home with you now, please, GOD!"??? Astonishing. Really. Even if I wasn't with someone who is funny, smart, hot, articulate, and caring, I would never in a million years even think of responding to behavior like that.

Second, what makes men think it's acceptable to talk to women that way? I am someone's MOMMY. Would they want someone talking that way to their mother, to the mother of their children? I'm willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that the answer to that would be 'no'.

Anyway, I would've had to pass back by this guy on my way back, so I had to go out of my way almost 10 minutes just to avoid him. I shouldn't have to do that. No woman should have to be made to feel so uncomfortable that they go out of their way to avoid someone on the street in broad daylight.

It's absolutely amazing to me how many men still obviously view women as second-class citizens. Or property. Or eye-candy put on this earth for their amusement.

And it really upsets me that my daughter will have to deal with this.

I want it so badly that it made me cry

2007-03-06T13:33:00.000-08:00

The other day in an online group that I belong to, a woman asked what we would all be doing career-wise if we could do anything in the world.

I want to own and operate my own vegan coffee house/bakery/pastry shop. More than anything. I want to get up at 4:00am and work with espresso, cinnamon rolls, pies, coffee cakes and cookies. I daydream about it every day. Every single day. I've never had a dream that I've wanted that badly.

Because I don't dream big. I know it's lame, but I'm the kind of person who doesn't dream big because in the end, I feel like it would be less crushing to not try than to have something that I want and love ripped away.

Wow. Seeing that in print makes it seem that much more pathetic.

But I was thinking about it this morning, and I was getting teary-eyed. Only I'm not sure if it's because I think it's unattainable or if it's that I maybe finally found what I want to do, what I'd be good at.

I have been at a job that doesn't appreciate me, that stresses me out, that threatens termination on a twice a year basis. It's fairly convenient, I can get my daughter when I need to. And there's always seemed like there is nothing here for me in this city. But I don't like it. It doesn't make me even slightly happy.

Anyway, I'm blathering.

So, yeah.

I'm a vegan elitist snob.

2007-03-02T10:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, so not really. But, kind of.

There are a lot of common misconceptions about vegans. We're skinny, malnourished, we don't enjoy food, we're picky, and we think we're better than omnivores.

None of that is true. Well, okay. Some of us are skinny, but that's often because skinny vegans would probably be skinny even if they ate meat.

It seems that the simple act of stating that I'm vegan is enough to put people on guard and make them feel judged by me. The train of thought usually goes, "Well, if you're vegan for ethical reasons, you think eating meat is wrong and bad. I eat meat, so you must think I'm wrong and bad." That's not true. I'm married to an omni. Granted, he rarely eats meat at all anymore because I cook all meals, and I don't buy non-vegan food. I don't think he's wrong or bad. I look at his meat-eating habits the way I look at smoking. Kind of a nasty habit, but I don't find people unlikeable because they participate in it. Let's be serious. If I was only friends with other vegans, I would have ONE friend in my city, and that'd be more of an acquaintance than a friendship.

Here's where the elitist snob part comes in. No, I don't judge or condemn, but I do think my diet rules all. I feel like it is the best possible way to eat (except for the days when I'm being a total junk food hound). I am healthy, I am happy, and I would never ever go back to eating the way I used to. And I am raising my daughter to be as vegan as possible. And I'm telling her exactly why we eat the way we do. I don't try to scare her with macabre details, but I'm very frank about where meat comes from and that animals have to die to produce a burger or chicken nugget.

I often struggle with thinking, "So and so is totally compassionate! How can they not equate this with cruelty and slavery and pain and suffering?" But at the end of the day, it doesn't change how I feel about people.

I checked out a book I've been wanting to read from the library. It's called "Vegan: The New Ethics of Eating", and it's by Erik Marcus. It goes through all the cases for veganism, starting with the health benefits, moving onto the animal rights part of it, and finally the environmental havoc that factory farming wreaks. Steve saw me reading it and said something to the effect of, "Why is every book you read about being vegan?" I told him that veganism is a big part of who I am, and he told me that it's not all I am. While that's true, I liken veganism to Christianity a little. Well, they have some parallels, anyway.

When my mom became a Christian, she was excited and wanted to share it with everyone. She wanted to share what she learned, what she believed, and I think a lot of new vegans are the same way. Just as an overzealous Christian can come off as preachy, so can an overzealous vegan. Also, my mom tries to show the world what she believes through her actions, and I do that every day as a vegan. Every time I buy a cruelty-free, animal byproduct-free item, I'm showing people what, essentially, I am all about, what I believe.

I love to talk to people about veganism. I love proving stereotypes wrong. I love sharing my food with people.

What I don't love are the debates I have to get into where no one wins. At the end of the day, I think the exploitation and consumption of animal products is wrong, and I won't be swayed. I hate how that sounds, but it's true. Yes, I believe there are exceptions, but no one is going to point to their eye teeth and say, "See, these are meant to tear meat apart" and have me chowing down on a ribeye with them.

I don't love the little stabs that people take at me. I don't love people turning their nose up at my lunch as if tofu or seitan or quinoa are unedible garbage.

I'm pretty sure everyone in my life thought this was a phase, initially. I'm pretty sure a lot of them were hoping it was a phase. But once I knew, I couldn't un-know.

The following video is of Neil Gaiman reading a short story called 'Baby Cakes':

I was totally going to talk about veganism, but...

2007-02-28T10:10:00.000-08:00

I heard news today that another friend of mine is pregnant.

So I decided to talk about my biological clock. Or rather, my lack thereof.

My daughter is six-years-old. I had her very young, three days before I turned eighteen. When I got engaged, I was insistent that I'd only marry someone who wanted to have a child later on. But now....

It's not that I don't love Bean. I do. More than anything. And it's not that I don't think kids are wonderful. Because they really are.

But I'm at the point now where Bean is tying her own shoes. She's getting her own snacks from the fridge. She's slept through the night for years, and that's been without a nightlight. She doesn't depend on me for every moment of entertainment. And I feel like I've regained a little... what? Freedom, maybe? That sounds bad, though. She's self-sufficient, and she's more her own person every day.

I hold my friends' infants, and I love the way they smile, the way they grab my finger in their tiny fists, and I love the way they smell. And for a day or two I'll think, "Maybe it'd be nice to have another baby one day." But I enjoy sleeping through the night. I'm happy that I don't spend all of my money on diapers and formula and clothes and daycare and pediatrician visits. If not at peace with it, I am tolerant most days of my mommy figure. Sometimes I'd even say I'm comfortable with it. I don't miss crying and fretting about my post-childbirth body. I enjoy having money to take Bean to the dinosaur museum or to go out with Steve to dinner.

Maybe it's selfish. Maybe I'll change my mind one day.

But there will be no serious discussion about even the possibility until our lives/finances are at a place where we feel we'd be "okay". And if we get to a certain age, and that's still not happening, then we have to just be fine with missing that window of opportunity.

Here's the thing, though. I'm perfectly okay if I NEVER have another child. I really am. And sometimes I think something is wrong with me because I don't long for that the way a lot of women do. And I sort of feel like a phoney or a jackass. Because being a careless teenager, I got what so many women can't have but want so desparately, and at the time, I didn't see the gift that I had.

When Bean is eighteen, I will be thirty-six. THIRTY-SIX! It used to seem so old and far away, but the closer I get, the more I realize how young I'll be still. And that's plenty of time to persue so many of the things I put on hold. I'm scared that if I got pregnant tomorrow, that I would resent the baby, resent the whole situation. And that makes me feel selfish. Again with the selfish.

But it's not enough to make me want to have another baby. I figure we'll just concentrate all of our efforts to Bean and really just enjoy her (not that people with more than one child don't enjoy them all... I know they do).