A Lucky Feminist Pants-Peeing Girl

This is most likely going to freak SK out. He may not be able to recover. And I don’t blame him. I guess the truth is he’s right, that there seems to be a bunch of rules that people live by, that have been accepted for whatever reason, and, well, those reasons seem to make sense to most people, but not to me. And I’m not at all sure why but I will say, that I can’t fake it. Never have been able to. It’s sometimes disconcerting to my loved ones. I remember telling my mother that I flew home from Portland with tampons and pads in the mesh part of my backpack so that my co-passengers could see my reality and maybe come to the conclusion that they should leave me the F alone. She was stunned, yet supportive.

Last night SK and I were watching television and this commercial came on. And he laughed a little. “What’s funny?” I asked, because incontinence, while often amusing to pre-teen boys, usually doesn’t tickle adults is the same way. “You certainly don’t have any problem believing that you’re talking about peeing your pants ‘just a little bit’ all the time.” And I don’t. Warning ladies: once you’re pregnant, you’ll pee your pants a lot; mostly when you laugh, but sometimes when you cough, and other times just because you didn’t acknowledge the immediacy of your situation and, well, you blew it. After you’ve had your baby, you think you’re done with such “indignities”, which I don’t find in-dignifying at all. You’d be wrong. At least if you’re like me, you’d be wrong. So sometimes, even now, even after 10 months, I pee my pants from laughing too hard or from a random cough. And I don’t keep it a secret. I tell SK. Yep. I do. Usually it goes something like this, “Shut UP! You’re making me pee myself!” or “Crap, I just peed.” And he gives me that look and I know, for his sake, I should censor myself, but in the end, he seems to be getting use to me and my body. It has been 7 years after all.

As I ponder, I am thinking my failure to be ashamed comes from luck, my luck in being a feminist and having been exposed to a philosophy of self-acceptance. I grasp that shame is a great motivator in generating sales--that there’s a lot of money in women trying to hide the truth of their bodies. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still buying the deodorant and wearing it, but I’m not ashamed that I’m stinky after a workout. I keep it no secret that I have a period. I don’t feel like I’ve somehow failed because I pee a little bit when I laugh too hard. In fact, I’m glad my body is doing what it needs to be to be healthy. I feel lucky to laugh so hard that I pee. In fact, I might even go so far as consider myself a lucky feminist pants-peeing girl.

Touch

LouJean put in a request for a more meaty post. I haven’t been thinking about much, so I haven’t been writing much. I think the thing is that I went on autopilot because I’ve been facing some pretty hefty challenges at work. That, along with trying to keep the balls in the air at home, has turned me into Single-Minded Worker Bee Aerenchyma. Weird thing is, that place, the one where I am by myself making things happen is pretty comfortable to me. It is for my friend SK too. So we run the risk of becoming a “Getting Things Done” machine and forget about being us, together, holding hands.

And that brings me to the thing I’ve really been thinking about. There is a big difference, I’ve discovered, between touching and being touched. I know it’s obvious to everyone but me, but the thing is, I have been spending the last 10 months hugging, kissing, stroking the cheek and tickling the feet of my friend Bubber Boo. After the first two months, I enjoyed it too! (If you’d like to hear about my post partum weirdness, I’ll be happy to share). But that’s not the same as being kissed, hugged, stroked and tickled. And that’s the crux of it. Make sure you get touched. A little hand holding, a hug, maybe a goose and a little snuggle. Request it if you must. Maybe ask if you can get a long kiss a week from tomorrow so that when it comes, you’ll think it’s spontaneous—-you long-time partnered people know what I’m talking about. Just make it happen because your bones and joints and skin need it and your mind, well, it needs it too.

Holy Crap!

Dems fightin' words!!

Hair Update

My hair
now.

Day of Liberation

Lest we forget.

People Suck

I've got nothing more to say.

Race and Gender Considerations in Allotting Social Security and Other Stuff

So Bill Thomas (R-CA) wants to consider race and gender in trying to overhaul the red herring crisis, ahem, social security program. Don’t even get me started on the ACTUAL crisis that is health care.

“We also need to examine, frankly, ... the question of race, in terms of how many years of retirement do you get based upon your race. And you ought not to just leave gender off the table, because that would be a factor,” Thomas said.

Interesting. So, on average, since women live longer, we may not be eligible for social security until a later age, and since people of color tend to live shorter lives (especially black men), they should get it earlier? I presume that’s where all of this talk will lead. But I think it all unnecessary. And here’s why.

If we lift the cap on the 87G taxable number to no cap at all, a ton (yes, that’s a scientific term) of money will be added to the coffers. As my friend Sharon says, “Why should I pay taxes toward social security based on 100% of my income, when someone making $180,000 only pays on half of theirs?” A fine question indeed!

And why should richies get money out of the system? If I have a gazillion (another scientific term) in the bank and can support myself very comfortably until the time of my death, why should the government give me my money back? Call your contribution to social security over the years the price you paid for living in a humane society. You don’t see people that never took advantage of free education in this country and that don’t have children, crying about having to pay for public education because they know that an educated populous is worth the cost. …Oh yeah, you’re right, you do hear those idiots crying, but, of course, they’re wrong to do so in their selfishness.

So, long story short, stop making a mountain out of a mole hill, stop pulling in issues to make it more complicated than it is, stop subsidizing people that don’t need to be subsidized and start charging the rich the same percentage that the middle class and poor are paying.

For more, this is a fine commentary .

On to other issues...

Big Brother , thanks dad.

Never Surrender Bracelets. Cool and Cute!, thanks Kelli

Dog Judo I know it’s all over the place, but it’s hilarious, thanks Mister Williams.

More Money Didn’t see that coming.

Iran

Turns out our training is really sticking.

’Bout time.

Disturbing Dream

So last night I went to sleep, worrying a bit about Monday. The new job is making me feel a little off-kilter, a little spinning in the wind, if you will. So, it’s no surprise that I had this dream.

There’s a large yellow-green field with no trees in sight and there are lines and lines of desks, with computers upon, and all of my co-workers diligently working away. I’m standing with Steve and Gus, the guys that I work with, and Steve is saying, “This is no good, what if it rains?” and Gus says, “We need to pack up and get an office with a ceiling at least.” That’s just like those two too. Stephen seems to be the only one that can see the obvious most times and Gus is always asking for the least amount of support to do his job the best he can. I mean, he’s only asks for a ceiling and doesn’t push for walls.

Anyway, it does start raining. That weird rain that comes on a sunny day, the kind that is somewhat tolerable. All of a sudden, someone (with power I suspect) decides that we need to move to a building, so everyone is packed up and goes…except they leave me, my desk, computer and chair in the otherwise empty field.

I visit the office where there is ample space to house me as well so I don’t get why they won’t move me and I go back to the field and start working. I’m working away, totally stressful productivity, and it starts down-pouring. I think, “This is ridiculous, why don’t I get to move to the office?” and I go back to the office and demand some answers.

Turns out, the movers didn’t want to move my desk and what-nots because they found out that I didn’t support the invasion of Iraq. I ask why they just didn’t get different movers and I got a shrug. So I go back to my space in the field with my rain-slicker on.

That’s it. Just as I am in waking life, not very subtle.

Thinking About Monday Already Is Tragic

Survived my first hellish week in my new-ish job. Thanking my lucky stars I did. It was a definite possibility that I may not have. True dat.

On to more satisfying/less stressful thoughts.

It’s the weekend and I am overwhelmingly pleased about it. We’re going to do some work on the Hall Street house. Work I’ve been wanting to get done for weeks and that will give me a definite sense of delightful completion with very little actual work. Fabulous.

Directly following we will return the aforementioned Linen N Things items. Then grocery shopping, ending the afternoon cooking and cleaning for the week. Total productive day. Totally awesome. Going to watch a few movies too.

Now Sunday is the most wonderful. Book club. Oh joy. I just hope we’re not snowed out. Then the game. What could be better, I ask you? Clearly, nothing.

Have a nice weekend all. Rest up and face Monday with a wink and the finger because another 40 hours lies in wait for your sorry ass.

Check out today's Woot

Feeling Nostalgic

Bill Clinton's Second Inaugural Address.

For the Word Lover in You

I love this site. It is all about lexpionage or lexiponage, to-may-toe, to-mah-toe. I think SK got me hooked on it.

This Concept Dictionary rocks out too. I think Amy gave this to me back in the day.

Here’s some fun stuff that I found while playing.

You’d think that a hippophile loves hippos, but you’d be wrong.

I mean, a felinofile is a lover of cats.

But then again, so is a ailurophile.

I wish I had more knowledge of word etymology.

Oh, and I just wanted to mention that when I looked up “enjoy” in the concept dictionary, “solitariness” came up. Interesting…

Linens N Things

…can bite me. I generally don’t go to emporiums of domestic languishing. I only went today to get away from the game. So, I walk around starry- eyed wondering why I don’t have a stainless steel cheese display set, or a pepper and salt ball that, when squeezed, grinds its contents to exact oolitic seasoning delights. These places are truly obnoxious—on the level of that HORRIBLE woman on the Levitra ad that is so freakily horny, so “let me get in your pants”, so “I DO love giving blow-jobs.” But I digress. So I get home with my $200 worth of purchases and instantly come to my senses. I will return about $150 worth of the stuff I bought. But that’s not the worst of it, when making sure that I have the receipt, I notice that they overcharged me for TWO items.

Is anyone else watching Wickedly Perfect? I’m not proud. Wickedly Perfect is a Martha Stewartish competition where the winner gets a “lifestyles” show of her very own. Sheesh, I’m all over the place. Stay with me…this will all come together….I hope…So, the competitors are all about being the best host by creating an utopian domestic moment in time. Thing is, the competitors are so mean-spirited and awful (which, by the way, makes for fine television watching) that you have to imagine they’d be horrible hosts. And they are, just like Linen N Things, they put on a happy face, imparting feelings of comfort and covetousness that all good hosts inspire in you but then, when you get home, you realize that you’ve paid way too much for what you got because the truth is, you didn’t like that host and now you feel guilty for accepting her competitiveness in the guise of generosity. And the other truth is that you don’t like Linens N Things and its dishonest promise of a home and family more prefect and you feel guilty for falling for it.

Forgot to Mention

Last night I got a haircut. Poor me.

Control is Overrated

Abe (hereafter referred to as Bubber-boo), Gouda and I are team Shake Daddy’s Center. It’s awesome. Daddy (aka Steak Knife or SK) throws his weight around and Bubber-boo, Gouda and I all disregard most of what he says. At one moment in time, Bubber could be playing in Gouda’s water while Gouda chews on something he’s not supposed to and I lackadaisically sit at the table and listen to All Things Considered while sipping on my tea with my chin is my hand quietly muttering things we need to get done over the weekend. Steak Knife clarifies that “we” really means “him” while ripping the non-chewable away from Gouda and scooping Bubber out of the dog dish. Or that moment could look this way: Gouda is trouncing around with his leash in his mouth playing Hot Lava while Bubber-boo is turning the television on and off and on and off and on and off while I make a list of whatever I’m making a list of that day (my favorite past-time, List Making). Or: Gouda and I are playing “I Want That Bone!” and racing around the house, up and down the stairs while Bubber-boo plays with his train in a way that was “not intended”, according to SK.

All of this is incredibly disconcerting to Steak Knife. You see, if you know him well, you also know that he likes things a certain way and all of this frenetic activity kind of sets him a little off kilter. He seems to enjoy the “non-centeredness” that he experiences by living in our household of lunatics that slip easily from moment to moment in disarray. But it also makes him really tired sometimes. I think it takes courage to live a life that is slightly uncomfortable to you but really reaps the best rewards; one full of love and compassion and noise and clutter. I could honestly see Steak Knife, if we hadn’t met, living a solitary life of books, music, slippers and a big leather chair to enjoy all of these things. Maybe a fine luxury car and time to write too. His home would be organized and warm, but quiet. But he chose our life full of dirty floors and lists and wet arms from the dog dish and mats that need brushing and sheets that should have been changed LAST WEEK, let alone THIS WEEK. Such a lucky man, he is. I think he’d say so too.

The Amazing Race

I needed a couple of days to kind of let it settle; a bit of reflection if you will. Now I’m ready to write about it. First, I think Jonathan is a monster and I think that Kendra is a monster on equal footing with Jonathan. I will never forgive her for her “breeder” comment in the Africa episode. Racist nightmare idiot. I think Victoria is in need of therapy to figure out why she stays with the aforementioned monster, Jonathan. I think that Adam is actually a big baby and isn’t just being depicted as one by the show’s editors. I feel sorry for Rebecca for shooting so low but recall some of my ex’s and can certainly relate to the desire for a non-scary all-be-it momma’s boy on occasion. I think Hayden is a competitive gal that doesn’t like dragging feet for any man. It’s too bad that she’s coming off as a bully. Lori and Bolo, well…what can anyone say about those two? They are curious birds. I will say that I find it amusing that Bolo appears to be the philosophical one between the two. Weird. Weird that he is and weird that there is. And Kris and Jon, well, those two are just sweetheart-cutie pies. Finally, I would like to say that Steak Knife and I have been asked to be in a models’ alliance with Liz and Jen and we have accepted. Rock!

Blame

This article is posted with my friend Darryl in mind. I think I remember my beloved even go so far as to call “g-d” an SOB last week and then caught himself acknowledging the SOB’s existence by calling him an SOB, leaving him truly befuddled. Poor thing. I, too, deny the existence of g-d, that SOB. I’m certainly going to hell or some state of spiritual suffering for saying that, but I deny the existence of that “place” too. Oh, what ev. Truth is, I don’t so much care, but I like to have someone to deny or blame when things go topsy-turvy.

Hip Hip Hooray!

For Santorum!!

Gay Adoption

Incredibly disappointed and not surprised.

Tom DeLay

What a jackass.

The Weekend

Had a date with my friend Darryl last night (many thanks to the intrepid baby-wranglers Feanor and Poppy). It has been ages since we have had the opportunity to be quiet together over a meal. It was a delight. We talked about his project for school, our grand plan for not being indigent in our old age, our little pirate, his job and mine and well, nothing else really.

We followed dinner by the truly horrible White Noise. For shame. It couldn’t be worse if it tried. WARNING SPOILER!!—the main character dies at the end, leaving his 3 year old son behind without a father. Right after his funeral, his voice comes through the radio and says to the child, “Mikey, I’m sorry.” And the child smiles. How completely awful. Thing is, you know he’s not sorry. He’s been a selfish idiot through the whole movie. During the course of the film, the only person you care about is this child and only insofar as you are a child-friendly person. If you’re not, you’ve got nobody to give a rats about in this film. Truly awful. I wanted to kill him again after seeing little Mikey’s weird “it’s okay for getting yourself killed” grin. Fleh. AVOID THIS FILM.

On the other hand, I saw Mean Girls, recommended by my friend Sharon. I totally respect her say-so on everything book/film related, well…come to think of it…I respect her say-so on everything. Anyway, it was totally cute. I recommend.

I also recommend this gadget if you have hardwood floors. It’s da bomb.

Finally, my friend Abe’s 9th month pictures are available on snapfish, if you’d like an invite, please let me know.

And I Don't Get This

Can someone please explain to me why we are so transparent in our racism and no one seems to think a thing of it? Or maybe that's not it. Maybe it's something else that makes these stories of individual white people's tragedy newsworthy while thousand upon thousand of those stories exist for people of color impacted by the Tsunami. Same deal as Steak Knife's blog about the blond kid. It's killin' me. Are we the only two that see it? It's just so DARN obvious. Or maybe we're both wrong. Maybe it's some phenomenon all together different. Are we nuts?

It was Bound to Happen Sooner or Later

You know, I don’t know what to say about most of this. My opinions are obvious and I don’t want this blog to become a forum for my hostility. That wouldn’t be fun. Thing is, I can’t let it go without writing about it either. After all, I warned you in my first post that this was a possibility. So here I go.

The DOJ is moralizing through their obvious and egregious exclusion of RU 486 in the guidelines for treatment of rape survivors. Make no doubt about it. These bastards are playing on the moral grounds that a lie of omission is no lie at all. At a time when a woman is most in need of information, the discussion that may help her most of all is withheld. This omission isn’t of the just “slipped by” variety. No, it was left out in the vain of someone that “simply refrains” from giving information that would reveal something they’ve done that is knowingly wrong to someone that is onto them. No flat out, “I didn’t do it”, but rather a “I’m not sure what you’re talking about”…that way they can later say, when they are proven wrong-doers “Well, I never lied.” Did too, bastard. And the DOJ can just say, “We aren’t making moralistic judgments, we just didn’t include the controversial pill in our guidelines.” F off. If I’m not informed of the possibility of pregnancy and the accessibility of RU 486, I am being lied to about my health and welfare, about my options and rights. Lying stinking bastards.

Commercials

I, like many who have been inundated with advertising, find most commercials to be, well, lacking. The lacking of which I speak is on such a grand scale, simply because so much of it is foisted upon us, that it’s a bit maddening. It’s like being forced to eat bland food every moment of your life.

With this barren backdrop, any well-constructed advertising really pops. Two fairly recent commercials have “popped” me into a hopeful space in which I enjoyed the manipulation inherent in advertising. The first, a commercial for Curves gym for women begins with a roundish little girl-cherub poised on a rather high standing diving board. She’s looking nervous and a bit scared. Cut to her jumping off of the board and making a big splash into the pool, followed directly by the requisite “blah, blah, blah…Curves Gym, join it…” Ending with the big payoff: little cherub swimming toward the side of the pool with a big, proud grin on her face and all you can do is think, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen! I’m like that little girl, I have courage, I can challenge myself, where’s the number to that gym??”

The second commercial was for Dove hair care products and featured Wilma Flinstone, Velma Dinkley of Scooby-Doo fame and Jane Jetson. Each was depicted with her hair as it appeared on their respective television shows. Each spoke of the problems associated with “stiff, unmoving” hair. I’m riveted. Cut to the “blah, blah, blah, Dove hair care products allow your hair to flow naturally...” Ending with the big pay off; Wilma’s beautiful red-flowing locks tossing gently from side to side as she turns her head ever so slowly, Velma with a new youthful bob looks radiant and Jane, well, her harshly scooped up hair now has a delightfully gentle lift that highlights her fabulous eyes. And all you can think is, “Those gals look great! Where can I get me some Dove hair care products??”

Both smart, both sweet, both appealing to our shared experience. When advertising is done this well...well, it looks easy.

Listening to Pi

Give it a try. It's really neat.

2004

Some stuff for 2004:

25 Dumbest Quotes in 2004

The most comprehensive Best Books of 2004 list I’ve found.

20th Annual Spirit Award Nominees for Independent Films of 2004

International Documentary Association (IDA) Award Nominees

While this didn't happen in 2004, it is sadly worth noting...

Shirley Chisholm Dies

ONWARD!