Thursday, July 15, 2010

I dream a lot about beginnings, these days.

I was back in 8th grade, first period band. Some funny-looking kid with a blond bowl-cut and a bag in his hand comes in behind the junior high guidance counselor. Mr. T, who was a really weird old man, looks up from his sax solo. The guidance counselor introduced him, said he was from our rival school. We all laughed when Mr. T asked the kid if the bag was his flute case. The new kid was quick to correct him, looking a little annoyed. He wasn't a flute player, and it was his drumstick bag.

Our back row was now paying attention. Prior to hearing the word "drum," we were all attempting to see how far we could stuff a bass mallet handle up a stuffed monkey's ass seam. The Holy Drum Monkey now lay abandoned in a sousaphone bell as we crowded the new kid, some making sexual comments, warnings, etc: "Hi, I'm Kenny. I'm gay."
"You'd better watch out. Not only does Gerald look creepy, but he'll do weird things to you behind your back. Like right now."
"Are you any good? Rival school sucks, so we'll probably kick your ass."

The new kid just sat on a stool behind us, observing for the day, in a too-large brown sweatshirt and broken glasses.

He ended up having the locker next to mine. He was useful, 'cause he had all the classes with books earlier than I did and could tell me whether I needed to bring them that day. But he was kinda weird. Too quiet, always wearing the same type of baggy clothes. I didn't pay him much attention.


Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I'm kinda annoyed with Xanga lately, as you may be able to tell.

I was really excited about this year's MXA, because last year was so much fun. Even though I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it this year, stupid me signed up. And then I hear about a bikini round as the introduction. Are you fucking kidding me? I just had twins five months ago. Secondly, it's supposed to be about blogging, not my looks. Whatever anyone else says to the contrary, such as "The real world will always focus on Angelina Jolie instead of Maya Angelou", my point is that we have the opportunity to make it about more than how the contestants look, and now it's probably ruined for good by one person who chose to turn it into a goddamn beauty pageant.

Like I have now said several times, if I had felt like this last year, I would not have joined. However, it's clear this year that the focus has been moved away from writing. Dispute it all you want, but making a provocative photo round the first one is a pretty obvious statement.

I hope someone wins this year who isn't a bitch or a shitty writer.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Sometimes It's Roses and Sometimes It's Weeds

Some snippets of life this week:

My mom must have really awful gaydar. She can spot a gay man from a mile away, but never knows who is a lesbian. For example, she only figured out that Melissa Etheridge was gay when she went to a Melissa Etheridge concert and saw a lot of women holding hands. And even then she didn't figure it out right away. She was confused for at least half of the concert before it dawned on her.
She also played softball when I was a kid, and she didn't know that 2/3 of her teammates were lesbians. I think I knew it before she did, and I was seven.


I feel like I need some big change right now. I need to move away, go on a trip, DO something. But it won't happen, because I wouldn't want to go alone, and there's nobody to go with me.


Hormones still haven't had an opportunity to level out. I'm avoiding iTunes, and I just keep playing the same Metallica CD in the car all the time, even though the CD player is shitty and skips through the songs at random. I cried when Lydia rolled off the couch. I cried when I heard a sad song. I was tremendously sad when a bird egg fell out of the nest onto my back porch. I cried when my back hurt and nothing would get rid of the pain.
I am very weepy lately, and I suspect it's mostly to do with the fact that I got prescribed birth control pills, started taking them, and then was told to stop taking them after only ten days, which means I got to have wonderful periods twice this month, a week apart. Also, the whole nasty break-up thing in which I nurture a burning hatred for my ex-boyfriend who morphed into a huge douchebag over the course of six months before ceasing communication with me.


If it's not heartburn, it's nausea. So... if it's not Tums, it's promethazine. I'm a walking pharmacy, and it is depressing. I feel like shit, man. I can't wait for my consultation on Tuesday.

Monday, April 12, 2010

The Day So Far

I use my cell phone as an alarm clock. Last night we all went to bed at 8pm, which is pretty early. At some point in the night, I knocked the cell phone under the bed, and I didn't hear it vibrating. Someone called the house at 6:30, so I was lucky enough to not be late to class.

On my way home from school I hit a pothole, adding an extra 5 inches to the crack that was on my windshield. I decided to finally call the insurance company. $100 deductible, which made me glad because I just upgraded from liability to full coverage when I bought the car. The glass people are coming to the house to fix or replace the windshield in a little bit.

On Wednesday, my sister-in-law goes in for her 20 week scan. My parents are just gooey with emotion over all these grandchildren that are suddenly arriving. Yesterday they were looking at bigger cars, and new car seats. You can't drag them away from the baby clothes in every store, either. My girls will never go without dresses, frilly socks, and baby legs, that's for sure.

I just tried on my favorite sundress from last summer. It fit perfectly, since there was extra room for my ever-expanding gut. No issue with my belly now, but instead, my boobs don't fit in it. It's got the elastic top with an empire waist, and it contorts my boobs into this weird shape. I am sad, because I rarely like dresses and I loved this one. Maybe when I lose some weight it will fit again.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Call In the Parenting Police!

A sampling of comments from Celebrity Baby Blog that are sure to leave you a) dismayed at peoples' ability to be judgmental assholes, or b) stirred into a frothy rage because a toddler isn't wearing a shirt.

The first article contains this picture of Kelly Rutherford and her daughter Helena:

Parenting Police on the scene attempt to make a joke out of being a total killjoy on a cute article: "[A]lthough I must ask, is that a good carrier? it may just be the way Helena is sitting, but it looks like her butt is hanging down and her legs are tucked up, if so, wouldn’t that stretch her back way too much? or is it just my imagination? lol."
Someone call Kelly Rutherford and tell her Helena's gonna be a hunchback if she keeps using that baby carrier.

The second article pertains to this picture of Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise:

The majority of the comments on this article are in defense of the shoelessness, coming from people who are actually real parents to real, young children who more often than not spend their days unclothed to some degree. But it only takes a couple spoilsports to ruin the whole thing.
"Maybe they are going to by her some shoes!!!" and "No shoes….no socks…." and "I don’t get it: Either Suri is dressed to the nines, with heels to match, or she’s barefoot and being carried. Whatever happened to holding a child’s hand as they walked beside you (while wearing proper footwear)?"
Come on, like you people don't carry your kids around on occasion, or let them go without shoes. Gimme a break.

And here's another mother-of-multiples under fire for not treating her cherubs exactly the same way:

"Not to be one of “those” posters, but have we ever seen the other baby? I can’t remember. But I also don’t go to any of the other sites that post pictures."
It's a conspiracy! There's actually only one baby, and Sarah Jessica only wants the attention. Also, NO SHOES, BEING CARRIED! Whatever happened to putting babies in strollers?????

"UGH Baby Bjorns are the WORST for mom and baby! You would think that Sarah Jessica would know about the more stylish and healthy and comfortable options. Beco? Kleinsmekker? Girasol wraps? Ergo, even?"

"I agree with dd: that was an unfortunate carrier and and unfortunate position to choose."

Last but not least, we have little Levi McConaughey, who is being directly made fun of by an adult because of his belly button:

"WHERE IS THE SUNSCREEN? This kid’s mother is Brazilian but he is still at risk of skin cancer. Skin cancer is caused primarily by overexposure to the sun as a child when your skin is more sensitive."

"While everyone thinks it is so cute that Levi is like his father, I think it will be wonderful if the father actually lives to see his children grow into adults. The reason for my opinion is the time Matthew spends in the sun exposing as much of his body as he can, and now he has two little children he can expose to the sun, and God knows what their chances for survival will be from sun damage and various kinds of melanoma. Very dangerous and he shouldn’t be praised. He should be chastised."

"I don’t what all the fuss is about. His dress and hair makes him look like a little “trailer trash” kid. I don’t want to be mean, after all he is an innocent child, but what is with the outie belly button?"

Whatever happened to moms being united instead of snarling and insulting each other over THEIR OWN CHOICES when it comes to parenting? If this how women think they have to be in order to be good parents themselves, I sure hope I never run into any of them and see their child without shoes, or having a tantrum in a grocery store, or appearing not to have sunscreen on.

Groundhogs and the Self Defense Dildo

SeeBeeWrite: damn groundhog got into the trash can again
ClockworkMustang: shoot it
ClockworkMustang: poison it
ClockworkMustang: send your vicious little dog after it
SeeBeeWrite: i've shot it twice
SeeBeeWrite: either i have bad aim and or the groundhog is insanely strong
SeeBeeWrite: maybe ill use hollow point next time
ClockworkMustang: varmint bombs
ClockworkMustang: it's a .223 round. hollow. causes small animals to basically explode.
SeeBeeWrite: he's no small animal
ClockworkMustang: almost zero ricochet potential. no overpenetration.
SeeBeeWrite: how do you think he tipped over my trash can? my CITY-ISSUE trash can
ClockworkMustang: just enter animal, extreme fragmentation, and varmint is SHREDDED.
SeeBeeWrite: i dont think im the only person who has taken a shot at him either
ClockworkMustang: maybe he gave it a dramatic look
SeeBeeWrite: he lives over a wide area. like 6 yards. and they're all pretty spread out from each other
ClockworkMustang: get an old bear trap
SeeBeeWrite: fuckin groundhog. it's probably gonna die under my shed
ClockworkMustang: CLANG! SQUISH!
ClockworkMustang: dinner!

Which somehow evolved into:

ClockworkMustang: The Self Defense Dildo
SeeBeeWrite: i'll pass
ClockworkMustang: you might. but there could be a market.
SeeBeeWrite: oh, i'm sure
ClockworkMustang: Behold, the Pavco Killdo
ClockworkMustang: so many uses
ClockworkMustang: 1) sex toy
ClockworkMustang: 2) carry it in the pants for easy access, and makes you look like you have a HUGE wang
ClockworkMustang: 3) beat muggers to death
SeeBeeWrite: why would i want to look like i have a huge wang?
ClockworkMustang: not women. well, not MOST women
ClockworkMustang: i suppose a possible rapist would think twice before grabbing a woman if he thinks she has a huge penis
SeeBeeWrite: i see
ClockworkMustang: makes a strange kinda sense NOW, huh?

Friday, April 9, 2010


Summer's approaching at last. In Ohio, summer doesn't last long enough to feel like it makes up for all the time we spend buried in the snow. There aren't enough bonfires, late sunsets, or nights spent covered up with a sheet instead of five different comforters.

The older I get, the less special it feels. Summer is less eventful, but busier anyway. I think more and more about past summers than the ones ahead.

I miss the weekend bonfires, trips to the Goodyear hunting and fishing club, days with my cousins, walking to Walgreens to stand in the air conditioning and scrape together enough change to buy candy. The Summit County fair, the Canfield fair, demolition derbies and the world's smallest woman. The tiny kitchen full of fermenting homemade wine. Weekends at the cabin in Southern Ohio, and a trip to the waterfall. Hikes through the Gorge and a million other places my dad seemed to know everything about.

It almost doesn't seem right to blame the demise of all those things on a person, but I do it anyway. We could have gone on that way forever, if not for one fat, bossy woman who sank her claws into my father. Ever since, it's been nothing but change. Renovate our little house, move out, renovate the next, move again, this time far away. Get married, shove religion down my papa's throat and turn him into a zombie, make him so that I have to tiptoe around him with every word I say.

I miss the time before that. Today I just want to go back to simple. The old house, the old way. Days in the sun, with the radio playing on the porch and clothes on the line.