The number of contributers at inittogymit is current (capped!) at 100. Until the number of regular contributers dies down – you will have to deal with continuing to receive fattyfatfat updates here.
I fit into a size smaller pair of jeans this weekend. The moment they zipped up, I felt so empowered – so motivated. I wanted to go right back to the gym and do another couple miles and couple hundred crunches…
But later – I used those nice new jeans as justifications for calling movie theater popcorn ‘lunch’ and, when I was inevitably hungry again a couple hours later – I used them to justify the fried chicken strips…etc etc etc.
Today – three full days later, those jeans are a little tighter than they were.
Or are they?
Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe I’m jinxing myself – maybe I am just determined to be cynical and give myself reason to continue this hopeless cycle of working soooo hard to accomplish something – and then justifying myself into taking four steps backwards. Or maybe I just think I am…
I think the real issue is that I feel GUILTY for eating things I enjoy – for eating when I am hungry. Which makes me defensive – even in my own head, against myself – and rebellious. “Pistachio Pistachio from Ben&Jerry’s – no matter how delicious – is BAD for you, Amanda.” followed by “Screw you, Mr. Man – Imma eat this ice cream. So THERE!” and then a few seconds later “I can – because I’m not DIETING, I’m just trying to be healthy – and I AM losing weight.”
But the “Mr. Man” isn’t anyone – it’s ME. (Don’t ask why the voice in my head is male – I don’t know and I’m not interested in the psychoanalytical possibilities it could represent.) I piss myself off.
I am convinced that I have to go hungry, and give up everything I love, to lose this weight. And I was too ashamed to admit that it is about the weight now. I am fat. Not obese – but more than chubby. And I am terrified that all this work will be for nothing. That I’ll give up and just. stay. fat.
“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.” I read that on a blog once – I think it was Courtni’s – and she’s right. And I keep repeating it in my head like a mantra – but only after the couple fistfuls of honey roasted peanuts, which came after the granola bar with peanut butter/almonds/cranberries, that I ate after my crazy huge salad for lunch, which was only a couple hours after my fruit cup… etc. (Cows live off grass too.)
So all I know to do is to keep on Gym’ing it. To keep forcing myself to get off the couch, out of the computer room, and out the door. To get over my fear of the Other People in the gym and go anyway. To walk my dogs further and further every day. And hope that maybe this is a metaphor for everything else in my life – and once I reach my physical goals all the other shit will either start falling into place or at least be more bearable.
Which is really just justification for not dealing with the other shit now…
One of the reasons I am Childfree is that I know myself. I would be a horrible parent. I don’t like children for more than an hour or two at a time – and even then only if they are clean and well behaved. I have no idea how to talk to them. Conversations with my friends’ kids can often be painful, awkward moments for me…
I like dogs. They trigger that mooshy/gooshy/maternal emotional response in me. I have slightly more patience for an animal that literally cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth than a child who just doesn’t want to. I know how to train and communicate with dogs…
At least I thought I did.
Bauer can sit and shake and stay and lay down and come(sometimes) and drop it, plays fetch and is learning to walk on a proper leash. He knows what I mean when I tell him to get in his crate, or off the bed or couch. He is learning to get Up in the car on his own, and didn’t foam at the mouth on Tuesday when we went for a ride without Ginger to comfort him…
But Bauer is not okay. He is terrified and overly-submissive and agitated. He cowers even when we try to feed him and hides in his crate if I raise my voice or have any semblance of an angry tone – regardless of who I am speaking to. It’s worse with Robbie. He gets too afraid to pee, and then either lets it all go subconsciously in acts of submission to Robbie – or in the middle of playing fetch because he just can’t hold it anymore… and then he hides and shakes. Or he’ll follow me step for step and sit right behind my feet when I tell him to go potty.
He’s always been timid. We’re 90% sure the people before us were beating him. But it was getting better…
And then we moved.
And suddenly it was much, much worse. And I have no idea why. Or how to fix it. He wasn’t this spooked when we brought him home with us to the apartment – so I don’t think it’s the move itself that has him so worked up…
I feel like a horrible dog-mom. My baby puppy is scared and hurting and sad and I have no idea how to fix it. I am not even sure if maybe we haven’t caused it in some way – which makes me want to cry. Both boys are Over It. They didn’t sign up for puppy-drama and are frustrated at his lack of understanding that he is Physically Okay and Safe. At having to clean up his messes when I am not home and… so I feel guilty for bothering the boys. For bringing this poor, pathetic, high-maintenance dog into their home.
*I* am terrified he’s going to pee on something and irritate/frustrate the boys. Which has me even more on edge. And makes it even more stressful – which I know he picks up on. He is eight months old and 42 pounds. He is going to be a big dog. Too big to be so afraid of everything. I am terrified I won’t be able to fix it and something will happen and he’ll bite someone and have to be put down. I have nightmares of it… or that I can’t fix it and Robbie decides he can’t deal and leaves us. Or he asks me to get rid of Bauer/says we have to get rid of him.
I’ve scoured the internet. I am trying everything listed to fix this. I am not petting his head or standing over him or hugging him tight like I used to. I am letting him win at Tug games and making a concentrated effort to not yell or use angry tones. I am lying down on the floor if he starts to shake or get scared. I am trying to distract him with a toy if the lying down doesn’t work. I am making a point to exercise him when I get home: with a walk, or games of fetch/chase in the backyard. I am making him sit and stay and shake to give him something to do that he is good at and try to build confidence. I am letting him rest his head on the top of mine and praising him every chance I get. I am using soft tones when asking if he wants to potty and then walking outside to stand in the middle of the yard in the rain so he doesn’t feel abandoned or punished for peeing. I crawled with him into the living room to eat – taking a handful out of the bowl and placing it in front of him. I let him hide in his crate as long as he wants to when he wants to…
I get it. I really do. You go to the movies, and you like whatever you see. You want to share the happiness and joy you experienced with everyone else. It made you happy, so obviously it will make them happy too. You have to tell them about this movie that will make them happy. You have to let them know that they will be happy if they go see it.
You, and every single other person that was in that theater with you, will go and tell all your friends about the movie. Half will go see the movie, maybe half will like it as much as you did, and then they all go tell all of their friends, along with every other person who was in the theater with them.
I used to do it too.
I am poor, but more importantly, I am claustrophobic in the extreme. I CANNOT go to movies opening night anymore unless someone can guarantee me that I will have someone I know WELL on either side of me to buffet me from the crowd of people I do not know. I often wait at least two weeks before I will go see a movie, and even then I prefer to go on a weeknight or matinee showing. (If I can drag Robbie out of bed for a weekend matinee, my life is perfect.) I may even just wait to see it in BluRay. It takes a lot to get me to a theater anymore. I will be the last person to see the movie.
Always.
And by the time I go see it, I have either heard all about it and there is no point in spending the $40 it takes to go to the movies now, and then I’m irritated that I wasted the money and time. Or, I don’t find it as entertaining as EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERSON alive apparently thought it to be and then I’m even more irritated at the waste of time and money – and irritated at the person who told me the movie was worth that (Read: You).
I am not big on romantic comedies. Very few of them make me happy. Up In the Air? Not a fan. Completely don’t get the draw of that, other than Clooney – who never gets naked. ‘Dramas’ with Matt Damon or Leo DiCaprio? Also not my thing (99% of the time, Blood Diamond is still one of my favorite movies ever.) I don’t get moral treatises in movie form. I just don’t. Julie and Julia? Made me want to cry and stab people all at once. And I still want those two hours of my life back. Don’t even get me started on movies like Paul Blart,Bruno, or Napoleon Dynamite.
I can appreciate the high caliber of acting prowess…but not the movies themselves.
My alley is horrible movies. Horror movies. Action movies (without Bruce Willis, unless it’s the Die Hard movies). I love foreign movies, with subtitles – dubbing is ridiculous. Bread and Tulips is work of art. And there are not enough words in the English language to fully describe my love for documentaries. And I am my father’s daughter and will always watch SciFi movies, and love them, regardless of hole-y plots and bad acting.
Occasionally I do like the movies everyone else likes. Most recently – Avatar and Star Trek. These movies tend to be HUGE blockbusters. Movies with huge promotional campaigns. Movies everyone anticipates, including me. Movies that McDonalds makes a special French Fry container for and/or BurgerKing invents cups for. Movies I will have decided to go see long before you (and everyone else) come tell me how awesome it is and the thousand reasons why I should go see it. I will have been dodging commercials and trailers for weeks, to keep from knowing more of the plot than I want to. To keep from expectinganything from the movie. So that I cannot be let down.
And then my weeks of careful avoidance are ruined by one sentence from someone who just can’t contain their excitement.
The internet is ruining us. We are all, myself included, guilty of over-sharing. We can tell literally every single person we know each time we have a bowel movement through FaceBook or twitter if we so choose, and some do. We have gotten used to being able to inform the world of every single action we take and how that makes us feel.
We don’t wait to be asked anymore.
“I saw Avatar last night.”
“Oh yeah? How was it?”
“Ohmigod it was the bestest movie that ever bested! I loved it! You haven’t seen it? You should go see it. I’ll take you to go see it, right now.”
Has become :
“SoandSo SuchandSuch JUST WATCHED AVATAR AND OMG EVERYONE GO SEE IT RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW!!!ELEVENTYONE1!!! I’LL GO WITH YOU!!!”
Again:
Which brings me to my second point:
No. I do not want you to go with me to see it, if you have already seen it. You will give away the plot. You’ll lean forward in your seat in anticipation of the gunshot. Or look to me to see how I will react to the betrayal about to occur. Or you’ll talk through the whole damn thing telling me to “just wait” for what’s about to happen.
Some movies, I don’t care. I don’t care if you tell me if you liked it, or didn’t. Or what RottenTomatoes has told you think about it. Or if you go with me and sit forward in your seat and preemptively shield your eyes from the Scary coming…
In those cases: I WILL ASK.
Is it so much to ask that I not be told if I don’t ask? Really?
***Note: I am aware the blog above is petty and pouty. This is me not caring. >_<***
Any 8 year can tell you what it means, if you aren’t sure.
*ahem*
Xamine Your Zipper.
Now, bear with me for a minute while we skinny dip in a sea of metaphor.
Wow. That was just mean. I apologize. I couldn’t help myself though. Stay with me. It IS game day and I might have had some vodka. I’m getting somewhere though, I promise.
*ahem*
Socrates said “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I have spent these last twenty-five days reflecting on my life. Examining the last year in minute detail as I strove to find things to be grateful for that began with certain letters. I found, as mentioned in the S blog, that there was much more than I expected.
Some days though, it was a struggle – and I let all my ugly bits hang out for the world to see. One day, in particular, I neglected to ‘Xamine {my} Zipper.’ And instead just spewed ugly in your eyes.
Yeah, I went there.
I told you – a SEA of metaphor here today ladies and gents.
A zipper holds back, hides, the ’shameful’ parts of us. The parts society says should be kept private. That society has insisted are Private for long, that it became a euphemism. Parts of us that, frankly, no one else wants to see without advanced warning, and then may still put the kibosh on the idea of letting all that hang out in the breeze…
My biggest lesson in the last year has been to examine that line. As I’ve quit smoking and re-learned to manage my emotions. As I got in trouble for blogging at work because my words hurt someone’s feelings (again.) My lesson has been learning when to share…and when to simply sit quietly. To think about WHY I want to say something, and try to do so before saying it. To determine if I SHOULD unzip… in that moment…that situation. To evaluate if the good it does me outweighs the harm it could cause another. And then to act accordingly.
I have learned that when I do this – I find my Xanadu. I am the ruler of my little slice of life, with a pretty palace near a sacred river. But it is every bit as fleeting as Coleridge’s Opium-induced vision… For though I am older than I was, I am not yet wise – and I find myself grateful for my follies – because I truly believe they are what is keeping me Young (at heart.)
And I am grateful for the Zipper that separates it all.
Courtni is Amanda’s Soul Sister. Her words, her inspiration, her attitude and her unconditional love and support were crucial to Amanda becoming the woman that Robbie fell in love with. The wedding would not be complete without her.
That is not an exaggeration. When I first ‘met’ WickedGame – I was intimidated beyond belief. I had never cared for or about blog-ratings or the myspace ‘elite’ as I thought of them – and she, at least in my eyes, was one of the Elite…but I desperately wanted to know this Woman Whose Words echoed my soul. More than just Wanting to know her, I Wanted…Needed…her to know ME. I stalked her blog for months before leaving my first comment. I almost cried the first time she commented on mine – I felt like I’d won an award.
Wicked is a Writer. The undiscovered/unacknowledged 10th World Wonder. Untempered honesty Winds its Way through every Word she speaks, pens, or types. More than anyone else I know – Courtni owns Who and What she is. Completely and Without an ounce of shame. I have never seen her pull a punch. And so, when she accepted me – I knew it was real. When she complimented my Writing – I knew it was real. She played a big part in my acceptance of my Self. She exudes strength and Wisdom, and I soaked it up.
And, for the first time in my life, I found myself truly interested in watching a pregnancy progress. Even being squicked out if I thought about it in terms of ME or MY LIFE… I found myself fascinated by her letters to her unborn daughter. Teary eyed and full of Warm fuzzies. It was the first glimpse I had into the soft, gooey WickedHeart beating beneath the hard {candy} shell she portrayed. And yet, it was no less strong than that exterior.
I almost pee’d my pants when I learned she was going to be in Tennessee for Gigifest. I was SOOO excited to be able to meet this amazing Woman…and then got tongue-tied when I finally did…and right about the time I started to realize she was human, and neither deserved, nor wanted the pedestal I’d placed her on – and relax – I got the flu.
In the months following got to know Courtni all over again. Without the idolization, as an equal – a sister. I stopped feeling like the lost little loser tagging along with the cool kids and realized the cool kids thought I was cool. I stopped trying and started BEING. It was a flipped switch, not a process. An epiphany fueled by the knowledge that Women such as Courtni liked me. Me. Singing badly at the top of my lungs at two in the morning in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants and a lime green bra that had seen better days – they liked me. Stressed up by superstition and in desperate need of a sports bar – they liked me. Sick as all hell, whiney, mopey and bitter at missing out on the festivities – they liked me.
And when the Frog turned out to be just a Frog, and not a Prince – they were there. And as I came into my own, there were Wicked little text messages spurring me on. Forcing me to think a little harder, dig a little deeper into the void known as my Self and KNOW. And when I needed a new outlet, she got me a visa to thepqnation.
And when I met a man really Worth my time and effort…and when I fell in love with him…and when I got engaged to him– no one was happier for me than Courtni. LittleMissWicked was happier to hear I found a love like this than I think my own mother was. It made total sense to me to ask her to stand with me. And the perfect way to express what (at the time) I had no Words for: How much she meant to me.
My first instinct is to go with Undapants. Mainly cause I like to say “Undapants.” (Really, I like the expletive “PANTS!” as well, but that’s neither here nor there…)
But, really, I am rather on distinctly Unfriendly terms with all things pants-related at the moment… soo…..
In the last year I have come to realize precisely how many people Understand me. Who are Unsurprised by the things I do or say, or -more importantly- the way I react to things.
According to Facebook I have 93 friends. Some of those are duplicates – “dummy” or “safe” profiles. Some are family. Some are more friends of Robbie than me… Some are people, honestly, that I just haven’t deleted yet because it was easier to just hide them in my feed. There aren’t many of those though – I purged the list not too long ago of anyone I felt didn’t deserve that level of access to my life. I deleted a LOT of people who did not Understand me. People who judged me for things I said or items I ’shared.’ People who were determined to change me. People who would not admit they didn’t really like ME, but instead were enamored with the character they believed me to be. People who expected me to not care, or disregard, things that affected me on the deepest, most primal levels.
And yet…93 people are still there.
Ninety Three.
That’s staggering to me. Someone once predicted that I would never be truly known and loved. That anyone who truly got to know me would running, screaming, in the opposite direction. I used to believe that with entire heart and soul. I wagered on it. I’m pretty sure I owe at least a couple people a hundred bucks because they’re still here…. years later. (shuddup Jeremy.) I was convinced the character flaws were mine. That the reason I was going through roommates like toilet paper was somewhere inside *ME*. Just me.
I was wrong.
I Understand that now. Because so many people, so many of YOU, Understand me. And have helped me Understand myself.
I am 28 years old. Three of my closest friends, my inner circle, are Quadragenarians. These women steady me. They ground me. They have no Qualms about calling me on my shit. They have a decade more experience navigating this Quagmire called Life than I do, and they share it freely. They don’t tell me I’m too young. They don’t Question my knowledge of my Self. I love them, and am grateful they are in my life.
That I love and appreciate a particular Ms. Quello goes without saying, methinks.
Quaker is now making High Protein and High Fiber Oatmeals in delicious flavors. This I am also grateful for.
I am grateful for Quiet Saturday mornings with my dog and a book on the chaise. I am grateful I can almost see the definition of my Quadriceps again. I am grateful that in high school my Math teacher taught me a song to remember the Quadratic Equation. (Okay, maybe not, but ‘Q’ is hard, dammit.)
I’ve never had quail and I’m honestly not a fan of quiche…
O is for Orange Juice. Which, if you know me, you understand I don’t drink. At least, I didn’t use to. However, in the last year I have been introduced to the beauty that is a mimosa. And you can’t have a mimosa without Orange Juice, now can you? Orange Juice also goes in my protein smoothies that Robbie makes me after we work out. It is now a staple grocery on our list and I am glad to have found new ways to love and appreciate it this year.
It might also be for Orgasms, the quality of which has never been so good as it has in the last year. But we’re tryin to stay family friendly here, folks, so that’s all I have to say about that.
I wanted to say Open Minds and Open Hearts, but Jane Seymore ruined it for me. Having an Open Heart, to me, is about more than just “love finding it’s way in.” Even if Love doesn’t, there are other equally valuable things that come from keeping your heart Open. Humilty, Knowledge, Grace, Patience… all good things learned when one keeps their heart Open.
I am grateful for the Opinions around me, 90% of which seem to differ from mine 90% of the time. I will always call it chili, even if there are beans in it. Meat/Tomato Stew like substance = chili. I will now and forever maintain that Sarah Palin is not a woman and might possibly be the Antichrist. I do not hate Obama, and can appreciate what he is trying to do. I’ve wanted to move to Sweden for YEARS because they have socialized healthcare. I LOATHE the Cowboys, the Spurs, and UT sports in general… And yet somehow, I live in Texas. With a LOT of good friends who believe differently than I do on all those counts with their entire being. Having Opinions that differ from mine challenges me, tests the courage of my convictions. Opinions make me think “What if?” They make me consider an alternative… and I like having considered all sides before choosing my own.
…is for Kisses. Get your mind out of the gutter. I said Kisses not foreplay or making-out. Just simple, Kind Kisses. I LOVE Kisses. They are not implicitly sexual to me. In Squishtopia, Kisses are chaste. Kisses are platonic. They CAN be sexual, but typically – aren’t for me. Kisses are demonstrative affection. Loving Out Loud. The simple act of placing one’s lips to another person’s forehead. Or cheek. Or lips. Kisses from a friend. From Robbie. From my puppy. Puppy kisses may get their own blog I love them so much. If you aren’t aware, Bauer was being beaten by the previous owners, and was afraid to do anything – ESPECIALLY lick a person. His Kisses mean the world to me. They mean he trusts me. They mean he is starting to feel safe in our home. In addition to being happy to see me and/or concerned for my emotional state. And despite giving up Kissing my girlfriends this last year, I have had no lack of Kisses. I would almost say that in the last year I have had more Kisses than any other single year, or possibly even two, ever in my life. I am blessed with Kisses.
And I almost forgot Karaoke. I don’t get to go very often anymore. And, to be honest, it’s not the same fun that it once was… but it’s still there. Still exactly the same as it was five years ago when I started going. Oh, the TVs are bigger and the Karaoke itself is all digitized now…but the atmosphere is the same. It’s a tiny little place packed to the brim with “WeDon’tGiveAFuck.” So many things, so many people in my life have changed in the last few years. They’ve started having to care about being at the “Right” bar with the “Right” people in the “Right” atmosphere and wearing the “Right” clothes… and maybe it’s because I am still a peon…maybe it’s because, at heart, I really am just a little on the trashy side… but I haven’t made that transition. I cannot play the Kissass game. I’m bad at it. It makes my head hurt. To be blunt, it disgusts me. And I hate myself every second that I am attempting to play it. Karaoke is my refuge. My sanity. It is raw and gritty and ugly and offkey and unashamed of any of it. I can go in a party dress or a Tshirt and jeans and be equally accepted the moment I walk in the door. And I will always appreciate and be grateful for that.
I got stuck on the H’s. To be blunt, someone at work is harassing me with toy spiders and I touched one this morning before I realized it was there and it completely threw my groove off the rest of the day. It was almost impossible to think past the spiders. I was able to blank my mind by playing WoW when I got home, but any time I tried to focus to write this blog… my brain would immediately turn to the fact that I touched a spider – toy or not – and the tears would well up and the nearly uncontrollable urge to strip and search myself for creepy-crawlies would start.
And then there were my friends. Whom I did a complete disservice to by not mentioning on day 6. On facebook, which was also forgotten. Offering comfort, beat downs, and ideas.
Offering Help.
So this one’s for my Homies – who have made more of a difference in my life than they could ever know.
Happiness: I have known more happiness in the last year than I ever would have imagined possible. I have a Family. Someones who loves me waiting to see me at the end of the day. Who will hold me when I cry for no reason. Who will protect me as soon as he figures out how to be brave. Who will lick me – because she’s just so damn happy I’m home. That kind of happiness seeps into the rest of your life, whether you want it to or not. I find myself smiling at work for no reason at all. They don’t matter anymore. Even today, with spider-shenanigans going on… I knew that once I got home it would all be better. That is what allowed me to quit smoking. To sever unhealthy ties. I am, for the most part, GROSSLY happy.
Health: I can run two miles and keep my heart rate under 160. A year ago, by the time I hit a half mile my heart rate was in the high 170s and I’d have to slow down. I can take the stairs without panting like a dog in heat. I can play tug with my 50 pound puppy and pick him up off the floor by a T-shirt tied in a knot. I definitely gained weight…but I am still healthier now than I was a year ago.
Home… I have a blog somewhere… on one of the other sites… that covers my feelings on my Home now infinitely more adequately than I could possibly do today… but I can’t find it. /shrug. I never thought I’d have a Home. With a family and stuff. Not in one place. I never thought I’d think about Home Ownership at some point. with things like a lawn and pipes that need plumbing and shite. And yet…here I am. Calling this tiny ass apartment that is entirely too small for the three people and two dogs it houses my Home. Admitting that it Houses everything that matters most in the world to me. I’m one of the lucky ones. Whodathunk?
Hope. I has it. Even when I’m so irritated I could scream, I feel safe enough to hope tomorrow will be better, and go paint my toes instead of screaming, plotting or planning. I’ve relaxed. I trust in tomorrow because I am okay with today, even on the worst days. Any my Hope for the future is shiny and filled with dinosaurs, bubbles, fake mustaches, ridiculous Hats, and Hoodies. (Man, I love Hoodies.)
HUMMUS. Hummus is protein! Hummus gives me something Healthy to eat in lieu of dip made with cream cheese. Add in some roasted red pepper and I am a very happy Squish. NOM NOM NOM.
(less) Hangovers! Indeed. I think that says it all, really.
Hornitos I have never had, and Hamburgers only exist in their Cheesydeliciousburger form in Squishtopia… So i had to pass on those lol. But HEAT. O Lawd, the HEAT. Let me tell you something:
We are all aware of the FattyFatFatNeedsToFitHerFatAssIntoABikini plan. (Also known as: Tetris for the Tummy.) Unfortunately, I quit smoking, which is rather counter-productive on many levels to this plan. In addition to snacking more for the first six months as a nonsmoker, my metabolism also took a nosedive. So, we thought it would be good to jumpstart it back up. And we found pills that would do so, and curb my newfound all-the-time-appetite as well. The fun side effect? HEAT. Oh. My. GAWD. The Heat. I could warm a village with the Heat I now radiate. I am COMFORTABLE in 45/50 degree weather. This is not usual. Typically I start freezing solid if the temperature dips below 71. It is December (albeit in Texas, I know) and I am |thisclose| to sleeping with my windows open… But I’ve lost two inches around my middle and a half inch off each calf since starting the pills. No shit.
I’ll take it.
Hodum. Of the Genus De Anne. of De Anne of the Hodum Genus? either way – the Hodum is my officiant for the wedding. Again, I think that says it all.
Humility… This latest blogging endeavor… this Days of Gratefulness, blog-a-day for 26 days thing I thought would be a great idea has taught me a thing or two about Humility… and we are only on Day 8 folks. Waking up yesterday and remembering that all I had to say on Wednesday was “fuck you” was not exactly my proudest moment. However… I find a sort of beauty in those dark, raw, embarrassing moments. It’s unfinished honesty. SeaGlass that isn’t quite done yet. Cookies taken out a few minutes early so the center is still gooey and soft… I wrote a blog once about being an Oreo – and letting life dunk you in over your head in milk to soften you up; keep you from being too hard… And I am reminded of that every time I fuck up in a big, dramatic, PUBLIC way. And then I wonder if Gandhi was ever embarrassed….
Humanity…. I’m going to be a nerd for a whole second here and mention that in last night’s episode of Bones – they mentioned that sometimes they forget that the bones they work with are/were People. I have that same problem, and I work with them before they are just bones. I forget that the person I question is able to put on pants alone – is someone’s mom…brother…lover…friend… They may save kittens at the split of I-35 at night three times a week, or go have lunch at the nursing home on Sunday, even though they don’t have family there. The assmonkey putting spiders on my desk? *I* caused that. Doesn’t change the fact that they are putting spiders on my desk rather than talking to me like an adult… but I am most bothered by the fact that someone has that amount of HATRED for me. To know of my phobia, and use it against me malevolently… Maliciously… Because *I* am doing something wrong, forgetting someone’s humanity… It’s a hard lesson to learn.
Humor… Robbie thinks I am funny. He laughs at my jokes. I never considered myself a funny person before…but I amuse Robbie. And truth be told… he amuses me too. And he’s not funny either…but I laugh anyway. Genuinely. Maybe it’s that I’ve learned to appreciate bad jokes on a different level…in a different way… /shrug. The dogs amuse me endlessly. But that’s not really humor…. or is it? Is humor what you make it? Where you find it? Bad dancing to horrible 80s music in the kitchen on a Sunday morning… the puppy missing the couch entirely when he jumps sometimes… Maybe I find more Humor in life because I am Happy…
and i have to stop there. My brain is tired now lol. I still had Hats, Headbanging, HouseMusic, Hot Pockets, Howl(ing), and HipHop to go…
