Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Excuse me, you're under arrest for spanking



mountain view lawmakers are attempting to outlaw spanking. personally, i don't like spanking. i would not spank my child. i was spanked and it did nothing but make me very very angry. i grew up to be a very angry adult. why so pissed? don't know. was it because i was spanked? don't know. i also tend to harbor self-hate. i've worked on this problem for years and am pretty close to not wanting to pull my hair out when i'm really embarrassed or humiliated. just like rain man. but seriously, my sisters are the same way and they were also spanked.

one thing's for certain, when i was 15 and observed my little sister getting spanked at age 12, i knew it was wrong and i saw my dad as crooked for decades. i think he's too old to be crooked now, but he definitely was that night and other nights. poor little sister got spanked at age 12 because she was so small! she had only reached 4'9" by age 12, whereas i was 5'8" at that age. my 5'8" father definitely did not attempt to spank me past the height of 4"9" which, for me, meant 3rd grade. i get pissed all over again thinking about what that did to my sister. said sister just gave birth. guess what? i asked her if she'll spank her son and she resoundingly replied, No Way, there will be no spanking in This House.

overall, i would like there to be less laws in the world, so i wouldn't vote for spanking to be outlawed. i do, however, think it's a mistake. and a cop-out. and lazy. we'll see. i'm sure there will be moments, if i have a kid, that will make me want to spank him.

i hope i don't.



note: i've just gone to my usual image search engine to retrieve a picture for this post. i can only find old black and white images and the kids have their pants on. in my family, we were spanked without pants on. just to make sure of absolute humiliation.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Cashing in The Future



i've talked about The Future before. well, guy and i cashed in on it at the dilapidated and dirty wholesale food store in the mission, FOODCO.

we listened to lady sovereign on the way, a new favorite. who knew a tiny little white british teenager could be so cool! she is blowing our minds and making us jiggy.

after stuffing the coinstar with brown bags of coins, the total came out to $329.48, a year's worth of pocket change. we were hoping for five hundred, but went out to dinner afterwards anyway, at the beautiful, relaxing and dark SLOW CLUB in the outer mission. One unbelievably taste-layered plate of steelhead with celery puree and white turnips in balsamic reduction sauce...LATER, we were suitably spaced out and satisfied. guy told me with intense bravery, that he was going to be my support through this whole hellish ordeal of my upcoming experience with induced menopause for three months, to treat the endo problem.

it was a very romantic night.

xo

The Joy-Injector



guy told me this morning that he is a SuperVirgo.

yesterday he told me that he is a joy-injector.

that one i can vouch for.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Deep thoughts in the morning with guy



since syd died, i've been educating guy on cats and what different breeds are like as we lead up to adopting a new one some day.

this morning we are getting in the car to leave for work, and i see a neighborhood cat, tyler. i say to guy, Ever notice how tyler doesn't seem to care about people? guys says, Yes. i say, It's because he's orange.

it's true, orange short-haired cats don't need people.

guy says, I don't get how hair length and color affects personality.

It's breeding, i tell him. like black people are better at sports because they're built differently, and different races get different diseases.

i think about this for awhile and correct myself, Well that's not personality...
and he says, But you've made your point.

this much is true:
in general long-haired cats are smarter, across the board, including all colors, and smarter generally means more interested, including: in people, which can also be construed as sweeter.

1. orange short-haired cats don't need people
2. black short-haired cats are dumb and needy
3. gray short-haired cats are lacking in any kind of personality except that of not having one
4. calico short-haired cats are bitchy
5. black or brown tabby short-haired cats are neurotic but are the smartest of all the short-hairs

the only kind of cat i have no experience with is the black and white spotted short-hair.

This much is true about people:
1. blondes are dumb
2. brunettes are smart
3. tall people are more powerful
4. short people are more universally adored
5. beautiful gets you further in life than smart
6. humor gets you everywhere, like an all-access pass

just kiddin. i only believe #6.

i told guy as we pulled onto 20th and headed down the hill, People are harder to categorize than cats...to which he replied...

"Hmm."

Thursday, January 18, 2007

No promises, indeed



today is the first day i bought a bottle of wine in 17 days and i've never come closer to smoking.

today is the first day i started bleeding again since my exploratory surgery. and i really can't take it anymore. i really can't. can't. really really can't.

today i received something beautiful in the mail. it's not for me, it's a gift my friend (j) bought my sister for her baby. radiohead in lullaby form. it is seriously beautiful. i opened it because i needed something.

smoke.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Of Luck, Lovers and Cancer



i awoke friday morning with hardened mucus-filled nostrils. i coughed and my belly hurt. they told me, All the drugs are coming out of your body now. All the drugs you were given yesterday.

apparently, the drugs escape via mucus.

the surgery went fine i suppose. i awoke with two extra holes in me they failed to mention would be drilled. i don't care though. i'm so happy to not have cancer. i mean, really, if you don't have cancer, you're fine. period. yeah, i've got fibroids galore and scar tissue all over my female organs and endo tissue living in places it should never be, but there's no cancer. and that's all that matters.

as i lay in my private pre-op hospital room with kind, young, good-looking, sincere and thorough doctors, nurses and anesthesiologists coming in to introduce themselves and ask me the same blessed questions over and over, i told guy, I am so lucky to be here. i am so lucky to have insurance. I could be homeless and be this messed up. i am LUCKY.

graciously, he told me i deserve this. that i've worked hard to have a job that would give me this, that i have stayed vigilant and taken care of myself and made it a priority and that is why i am being taken care of, that is why i have insurance and don't have to worry.

to which i had to add, and still stand by...I am also a little bit lucky.

in the operating room, before they put me out, i bore witness to a beautiful orchestration. clanging metal, moving beds, my body picked up and put down with ease, like magic, tons of people working together and quickly. i stared at HUGE lights above me, like i've never seen, beautiful, i loved them, big silver disks, and the room in a way seemed empty and not ready for the complicated song about to be sung. my doctor was nowhere to be seen when they put the mask on my face and told me to inhale the sweet-tasting chemicals. lovely chemicals. mmmm, i really liked the taste and they told me to just inhale deeply, and this i did for a while, like maybe ten breaths and then there was nothing.

then i heard my name and more motion. i was awake and it was over, just like that. more fast-paced beautiful orchestration and my name and them saying, You had every reason to be in so much pain. You've had every reason. It's all been real, you didn't imagine it. We found a real mess in there. It has all been real.

how did they know that i needed to know this? did someone tell them i am extremely somatic and if i get sad, physical maladies befall me like an achy left leg or that before every test i ever took in school i acquired a sinus infection or bronchitis? how did they know that a part of me was prepared to feel like a crazy loser, like i had made it all up, that none of it had been real?

then guy was there and a very nice nurse with red hair was taking care of me and i could barely speak because my mouth was all dried out. it was puckered up like a super old lady mouth, all sucked in like i had no teeth, and my tongue was stuck to the side of my mouth like it had been glued in place. they were going to be a minute before they could get me water, and i could barely speak, so i asked guy to lick my lips. and he did. moisture was immediately restored. i thought of a p.diddy quote i just read, "i have to moisturize my situation and maintain my sexy."

there was much success from the lip-licking, so i asked him, Please lick my tongue. PLEASE. he grimaced and smiled and while he leaned down, i said, Is it bad? is it really bad breath? and he nodded but leaned down anyway and licked my tongue and it was so delicious. moisture is simply delicious.

then we hung out for a while. i got juice and crackers like a good little girl, got some pills, got fentanyl and got ready to leave. after we left, guy ran into stores and drugstores, picking up get-well materials while i called friends and said i was ok in a very sexy drugged out voice.

and then home. and while there was no kitty waiting for me, waiting to love me, waiting to heal me, there was my blonde love waiting to wait on me, sweetly and with care. for this, i am most lucky. for this, i am beyond lucky. for this, i win for luckiest girl of ALL TIME in a cruel universe that kills cats and friends and parents but had spared me on this day, and not given me cancer or a heart attack while under anesthesia. also, there was no earthquake or bomb dropped while i was out and that is REALLY lucky.

Jesus or Amway

you know when you meet someone and you think they're really really nice, wow, i really like this person, almost right away? well, guess what, it often means jesus or amway.

guy and i have a person like this in our lives and we have both been commenting on how much we like her, she's cool, she's really nice and cool, in a sea of uncool people in this one particular sector of our lives. well, we just found out she's a jesus freak. like ALOT.

when guy found out and told me, my response was immediate: (sighhhhh) it's always jesus or amway.

he laughed really hard and said, "Or ecstacy."

missing syd



every time i'm "almost home" from wherever i have been, i think of syd, the cat. i realize now that i thought of him, subconsciously, every single time i was almost home from somewhere, the entire 11 years i knew him. the context of the thought is, "oh good, i'm almost home. syd is there. i can't wait to hold him, and kiss him, and love him. i can't wait to see his eyes looking up at me, his mouth opening, 'meow,' mouth closing, 'meow.' i can't wait to feel his fur and his warm body and how much he loves me."

now he is a pine box sitting on my dresser with a tiny stuffed cat from the 50s, perched on top, guarding.

Monday, January 08, 2007

"The World is a Beautiful Place"

My grandmama cross-stitched some art for me as a very young child. This art hung on my wall, until i left home at 17 and 11 months. the cross-stitch read: THE WORLD IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE.

As a kid learning to read, i used the crazy-long word "beautiful" as my launching pad, for practice. I would say it over and over the way we were taught, breaking up the syllables and figuring the word out that way: be-a-u-tee-full bee-a-u-tee-fulllllllllll...!

As a teenager, i looked at it and thought, "what a bunch of shit. The world is hardly beautiful. In fact, it's a prison."

Now, as a rapidly maturing real-live adult, i think about "the world is a beautiful place" and i say, yes, it really is, but with a touch of horror.

Friday, January 05, 2007

No one's home



i have a fascination with deserted houses. i want to go in them every time i see one. there are people who do, and take pictures and the images have a quality that is impossible to find anywhere else. desertion. it's heavy.

i don't go into deserted houses, mostly because i don't have a partner in crime. guy is not into it. he laughs everytime i see one and say, "let's go in!" so, when we were in new orleans, touring the ninth ward destructo, guy asked me, "wanna go in?"

every single house was empty and filled with spooky memories and fear and all that stuff that gives you shivers when you feel them and they belong to someone else. it would have been the perfect opportunity to feel other people's memories.

but i said no. not this time. i knew immediately, i would not trespass in this situation. it felt heartless and impossible.

it felt irreverant.

...like she had sense




"she was beautiful. she was so smart. and she loved me so much. like she had sense."


-New Orleans woman who lost her husky in the katrina storm.



these are the words i could not come up with to describe my cat. perfect words.

syd had sense.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

A bio-dad bio-hazard



The first thing i saw when i walked in to my bio-dad's apartment, and what was to be mine and guy's bedroom for two nights and three days, were long black legs sticking out of the wall, near the floor, and to the left of the window. i looked around quickly and announced, "yeah, i think there's a black widow in here." that's not good. i'm an arachnophobe and black widows are pretty much the scariest and this mofo...this guy was MASSIVE. i didn't even see it's full size because guy killed it. i didn't have to ask, he knew to.

also-phobic bio-dad sounded surprised then, but later admitted that he chose the other bedroom when he moved in because this one had been full of spiders.

i realized pretty quickly that the entire apartment was a bio-hazard. never have i seen such filth in a home. because i wasn't drinking around him, and can't just sit still and listen to someone talk (hello, hated school), i immediately started cleaning upon arrival. i scrubbed and scrubbed at what he described as 7 months worth of grime, all over the kitchen counters, the kitchen table, and oven which was especially difficult given all the nooks. i couldn't begin to remove all the disgustingness as it was so hardened and ground in, it appeared to have been seared to surfaces by a blowtorch.

when i went into the bathroom, and didn't feel like scrubbing or even existing in that room, i put towels over the filth-encrusted bathroom sink so i wouldn't vomit while brushing my teeth.

at one point bio-dad suggested i take a hot bath to help with The Pain. he suggested it more than once. that meant that more than once i had to picture my naked body sitting on top of something so nasty i didn't want my bare feet anywhere near it much less my vaginal canal. bio-d explained that he just feels complacent all the time and really doesn't do much except drink coffee, smoke and watch tv. he explained that he has what he needs in those three items.

yeah, he's quite a character.

my guy says to me, bio-dad's a character. that's what you say about people who are overwhelming. bio-dad never stops smoking or talking. he even makes jokes about how he never stops smoking or talking, but he doesn't know what else to do. he also tells us to watch out for hustlers in new orleans, while hustling us to stay longer.

we had one nice moment. we both discovered that we resolve our uncomfortable feelings about death using string theory. that's not a conversation i could have with my mom, or an idea that i've heard anyone else reveal. and that's the way it's supposed to be with parents. you need both of them to get the full picture.

even if it means nightmare visions for a few months, of nakedness and grime and black widows. i guess. oh god.

my least favorite thing in the world besides cats dying

i don't like sobriety. i never have. before i knew about drugs, i paced a lot and i never slept. i was much more miserable.

while sober, i have a hard time being still. i can't bare the feeling of incessant consciousness. my brain turns into something like a beehive or an anthill. it never sleeps, it never stops moving. besides that i twist my hair a lot and my arms get sore. they really hurt, and i still can't stop!!

my bio-dad can't sit still either, and so he twirls his thumbs. that's right, if he's not smoking, he's twirling. over and over, over and over, over and over. he's been sober 18 months, but a drunk for 45 years.

i am attempting sobriety for a while. the hormones in my body have really messed me up and i have no idea what is causing what, what might be causing which problems. it's like i have to hit reset and it's going to take a few months. i've thought to myself i may be allowed to smoke pot, but i've also decided to try to stop smoking cigarettes (3 days in), or at least see how long i can go, and if i smoke pot, i'm waaaay more likely to smoke the stick.
(some of this paragraph is bullshit. i didn't mean to write bullshit. the truth is, i drink insane amounts of alcohol way too often and that's getting scary.)

i haven't been sober since the 8th grade and discovered that benadryl abuse can be fun. obviously, this is not my preferred mode.