Friday night, after hitting the gym (yeah, that’s right – I got on the treadmill, and got a more rigorous workout than on the bike, and I didn’t even hate it – although I won’t go as far as to say I enjoyed it totally, because I was reading a book and had to keep holding it open, it wouldn’t just sit open on its own) and after Greg had band practice, Jeremy and Kimmie came over and we hung out and watched some Dirty Jobs, and snacked. And it was a blast.
Yesterday, we went out to the house to mow and sweep and shit, and then came home and I took a nap (which fucking ruled!), and then we had pierogies for dinner (yum!), and then we intended to go see two shows (the Pneurotics and Monsonia, at different venues), but Greg accidentally left the lights on after running to Harris Teeter for the ‘rogies (since Food Lion doesn’t stock them), and the battery was dead. Mel and Jess came to save the day, though, and jump our car. Which took something over an hour, because our car doesn’t hook up to cables like most cars? Apparently you hook the positive up to the positive node on the battery, but the negative hooks up onto the engine block? I don’t even know. So we hung out and tried charging/jumping the battery for about an hour, and the inside and dash lights came on so something was working, but then Greg was a genius and thought to check the manual (I’m not even being sarcastic here, I totally didn’t even think about it and was convinced our battery was just a punk and we’d have to replace it when it wasn’t even a year old, probably not even six months yet), and figured it out, and it jumped on the first try! Go, Greg and Mel! Me and Jess sat on the curb and chatted – and Jess is a fan of cheesy ass Scifi movies that are near and dear to my heart, like Frankenfish and Shark Attack 3 and Boa vs. Python and, uh, I think it was called Komodo Island? (the one with Jerry Manthey), shit like that. Mel and Jess ended up hanging out with us afterward (which was awesome, since they rock, and their original plans were to watch Lost at their place, which would have meant we didn’t get to enjoy their awesome company) and we ate cheese and crackers and drank (which I think my Lexapro didn’t agree with – I just had one glass of wine and I woke up with what I am pretty sure what a small hangover this morning, ooof) and watched – you guessed it – Dirty Jobs. I especially love watching that show with people who haven’t seen it before, and seeing their reactions. And Jess tipped me off to a movie that sounds right up my alley, with Jeffrey Combs in it, that I *just* added to our Netflix queue: Hammerhead, about some dude that has like a dying son and he saves him by using his brain (I think) to create a shark/human hybrid that starts eating people and can feed on land or in the sea. Yeah. I can’t fucking wait for that to show up, seriously. It’s like second on the queue right now (and only because the next disc of Dirty Jobs is first and I couldn’t bump that).
Today, Greg’s got a game in Cary, and I’m doing laundry. And here’s the thing, which is huge for me: I’m leaving it unattended in the laundry room. I’m not overly happy about that, because while I think the chance of someone stealing our laundry is slim to nil, if it happened, it would ruin my day and I would feel like a jackass for not staying in there with it. Which is what I always do when I do laundry in a communal laundry room – it’s not just anxiety over laundry disappearing, in fact it’s way less about that and more about worrying that someone might need a washer or dryer, and my clothes are done but still in there, and then someone has to wait. Because when *I’m* in that situation, I will never remove someone’s clothes – except maybe if I’m really desperate and their clothes are fully dry and I know exactly which hamper is theirs. Only then. But like taking someone’s wet clothes from a washer and dumping them in a hamper or on the table? Fuck no. Taking someone’s dry clothes from a dryer and dumping them on a table? Nope. So basically I’m worrying for the sake of other people like me, who might be needing a dryer but not emptying one out when the clothes in it are done, and meanwhile their own clothes are sitting wet and starting to get funky smelling, and then you just have to wash them again. Boo. So usually I take a book and just hang out so that as soon as my stuff’s done, I can move it. But today it is too fucking hot and humid, and I was sweating like a pig in just the few minutes it took to load the washer, and there was no way I was chilling in there for an hour and a half to wait for everything to be *done* done (like, washed AND dried). So I’m chilling in the apartment, in the air conditioning, and watching The Cho Show, which is fucking fabulous, and thank you, VH1, for putting the episodes on your site so I can watch them, although I wish there were more than just two episodes, because I’m halfway through the second one and I want more. Oh well.
This weekend has just been fantastic, and my mood has been great, and I’ve gotten to hang out with people that rule, and I’ve had a blast. And tomorrow I think we’re playing D&D with Dara and Tiffianna, and that’s going to be awesome, too. Oh! AND! Sarah picked some stuff up for me and Greg when she was in Finland, and then passed it on to Susan, who mailed it to us, and we got it yesterday. And it’s awesome! She got Greg a trench coat and a shirt that says “Vodka: connecting people” (hee), and she got me THE CUTEST Mumin mug – I think it’s “Mumin,” anyway. It says Mumin on the bottom, although I think I’ve seen “Moomin” on sites in English. But it’s freaking adorable, and going straight to work with me on Tuesday as my new tea mug. I love it. And apparently Sarah got me some more stuff (too sweet of her!), but couldn’t find it in her suitcases, so it’ll come later. Which is awesome, especially when she soooo didn’t have to, and it’s totally thoughtful.
I’d show you pictures, but all the cameras at the library were booked and I couldn’t get one, and I’m a little burnt out on cellphone pictures at the moment. Sorry. And I’m plugging along on the striped, double-knit (which is kind of a pain in the ass, actually, but I think the end product will be squishier and warmer) scarf for Librivox.
I keep forgetting to mention something awesome that happened…probably two weeks ago at this point: I found a song that’s been haunting me for almost sixteen years.
So, one day when I was around thirteen, my whole family is walking through JC Penney, and we pass this tv on which a music video is playing. And I only caught a snippet of it, but I loved it, and I tried to remember as much as I could so I could figure out who it was and get their cd and listen to it some more. At the time, I definitely knew one line of the song that seemed to be in the chorus (“Is it like today?”), but I was a little hazy on the rest of the lyrics. At some point between then and now, maybe even back then or maybe later as I looked back and tried to remember the video, I thought there were dinosaurs in it (which turned out to be totally wrong). Anyway, I tried to track that song down, and I figured that line might be part of the title or something (because it was the chorus, right, that’s common), and I didn’t find it, but I did end up buying the Smashing Pumpkins’ Siamese Dream, because “Today” was on it. Not the song I was looking for, but I liked the cd, so, happy accident.
Flash forward through the years, and the original song is still haunting me, still in the back of my mind, and every once in a blue moon I’ll try to find it by trawling the internet. Here’s the thing, when you search this: “is it like today” – even in quotes, you get a shit ton of stuff that’s not that song. So I never found it. It didn’t occur to me to search youtube for the video, I don’t know why. Anyway, so two weeks ago, for some reason whatever it is that tells me it’s time to check for that song again told me it was time, and *this time* I googled: lyrics “is it like today” – and it was the first hit, and it was right. And holy fucking shit, I goddamn love World Party. It’s every bit as awesome as I’d remembered, and especially for the moods I’ve been in lately, it’s perfect and apt. (The other song that I’ve been obsessively listening to lately is, actually, a Smashing Pumpkins song, “The beginning is the end is the beginning,” and yes, it’s the song from the Watchmen trailer. It’s kind of dark and depressing, which suited me for a while, but really, I didn’t need any more dark and depressing, because I had enough on my own. That’s really, for me, more of a wallowing song, while “Is it like today” somehow isn’t. It’s kind of about some fucked up shit, but it’s less negative. I don’t know – it’s not even just that the music is more upbeat, even the lyrics make me less moody that “Tbiteitb.”)
Anyway, with no further ado, please to enjoy World Party’s “Is it like today,” thanks to the wonders of youtube:
Last night I felt pretty rotten. I’m pretty sure it’s because therapy was so rough. I had a splitting headache, and all this pressure behind my eyes because I needed to cry and hadn’t had a chance to after therapy, and then had held it in for so long that I couldn’t cry, so I just had all that pressure to deal with. It was pretty awesome. And by “awesome” I mean “dookie.” And then I ranted a bit here, and I meant it, and I still mean it, and it’s all true, but nonetheless I felt a little guilty about it (because I feel guilty about EVERYTHING, basically), so right before we went to sleep I asked Greg if it was awful of me to call my dad a shitty person on the interwebs. He didn’t think so. I’m kind of “yes and no” about it. I mean, it’s not the nicest way to put it, but it’s true, so…And it’s probably the most straightforward way to put it, no minced words.
Anyhoodle, today I woke up and felt the absolute BEST I have felt in a long ass time. I felt goddamn amazing. It was wonderful. Mentally, physically, emotionally – just fucking great. At the beginning of the session yesterday, my therapist wanted to check in and see if I thought we were making progress, and I said that I thought so, but that it was also still early – I mean, I’m still filling him in on my childhood and shit. At that point, yesterday, it was more of a “I think we’re *going* to make progress” kind of a thing. But after waking up this morning, yeah, I think we’re making progress. Yesterday fucking sucked, therapy was like going through a ringer, and then I barfed up all that crap here. But getting that shit off my chest must have done some good, because I felt so fucking great this morning. Just happy and unburdened, like I haven’t felt in a long time. I hadn’t even realized what a burden (of dread and anxiety and unhappiness*, I guess) I carry around with me all the time, just constantly, until this morning it wasn’t there, and then I realized it’s always there and I just don’t notice its presence. But I sure noticed its absence.
*On the unhappiness note – he didn’t say it, but I kind of got the impression that he thinks the depression I’ve been feeling lately isn’t really all that new. That it’s been here for a while, just that I’ve done a good job of suppressing it. It kind of makes sense when I think about it. I mean, yeah, I have more than enough to be sad and depressed about with respect to my parents and my childhood and shit, but I’ve always told myself that depression wasn’t in me, and so maybe I just compartmentalized that shit and didn’t acknowledge it, and it’s only recently that I’ve been so unable to cope and busy trying to deal with other shit, that the depression’s had a chance to bubble up. I’m tempted to say, “Or maybe it’s not depression, but just deep sadness and regret” – but what else IS depression than deep sadness and regret (and helpless anger)?
I know the point of therapy is to take myself very, very seriously, but sometimes I just get bored of it, you know? Like I hear myself talking (or in this case, read what I’m typing) and just want to tell myself to get over myself. I’m not trying to invalidate therapy, and it’s important to take ourselves and our feelings seriously (they have a nasty habit of biting us in the ass when we don’t). I don’t know. Maybe part of me is depressed, and believes I’m as worthless as my dad tried to drill into me, and that part of me is saying “Get over yourself” because I think I’m not worth taking seriously. Or maybe the part of me that’s trying to keep all this shit light and throw jokes in when I can and get past this stuff is saying “Get over yourself” because I realize that if I think about this for too long, it’ll upset me, and I’m not really in the mood to be upset, today’s been so great, so just back off the upsetting shit. But really, sometimes I just feel like it all boils down to “Daddy didn’t love me,” and I feel like, “So fucking what. Plenty of people are in the same damn boat.” There it is. Welcome to my internal monologue. Although, 1-if my dad’s a narcissist (and he is), he’s really only capable of loving himself, and 2-plenty of other people *are* in the same boat, and that’s a goddamn shame. I guess that’s why I get so ill over people being mean to each other and mistreating each other – because we can hurt each other so much even when we’re trying our best to avoid it, so why be careless, or purposefully hurtful?
Jesus fucking Christ. I come here just to briefly mention that today was fucking wonderful and therapy must be working, and I get all introspective and philosophical and shit. Fuck it. I have a three-day weekend ahead of me, and I’m not behind in my homework so I don’t have to read ALL weekend, and I can actually do some pleasure-reading tonight. But before I go, I have to share the cuteness that happens whenever all the humans in the house (tonight, just me, but other nights, me and Greg) are in the computer room:
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He just sticks his paw under the door and leaves it there for minutes at a time. At first, he tried to use his claws to open the door, but that didn’t work, so now he just leaves his paw there, like, “Hi guys. I miss you. Let me in, okay?” Except all the musical equipment is in here, too, so it’s No Cats Allowed, unfortunately. This is also why sometimes I don’t blog very frequently – I feel pretty guilty about ignoring the poor little dude.
Therapy today was rough, and basically kicked my ass. Overall, that’s a good thing. In the grand scheme of things. It’s good for me, and it’s kind of cathartic to get that shit out, and I know further on down the line I’ll have made some real progress and finally be getting over the dumb shit that still plagues me. In the short-term, however, I was pretty miserable and almost took the rest of the day off afterward, instead of going back in to work. But I went back in to work. I’m a trooper, what can I say.
I knew it would be like this. I’m not surprised, it’s not like I thought therapy would be easy and all sunshine and puppies and kittens and rainbows. I knew I was basically looking at spending an hour a week dredging up shit I’ve tried to batten down securely and ignore, an hour a week of rehashing old shit that’s already happened and can’t be changed and somehow nonetheless bothers me deeply, an hour a week crying, basically. But today was particularly hard. The theme today seemed to be people who have managed to fuck me up in some way (ie-be largely responsible for my being a neurotic mess and having shit to freak out about), but who themselves seem to have gotten off scott-free (I guess that’s a benefit of being a narcissist), while I get to deal with this bullshit, this fallout, for goddess knows how long, possibly the rest of my life. We talked about a couple people, but mainly my dad. Here’s the thing that kills me – rationally, logically, I know he’s a shitty person. He is. I could probably put that more nicely, but that’s the truth. On the one hand, he’s probably doing the best he can with what he’s got. On the other hand, either he really isn’t doing the best he can or he really has nothing to work with, because he’s a narcissist and doesn’t understand why he should care about how he affects other people, so why do the best he can as far as others are concerned? He’s definitely doing the best he can as far as he himself is concerned, I can guarantee you that, he’s looking out for number one and number one only, and that’s fucking business as usual. So, logically, rationally, I *know* I shouldn’t care about what he thinks or what he does, and particularly with respect to me. I don’t respect that type of person, I don’t look up to that type of person, I pity that type of person, so I shouldn’t need their…validation or whatever. And yet, as I so brutally had to admit/discover today in therapy, a small part of me still cares, and is still hurt by shit he’s said or done to me, or said or done to my sisters, by the fact that he doesn’t care about me or my sisters or anyone else other than himself(I mean, other than as a potential adoring fan to feed his narcissism). He doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a shit – although he might claim to, but that’s only lipservice to make himself look like a decent nice guy. So why do I have to care?
I mean, I get why: I didn’t have an ideal childhood, in fact I had a pretty wildly shitty and dangerous childhood, and when I’m not depressed and insecure I can admit that I’m pretty awesome to begin with and I’m totally fucking awesome and incredibly well-adjusted when you factor in said childhood and my extremely dysfunctional family. (“Dysfunctional” is putting it way nicely, by the way – “fucked up” is closer to the mark.) So I didn’t have an ideal childhood (although who does?), and I’m upset about that, I’m grieving about that, whatever lingo you want to use. But here’s the thing: I KNOW my childhood sucked donkey balls. I ought to know, I lived through it. Logically, rationally, consciously, I’m SOOOOOO ready to be over this shit, because it’s not going to change. I can’t go back in time and change it, and my parents are never going to change so it’s not like I’m ever going to get any sort of satisfying almost-closure in the future from them, or have a “normal” relationship with them – especially considering that the healthiest (for me) relationship I can have with them is what I have right now, ie-no relationship at all. I get it, I’m resigned to it, it is what it is. Regrettable, but unchangeable. So what the fuck is up, Subconscious, that you can’t get past this shit? Let’s get a move on, already. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but if it’s not something I can give myself, if it’s some sort of resolution arising from a word or action by my parents, it’s not fucking coming. And that’s abundantly clear, and has been for several years now. So can we please get over it and move on? Jesus Christ on the fucking Cross son of a bitch goddammit. (I love Kathy Griffin’s mom.)
The other douchebag we talked about for a while today was that would-be robber. I mean, I’m sure his/her life sucks on at least some level if s/he’s trying to rob houses. I still don’t understand the mindset that you’re entitled to someone else’s stuff, but whatever. I’m mainly just mad as hell that old robber is probably chilling, going about their day to day with no big worries (relatively, since I’ve already acknowledged his/her life is probably less than ideal). Like, trying to break into my house and rob me? That’s just business as usual. I’m pretty sure they didn’t lose sleep over it, unless it was because they were mad about all that shit they could’ve gotten but didn’t. Me, on the other hand? In a lot of ways, it’s not even about the shit we could have potentially lost – yeah, that would suck, but it was insured, we could’ve replaced it. It would’ve been a pain in the ass and a real downer, but we could’ve replaced it. But to cut through a screen, you have to have something that will cut through a screen – and if it’ll cut through a screen, flesh is probably nothing in comparison. So I could’ve been hurt. Greg could’ve been hurt. We’ve had to move – so we’ve lost our home. We’re paying mortgage and rent, and my anxiety is through the roof and now on top of that I’m actually depressed, and this is shit I’m going to be dealing with and working through for years and years to come, if not for the rest of my life. So, old robber, you stole my home and my life and my sanity and my comfort and a whole bunch of intangible shit that was actually rather important, and I’m pretty miserable and fucked up, and you’re just (comparatively) chilling. Merry fucking christmas to you, you fucker. I had finally gotten to the point where the PTSD-like shit that has been hanging over me since childhood, that makes me so uncomfortable and freaked out when I’m home alone – I’d pretty much gotten past that, so that I could sleep in the house with the lights out when Greg wasn’t home. Almost like I was an adult or something. But then old robber had to go and fuck that right up, so thanks. But again, I don’t really understand the mindset, but I can imagine that if I did happen to meet old robber, and tried to explain my position, old robber would basically be like, “Fuck you. I care about ME, and I wanted that shit. I felt entitled to it, who cares how it affects you?” Much like my dad, actually, now that I think about it: “I care about ME, I feel entitled to behave the way I do, who cares how it affects you? Fuck you.” Niiiice.
Yeah, so today sucked ass in therapy. Which means it was probably a good start. And it’s fucking HUGE that I feel safe in the apartment, and I do. (That’s an odd bonus to the robbery and attempted robbery most likely being linked and targeted. On the one hand, old robber was totally after Greg’s shit and would’ve kept trying to get it until he either got it or got caught. On the other hand, now that we’ve moved, he won’t be trying to get into that house anymore, and he doesn’t know where we moved to, and even if he does, good luck breaking into an apartment in the middle of a bunch of other apartments with NEIGHBORS, asshole.) So, yeah, I feel safe here. That’s huge. There is the occasional night when shit gets stirred up (scary movies I know I shouldn’t watch, anxiety riled up over money stuff, anxiety stirred up because of therapy, shit like that) and I’m a little nervous about sleeping with the lights off, but for the most part, I feel safe. And that’s fucking huge, for me, that’s an accomplishment. I just wish I could get past all this other bullshit.
Anyhoodle. Today was lovely and rainy all day – although I’m not really digging on the tornado watches and warnings, and flood watches, especially since Greg has practice in Raleigh tonight. And I’m all riled up from therapy. Whatever. I read some shit for my class tomorrow (and I mean “shit” in the “stuff” sense, it was actually interesting and enjoyable). I think there’s a new episode of Eureka to catch up on, so I might knit and do that, as long as the thunderstorms don’t knock the power out. Otherwise I get to read for pleasure. (Yay!) I’m thinking about checking out a camera again so I can take some proper pictures (especially of the Librivox knitting) instead of cellphone pictures. But since all I’ve got right now is cellphone pics, I will leave you with one – Skeeter playing with possibly his favorite toy of all time: the paper bag. Goddess bless whoever invented it. Sorry it’s so dark.
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I’ve forgotten to mention a couple things – this week was kind of busy.
Wednesday, Susan and Shane were in town, so Greg and I met them at the Spotted Dog for lunch, and it was delicious. Then they came back to campus with me, and I showed them around the libraries, and then I went back to work and Shane showed Susan his old stomping grounds.
Thursday, my yearly physical went WAY better than I expected. I had one last year, with the same people, and it *must* have been as easy, but I forgot that somehow. Anyway, my doctor is the shit, and the nurse who drew my blood was awesome – I didn’t even cry. I did actually *hear* my blood splashing against the inside of the collection tube at one point, rhythmically, with each pump, and that was beyond disgusting, but the nurse got me talking and that drowned out the blood sounds. But yeah, I don’t like pap smears, but this year’s one was the best I’ve ever had. I’m never changing doctors. I don’t care where we end up buying a house (whenever we do) – I’ll be driving out to Durham for the rest of my life for doctor stuff. On the (slightly) down side, it turns out that the symptoms of depression I was having weren’t entirely due to the Klonopin, and the Klonopin wasn’t helping as much as it used to (or, actually, I was getting used to it, so I’d have to take a higher dose for it to work), so I’m back on the Lexapro for the time being. Boo. But at least it’s 2.5 mg and not 20 – hopefully when it’s time to come off, it won’t be such a bitch.
Amy and Bo got married on the 9th, in Texas, and were there for a bit, and then came back, and yesterday was their party for friends back here. There was a grill-out bit at a house in Efland (Efland, by the way, is pretty sweet), followed by an after-party at a house in Carrboro. I had an excellent time and enjoyed the shit out of myself. I was a little nervous beforehand, what with me and my introvertedness and my social phobia and basically being a neurotic mess, but I had a fucking blast. I would say that’s a testament to how awesome and friendly Amy and Bo and their friends are, that I didn’t really have a chance to feel socially awkward or insecure, but just had a fabulous time and was able to (gasp!) enjoy myself. Which is good because Amy, Bo, and their friends are fucking rad, so, uh, yeah, I’d rather be able to relax and get over myself and hang out with them comfortably, instead of spend all that time being too uncomfortable to enjoy their radness.
Today, Greg, Tiffianna, Dara, and I played D&D, and it was awesome. And now Greg’s got band practice, and I’m going to work on some knitting for Librivox and watch Wire in the Blood. I think Wire in the Blood might be too scary, in terms of shit I can watch that won’t stir up my anxiety and keep me awake at night, but it’s what I asked Netflix to send me, so I’m going to try it and see. I like the books I’ve read so far, and the two episodes I’ve seen. So, we’ll see. I’ve also got an episode of Eureka to catch up on – but the computer room is sooooo hot, blech, and Little Monsters – but I wanted to watch that with Greg, so WitB it is.
Happy nine years, Greg! I love you, sweetface!
Now allow me to quote some Edie Brickell, even though it’s on the cheesmo mix I gave you, because I think it’s especially apropos and meaningful these days (and I’m making mental moo eyes at you right now, too, so just imagine that):
Life is better than the days behind
What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine
No aggravation that we can’t get through
A situation for the lucky few
And every day is just a little more
Of time together to be happy for
I’m happy even when the times are rough
‘Cause any time with you is good enough
When we love like we do
Love like we do
And also this, since the stupid embedding is disabled.
I love you, hubs! Happy anniversary!
What I love about this blog being MY blog, is that when some wingnut misses basically the entire point of a post of mine, and then jumps to conclusions about me that are way off the mark, and leaves a comment about it getting all up in my grille and pretty much just trolling, I can DELETE it. DELETED! Muahahahah!
Oh yeah, bitches. MY blog. Kind of like how you can spout all the hate speech you want on the street corner due to free speech and all, and I’ll sigh about it but I’ll just keep driving past – but try to pull that shit in my *home*, and you get a free ticket to Kickedoutsville. Free speech is the shit, and I’ll fight for everyone’s right to it, but if I don’t agree with you, well, I don’t have to stand around and LISTEN to you, do I? It’s “free speech” not “free speech and guaranteed captive audience.” Or “free speech and guaranteed agreeing audience.” So go spout your bullshit somewhere else, because it’s not flying here. (Please note, I’m NOT saying that comment was hate speech. I’m just saying, I don’t feel obligated to host stuff on my personal blog that I don’t want to, for examples: hate speech, or also dookie comments.)
ETA: Here’s a better example, I think, than hate speech, because this example is more in line with blogging: Book reviews. You always see snippets of reviews that praise the book *on* the book – but do you ever see the bad reviews on the book? Nope.
However, this was such a gem that needed addressing, I thought I’d post it here for everyone else to see, and then address it:
“Are you one of those peeps who doesn’t like rich people because you aren’t rich? You probably don’t like thin people either because you’re not thin, right? And hotties cuz you’re not hot? Ya catch my drift?
So the man is rich. He certainly isn’t the richest one out there. Not by a long shot.”
I was trying to get across two points with that post: 1-It’s ridiculous to have so many houses you don’t know how many you have; you CANNOT POSSIBLY make any sort of argument to me, that I am going to agree with, about why you NEED that many houses. 2-McCain is a fucking hypocrite for accusing Obama of being out of touch with mainstream America because Obama made over $4mil last year. I did some digging yesterday, and ACTUALLY Obama AND Michelle COMBINED made around $4.2mil last year. So, what did McCain and Cindy make last year COMBINED? At least $100mil, right. Obama and Michelle have ONE house. McCain and Cindy have….so many they don’t even know how many. So, WHO, exactly, is out of touch with mainstream America? (Also, why bring up trash like that when your own shit ain’t spotless? I thought McCain was a Christian, right? So…isn’t there something about not casting the first stone unless your OWN shit is proper? I try to avoid reading the Bible, so I could be wrong, but I swear I’ve *heard* there’s something like that in there.) (For those of you who aren’t familiar with me, and like to jump to conclusions or misinterpret – that last bit was sarcasm. I KNOW there’s a bit in the Bible, I’m just too lazy to go digging for the damn citation right now. It was also meant to be a little tongue-in-cheek, because I’m not a Christian, so I guess that automatically makes me a heathen. Which is fine by me.)
I don’t hate rich people because they’re rich. I do hate hypocrites, though. (And let me head you off before you even try to go there – yes, I do hate hypocrisy in myself, too, but then I’m not fucking perfect. No one is – although plenty people seem to think they are, and that their shit doesn’t stink, and they need a reality check like yesterday.) I don’t hate thin people because they’re thin – although if they’re REALLY thin, I do worry about whether maybe they’re unhealthily thin. But I also have the same twinge of worry over really obese people. And junkies. I’m a real Mother Theresa type. See also: I’m not fucking perfect, so while it’s not OKAY for me to see someone and make unfounded assumptions about them, I do from time to time. And as to hating hotties because I’m not hot – well, clearly you have not SEEN me, and you especially have not seen my GLORIOUS rack, or you would have instead said that I hate ugly people because I’m not ugly. Hot fatties represent! (PS – I also don’t hate ugly people because they’re ugly.)
I try not to hate one group of people just because they happen to belong to that one group of people. That’s kind of…dookie. Or prejudiced and discriminatory. Tomayto, tomahto. I also don’t like to get my hate on until I actually know someone, or until they’ve said or done enough shit publicly for me to feel like, yeah, they’re a toolbag. And even then, it’s usually not hate – hate’s not really my thing. Dislike of various intensities, yeah, occasionally. More often though, pity. I dislike McCain and I pity him for being so clearly delusional about thinking he’s “in touch” when he has more homes than he can keep up with (and also can’t remember to pay taxes on, or, excuse me, tell his AIDE to pay taxes on) and has a ridiculous amount of money that he won’t cop to on his campaign trail. Actually, I take that back – obviously he’s not delusional and is fully aware of how NOT in-touch he is, since he’s trying to hide his wife’s wealth and pass himself off as some down-to-earth dude who lives simply and worked his way up from a middle-class background. That last part is me making assumptions about what message he’s trying to send by pointing the “look how rich and out of touch he is!” finger at Obama, all the while trying to sweep his wife’s $100mil and their at-least-seven homes under the carpet. Also, in case you didn’t fucking get it: I’m an Obama supporter. Yeah. Also, news flash: Obama is rich, and I seem to like him okay. Huh. Whoda thunk?
One last note on the “Kathy doesn’t like rich people” tip. Like I said, I try not to hate one group of people purely because they belong to that group. I try not to make sweeping generalizations – at least not until my real-life experience bears it out. But here’s the thing: how many of the super-rich elite (let’s say, for shits and giggles, people who are worth $100mil-ish at least) actually made that money themselves? And how many of them inherited it? Because the idea that you can work hard and pull yourself up by your bootstraps and start from nothing and get rich and attain the “American dream” – that’s bullshit, for the most part. We don’t live in a meritocracy, people. I wish we did. But we don’t. So if you’re rich, it’s not necessarily because you’re a good person and deserve to be rich. Just like if you’re poor, it’s not necessarily because you’re a bad person and deserve to be poor. And there are a hell of alot more poor people than there are rich people, and the gap just keeps widening. So, I’m concerned about that. And I’m concerned and upset whenever someone who’s rich is uncomfortable addressing that, and wants to pretend they’re NOT rich (especially when they’re throwing hypocrisy stones at someone else for being rich). And I’m even more concerned when that someone is trying to get into the goddamn White House and make that gap even fucking bigger. Like that’s really going to help our economy, or our people. (I’m also concerned about a candidate for the president of our nation, um, apparently not having any idea of reality, and how America and Americans are really doing. All these problems we really have, aren’t going to get fixed, much less addressed, if you don’t even think they exist. But they do. So, yeah, I’m a little of the opinion that you shouldn’t, I don’t know, run the country.) I don’t hate you *because* you’re rich – it’s all down to *you* and what type of person you are and whether you take your richness and use it to be a toolbag. If you have a “vacation home,” my hackles go up slightly – it’s not fair for me to prejudge you, but it happens, and it happens because all the people I know in real life who have “vacation homes” (instead of just taking a damn vacation and staying in a hotel) are douches. I suspect there’s a confluence between the two. I don’t hate them, though, I pity them. Occasionally I’m mildly irritated. One particular vacation-home-owner who is a douche has also proven himself to be racist (as well as classist and sexist, imagine that), so, yeah, him I hate. But I try not to let him warp my perception of VHOs TOTALLY – my hackles rise, yeah, but that’s it. I’ll let you exhibit your own douchiness or lack thereof before making my final decision – I probably won’t like you, but I’m only saying “probably.” I’m leaving room to be pleasantly surprised. I’m just not expecting it.
I will go on the record, however, and say that if you have a maid, I’m not really down with that. I’m still not full-on hating you, but…it’s problematic territory given that sooooo many maids are poor women of color, and soooooo many maid-employers are not. You can try telling me that at least the maids HAVE a job, and I mean I guess it’s better than not having a job, but it’s a pretty demeaning job, and I bet it doesn’t pay well at all, and why are you so special that you don’t have to clean up after your own self like an adult, and I better not hear you say any extra bullshit like, “But I’m not racist because I have black friends!” Or that your maid is “just like part of the family!” Yeah, except, the *only* family member who has to clean up after EVERYONE ELSE. I’m kind of into this thing, how do you say….equality? Fair share? Everyone chipping in? If I just sat on my ass all day and had Greg do ALL the chores around the house, I’d feel like an asshole, and rightly so. In fact, I help out with the chores, and check in on a regular basis to make sure we’ve got a fair division of labor and that he doesn’t feel taken advantage of, and I STILL worry about whether I’m doing my fair share and whether I shouldn’t feel like an asshole. So, yeah, if you have a maid, I’m not into that, we might have some problems. Might. If you have a maid, and you complain about her asking for time off because her children are sick and too young to stay home alone and she’s a single mom and you won’t let her bring her children with her to keep an eye on, and she can’t afford daycare because you’re paying her shit, yeah, I fucking hate you. Which, in case you’re wondering, is actually a summary of real blog post I read, like a year ago. I didn’t read that blog beyond that post – luckily it was the first one up the day I went over to check the blog out, so I didn’t have to waste months reading a blog only to realize the blogger was an asshole. I also didn’t leave a comment to tell the blogger how ridiculous and heinous that complaint is: “Oh wanh, my maid came yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and the day before, and my house is spotless, but she wants one goddamn day off to look after her sick kid, and that is just so unfair to ME! What about my needs? And who’s going to clean this house?” I mean, really, though, there’s fuckall I can say that that person is going to comprehend. They’ll just get defensive and say I hate rich people because they’re rich and I’m not, and that I hate thin people because they’re thin and I’m not, and yada yada. No, dude, 1-I don’t hate you, because you’re too pitiful and heinous and worthless to hate, really, but I do pity you, and 2-I’m ill because you’re a fucking heinous individual.
Now that that’s all out of the way, how about some cuteness?
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What a cutiepie that Chalupa is.
Seeing as how our nine-year (dating, not wedding) anniversary is tomorrow, Greg and I went out to Sitar tonight and then Chuck E. Cheese. It was pretty fucking awesome. Then we ran a couple errands (like picking up some wrapping paper for the wedding gift for Amy and Bo, whose wedding-celebrating party is tomorrow evening), and now…I’m not exactly sure what. We’ve got a movie we could watch. (We watched Legend last night, and Greg liked it.) We’ve got to go out to the house tomorrow morning and mow the yard and shit – and the car needs an oil change, so Greg’s suggested getting up superduper early to hit up the dealership and get that taken care of, which might mean it’s already my bedtime on a Friday night. Who knows. But I do know that I’m done blogging for now.
Holy fucking shit. Seriously? How is this braindead overprivileged moron a presidential candidate? Wait – I think I just answered my own question.
This quote is also awesome in its sheer brain-boggling-ness: “On the campaign trail, McCain doesn’t refer to his wife’s wealth, estimated by some at $100 million and based on her late father’s Arizona beer distributorship.”
Apparently, according to McCain’s people, Obama is out of touch with the American people because he made “more than $4 million last year.” Really? How much more than $4 million are we talking? Like…Cindy McCain’s $100 million over? Like…THAT MUCH MORE? Because I think someone with ONE house, even if they make $4 million a year (and, hello, he is in politics, they’re usually pretty well off), who thinks $250,000 is pretty rich for most people (which, yeah, I’d say so – I’d say $100,000 is pretty sweet – if one of us pulled that down, between me and Greg, the other would be a very happy and well-kept house-spouse), is more in touch with me than someone who has over $100 million and SO MANY HOUSES HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW MANY.
What the fuck. Seriously: What. the. fuck. McCain. There are so many problems with that shit, not the least of which is it’s totally fucking wasteful and unnecessary. You KNOW he has “staff” and maids and shit – and he doesn’t even know how many houses he has? I bet there are houses that just go unused year after year after year, and the staff is still there, so the power’s on, and the HVAC is on, and he probably has to do landscaping and sweet jesus this is killing me. All that wasted money, and power, and shit. I would say, really, that you only NEED one domicile. If you can afford a vacation home, well, I probably wouldn’t like you very much as a person if you had one (because everyone I’ve met who’s had a “vacation home” is pretty much a rich douchebag, totally out-of-touch with the real world, and lacking in manners, but, you know, what do I know), but that’s your thing – if you can afford it and you want one, be my guest. But to have so many houses that you’ve lost count? No one NEEDS that many, dude. That’s just fucking ridiculous and outrageous. I could see maybe buying multiple houses and shit, and then turning them into an orphanage, or a halfway home, or something that’ll, you know, be charitable and give back to the people who make nowhere fucking near $5mil a year, but that’s just me. But buying multiple houses just to amass property to the point where you don’t even know what all you have? Blatant and ridiculous and wasteful consumerism.
Sweet jesus fucking christ on the cross. So many houses you’ve lost track. God. Damn. And he thinks he’s “in touch” with America, like, all of America, not just the super-rich elite. He’s fucking delusional.
Today I have my yearly physical. This is something I dread and hate so much that normally I take the entire day off, and get it done in the morning, then go home and curl up in bed with the hot rice pack for the rest of the day, feeling sorry for myself and recovering. But I have class and work today, and very little leave. So I get to buck up and go to work and class afterwards.
I think I’m going to be pretty miserable today, basically. I think the only thing I hate more than my yearly physical is getting blood drawn from my hand. (They’re also drawing blood today, and heaven help the poor sod that does it if he says, “Well, your arm veins are kind of tiny, but the veins in your hands, now….” Oh fuck no. I’m not getting another hand stick, because none of us wants a screaming, hysterically crying grown ass woman in the doctor’s office, for all the other waiting patients to hear. I don’t want it, they don’t want it, but I can’t handle hand sticks, so. Yeah.) We’ll see.
The only things I’m really looking forward to today is that 1-after this morning I won’t have to do that shit again for another year, and 2-Greg and I are watching Legend tonight (with a friend – and neither the friend nor Greg have seen it before, and I think they’ll enjoy it), and Greg promised to make pizzas (because he makes EXCELLENT pizzas).
I’m still here – I’ve just been too busy to blog, or didn’t feel like it. Actually, I’m probably too busy right now, considering today was the first day of my “Dandies and Dead Souls” class, and I’ve still got reading left to do. But whatever. I thought I should check in, since it’s been a while.
Bitches need to stop slamming doors around here, because some of us are nuts and when we here doors being slammed our first thought is, “Oh shit, is that someone trying to force open the apartment door?” Goddammit, people. I know you have teenage kids, and I know they’re ready to kill each other because I could hear the argument and screaming, earlier in *my* bathroom while I was trying to piss – it carries up into that bathroom, apparently, even though if you cross the threshold then the sound lowers enough that it just sounds like little puppies whining, and not people yelling. Which was actually bothering me quite a bit until I had to piss and discovered it was teens yelling at each other. Somehow that bothers me a bit less than the thought of innocent puppies being made to cry. Probably because teens are mopey and angsty and drama-filled and prone to yelling anyway? I don’t know. But, seriously, cut it out with the door-slamming before I have to go downstairs and introduce myself and then explain how fucking nuts I am and therefore why it’s imperative that you please not slam the doors. Ah, apartment life. There are many nuances to you that I had forgotten, but they come back, sooner or later.
I wish I had pictures for you, but I don’t – I’ve got some of the cats on my cellphone, but they’re not on my computer yet. Maybe tomorrow. I also have been going to the gym, and desperately need to update my GAGG total, but that’s not happening tonight either. Sorry. Right now, I’m getting back into Natasha’s Dance – it’s actually pretty damn interesting. And once I’m done with the homework reading for tonight, I get to get back to Wire in the Blood, which is even more entrancing.
