old, new, changes, happiness and opinions

A quick introduction...

This is my first entry on Ornery Women. I originally posted this blog on MySpace... something I have been doing less and less in recent months, mainly due to some extremely narrow minded 'friends' misinterpretting my words. I actually deleted every blog i'd ever written a few months back. Now, I have Ornery Women to turn to instead. I'm excited to be here, a place where opinions can be expressed freely.... ahhh, so liberating.

For people that aren't aware... I'm British, relocated to America, and I have a few things to say on the matter. Mostly good, so far... who knows what will happen, rest assured, I'll let you know!

It's been a while since I logged down any tangible thoughts, particularly on MySpace, preferring instead to ponder more and speak less. Apart from that, I haven't really made time for myself to sit and write. "Do, contemplate, evaluate and then express" Well, I've had a lot of 'doing to do', before I could sit back and contemplate any of it.

I'm all too aware of the perils of speaking one's mind openly on the internet. All too aware that 'tone of voice' sometimes gets misconstrued when typing rather than speaking. All too aware that, sometimes, individuals will read one's words and choose to take them personally, as if all words written must automatically be about them. (If you think they are about you... well, what does that tell you about yourself... hmmm?) I'm not here to place judgement. I'm here to speak, honestly, give my opinion and express my personal feelings.

No Americans were harmed in the writing of this blog... ha!

OK, off we go...

The last year or so has been a time of tremendous change for me. I uprooted myself from everything that was familiar and safe and it was the best thing I ever did. Doobie and I were finally together in Tennessee by 29th December 2006 after a full year of waiting for paperwork and visas. We married in Murfreesboro on January 23rd 2007. What can I say about the day itself? I think private and perfect would sum it up nicely. It was very relaxed and intimate, exactly as we'd both wished.

A friend recently wrote that I was brave to emigrate. I was a little suprised by that, I mean, I was flattered, of course, but suprised nonetheless. I had never really thought of it as a brave thing to do. Having said that, I'm proud of myself for coping with the move to a new country because, no, it wasn't easy, but at the same time, i'm aware that millions of people have to leave their home country because they don't have a choice. I did have a choice. It was my decision to come here. I'm one of the fortunate ones who chose to move from my country of birth because I was moving towards something great, rather than running away from something terrible.

By something great, I mean:
My husband and his family. New friends. An extremely creative community. New music. New food. New.... well, countless things really, up to and including, (and it has to be said).... a new and interesting climate.... (bye bye seemingly endless grey dismal days of drizzly spitting precipitation and clouds that can't even be bothered to burst, dramatically). Now I have thunderstorms and tornadoes to look forward to! I'm funny like that.

By something great, I do not mean:
Fox News, endless commercials for erectile disfunction and racist redneck meth brewers and crack addicts. I thought it was just a stereotype, but no, these people really do exist. I have seen them with my own eyes. I wish I hadn't.

Moving on...

I miss England - very much, actually - but I've reached the stage now where I can think of my 'old home' and my 'new home' and both leave me feeling happy and grateful, with not a tinge of sadness. My old home is now a fond memory, rather than something I'm trying desperately to cling onto.

The inevitable homesickness did hit me quite hard for a few weeks, but it was nothing a few massive husband-hugs (new word), dog licks and pep talk phonecalls from mom and dad couldn't alleviate. It was difficult but it really didn't last that long. I chose to stay somewhat secluded in my new home for a couple of weeks after our wedding, just to allow myself the time to accept the fact that I would not step outside the door and hear birdsong native to England, I would not see the postman that I'd said "hi" to every day for the last seven years and I would not see the elderly lady with the limp... who would pass by my home everyday, with her dog... with the limp...ha! I miss seeing her - I didn't even know her, but thinking of her and her funny little dog now just makes me smile. See? Fond memories. No real sadness anymore.

I noticed this change just recently. I realised I was slowly starting to think "that's different to what I'm used to, but I like it", instead of, "that's different to what i'm used to, i'm confused".

Who knew I could put a letter in the mailbox at the end of the driveway, raise the little plastic flag and wait for the mailman to post my letter for me?!!! So that's what the plastic flag's for! It may seem like a ridiculous thing to get excited about, but trust me, finding out little things like that leave a big impression when you move to a new country. Also, the drive through thing. Drive through fast food I was familiar with, of course, but, drive through banks, drive through utility bill payments, drive through weddings, drive through funerals... ok, I made that last one up but it wouldn't suprise me if they do exist here.

Becoming more aware of the little differences between living here and living in England has helped me to feel more secure and more importantly in many respects, helped me to laugh again. Yes, we all speak English, but, my goodness, there are so many words that leave me asking "What does that mean?". When I first arrived here, I found it daunting that I would have to sometimes ask people to stop talking and translate for me, now, it's hilarious.

If there was any doubt in my mind, about my general level of happiness right now, it has been put to rest by this small but significant fact:

I can't stop painting.

I'm finding, for the first time in years, that I have so many ideas, I can't paint them fast enough. I wouldn't say all of the concepts are amazing, by any means, but the ideas are starting to flow freely again and that's all I would ever hope for. Painting is the one thing that I can always turn to. I've painted since I was old enough to hold a paintbrush (thank you mom), and now, not only am I painting at a reasonably fast pace again, without ideas running dry, I'm also getting the opportunity to paint in the same room as my husband, both of us in our own little creative worlds, seperate but together. It's wonderful, to say the least.

Marriage:
I love it. I love him. I love us. I'm one half of a very strong partnership. We communicate unbelievably well and we're both aware that marriage requires effort. We both work hard to talk openly, honestly, resolve any differences and move on. Oh - and mom was right, I'm never going to go to bed on an argument. Hugs at bedtime, always, always, always. While i'm on the subject of marriage - why do some people think they can put a ring on their finger and then expect the rest of their married lives to be simple? I've never understood that. A wedding ring is not a magic wand, it's not a difficult concept to grasp. Anyway, i'm digressing.

Something I am very aware of (and thankful for) is this - I learned to love myself fully, just before my husband and I met, two years ago. We wouldn't have married otherwise, it would never have worked out. How does that saying go? "Love thyself first; then all other love will follow".... or something like that. My memory for quotes is not one of my strong points. Suffice to say, we both know that to be happy with each other we first had to be happy with ourselves, and we are.

Friends and Locality:
Since early childhood, I've had three very close female friends and I was dreading moving away from them. Knowing that I could talk to them via e-mail certainly helped, but not seeing their faces, hearing their voices, was always going to be a sad and frightening prospect. They were, still are and will always continue to be my angels. So, I admit, I was a little nervous about moving here and having friends that may have just liked me 'by association' (via my husband). Slowly but surely though, I'm making new friends and building on friendships that began last year on my previous visits. I have a great circle of friends now, that I trust, love dearly and am very grateful for. They've definately helped me feel more confidant about socialising and just walking up to people that I don't know, to initiate conversations. Murfreesboro, at least the area of the town that I live in, has a fairly tight knit community. I love that I can walk to friends houses, drop in for a coffee and a chat and then stroll home again, without it being a major feat of organization. It's relaxing and easy going and something that I need and want to do, regularly. Also, because so many people know each other and because the majority of people here are very honest, it means that anyone who chooses to be deceptive, is found out, quickly. I'm not used to being around people who lie. It's sad. My personal feeling is this; any adult who spreads lies about others, blatantly, is someone I can only feel pity for. Rather than feel outraged, I prefer to believe that they have some deep rooted emotional issue that causes them to behave in such a way and hopefully, in time, they will resolve this issue. I did feel angry and dissappointed about it recently. I chose to not stay angry, I chose to accept the fact that all humans have to take responsibility for their own conduct if they want to have fulfilling adult friendships and if they don't, well, it's their loss. C'est la vie. I can only wish them a future of internal happiness. What else can one do?

Animals:
My wonderfully cute, comical and as it turns out, pretty damned tough, 3 year old West Highland Terrier, Chester travelled with me from England. Honestly, wondering how he would cope with the journey and then being here was my biggest concern last year. Well, he's done me proud. He adores his new 'brother', my husbands Jack Russel, Clovis and he is coping really well with Mr Grieves the cat. Mr Grieves is very loving but temperamental (sometimes just plain mental) and he delights in smacking Chester on the arse when he's sleeping. All in all, the three boys that rule the roost get along really well and I'm so thrilled that I didn't listen to that little voice in my head last year that suggested I rehome Chester before I emigrated. I couldn't be without him.
He's happy: i'm happy.

Conclusion:
That's easy - happy happy joy joy happy happy joy joy

Time to wake the hubby from his nap, so, until next time, farewell and thank you for reading my meandering thoughts. I've darted from one subject to the other but enough is enough.
Time to leave the computer and return to my homelife.

*i will not run spellcheck i will not run spellcheck*

Over and out

NAMI WALK

As I told you in a previous post , I am going to be walking with NAMI (National Alliance of Mental Illness). My goal is to raise as much money as I possibly can, but ultimately, raise awarness. This is the link that you can click on for donations , any amount is greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, I only have 15 days for fundraising, because we found out about the walk late, but even after the walk is over, my friends and I will continue to fundraise and raise awareness. Thank you for all of your continued support!!!

And They Wonder Why Kids Slip Through The Cracks…

A few days ago, I received the following story through my grad school’s alumni mailing list:

Poetry Can Be Dangerous
By Kazim Ali

On April 19, after a day of teaching classes at Shippensburg University, I went out to my car and grabbed a box of old poetry manuscripts from the front seat of my little white beetle and carried it across the street and put it next to the trashcan outside Wright Hall. The poems were from poetry contests I had been judging and the box was heavy. I had previously left my recycling boxes there and they were always picked up and taken away by the trash department.

A young man from ROTC was watching me as I got into my car and drove away. I thought he was looking at my car, which has black flower decals and sometimes inspires strange looks. I later discovered that I, in my dark skin, am sometimes not even a person to the people who look at me. Instead, in spite of my peacefulness, my committed opposition to all aggression and war, I am a threat by my very existence, a threat just living in the world as a Muslim body.

Upon my departure, he called the local police department and told them a man of Middle Eastern descent driving a heavily decaled white Beetle with out of state plates and no campus parking sticker had just placed a box next to the trash can. My car has New York State plates, but he got the rest of it wrong. I have two stickers on my car. One is my highly visible faculty parking sticker and the other, which I just don’t have the heart to take off these days, says “Kerry/Edwards: For a Stronger America.”

Because of my recycling the bomb squad came, the state police came. Because of my recycling buildings were evacuated, classes were canceled, campus was closed. No. Not because of my recycling. Because of my dark body. No. Not because of my dark body. Because of his fear. Because of the way he saw me. Because of the culture of fear, mistrust, hatred, and suspicion that is carefully cultivated in the media, by the government, by people who claim to want to keep us “safe.”

These are the days of orange alert, school lock-downs, and endless war. We are preparing for it, training for it, looking for it, and so of course, in the most innocuous of places — a professor wanting to hurry home, hefting his box of discarded poetry — we find it.

That man in the parking lot didn’t even see me. He saw my darkness. He saw my Middle Eastern descent. Ironic because though my grandfathers came from Egypt, I am Indian, a South Asian, and could never be mistaken for a Middle Eastern man by anyone who’d ever met one.

One of those in the gathering crowd, trying to figure out what had happened, heard my description-a Middle Eastern man driving a white Beetle with out-of-state plates and knew immediately they were talking about me and realized that the box must have been manuscripts I was discarding. When the police were told I was a professor, immediately the question came back about where I was from.

At some length several of my faculty colleagues were able to get through to the police and get me on a cell phone where I explained to the university president and then to the state police that the box contained old poetry manuscripts that needed to be recycled. The police officer told me that in the current climate I needed to be more careful about how I behaved. “When I recycle?” I asked.

The university president appreciated my distress about the situation but denied that the call had anything to do with my race or ethnic background. The spokesman for the university called it an “honest mistake,” not referring to the young man from ROTC giving in to his worst instincts and calling the police but referring to me, who made the mistake of being dark-skinned and putting my recycling next to the trashcan.
The university’s bizarrely minimal statement lets everyone know that the “suspicious package” beside the trashcan ended up being, indeed, trash. It goes on to say, “We appreciate your cooperation during the incident and remind everyone that safety is a joint effort by all members of the campus community.”

What does that community mean to me, a person who has to walk by the ROTC offices every day on my way to my own office just down the hall-who was watched, noted, and reported, all in a day’s work? Today we gave in willingly and whole-heartedly to a culture of fear and blaming and profiling. It is deemed perfectly appropriate behavior to spy on one another and police one another and report on one another. Such behaviors exist most strongly in closed and undemocratic and fascist societies.
The university report does not mention the root cause of the alarm. That package became “suspicious” because of who was holding it, who put it down, who drove away. Me.

It was poetry, I kept insisting to the state policeman who was questioning me on the phone. It was poetry I was putting out to be recycled.

My body exists politically in a way I can not prevent. For a moment today, without even knowing it, driving away from campus in my little Beetle, exhausted after a day of teaching, listening to Justin Timberlake on the radio, I ceased to be a person when a man I had never met looked straight through me and saw the violence in his own heart.

Kazim Ali is a poet and novelist. He teaches at Shippensburg University and at Stonecoast, the low-residency MFA program of the University of Southern Maine. Eyewitnesses confirmed his account of the scene after he left the university. A university spokesman declined to discuss specifics of the incident or who was involved, but told Inside Higher Ed that “the response was appropriate based on the circumstances,” and that “just days after the [Virginia Tech] massacre, everybody is looking out for each other.”

The original story and user comments can be viewed online at http://insidehighered.com/views/2007/04/23/ali.

“Everybody is looking out for each other”? Yes, red-blooded, white-skinned Americans are banding together to protect each other against swarthy foreigners. Who teach poetry, no less. But who knows? Maybe there was a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s “America” in there. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about that line, “Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.”

And please forgive me, but how was this response “appropriate based on the circumstances”? There was a SHOOTING. At VIRGINIA TECH, which is two whole states away from Shippensburg University. What the hell does that have to do with throwing away a box of recyclables?

You gotta love how, after a mass murder, we respond by pointing the finger at nonwhites and anyone else we think looks/seems “weird.” (And by “love,” I mean, “loathe.”) Because, as we know, the Egyptian/Indian professor tossing out the poetry, the African American in the “Stop Snitchin’” T-shirt, and the antisocial white kid listening to Marilyn Manson are, prima facie, going to go on a rampage with an AK-47, no ifs, ands, or buts.

But hey, maybe I’m just letting my socialist New Yorker biases drown out the facts. This blame-the-“other” strategy is clearly working. Just as the War on Drugs has eliminated all drug use and drug-related crime, there are no more Columbines, 9/11s, or Virginia Techs. The streets are safer. People are happier. God’s in his heaven, and all’s right with the world. Requiescat in pace, y’all.

PS. I grew up in Harrisburg, which is approximately 30 miles north of Shippensburg. My dad, who still lives in the area, told me he saw a report that over 50% of South Central Pennsylvania residents think, in the wake of the Virginia Tech shootings, that Pennsylvania’s gun laws should be less strict. Scary.

Virginia Tech Massacre: Are Things Getting Worse?

I was having a conversation with a coworker about the lack of empathy humans have for each other after the first headlines started trickling in on the internet newscast about the horrific tragedy that had happened over at Virginia Tech. At that reading, there were only 21 dead. Later, when the numbers started to rise, so did the empty feeling in my stomach that this was not only a devastating tragedy, but also something that will be referred to in history books along with Columbine, Waco, and..well, pick your horror show.

Later, she and I began talking about the concept of the state of human beings in general and how they treat each other: is it getting worse? In a supposedly "civilized" society, how does something like this happen? And is it happening more often?

I'm not a specialist in history; I was always interested but spent most of my time writing or reading fiction, so I'm not going to sit here and wax philosophical on what I don't really know jack about. But I will say this: there are two sides in the answer to this proverbial coin, at least for me.

The first is that yes, it is getting worse. Many kids today are growing up not only faster (due to more exposure to more resources and information via our new information age and it's technological toys) but also with a sense of...arrogance and lack of respect and empathy for their fellow human. I see this trait spanning across economic, racial, gender, and religious lines. Whether it's rich priviledged kids who feel it's their right to do whatever they want or poor kids who feel that they have nothing to lose; black or white, green or purple; girls or boys; christians, jews, muslims - I see it.

I find myself starting to sound like my father..."When I was a kid..." but it's TRUE! When I was a kid, there was a sense of respect you had for your elders. Now, I get five year olds giving me the finger.

When my FATHER was a kid, he got mugged by a gang of boys for his shoes. They beat him up and took the shoes and he had to walk home barefoot. Nowadays, there is a good chance that same kid would get shot for those shoes.
30 years ago people settled scores by a good old fashioned fight with your fists. Now, ten-year-olds are picking up guns and shooting each other for stepping on their shadow.

So yeah...there is an argument for the first side of this coin.

However, the second side is also as compelling. We are comparing the atrocities that are going on now to our current experience of what we know and understand. If we go back in time, though, and compare it to...say...a time when feeding Christians to the lions and hanging out, eating grapes and getting a blowjob while it happened was a regular part of society, then perhaps things aren't so bad.

There was The Inquisition, The Salem Witch Hunts, thousands of horrific events; hell - even gunslingers in the Old West would just shoot out their differences in the middle of the street. Then again - if you stole a horse you were hung, so...

I think the point is that violence was prevalent and an almost natural medium all through human history...so is it really any worse?

And, dear reader, I pose the question: should be really surprised that this has happened? My prayers go out to all the families that lost a loved one during this tragedy and I mean no disrespect, but in all honesty, I'm truly surprised that this doesn't happen more often. Like...once a month.

Considering the fact that we as humans (no matter how much yoga, meditation, prayer, affirmations, etc., try to do) have proven ourselves to be a mostly violent society (take a look at what's popular on either tv, video games, movies and our history) - which is not our fault in some respects, because we are human and humans are not devoid of those emotions; and then taking into consideration the fact that a sizable chunk of the population are just TOTALLY INSANE - and I don't mean people who are depressed or anxious or suffering from a psychological disorder, I'm talking about complete sociopathic or psychotic personalities, many of whom are able to keep it together and keep it under wraps - I'm surprised that this kind of thing doesn't happen all the time.

My friend was a bit shocked - and interested - when I said that, but I meant it. Thank God it doesn't happen more often, I really do thank God for that - but I am surprised...

Just another reason why we should be thankful for each and every day we have.

Virginia Tech, Our Hearts Go Out to You: How Will This Effect Our Collective Future?

Shock, sadness, and horror and really the only words to describe how I felt, and how I'm sure most people with a heart and a pulse felt who were reading the news about the shootings at Virginia Tech yesterday and today.

One uplifting and informative article I found made some good points, because it talked about how the activists and the lobbyists are already circling around this event, taking their respective corners of the boxing ring and preparing to square off. What needs to be done right now, is give the country - and the families, especially - a chance to recover from this tragedy.

The Richmond Times-Dispatch has an article on the "What if?" concern on college campuses in Richmond, and what might happen for the future of campus security in light of these recent events. The concern I have about all of this is that are people going to start having a lockdown on Universities across the country? Armed guards at the door to English Lit 201?

The fact of the matter is that this threat has always been there. Wherever you have large groups of people you have even larger percentages of someone in that group being insane. That's why, for example, there are so many real-bonafide insane people in large cities like New York City, because if you have 17 million people, there are going to be a higher percentage of those that are actually dangerous. It's just simple math.

I'm also concerned with how the gunman is going to play in all of this. To begin with, he's not a white male, so the fact that people are going to start screaming that this was somehow political/terror-related is a possiblity (thank God he wasn't Muslim). So are the Asian students in Virgina going to have to fear for their safety now? It's not out of the realm of possibility.
What also bothers me is that they are pointing to his creative writing as a source for judging his mental state and predicting that this could have happened.

THAT scares me. Now, it's not like I can see what he wrote, maybe it was disturbing in a certain way that is beyond fiction...that deals with non-fiction and fellow classmates. But they said FICTION. I would hate to see, in the near future, students getting pulled out of English and Creative Writing classes because they wrote violent fiction or horror.

When I was a young child, I had a very active imagination and wrote horror and other types of fiction that had horrific elements to it. I wrote some of these for class. The teachers were a bit disturbed...but in the end didn't cart me off as a candidate for possibly going postal on my classmates (although I was a "loner" and unpopular and would have fit the bill in other ways).

I just hope, that in the wake of this tragedy, that people stop and think about what they do before taking any "preventative action" of "future catastrophes."

I mean, it's very sweet that Bush ordered flags to be flown at half mast in honor of the victims, but how about taking care of the gun laws that might have prevented this insane man from getting a hold of a firearm in the first place?

But I'm A Republican!

You know, I spent an hour and change Tuesday writing a big old reactive post about the whole Don Imus affair, and I’m actually kind of glad the computer ate it, because this whole thing is getting way the fuck out of hand, and I’m nauseated at the way the media keeps humping this story like the proverbial dog at the fire hydrant, and if we’re going to hinge a discussion about racism on this asshole’s remarks, well, I may just have to rip my eyeballs out with a coat hanger and/or move to a bunker in Nevada and broadcast extraterrestrial conspiracy theories on AM radio a la Art Bell. So I will say this: Imus is a dick who made a stupid, crass, bigoted remark, and while I certainly think he deserves to take some well-deserved shit for it, there is a difference between a true racist and a person who makes racially charged remarks yet does not, prima facie, support the institution of racism. Imus, I suspect, is the latter. Rush Limbaugh, whom you may recall made the remark, “Who cares about black people? They’re like 12% of the population,” is the former. And while millions of dumbasses depend on Limbaugh for moral and political guidance, no one depends on Imus for anything (including, I suspect, entertainment. But I’m an overeducated, undertrained Lefty slacker who doesn’t get up before ten if she can help it, so what do I know?). But no one sees fit to call Limbaugh on his OxyContin-laced shit because, as the blogosphere describes it, IOKIYAR (it’s OK if you’re a Republican), and Imus is not, to the best of my knowledge, affiliated with any political stripe. Hmmm. Maybe I should change my voter registration for the sole purpose of being able to spew all sorts of racist, sexist bilge and not get called on it! [/sarcasm]

Seriously, though, I was psyched on Wednesday night when it looked like my beau Keith Olbermann was going to address the question that’s been driving me stark raving batshit all week, namely, why just Imus? Why not Limbaugh, or Glenn Beck, who claimed a female black senator dresses “like a ghetto chick,” or Michael “Wiener” Savage, or, hell, any of the knuckle-dragging yahoos over at Fox Noise (KO’s term, not mine, as is the aforementioned phallic moniker)? Hello, Ann “Invade their countries, kill their leaders, and convert them to Christianity” Coulter? Well, he addressed it, all right, for about ten seconds during an interview with Jesse Jackson. Hey, Keith! Come on, man! Don’t work it into the promo and turn it into a big ol’ production number if it’s just gonna turn out to be a one-act in a black box theatre in Brooklyn! (Yes, I realize that’s what promos are for, and I actually prefer black box theatre in Brooklyn to big production numbers. I’m just saying, tell it like it is.)

So CBS and NBC have fired Don Imus. Which is fine, really; it was a prickish thing to have said, and as persons-on-the-street and columnists alike have raised this week, if an ordinary person in a run-of-the-mill job ran his or her mouth off like that, said person would have been canned. That still doesn’t answer the question why Imus was singled out above all else. Hopefully someone at The Nation can, or already has, come up with an answer I can live with. However, the mail has not yet arrived, so I’ll just have to subject y’all to my half-assed theories, which are:
#1. This is yet another symptom of the Theme Parking of America, in which we’re tolerant of bigotry and outright racism as long as it’s shoved under the umbrella of right-wing nutbaggery (under which Imus, I must point out again, is not, strictly speaking). Hey, we were all right with “Hee Haw” back in the day, ‘cause that was on TV, and they were singin’ and twangin’ and chewin’ their corncobs and they just made it all look so dang-tootin’ nice! Who needs The Grapes of Wrath? And Limbaugh and Hannity and Beck, well, watching them is kind of like going to Disneyland as envisioned by David Duke, so what’s the big deal? Spit, hiss, growl.

#2. This is like when you were in junior high homeroom and there’d be like ten of you horsing around, and just at the moment everyone got quiet you’d manage to blurt out, “Eat my shorts, asshole!” and the teacher would send you to the principal because “You were the one I heard!” True, but I wasn’t the one talking about how we should put a stink bomb in your car and write “Mr. Cooper is a dick” on your windows with soap. Maybe you should send those people, too. Again, spit, hiss, growl.

Too many John Hughes movies? Sure. But Mainstream Media? Let he among you without sin and all that jazz. Since you won’t cover real news anymore, I propose we go after Limbaugh, Hannity, Beck, and company. Guess who else was the one the teacher always heard?

Easter Sunday

I'm a week late on writing this post, but I wanted to make sure that I had all of my focus on this subject, and only this subject, before I posted. I didn't go to church on Easter Sunday/Resurrection Sunday. At first, I was a little upset at myself for not going. After all, I did the corporate fast with my church, Christian Cultural Center , located in Brooklyn, NY, and attended Good Friday service, where we broke-fast together as a Christian family and took Communion. That week was taxing for me, but I made it through with only a few cuts and bruises, lol.
If I went through the whole week, why didn't I attend Sunday service you ask?
Well, it's simple. I spoke to one of my best friends, who works at the church. I asked him what the crowd would be like on that specific day. He told me it was going to be ridiculous. He said that more than likely, all three services would be full. I guess that's great for church business, but it doesn't work for me. I DON'T DO LARGE CROWDS...AT ALL!!!
And, the most disturbing part of this is the hypocrisy of some Christians. I mean, all three services are packed on Easter Sunday, the last service before Christmas, and New Year's Eve. But, what about the other Sunday's? Why are they only, truly overcrowded on those particular Sunday's? I'm there every Sunday, not just those three. So, I get pissed and annoyed when I'm there every Sunday, and on those three Sunday's I have to get there almost two hours in advance to assure that I get a seat.
This is just me venting because my friend told me that I missed a great production that day. I wish things were different. I pray for change! Grace & Peace

Ideal Body Weight? Maybe Not What You Think.

I recently came across a site that offers an alternative to "ideal body weight" calculators - you know the ones: they make you feel like a cow if you aren't categorized into a specific weight on a chart according to your height.

They don't take into consideration things like people's body frames, bone structure, age...and a bunch of other factors.

Sure, I would look like a waify-thin model "stamp of approval" if I were to try to get back down to the 112 that I was when I was 25 (when people were telling me that I was a little too thin and I would smile smugly and my mother clucked with approval because her daughter was finally not fat anymore) - but would I look hot at 130 or 135? You bet I would. I've had some of the best sex and felt great about myself when I've been at that weight...so I have no problem being there.

The site I'm talking about is The People's Choice Ideal Weight Body Formula that was created by a doctor who compiled averages from an Australian survey about what they thought their ideal weight would be. There is a chart that offers a more realistic view of perhaps what an ideal weight should be...especially as someone gets a little bit older.

Not that I'd be upset being below 120 again...but I think that something like this should be available to people (especially 30 and over) so they don't try to starve themselves into next month...which is what Roisin Rua has touched upon many times.

I know several of us on here are battling some kind of eating disorder - be it eating too much or too little...and I sure as hell wish that there were more realistic models like this out there more often.

Like those groovy Dove commercials. Yo, those women have a little flab and they are HOT. Absolutely beautiful Venus on the Halfshells...

The Girls' School Tried To Mute My Mojo

It’s done, it worked. It’s like the X-Files. I’ve been spayed.

The Right Wing Whackos have done zapped my sex drive and there will be no more feisty gay kittens spawned at my love ranch.

Readers, I’ve been in a very frightening place.

A School For Girls. Not a bad place, but a frightening place.

I have two more months to ride out, because I’m not going back next year, but I could write a book about these months alone. There are so many different layers: The wealth, the privilege, the legions of interchangeable little blonde girls in skirts with names like “Stuart” and “Morgan” are all hella strange.

But the thing that really bewilders me the amped up homophobia.

I mean…I figured it would be weird, right? Lesbianism at a girls’ school has to be the ultimate sin. Not the perversely fun kind with like, a rocker girl soundtrack and hot little uniforms, but more a deafening silence.

Like maybe if you’re too out and proud you’re going to drag all the trust fund and trophy daughters over that lavender line and they’ll chop their hair off in solidarity while blowing the family money on liberal scams like Green Peace.

But homophobes, you can take comfort in this:

Teaching at the girls’ school has killed this homo’s sex drive.
(Well at least put the damper in the hamper, ok?).

There is nothing sexy about a building full of neurotic, over-privileged teenaged girls and the women who fawn over them. It’s almost like reverse prison effect, I’m so not into girls right now. (And you know the wife is not amused).

And then I realize: It’s the right wing at work, slowly trying to kill the “gay agenda.”

I hear the term “gay agenda” a lot. The parents claim there’s a “gay agenda,” the head of the school has to kiss the parent’s and the board’s collective asses and placate their fears that all of those Amazonian sport rituals don’t make the girls appreciative of each other in suspiciously non-platonic ways.

I mean, maybe some of the older students are getting down with each other, which I cannot comment on, but according to the students who talk to me and an openly gay (but male and very young) coworker the gay straight alliance club is all-straight.

Shocking! But truthfully, I doubt I would’ve joined in high school, even if I did think it would’ve gotten me dates.

This school is as old as the hills and if you can read between the lines, which, by the way, is a Homo 101 prerequisite. It was started by a pro-feminist academic-minded spinster. School history acknowledges her living arrangements with another female teacher, and blah blah … blah blah fast-forward one hundred plus years and the school which used to be for progressive forward-thinking young women is all creepy and kinky, but in that bad-touch way. Like watching Hitchcock’s Rebecca and wondering what was going on with that maid, Mrs. Danvers and Rebecca’s underwear drawer.

But…I digress.

However the Mrs. Danvers archetype works: It’s all over the school. It’s beyond weird how these prematurely old, disturbingly sexless women make their careers about fetishizing their “girls,” yet present such aloof models of adulthood.

Sexuality on any level (unless made obvious by sanctioned procreation activities like pregnancy) is that strange elephant in the room. I don’t know what it’s like at other girls’ schools, but the atmosphere at this school is that sex doesn’t exist, it gets in the way of fund-raising.

As if to support this fact, the male faculty are mostly gay, married or geeky enough that they’re considered safe. If only in that benign good-touch way. It must be some unspoken rule when they’re hired that they have to snip their balls off.

As for the women, popping out babies is wonderful. Especially if they’re daughters! But anything else is sort of frowned upon. Especially for the straight girls. It’s like if they’re too hot they’re sort of dangerous and not “settled.”

(One of the school’s other pet phrases is, “err on the side of conservative” – oh don’t your toes just curl with joy?!)

So where does it leave us gay girls? Yes, beneath all the subtext we still exist, we’re the cliché gym teachers (although I am psyched to say that the goofiest, least-sexy gym teachers are mostly straight –ha! Represent, yo!). We are the sullen scientists and the cynical cyber wizards and the hunky punky kindergarten teachers, we (blah blah … blah blah) are “everywhere”.

And I cannot speak for anyone but myself, however I need to dispel the myth here and now that there is anything hot about being a lesbian teaching at a girls’ school. I don’t really trust my straight male coworkers enough to ask, but all these teenage girls have either killed my sex drive or made me unable to even look at anyone under thirty (shit, maybe forty) ever again.

It’s done, it worked. It’s like the X-Files. I’ve been spayed.

I mean, I’m the most married and monogamous girl on the planet, but I’m just saying.

Teenage girls are not hot.

I’ve been forced to watch them cavort in their short skirts, and it’s like conversion therapy. The adults, however, are far worse. They frighten me with their blank eyes and their tight smiles. By Fridays it feels like A Clockwork Orange. I can’t handle it anymore.

This must be what happens to nuns.

I never want to look at anything female, ever again.

And it’s so sad that the right wing wins again, as I (jokingly) refuse to consider sex with my wife. Working at a girls’ school has ruined me!

It’s not like I don’t remember the wonders of young female bodies. I was a sexually active teen, I remember the girls I was with fondly. But our teenage drama and insecurities? Oh please. Being in your thirties is beyond cool, everything is sort of amusing at a distance in that “been there, done that” way. You don’t have as much to prove, you know who you are, what you want, and presumably how to get it. And for a chick, gay or straight, you can sing it like Johnny Rotten, because you are that bad-ass.

Truthfully the kids I teach are mostly too young to articulate issues of sexual orientation and gender identity, but I do teach one older grade where it must come up. And among even my youngest students, realistically not all of them will grow up to be straight. I might be old enough to be their mother, but I knew I was gay when I was their age. And I can’t say that I don’t see glimpses of my pre-teen and teenage self in some of these girls.

So the best “role model” I can be is that emblem of life after high school/ college and being a happy as an adult. My sense of humor is a tool, and I have hopefully taught my students and the other girls who see me daily, even if I don’t work with them, a glimpse of how awesome things are when you have the dumb shit sorted out.

And I do mean sorted, sweeties.

Sexually I was the queen of inexperience, and surely a bore until I hit my late-teens and girlfriend number two. I say this to undo the damaging, pedophilic notion that virginity is a commodity. And you know what? Smart people know this.

From my own experience, the sex thing only got good once both parties involved knew what they were doing, how to do it and there wasn’t some unsorted experience dynamic.

And while some of my straight male friends who teach college seem to pine for the idea of those young girls to “teach,” all I can think when I look at my students is.

“Gimme their mothers.” So maybe the right wing hasn’t completely muted my mojo, but that of course, is a completely different post.

Love Is For The Birds

I'm not anti-cupid. Although, the picture may make it seem as if I am, lol. Actually, there is no feeling that compares to being in love. However, in return, there is no pain like the one you get from love. In other words, love is for the birds! I'd rather not, just, be in love. Love? Convenience? Or Conveniennt Love? I'll probably write an article on that subject in particular. My mother always said you can love a poor man the same as you can a rich one. I didn't believe it when she told me, I actually thought that she just wanted to have money and not work. Then I had a rash of bad relationships, all of them without money. A man is a man...they suck, but would it make it easier to tolerate their shit if they had money? When they were acting like the assholes they truly are, you'll be vacationing in France, with three of your best friends, on his dime? Hmmmm....

So I Had to Go to the Emergency Room Yesterday...

Because my darling baby boy, light of my life, sunshine of my existence...the little bastard known as Spud, a.k.a. "Evil Kitty" bit the hell out of my hand when I was trying to give him medicine.



Actually, he didn't really mean to (well, the jury is out on that one); I was shoving a tube of laxatone down his throat to get him to cough up a hairball that was making him vomit all over the house, and he struggled...chomped down to get away from the foreign object in his mouth...and found my hand there. That's the story I'm going with, any way. I've had him over ten years and although he didn't get the nickname "Evil Kitty" for nothing, he has never bitten me like this before. He bit me like a rattlesnake, in the webbing area between the thumb and forefinger - so I had two deep puncture wounds. There was LOTS of blood.

So, after a few hours, when the two puncture wounds he gave me began to swell, along with my hand; the whole side of my hand that had been bit hurt; and the pain, reddness, and swelling began to creep up my wrist, I decided (along with the gentle nudging of my pal Josh and a concerned phonecall from my Mom) that I should go to the doctor...if anything, for a tetanus shot.

Well, it was Saturday, and the DOCS clinic on 23rd was closed (they suck anyway), so off to the hospital ER it was, with my grumbling the whole way.

We get there, and the doctor says it's a good thing I showed up; that I obviously had an infection (it had been about ten hours since the bite occured by that point) and that I could have gotten Pasteurellosis into my system.

But, I protested, it's my baby kitty! He's an indoor cat!

She said it didn't matter...they carry all kinds of nasty bacteria in their mouths and the bite wasn't just a little breaking of the skin, he had bit the shit out of me. She gave me a week's worth of antibiotics, and told me that if, by today, it wasn't better, I should come in to get the antibiotics by IV. I also got a tetanus shot in the same arm, so now my left arm is shot to hell. Thank god I'm a righty.

Can you believe that shit?

Well, as of today...it's not really better...so while some of you are eating chocolate bunnies, I think I will be heading over to the ER again to get hooked up to an IV to make sure that this infection doesn't get any worse. I was going to attach pics - but I figured I'd save you all the nasty nasty...lol...

This hurts. Any outpouring of sympathy or sarcasm would be appreciated.

Why Is It Discontinued?

I don't understand why something I love so much would ever be discontinued.
If you have never smelled the scent of Henri Bendel's Orange Flower Candle, you missed out. It's depressing for me to even say. Apparently they decided to discontinue the item, without reason. I asked everyone in all of the stores I went to. No one has a reason.

I, finally, decided to go into Long Island, NY to see if I could find one. I lucked up, they had a sampler on display. I told them I would not leave without it. After about a half an hour of explaining the lengths I've gone through to find this candle, they gave in and sold it to me at full price. That didn't bother me for I would have paid double. What makes me sick to my stomach is that I love the scent of this candle so much, that I burn it everyday. Needless to say, the wax is almost completely burned out. What do I do now???

This may seem like a small issue to you, but how would you feel if your favorite lotion, lipstick, soap, hairspray, makeup, or perfume was discontinued? Yup, that feels a little more personal now doesn't it?

Do Men Think?

Ok, so I received the following as a “funny” from a girlfriend who is presently experiencing the worst cramps ever. She was laughing so hard that no sound was coming out. All I could hear was the gasping for breath as she started another fit of laughter.

Anyway, through her hysterics, I understood that she would email the item that tickled her so much. After reading it, I can really appreciate why it struck a chord. If this is real, hats off to the actual writer. If it’s not, I thank the woman – because it HAD to be a woman – who wrote this. No man could possibly understand what it is that we women go through each month.

I think the letter below says it best, so enjoy!

AN OPEN LETTER TO
MR. JAMES THATCHER,
BRAND MANAGER,
PROCTER & GAMBLE.
February 6, 2007

Dear Mr Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

Are you @#$^*$% kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness-actual smiling, laughing happiness-is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,
Wendi Aarons, Austin, TX

Required Reading...

If for no other reason than to air my laundry in public, I thought I would make a list of some of the books I'm reading right now, and share some of the love. I've been dieting, recovering from a breakup, dealing with "mid-thirties crisis" and really just wanting a fucking bagel or piece of pizza right now...dear god, even a glass of wine (whine?) but, instead, I cram yummy thoughts and books in my brain.

Instead of going for serious books or comics (I read a bunch over my birthday!), I'm tending to lean toward either more humorous non-fiction/fiction so I can actually laugh a little instead of sticking my head in an oven, and books that will help me with my acting and teaching its craft. So some of these titles are things I'm actually re-reading...and seeming to get more out of this time around. For right now there are no horror books on the list; I read a bunch of those while I was off of work...so...on with it:

1. A Dream of Passion - Lee Strasberg
2. Him, Her, Him Again, The End of Him - Patricia Marx
3. The Commitment - Dan Savage
4. 27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other One Act Plays - Tennessee Williams
5. Joining the Thin Club: Tips For Toning Your Mind After You've Trimmed Your Body * - Judith Lederman and Larina Kase (thank God for galley copies)

* - Read perhaps a bit premature...considering that I have 20 pounds more to lose.

And, of course, reading a daily dose of Defamer.com has put me in good spirits again, although they have not accepted me as a commenter. Ironically (or not so, which is worse), this was posted the day after I tried posting two separate comments on the same day. Whatever, I still think Mark Lisanti is one of the most hilarious people on the planet, and like I said, I need a good laugh lately. Seth Abramovitch, who joined the writing team a little later on is also great (I suppose, because at this point I don't know who is writing what).

I just wish those fuckers would let me in on the commenter's club. I have actually had correspondence with him a couple of times over the past two years, and always write in to let them know if they fucked up a link or something. I have to think of something witty to say...other than "I'm witty, bitches! Post my comment! I know what Hilary-fucking-Swank is really like!!! In fact, half of the fucking people you guys rag on I've either met, been to their house, or know through three degrees of separation!!!"

I mean if they can even make the whole Anna Nicole thing funny despite the fact that I was one of the sentimental ones that was actually mourning her, then you know they're good.