Monthly Archives: April 2010

The Last Snowfall*

Sunday morning, we’re up at the break of dawn.  An ungodly hour.  Actually, Rose got up first because she actually had to be presentable for her job.  The rest of us could just roll out of bed, throw on a t-shirt and shorts and go.  We were out of the room and on the road by eight.  I have to say, the hotel had enforced valet parking, which struck me as odd.  Kel said it’s pretty common around there, but I’d never seen it before.  Anyway, we went through the McDonald’s drivethru for breakfast.  None of us go to Mickey D’s very often, but they are everywhere.  We had our own Three Stooges moment with trying to figure out what everyone wanted, but we eventually got our order straight.

Can I let you in on a little secret?  I love McDonald’s sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit.  I know!  It’s so bad for me, but it tastes soooo good.   I washed it down with a hazelnut iced decaf latte with skim milk, which was yummy, too.   Of course, the breakfast sat in a lump in my stomach for a good two hours, but it was so worth it.

Kel and I chatted as Rose read, Irish Dancer did her puzzle book, and I’m assuming Punk Girl listened to her music.  She was way in the back, so she might as well have been in Siberia as far as I was concerned.

Like a true OCD child, Irish Dancer couldn’t skip a puzzle once she started it (I sympathize), and she was asking us for help now and then.  One of the puzzles had the theme of rhyming colors (yellow fellow, for example), which is when I went on my own OCD kick.  The clue was something like icy metal (cold gold was the right response).  I started tossing out ice words like frigid and gelid.  Then, I got stuck on gelid and started rhyming to see if I could come up with a color that rhymed with it.

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Vienna and meOK.  Back to the travelogue.  After the thoroughly enjoyable Paper Raincoats (with Alex Wong and Ward the cellist, both of whom play with Vienna as well), on came Vienna.  The first thing that struck me (besides how utterly gorgeous she is, but what ugly boots) was how down-to-earth she was.  The theatre was intimate (maybe 200 seats), and she chatted with us as if we were guests in her home.

In an entirely cool moment, she talked about the people who couldn’t make it to the North Carolina show and asked if they were in the audience.  That’s us!  Kel and Rose**  shouted that we were there.  Vienna asked where we came from.  Kel said near Raleigh (Or Durham.  I don’t remember which).  Vienna was impressed and thankful that we had traveled so far to see her.  Later, Alex told us it was the better concert because he had all his instruments back (recovered by the airline at 4:30 in the morning).

I will admit to another twinge of envy because besides being incredibly hot and gorgeous, Vienna is extremely talented as well.  I played the cello for ten years and would like to pick it up again, and I’ve written a couple of songs (Flaccid Cock, anyone?  More on that in a bit), and I taught myself the guitar so I could write the music as well as the lyrics for my songs, but damn, girl can flat out sing and play the piano.

I liked the way she prefaced many of the songs with stories or just chatter.  She was completely at ease and in command of the stage.  She was low-key, but she had a presence.

Kel had told me earlier that she loved watching Alex play because he was so inventive in his instruments.  He would drum on anything he had at hand (including his body), and he’s a very talented musician.  Plus, he has a good energy/aura, so it’s very soothing to listen to/watch him.

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Big Gals Are Sexy, Too

lookatthatsmileImportant Note:  I would like to thank Rubo for the birthday box she sent me.  I am touched by how carefully she chose the items for me.  In one case, the bracelet, she made it herself.  She included writing journals (including a wicked awesome black one), calligraphy pens, newspapers she wrote/edited, and other thoughtful gifts.  To top it off, she included a treasure chest and a framed picture of Alan Rickman.  The last item made me laugh out loud in pleasure.  I had tears in my eyes as I opened the box.  I am grateful to have a friend like Rubo in my life–compassionate, funny, warm, tender-hearted, and true.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Rubo.  I so appreciate you.

Now, on to the entry.

As devoted readers of my blog know, I have major body/food issues.  It’s hard to say which came first, oh wait.  No, it’s not.  Body issues were first, followed quickly by food issues.  As I have written before, I got fat around age seven–coincidentally (and I mean that wryly), the same age (as best as I can pinpoint) the molestation started.  At least, it was happening at that time.  Before that, I was plump, but not fat.  After that, I blew up.

Wait.  Stop.  That’s not true, either.  I’ve seen pictures of myself at that time, and while I was overweight, yes, I wasn’t grotesquely hideously fat.  However, my mom put me on my first diet when I was seven, saying, “You would have such a beautiful face if you lost some weight.”  Seven.  Thirty-two years ago.  That dictum is still pounded in my head to this day.  “If, then.”  If I lose weight, then I would be beautiful.  In my mind, the two cannot coexist, but only for me.  Hearken back to this entry.  In it, I wax poetic about how hot I find other women with curves.

I get frustrated because I truly believe a woman’s worth is not based on how much she weighs–unless it’s me.  It’s not even that cut-and-dry, though.  I know that I am an intelligent, funny, witty, creative, loving, caring woman.  I accept that there are people who find me attractive.  I like my hair, my eyes, and my boobs to some extent (free drinks, yo!).  I have been told often enough that my smile lights up my face to accept that this is probably empirically true.  I actually like the fact that my legs are solid because then they can do a lot of work.

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Blue Caravan*

On with my travelogue!  And yes, Alan Rickman will figure into it eventually.  I am not just pimping his name to inflate his cloud, I promise you.

OK.  Saturday morning.  Soccer Boy woke me up at ungodly o’clock.  I got ready, and then I gave the puzzle to Soccer Boy so he could reset it.  He did, saying with a smirk, “At least I didn’t solve it before resetting it” and then handed it to me.  I replied something to the effect of, “If you did, I’d have to kill you.”  Then this sweet boy looked at me and told me not to bury him “there” (and he pointed outside) because there are rocks there.  We then spent about a half an hour riffing on burying his body in Jersey (Kel has a friend who lives there).

Then, Kel came down and made the beignets.  Oh my god.  It’s like a little slice of heaven doing a happy dance in my mouth.  Nom nom nom beignets and powdered sugar–a great way to start the day.

Then, I got to watch the highly-amusing drama of Punk Girl sullenly moving around while slowly waking up and Irish Dancer racing around because she’s late, she’s late, for a very important date!  Then, we were off to the soccer fields which were an hour away.

Kel is the team photographer, so we sat in the end-zone.  Oh, wait, back the truck up!

Kel gave me my birthday prezzies in the morning, and they were goooood.  First is the t-shirt I am wearing right now.  It’s black (of course), with a snowwoman on it.  She has her stick hands on her hip and is giving attitude.  It says, “SNOW GIRL” right under her.  I’ve been wearing it ever since Kel gave it to me.  Next up was the second LOLCat book.  Since I love the website and I have the first book, it was great to get the second.  Last up was a gorgeous handmade journal from the Dominican Republic.  It’s beautiful.  She rocks.

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Consider My Mind Blown

OK.  I have to share with you how my mind was blown by visiting Kel.  As is my wont, it’s going to take some time, so sit back and relax.  Yes, grab your favorite beverage as I don’t want you to get dehydrated.

First, I have to give you some background on my family–specifically, my brother’s family.  At his house, I am not allowed to say gosh (derivative of God), darn (damn), shoot (shit), or anything that resembles any swear word in the slightest.  When my niece was young, I once was having a conversation with my brother in which I said something was stupid in response to something he said.  My SIL overheard us and got that ‘I just ate a lemon’ look on her face.   She said in a snippy voice, “We don’t use the word stupid in this house.”

I didn’t say anything, but I thought many nasty thoughts.  Stupid is a perfectly good word, and it wasn’t as if I was calling a person stupid–though I don’t think that should be a problem, either, as there are many stupid people in the world.  I love words, so it bothers me when someone bans one for no good reason.  Dare I say it’s stupid?  I do!

In addition, my brother is worried that I am a bad influence on my niece because she looks up to me so much.  I cannot talk about being bi, about not being a Christian, about premarital sex (not that I would, anyway), about my vaguely pagan beliefs, or anything else, really.  I have pretty much stopped going over there because I am not really wanted.  Plus, my SIL can suck the joy out of a room without saying a word.  I dealt with that with my father while I was growing up; I do not want to do the same now.

Because of my experience with my family, I was wary stepping into another person’s family.  Kel kept telling me to be myself, but I couldn’t quite believe that I should take her at her word.

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We Are Family

Welcome back, bitchez. Grab your favorite beverage, sit back and relax while I tell you about the wild goings-on that happened over the weekend. I finally got to meet my twin, Kel, in person, and boy did we have a ball. I got to lick her bunny and watch her strip her chicken!

I was nervous as I got off the plane because I still harbored the fear that I would disappoint Kel. It’s something that is ingrained in me from years of disappointing my real family. I had learned my lesson well–I am not enough. No matter how much Kel reassured me that I just had to be myself, I still had a fluttering of doubt as I stepped off the plane. Before I went, I emailed her to see what I should and shouldn’t say in front of her kids. She told me to just be myself, which wasn’t very reassuring to me. I told her I was bringing underwear because I didn’t want to offend/disturb anyone by going commando under my boxers. She told me not to be ridiculous–they didn’t wear unders, either, under their boxers. Still, I packed the panties just in case.

I called Kel as I got off the plane, and to my dismay, she didn’t answer. She ALWAYS has her phone on. I told her to turn on her damn phone and that I would see her in a few minutes.

When I saw her, I hugged her tightly and felt as if we were just continuing a conversation that we had started a year ago. We started babbling at each other as she took a pic of us to send the kids, her sis, and her husband. I stuck out my tongue, and we were off to the races after that.

Her house is an hour away from the airport. On the way, I texted everyone who texted her and made ribald suggestions (no, really?). She and I talked about everything under the sun, including what we were going to do the next day. The kids were at home waiting for us to return, despite the fact that it was going to be after midnight by the time we finally touched down. As we approached her house, two kids burst out of the garage door and started fighting with each other. Kel laughed and said they were fighting to see who would hug me first. I had started to get out of the van, but I quickly got back in and joked that I was skeered of them.

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Late Night Grumblings

My idea of perfection is Alan Rickman, chocolate, pizza, and sex (though not necessarily all at the same time.  That could get a bit messy).

I am in a down mood; I have been since my birthday, actually.

First of all, I am stoked to meet Kel, her sister, and her brood.  I cannot wait to hear Vienna (though it’ll be in Norfuck Norfolk, VA, and not Oriental), and I am excited to see how Kel is going to shoot me (with a camera, of course).  I don’t take good pics, so I’m curious to see what she can do with Alejandro (her trusty camera).

That said, I still have a shit-load to do before I go.  The house is still a mess, and I have a day and a half to clean it.  I also have my session in the morning.  I also have to wash my hair, and I probably will do one more load of laundry.  I also have that job hunt to do and other shit (including losing weight).  Instead, I sit on my flat ass and do nothing of importance.

My best friend and I had a heated discussion Friday night about regrets.  She’s the type to not regret things in life in part because she looks at the bigger picture.  She says, “Do I regret doing this?”  While the experience may have been painful, overall, she’s glad she did that or this or whatever.  On the other hand, I am all about regrets.  There are more experiences in my life that I would give up wholeheartedly than keep.  The abuse by my father?  Gone.  My entire childhood, in fact, would be erased.  Thailand?  Goodbye.  My relationship with D, I would keep.  My relationship with M, I would not.

In addition, I wanted to cut off some experiences at some point.  She said I couldn’t do that, and I said why not if we were playing pretend, anyway?

By the way, I hate the heat.  I am unbelievably grumpy right now.  I am wearing my South Park boxers, shirtless, my hair braided,  and still sweating like a pig.  I have SAD in the hot seasons, and I’m not Miss Perky at the best of times.

Oh, and FYWP (fuck you, Word Press).  I just lost more than half this post.  Fuckers.  I will try to reconstruct, but it won’t be easy.

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HP #6, 2 Disc DVD Set

I got the 2 DVD Special Edition–note, why not just make them all 2 DVD sets?  Seriously.  I hate all this Special Edition shit–Set of the 6th Harry Potter movie.  Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.  I reviewed it here.   I started with the second DVD, the one with the special features, because we all know the reason I buy the DVD set in the first place:  moar Alan Rickman!

Now, I realize the stupidity of this wish because the HP movies are kids movies, thus, most of the focus is on the trio and their friends.  Still, I always hope for one deleted Snape scene.  Just one.  That’s not too much to ask, is it?  I mean, I know that Alan Rickman is perfection itself and that to delete one of his scenes would be a travesty, but really!  One snippet, one quote from him, any scrap I can get.

I slog my way through the painfully unfunny behind-the-scenes shtick.  The actual behind-the-scenes look is interesting, but the patter that accompanies it is cringe-worthy.  I work my way through (doing my exercise, to the soundtrack of Hedwig and the Angry Inch) a grinning Tom Felton (Draco) asking his costars a variety of questions.  I start the commercial for the Harry Potter theme park in Orlando (is Alan Rickman going to be there?  No?  Then who the fuck cares?), but since they don’t actually show the theme park, I get bored and fast-forward through it.

Finally, I watched the deleted scenes.  Mostly of the kids.  I am getting gloomier and gloomier as each deleted scene goes by with nary a hint of Alan Rickman.  Then, in the penultimate (I think) scene, ooooooooooh!  There he is!  Dark, gloomy, and the light shines upon Snape, his dark eyes glittering….Will he speak?  Is he going to speak?  Oh, please let him—and cut to Draco.  Damn!

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Not-So-Happy Birthday

It’s my birthday.  39th.  3 x 13.  I wrote this post last year about how I am birthday neutral after hating my birthday most of my life.  I was satisfied with being birthday neutral, and I hoped that it would continue.

Well, it hasn’t.  This year, the blues hit me hard over the weekend.  I also got my period on Saturday, so that’s probably part of it.  However, it’s mostly my birthday.  I am grateful and thankful for all my friends and all the well-wishes I have received.  I will be going out with two friends, separately, on Thursday, and I know that will be a blast (especially as Natasha and I are going to Smitten Kitten to buy something for someone she knows who is getting married.  I’m going to buy myself a new toy, methinks).

I have done things in this past year that I have wanted to do for awhile (blogging almost daily, for example).   I have learned some things about myself (that I do want to have some kind of romantic relationship at some point in the future), and I have faced the demons of my past (FB) and have lived to talk about it.  I have made new friends and strengthened old friendships.  I have a sense of what I want to do with my life.

So, why the fuck am I so down?  I have no idea.  First of all, this stupid dieting thing.  15 pounds and three inches off my waist.  Good, right?  Yeah, well, I’m starting to think crazy again, and it’s driving ME crazy.  I am disheartened that I can’t do this in a sane way.

Secondly, I am horny as hell.  Now, this isn’t that different than most days, but it’s intensified, and I have no one at hand to slake that desire.  I want to be fucked until I walk funny and my throat is raw from all the screaming (yes, I’m a screamer.  Not surprising, is it?).  I want to have that “I just got the fucking of my life” look, and you all know exactly what I mean.

Still, these are pretty de rigeur for me.  Nothing to see here, people, move along.  Those two things, in and of themselves, would not be enough to make me this depressed.

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This and That and Alan Rickman, Too

I’ve been hearing mixed reviews of AIW–terribly mixed.  I am going to see it, but I’m wondering if I should wait until it’s on Netflix.  Then again, Alan Rickman, enough said.  On with the blog entry.

As I was cleaning the bathroom a few days ago as part of my plan to set a schedule with ScriptFrenzy as the carrot, I realized something:  I don’t want to do ScriptFrenzy.  I stopped cleaning for a second, stunned.  Perhaps I had mistaken my anticipation of the fun I would be having and the hard work I would be doing for–no.  I didn’t want to do it.  I am not a movie person (understatement, big time), and while I enjoyed my previous two ScriptFrenzy endeavors, scriptwriting is really not my thing.  Don’t get me wrong–I got one really good script out of the first year and a workable beginning of a script for my trilogy out of the second year, but it’s just not my bailiwick.  Furthermore, I realized that my therapist was right–I was doing it mostly to be doing something, but also to prove I could do it.

You know what?  I don’t need to prove that because I’ve done it twice.  With ease.  I’ve never had to prove that I can write a certain amount in a certain time–that’s not my problem.   NaNoWriMo is good for me because I can actually get a novel done–which is my bailiwick.

So, I scrapped the idea of doing ScriptFrenzy, which means my whole plan got tossed out as well.  However, I realized I could keep the schedule part of it and just substitute regular writing or submitting for the ScriptFrenzy part.  The problem is, would it be enough to make me actually do what I need to do?  I did it the first day when I had planned on doing ScriptFrenzy–except the exercise.  I had already decided not to tie in exercise with my ScriptFrenzy as carrot plan because I am having enough problems with my ED issues flaring up, and I’ve been slacking on the exercise thing, much to my shame and dismay.

Next.  I’m in a somber mood right now.  I don’t know why.  Maybe the temps in the high seventies and the incipient return of my spring bronchitis are to blame.  I think they are just the tip of the iceberg, though.  I am just in a melancholy mood.  Oh wait, my birthday is coming up.  That’s probably part of it.  And, I’ve been PMS’ing for about a month (three months since my last period), so that doesn’t help.

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