Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers on my Right, Here I am...

stuck in the middle with you*.

I hate it when two friends break up with each other.

When two people that were once considered a cohesive unit split apart. Most especially after it gets to the point that their names stick to each other, like iron and a magnet, and it's difficult to say one name without the other. Soon I will say their names together, attracted like positive and negative, for the last time, and it will be while giving someone the news that they, as a collective of two people, are over.

Right now I'm worried for both of them. Completely split. And for one reason or another they're both jokers and they're both clowns. I'm in the middle, worried that one or both of our relationships will be sacrificed, or shaved down* as a result.

Joker was an aquaintance before she dated Clown, and we only became close friends after they were a couple. Clown I became friends with as a result me becoming closer to Joker, but we would have become friends on our own. For awhile I was their go-to third wheel. Looking back, I don't know if I was just an unconcious wedge to keep them apart during those moments. To keep them from being intimate, fighting, alone and completely wrapped up in their relationship. Only, I think I just got wrapped up in their relationship with the both of them.

There is entirely too much "I" in this post. I know. I can't express my worry for both of them any more than saying "I'm worried for both of them, equally, and in different ways," because of this medium. I don't air my greviences toward other people online anymore, and I certainly don't air other people's.

*I could have made a Resovoir Dogs reference here, but I'm classier than that. Which is probably entirely negated by the fact that I added this asterisk. Shit.
They both feel like they cut off their own ear. Van Gough references are classier than Terantino, right?

Monday, July 28, 2008

Why I Need a Stiff Drink, how I Always fall into Thorns, and how I Learned to Stop Worrying and Learn to Love the U-haul.

Ok. So I've been living in my friend's apartment while she's in Paris on the condition that I move her out before August 1st, since she'll still be abroad then. Fair enough, not a big deal at all.

I was under the impression that her dad was getting a moving truck for a few days so that I could load up everything and move it to the storage shed for them.

Since it would be several days, and since nobody in town was off at 10:00 this morning to give me a ride when I needed to go to U-haul, I decided to get up earlyish (early for me, anyway) and walk to the store. It's about a mile and a half, no biggie, right? I live on Teasley, and the U-haul store is on Ft. Worth. I would just walk up beside the access road to Ft. Worth and cut under the overpass and I'd be right there. I totally forgot that U-haul was halfway between Teasley and Ft. Worth Drive. I totally forgot about the train tracks that go under I-35.

I had to walk down the embankment and cross the train tracks and the right-of-way not once, but twice, because I am a dumbass. The second time the embankment was covered in thorny bracken. In some places you couldn't even see over the top, the thorns had grown so thick they made a hedge of pointy pain and vines.

I finally saw a path, with a complete clearing and I got about halfway up before I noticed that there was a tent. Not only one tent, but several tents made from bits of tarp and cardboard. I had found a homeless village by the railroad tracks. Maybe if I were Jack Kerouac I would have been more thrilled. However, I am not, nor have I ever been a beat poet and roustabout, so I turned around like any sensible girl would and tried to find a different way.

I found a somewhat promising path, and figured that with a few stomps here and there I'd come through relatively unscathed. Of course I tripped mid-stomp and ended up completely tangled up in thorns. I was about 20 yards away from hobo-ville so I was too afraid to even cry or curse loudly. (I wanted to do both!) I carefully picked myself up and got over the top without further incident, and behold! U-haul!

I went inside at exactly 9:55 AM, covered in dirt, scratches, leaves and burrs, probably looking homeless myself, and went to get my U-haul truck for the week. "Ok, have it back by 5:00 today," the helpful and oh-so-happy to see me clerk told me.


So I called the only two friends available today, and we moved my friend's dresser, entertainment center, sectional couch, two recliners, bed, mattress, and dining room chairs to the storage shed. Tetris was involved.

It's 6:42 now and I still haven't had anything to eat.

Fuck adventures. I need a stiff drink. I'm thinking Colt 45, or maybe Boonesfarm.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

It's a small, small world

I got to talking to a buddy of mine (who is dating a good friend of mine, that's how we met) who is a metalsmith and into Rennaissance Re-enacting and those martial arts, and it turns out that he's into Civil War re-enacting. Since the re-enacting thing is a pretty small world, he knows my dad by association. Weird, huh?

I really wish that I could somehow muster in and do all the cool stuff that my buddy and my dad get to do, but alas, my father's outfit is very historical (which is something to be proud of) and I would have to be able to pass muster as a male. Two problems with that: 1) I am female and I look very female 2) I grew up around these guys, my dad was their captain for crying out loud, even if I did look somewhat masculine they know who I am.

I would like to do the "living history" stuff, but since I'm female I would get to sit on the porch in a chemise, pantalettes, corset, crinoline and dress, wearing gloves and a big hat, while delicately fanning myself. Uh, no. Not fun.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

NaBloPoMo and Weight Loss

That's right, in August I will be NaBloPoMo ing. I also joined BlogHer, but I dunno how that's supposed to work, whatever.

Basically I want strangers to read my blog, but not people I know, because I like to write about them, somewhat abstractly. I don't really write about people I know aaaaall that much. Sometimes I mention something about boyfriend or an acquaintance, but other than that, nope. I already did that "blog drama" shiz before and I'm not going there again. It's immature, and if you want to make amends, well, sorry, you put that shit out there on the internet like a bitch, and it's pretty much out there in some form or another, forever.

I'm about to get back onto the diet bandwagon hardcore style. I've been losing weight, but I haven't been as... strict as I should be. Thank you boyfriend and his hating-eating-in-late-at-night deal, but whatever, it's my fault too. I just bought a bunch of groceries and I have some vague plans on making soup. I have pork and beef, because I'm f*cking tired of f*cking chicken. I have one breast left over, and faced with the prospect of actually throwing it into the frying pan, I proceeded to toss it into the freezer.

I am also going to Wally World after work today and picking up some 10 lb weights and an exercise ball, maybe a Pilates DVD or something. I dunno. I want to be toned, and also speed up my weight loss. Free weights is something I can do, and crunches on a ball. Pilates is fun. I know if I say to myself "I will run in that nice park a block away from where you live." I will just make excuses and not do it. (Some of them are valid such as: "I don't want to be raped." and "It's really f*cking hot." Others? Not so much. "I hate running." and "I'd rather just read Fark." stand out amongst that crowd.)

Monday, July 7, 2008

Screen names

I'm going to rant now about the practice of moms choosing screennames based on their kid's name and their motherhood.

I'm glad that you're so happy being a mother. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, however, making motherhood the whole sum of your identity bothers me. Maybe it's a late-in-life mother thing. All those 40 year olds that waited to have kids until it was almost too late, or the ones that changed their mind when they were in their late 30's and decided they wanted to have a child after all.

Now, it may sound hypocritical for me to chastise someone else for their choice in how they want to live their lives and shape their identity. I just think it's harmful on the personal level as well as for the family dynamic. Investing so much of yourself into your child that you sacrifice everything, including your self-identity is almost as harmful as investing nothing. Look at it this way: if you give up on your personal needs you start to project them on your progeny in order to make up for that sacrifice. In comes the Vicarious Mothers.

Living vicariously through your offspring is probably a combination of a mixture of factors, including boredom and personal frustration. "I had to give up being a ____ so I could have this life and be a good mother, so you're going to do what I could never do." That's hardly a healthy way to raise a kid.

So what's next Alismom, Martasmom and Clintonsmom? Are you going to name yourselves Wifeoffred and Wifeofmatthew online now? And how come we don't see men naming themselves Franksdad and Alisdad? Why just the women? It disturbs me that we can so easily fall back into that kind of thinking in this day and age.

*See also: your baby as profile picture, engagement ring as facebook profile picture

Friday, July 4, 2008

I fixed it...

The network at home I mean. I am awesome. At googling I mean.

I can't understand how my family fails at google. How about googling "linksys wireless network configure" and going from there? But nooooo... They wait for me to do it. It's nice to be wanted, but at this point I wish they would teach themselves how to fish.

Tomorrow is the 4th of July Extravagansa Celebration for the Greatest, Best Nation, God Has Created on the Face of This Earth.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Cake makes me want to get married

I've been obsessing about Deb's saga over at SmittenKitchen.com

She is baking a wedding cake for a friend. The top two tiers are a buttermilk yellow cake with mango curd between the layers (three cakes for each tier!) and the bottom layer is a decadent chocolate/cinnamon/coffee cake with brandied ganache between the layers, all covered by a beautiful white (hopefully Swiss buttercream, if she can get over her "issues" with it) icing and decorated with flowers.

The pictures are beautiful, and I'm completely jealous of all the guests going to that wedding. Deb is making her friend a handsome gift.

All this makes me want to get married, which is terrible. I made the mistake of picking up Martha Stewart's Wedding Cakes book one time at Barnes and Noble, and I watch Ace of Cakes regularly on Food Network. All of that, and this blogger saga makes me want to get married, not because I really love the guy I'm with (which I do) not because I'm ready to grow up and start a family (which I'm not) and not because I'm committed to being a part of a marital relationship (which I am certainly not), but merely for the amazing, beautiful and decadent cake that will be at my wedding reception. Sorry mom.