Tomorrow’s the Big Day.
Last week I was very anxious; I thought I might need some medication. This week, what there’s been of it, I am feeling much calmer. I find the calm about as disturbing as I did feeling troubled. My voting is done and I’ve appealed to those who may be voting the Wrong Way to not vote the Wrong Way, so I guess I’m feeling like it’s all out of my hands at this point. Bronco Bama was not my first choice, but the one I ended up with. Roseanne didn’t make it onto our Washington ballot. Just kidding! Gay marriage = yes. Weed = yes. Democrats = mostly (but with the “top two” format we have here, what sort of choice is there?) Sea wall = yes. Charter skools = no (although having had a lengthy discussion with someone more interested and knowledgeable about this issue than I am I might would go the other way if I hadn’t already voted).
I think what has made me the most upset have been the anti-gay marriage ads and “debates.” Stupid politicking and hypocrisy I expect in an election year. But these “marriage defenders” have made me just … furious, and sad. And annoyed because of my feelings about marriage in general. Although I am happy that it looks like it will pass. And that we might be able to celebrate with doobies. My very supportive straight-married supervisor at work (not be confused with my supervisor at home) thinks that if the gay marriage passes that we should have a big work wedding for the 50% of us on team who are gay and make our boss pay for it. Not for the doobies (probably), but just like for a nice dinner or something. She was a little giddy at this proposition.
Ah well. What can be said now but, we’ll see!?!
Tomorrow’s blog? Pictures of kittens.
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Does this look like a witch to you?
Some years ago, when my sister lived out in the boonies in Upstate, NY, she was startled awake one night by a loud crash and shutter, as though something had landed on the roof of her house. Nothing could be found that night and the next morning she and her man looked all around the house and couldn’t find a single thing amiss. The cause of the crash was never found. A little over a year ago, here in Seattle, Lolly and I were jolted awake by a similar loud bang from the roof, again as if something had crashed into it. I checked and checked again and found nothing.
Not too long after, I remembered to tell my sister about it when she called. She wanted all the details and I relayed them the best I could, but there really wasn’t very much information to be had.
“I bet is was a witch,” she said. “A witch that wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and she flew right into your house. That’s why you didn’t find anything in the morning!” We joked about finding a broken broom or a shoe in the bushes, and about the witch looking for her familiar and how she was checking out our cats, and the like. At first my sister was kidding, but then she seemed to convince herself that this is indeed what happened. Seriously.
When Ochokitty showed up, my sister hypothesized that the witch had come back. Even now she still brings it up. Yesterday she wanted some recent photos of the kitties and one of the ones I emailed her is the one above. Of course she had to call me to tell me she received it…
“Look at her eyes. She’s totally a witch. Or worse! I’d watch my back if I were you.”
1) RE: “Jealous” … I did not win the Kindle from the library summer reading shebang. I read ‘Unfamiliar Fishes,’ ‘Chairs are Where the People Go,’ ‘Ready Player One,’ ‘Zone One,’ ‘Gone Girl,’ ‘Columbine,’ ‘The Influencing Machine,’ ‘Bright-Sided,’ ‘The Alcoholic,’ ‘Middlesex,’ and ‘The Game of Thrones Graphic Novel.’
2) RE: “&@#%*^!” … The not-swearing didn’t last very long. Damnit.
3) This spring we had visit from Lolly’s parents followed up by the annual visit from my mother. By the time my mother got here, I was already wornthefuck out as leading up to the in-laws’ visit I was once again stripping and staining woodwork, repainting, washing the floors, landscaping the back yard, and laundering everything there was to launder (e.g. curtains, slipcovers, bedding, and the miscellaneous throws that drape all the furniture to protect it from cat hair and barf stains). Then after they left I woke up one morning with my neck out of whack. It worsened until eventually I couldn’t sleep. So I went to the doctor who, because of some radiating numbness, was concerned and had me do xrays, and found spondylosis. Meaning bone spurs, little ones, in there grinding away. Muscle relaxers and physical therapy were prescribed, but then Mom was coming so I didn’t start any therapy. So we didn’t do too much while she was here as I didn’t feel up for any road trips this year. We did do the Boeing plant tour. We Skyped with my sister in Russia (Mother Skyping = leaning forward to shout at the keyboard.) and that was the highlight of our visit.
4) Since then I’ve been pretty much a lump. But I’ll try to craft some entertaining blog posts about what it is like to be a lump, and what kinds of things lumps might like to do if they weren’t lumps, and although I probably can’t speak for all lumps in the world, I could perhaps shed a little light on lumpishness in general as to add to a greater understanding.
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I do think that I want to blog this month, but I’m not quite organized yet.
Speaking of organizing. . . my sister phoned this past weekend (that’s not news, she phones everyday) while I was in the middle of sorting out some of our bookshelves. Once upon a time there was some sense to our home library, but ever since I stained and finished the shelves, the books, having been put back all willy-nilly, have been in disarray. I thought it was time to do something about this, although why right then I do not know. I put the newer ones (most still needing to be read) in the living room, and created a special “From Kim” shelf too. Then I went about sorting the others into: graphic novels/comics, queer (fiction and non-fiction), fiction (plain old regular), biography/memoir, history/culture, anthologies, philosophy/religion, psychology, women’s studies, drama/poetry, and humor. Reference has fallen out of favor apparently because that didn’t get its shelf back.
So, my sister, she phoned, and I was explaining all of this to her and bemoaning the fact that while the books all came off the shelves, it did not seem like they were going to go back on. There is just no room. I took a photo for her, and she (having phoned again today of course) wanted me to send it.
It’s November again! That was fast. . . Well, just in case I decide to do this NaBloPoMo thing again this year, I thought I best start off with something, because otherwise I might be sad that I didn’t later, if think I want to blog for a month.
I’m so rusty. I couldn’t even remember the password to log in to my own blog!
Last night I had a dream that I was a young gay man riding my unicycle all over the campus of the University of Connecticut. I was impressed by my own skill and stamina. I never found what it was I was looking for, but it was nice to visit.
I have signed up for the library’s Summer Reading Shebang and I really feel like this is my year to win the drawing. No Big Book Bag of Crap this time. This year they are giving away a Kindle. If I can get Lolly to participate it will double (that’s right, Double!) our chances of winning. Once she sees the Awesome Avatar I made at the Summer Reading Shebang website, she will TOTALLY want to sign up….
La résistance est futile.
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I hate you and I’m not going to read you anymore. I resent the 285 pages we have already spent together. You are wasting my time and there are a lot of other more interesting or more enjoyable books in the world for me. So there.
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This morning I washed my own mouth out with soap. Not on purpose, it was actually due to some over-exuberant rinsing of my sudsy face, but the effect was the same. I thought my mother would probably be pleased about this if she knew how often and vehemently I use the swearing words….
I often start small with a plain old fuck, then proceed on to a fuckfuck or fuckingfuckfuck, and I can go back and forth between those for quite a while. Eventually, however, I will probably get to fuuuuuuuuuck. Often there’s a snarly, gutteral quality to this one which requires a particular kind of exhalation that I find satisfying. So, it can really be a bit more like, fffaaaaaahhhHHHHHCK.
Although shitfuck would seem to be my favorite based on frequency of usage. This is utilized regularly for sudden, surprising, accidental, or painful things. It has a certain “ba-dum-bump” quality that adds a nice punctuation to the unpleasantly unexpected. Plus these sort of incidents usually have two parts that make use of the compound word appropriate. For example: trip on cat <shit-> and spill coffee <-fuck>: or: whomp appendage on something <shit-> and experience blossoming pain <-fuck>. It helps – for me.
When people I don’t know are swearing it makes me ever so slightly afraid of them, like: maybe they’re fucking swearing so goddamn much about whateverthefuck just because they are fucking angry and could get really fucking violent at any moment and just pop off and do some shit. I do try to surpress this feeling because when I’m swearing in the grocery store or flailing my arms around at the bus stop, I’m not really going to pop off and do violence (unless you’re a transit vehicle). I wonder why should I feel so wary of other potty mouthed cuss bags when I am one myself. But monkey brain makes me scared and maybe other monkey brains get fearful too.
….In conclusion, my lesson from today’s inadvertant mouth soaping is that I swear way too fucking much, about way too fucking little, for no fucking purpose and am going to try to quit it.
This morning from my kitchen window I can see the little girls next door frolicking in their backyard. They speak five year old gibberish with occasional outbursts of “Mommy!” or “EEeeeeEE!” They flibbet about in their matching sandals while waving their plastic humdingers. And I think that it is strange that they are so close and have been here for a couple years and with few exceptions – that being our first meeting and introduction when they were two, and more recently their mother’s request that we keep an eye out for lurking weirdos in the alley behind our houses – we don’t really know them or have any cause to interact with them (potential weirdo-rescue aside). I realize that without kids of my own, or being particularly attracted to kids in general (not in the weirdo way, but in the might-or-wish-I-could-have-one-or-four-myself-someday kind of way that people do), I am just ‘that lady’ that lives next door.
This sudden dawning reveals that I may have become a thing that I once feared.
When growing up, on one side of our house was a family with four children. The kids were all older than my sister and I were, except the youngest son who was almost our age. So there was sledding and kickball and swimming (and then later some other things not appropriate to mention in this particular post). But on the other side of our house lived Mr. Morehead. He lived alone. His house was brown. His yard only to be entered as quickly and as briefly as possible to fetch an errant ball or vigorously served badminton birdie.
Ways in which I am the same:
- no children
- intimidating presence
- protruding belly
- kids have anxiously scurried into yard to fetch things that landed there
- consume alcoholic beverages in the back yard
- not trick-or-treated
- greeted by parents, rarely by children
- wear glasses
- have girlfriend with big hair
Ways in which I am different:
- have own hair
- house painted more cheerful color
- have cute cats in window looking out at children
- no one shooting BBs at birdhouse pole
- keep shirt on while in yard
- keep girlfriend at house, do not live alone
I’m hoping that those latter things, particularly having Lolly and my own hair, will be enough to stave off the stigma of my childlessness.
Of course, you know, maybe I’m not the Morehead… but maybe I am something even scarier!?!