In order to spur me into baby-making action, my mom sent me pictures of my cousin's 3-D ultrasound of her fetus. This is like trying to convince an arachnaphone to buy a pet spider by sending her a close-up photo of a giant tarantula biting someone on the face.
So I went and took a half hour shower under my brand new super deluxe spa quality tropic rainstorm simulator showerhead. And all was well.
Now please go read my husband's blog for actual character, substance, introspection, and intellectual intercourse. I am so vapid...
27 October 2006
17 October 2006
For MS--with Love and Squalor
(10,000 points to whoever gets the title--c'mon English dorks.)
This is the the last night MS will be gone on his five day Georgia trip. It's been an interesting experience, and certainly not the garment-rending Greek tragedy that was his last extended trip. (As I keep asserting to all those who express concern, IT WAS DIFFERENT THEN! Please stop looking at me like I'm filling my pockets with rocks and walking towards the Arkansas.) See, back then, we had only been dating for a few months, I had a job where I worked at home and never saw anyone, and MS was sad about some other stuff, but, being me, I assumed it was all my fault. Anyway, that was then. This time was totally different (although I did get shitty drunk at the gay club again).
I've actually had fun having the house to myself. I can blow my nose in the middle of the night, snore, poop with the bathroom door open, watch stupid TV shows, spend two hours trying to find the most horrifying fanfiction ever, and not put up my breakfast dishes with no sense of guilt, responsibility, or shame whatsoever (okay, maybe I should feel shame...). And apparently, "husband going out of town" translates as "holiday" to women, as I've been fed almost every night. (Except tonight, when I really, really wanted some mac and cheese with tuna and peas that makes MS look a little pale.) So yup--the single life is treating me quite well these days.
And GODDAM would it get boring.
So, MS, come home. I have had my time alone, I have lived deliberately, I have watched Medea's Family Reunion. I have found myself again, and I am a disgusting slob. Besides, Copper isn't as much fun to cuddle with at night. Um, not that I've been letting him sleep in the bed or anything.
This is the the last night MS will be gone on his five day Georgia trip. It's been an interesting experience, and certainly not the garment-rending Greek tragedy that was his last extended trip. (As I keep asserting to all those who express concern, IT WAS DIFFERENT THEN! Please stop looking at me like I'm filling my pockets with rocks and walking towards the Arkansas.) See, back then, we had only been dating for a few months, I had a job where I worked at home and never saw anyone, and MS was sad about some other stuff, but, being me, I assumed it was all my fault. Anyway, that was then. This time was totally different (although I did get shitty drunk at the gay club again).
I've actually had fun having the house to myself. I can blow my nose in the middle of the night, snore, poop with the bathroom door open, watch stupid TV shows, spend two hours trying to find the most horrifying fanfiction ever, and not put up my breakfast dishes with no sense of guilt, responsibility, or shame whatsoever (okay, maybe I should feel shame...). And apparently, "husband going out of town" translates as "holiday" to women, as I've been fed almost every night. (Except tonight, when I really, really wanted some mac and cheese with tuna and peas that makes MS look a little pale.) So yup--the single life is treating me quite well these days.
And GODDAM would it get boring.
So, MS, come home. I have had my time alone, I have lived deliberately, I have watched Medea's Family Reunion. I have found myself again, and I am a disgusting slob. Besides, Copper isn't as much fun to cuddle with at night. Um, not that I've been letting him sleep in the bed or anything.
12 October 2006
Open Letter Part VI
Dear Some People,
Okay...I don't think you're getting it. Somewhere in the course of human events, you have learned that women can be bullied into doing what you want them to. I am not denying that sometimes this is true. In fact, I know many, many, many instances in which this is spot on. Further, you know that I teach English, and am therefore soft, touchy-feely, emotional, and kind of wussy. Again, this stereotype about English teachers is in no way unfounded. As if those two weren't enough, I am also young and new to my career, which means I'm a little insecure and unsure of myself. So far, you're 3-0 in your assessment. But this is where your logic breaks down. See, you think you have a number four--you've noticed, despite my efforts to speak around it, a certain roundness to my vowels. You've noticed a slight lift in my voice at the end of sentences. You've heard a "ya'll" slip into my vernacular from time to time. You've noticed that I smile at old people, act like a lady, and can eat as much as any man. So, you're thinking, this little biscuit is a sweet country bumpkin--a doe-eyed rural farm mouse all aflutter in the big city.
This, my friend, is not your number four. This is the reason the first three fall apart.
Go into any town south of I-40 and ask even the most slack-jawed yokel and he will tell you there is one unchangeable rule in small town life: Do not ever, ever, ever piss off a country girl.
There are many reasons for this bit of wisdom. For one, she's pretty. Even ugly country girls are pretty. It's one of those unexplained mysteries of the universe. She's just such a little ray of drawling sunshine that even if she looks like a run-over warthog, she just seems pretty, especially to older people, who, consequently, are often the boss of you. Also, she's probably smarter than you. If she is actually working with you in a professional job, especially in a city, she did not get knocked up and drop out of high school, she did not listen to the preachers who told her women were worthless, and she did not die in a drunk driving accident. She DID put herself through college, move out the second she turned 18 because there were no opportunities, and has started all of her education when everyone else was halfway through the game. For another thing, she is stubborn. See above--none of this can be accomplished without being completely pig-headed, obstinant, and generally so completely in love with yourself that anyone who disagrees with you can pretty much go fuck themselves.
There's a very common anecdote among hunters. It says that you can shoot a deer as many times as you want. But if you're hunting bear, you better kill it on the first shot, because if you don't, you just have one less bullet and a mad bear. The same applies to us: you better convince us the first time or you're just going to make us mad.
And god help you if you do make us mad. We don't scream or yell or hit. We just ignore you and have no intention of ever doing anything that might be construed as a favor for you ever again. We'll be civil and never rude, but the first time something happens and you need our help, we'll just smile pretty, say no, and go back to what we're doing. It is impossible for you to win a battle of wills with us, because if you get angry or violent, or make us uncomfortable or inconvenienced in any way, we will look slightly distressed and you will suddenly find lots of people who think of us as you do attacking you for being so mean to such a sweet little thing. Or, we will make one comment so dead-on and withering in such a sweet voice that you will be left feeling completely worthless and devastated. You will be ashamed to tell anyone, too. Because what we say will be so accurate in laying out your biggest insecurity that you don't want anyone else to say "hey, you know...she's right." We will expose you to everyone for the asshole you are and come out looking like the Virgin Mary. If, though, for some reason, a confrontation does become physical, we will kick your ass. We've had jobs carrying heavy shit since we were 15 (at least), played sports, wrestled siblings, and are just a little bit crazy. Even if you kill us, you're losing an eye, limb, or testicle in the process. And then everyone will laugh at you for getting beat up by a girl. The only victory you can ever hope for is Pyhrric.
In short, the longer you bully me, the angrier I'm going to get and the less likely you are to get your way. Actually, that's not true. You were never going to get your way. Now you are just making me destroy you.
Sincerely,
Mary Flannery-Scientist
Okay...I don't think you're getting it. Somewhere in the course of human events, you have learned that women can be bullied into doing what you want them to. I am not denying that sometimes this is true. In fact, I know many, many, many instances in which this is spot on. Further, you know that I teach English, and am therefore soft, touchy-feely, emotional, and kind of wussy. Again, this stereotype about English teachers is in no way unfounded. As if those two weren't enough, I am also young and new to my career, which means I'm a little insecure and unsure of myself. So far, you're 3-0 in your assessment. But this is where your logic breaks down. See, you think you have a number four--you've noticed, despite my efforts to speak around it, a certain roundness to my vowels. You've noticed a slight lift in my voice at the end of sentences. You've heard a "ya'll" slip into my vernacular from time to time. You've noticed that I smile at old people, act like a lady, and can eat as much as any man. So, you're thinking, this little biscuit is a sweet country bumpkin--a doe-eyed rural farm mouse all aflutter in the big city.
This, my friend, is not your number four. This is the reason the first three fall apart.
Go into any town south of I-40 and ask even the most slack-jawed yokel and he will tell you there is one unchangeable rule in small town life: Do not ever, ever, ever piss off a country girl.
There are many reasons for this bit of wisdom. For one, she's pretty. Even ugly country girls are pretty. It's one of those unexplained mysteries of the universe. She's just such a little ray of drawling sunshine that even if she looks like a run-over warthog, she just seems pretty, especially to older people, who, consequently, are often the boss of you. Also, she's probably smarter than you. If she is actually working with you in a professional job, especially in a city, she did not get knocked up and drop out of high school, she did not listen to the preachers who told her women were worthless, and she did not die in a drunk driving accident. She DID put herself through college, move out the second she turned 18 because there were no opportunities, and has started all of her education when everyone else was halfway through the game. For another thing, she is stubborn. See above--none of this can be accomplished without being completely pig-headed, obstinant, and generally so completely in love with yourself that anyone who disagrees with you can pretty much go fuck themselves.
There's a very common anecdote among hunters. It says that you can shoot a deer as many times as you want. But if you're hunting bear, you better kill it on the first shot, because if you don't, you just have one less bullet and a mad bear. The same applies to us: you better convince us the first time or you're just going to make us mad.
And god help you if you do make us mad. We don't scream or yell or hit. We just ignore you and have no intention of ever doing anything that might be construed as a favor for you ever again. We'll be civil and never rude, but the first time something happens and you need our help, we'll just smile pretty, say no, and go back to what we're doing. It is impossible for you to win a battle of wills with us, because if you get angry or violent, or make us uncomfortable or inconvenienced in any way, we will look slightly distressed and you will suddenly find lots of people who think of us as you do attacking you for being so mean to such a sweet little thing. Or, we will make one comment so dead-on and withering in such a sweet voice that you will be left feeling completely worthless and devastated. You will be ashamed to tell anyone, too. Because what we say will be so accurate in laying out your biggest insecurity that you don't want anyone else to say "hey, you know...she's right." We will expose you to everyone for the asshole you are and come out looking like the Virgin Mary. If, though, for some reason, a confrontation does become physical, we will kick your ass. We've had jobs carrying heavy shit since we were 15 (at least), played sports, wrestled siblings, and are just a little bit crazy. Even if you kill us, you're losing an eye, limb, or testicle in the process. And then everyone will laugh at you for getting beat up by a girl. The only victory you can ever hope for is Pyhrric.
In short, the longer you bully me, the angrier I'm going to get and the less likely you are to get your way. Actually, that's not true. You were never going to get your way. Now you are just making me destroy you.
Sincerely,
Mary Flannery-Scientist
02 October 2006
Recent Events
This space left blank in honor of the spewing, vitriolic rage I would be smearing on the walls of the internet if it would not cost me my job that I love:
I don't think even a t-ball bat can take care of this one...
I don't think even a t-ball bat can take care of this one...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)