Sleep perchance to Dream…

There are nights I cannot or will not sleep. I stay up; my mind a monster obsessively running like a mouse on a wheel. I want to get off, but I drink Coke instead and let the monster have it’s way.

The aftermath is not always predictable. Sometimes, I’ve gotten one step closer to understanding what ever it is that has been circulating in my head; usually a problem I want to solve or a thing I can’t understand but desperately need to in order to move on to the next step or the next thing or simply to lay an idea to rest.

And sometimes, like today, I end up looking like passing over into sleep is imminent. I crave a nap like I crave chocolate after a long time away from the treat.  It becomes the one thing on my mind, the mouse wheel I climb on – nap nap nap nap nap. Around and around.

That is all.

Crush

This is not a new thing for me. I destroyed my first diary out of fear of discovery of several crushes I had going at the time. It was a little red, drug store diary with a tiny gold key. I filled the pages up with miscellaneous life of a 12 year old; I would give $10 to have it back today so I could revisit that 12 year old. (I’m currently fascinated with this personal story of mine).

In (what I hope) is the beginning of the middle of my life, I find I’ve forgotten so much of my younger self that doesn’t relate to fear, abandonment, or longing. I know there was more to my childhood than that. I don’t think I could have survived if there wasn’t more. I imagine these crushes, at least in the beginning, might have been something wonderful.

The subject arises as a result of stream of consciousness ruminations which began with my current crush. A very unlikely point of fixation that I won’t describe, but I’m smiling just thinking about the possibilities, impossible though they are.

The dictionary definition of “Crush is an interesting read. It is filled with pain and violence:
1.To press between opposing bodies so as to break or injure.
2. To break, pound, or grind (stone or ore, for example) into small fragments or powder.
3. To put down; subdue: crushed the rebellion.
4. To overwhelm or oppress severely: spirits that had been crushed by rejection and failure.
5. To crumple or rumple: crushed the freshly ironed shirt.
6. To hug, especially with great force.
7. To press upon, shove, or crowd.
8. To extract or obtain by pressing or squeezing

Then buried near the bottom is the informal meaning:
1. A usually temporary infatuation.

Hm.

When I first read that I thought, wow I wonder how that word came to mean those two very different things. Then I remembered again, that little red diary and that as those crushes went on without reciprocation or acknowledgment, how I was crushed. I wasn’t popular, I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t thin and I wasn’t very girlie which I thought others felt to be a more desirable way to be.

And yet here I am again, crushing. Still not particularly popular, charming but not pretty, definitely not thin, and only occasionally do I have moments which could be called anything close to girlie. What I have gained in the 31 years since 12 is experience, success, failures and wisdom. So I’m enjoying this crush and won’t be crushed when it passes.

That is all.

Going Public

So far, I’m talking to myself. I’m okay with that. I’m trying to get used to the idea that I might write something that someone will read and have an opinion about. Right now I only feel comfortable with my own opinion of what I have written; subject, content, style, grammar. Plus the most interesting things in my life I’m not sure I should write about, which begs the question why write at all here?

I don’t know.

How do you know if you’re ready?

I woke up this morning, thinking that it would be nice to have a girlfriend.

Unusual only in that for the last 2 and 1/2 years I have been singing the refrain: no girlfriend, no partner, no wife. And up until the beginning of this year, I wouldn’t even consider a date. Only sex. Sex only. Because it was sex only (notice I didn’t say ‘just sex’) I could give myself a little leeway about my choices.

And I think the moment I started thinking about narrowing down my choices, I gave myself room to consider girlfriend material. If I’m considering gf material, it follows that I would be thinking gf. As soon as I realized that though, I had the urge to back off of those thoughts.

I’m still too scared.

a million little wounds

There are some people who like to think that they are nice. They have a million little pass phrases to cover up the million little jabs they make to help themselves feel better when they imagine that they have made you feel just a little bit of their pain. Unintentional, of course.

Self effacing and overly modest, you’re golden until they imagine that you have done them harm. With them, passive/aggressive is an art form practiced daily, hourly even.

nothing prompts me to put up a wall faster than this type of meanness.

Hate\Like

I hate my house. Hate it. It is a giant daily reminder of THE biggest, most heart wrenching, sphincter twisting, soul stomping, mind blowing failure of my life.

Except that I really do like my house. It’s the right size for me although I’d love a deck and a bigger bathtub. The yard is way too big and totally out of my control; but I have no desire to control a yard anyway so it and I are going to have to come to a compromise soon. I’m hoping the compromise involves a deck, a fence and zero-scaping.

It’s close to my mom, close to the highway, on a bus line, inside the perimeter and close to my job. On the surface all the things I would want if I picked a house.

Which brings me back around to another reason that I hate my house. I didn’t pick it. Just lined up to pay for it. Got stuck in it because I couldn’t abandon the financial responsibility. Although in hindsight, had I been thinking about more than escape, I could have let it go into foreclosure. Except I can’t convince myself of that being an option. What did happen might have been profitable for someone but it wasn’t me and it wasn’t, isn’t, fair by a long stretch; which brings us back around to that failure thing and another reason to hate my house.

I keep doing the positive thinking, rewording, reorganizing history, hoping to make it feel okay. Except the only thing that makes it feel okay is to admit that sometimes I hate my house. I hate the failure that left me with the house. I hate the circumstances under which I am left feeling that I chose a person, not a house; and without the person, I’m left hating the house even though I’m happy the person is gone.

I am trying to get to know the house all over again; pretending that I just met it. Had I just met the house I probably wouldn’t have looked at it twice. It’s the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of houses.

It’s a good house though. Roof, walls and foundation are sound; gutters are a little wrecked but they do the job of keeping water out. There are enough rooms for me, an office and a guest room. It still needs to recover from the mistreatment done to it. What was a nice looking yard was bulldozed into it’s current state of ugliness; the inside was left half painted, carpet yanked up and not replaced, subfloor exposed and tramped upon, baseboards chewed, peed on and left dirty too long. Too many projects started and left in a half finished state.

Maybe the house hates me a little in return.

Not a happy one

This is not a happy poem,
although the dog didn’t die,
the hip dysplasia,
a result of carelessness and
homeless dogs and
indiscriminate sex
and just plain bad luck means
the vet bills could possibly bankrupt me
but I love the dog
and she has to stay until the pain drives her
to need release
i hate to think of it that way
but it’s reality.
another person,
with another bankroll
would make it work differently
but could not love her like me.

Feminism and the internets

I now believe it to be possible to hate the internets. It came over me suddenly as I began to google and link jump through articles tagged or categorized as “feminism”. This was by no means a search based on critical analysis and I didn’t expect to find unicorns, faerie and angel hair. I just thought there would be more… something, I don’t even know and I can’t explain the depth of my disappointment that the internets kinda sux and is basically a massively connected, collective assbag when it comes to the subject of women.

Felt like I needed to hose off my eyes. I feel better now.

Anyway, what started this search was that I watched the CBS show Under Cover Boss – Hooters. When this show was originally advertised I wanted to watch it. Wasn’t watching much television at the time so I missed it. Now I have that on-demand channel and it’s available. There were four episodes to choose from and I was almost immediately drawn to the Hooters episode.

Hooter’s is not a place I would frequent because the premise itself  “wings, beer, and scantily clad women” clearly indicates to me that I’m not their demographic. Went there after a sponsored motorcycle ride and again cemented my impression that I am not their target customer.

I know I live in a  capitalist, patriarchal, hypocritical, misogynistic society. Hooters is one of the many consequences of that. I’m reconciled. I have no rants for that really since I’m a capitalist myself. The women who work on the frontline as “Hooter’s girls” are doing a job and although the uniform sux as a uniform, I get how it’s not a big deal for some folks. As you go up the chain of the system that makes that job possible, that’s where we get into trouble.

Three highlights:

  • when faced with several women who stated their objections to Hooter’s based on the idea that the Hooter’s image is harmful to women, particularly the uniforms, Undercover Boss looked surprised. He felt really concerned that “the stigma” is still out there and wondered what he could do to change that without really changing the Hooter girl or the Hooter girl uniform.
  • when faced with a manager who demonstrated the misogyny that Hooter’s encourages or at the very minimum is complicit with, Undercover Boss looked pained. But the way he monologued to the camera, led me to believe that he has internalized the misogyny. “It seems he [the manager] understood the brand, but didn’t understand how to treat the brand.” The brand being the WOMEN! Now whether these “reindeer games” were encouraged from a producers standpoint or this was this guy just doing himself projected to the rear seats, either way it should have been a train wreck. Turned out just to be a pothole.
  • One Hooter girl when faced with hearing how other women feel about the Hooter girl and the Hooter girl uniform said, “Well, doesn’t matter, their husbands will still come in.”

all of this led to the aforementioned search starting with trying to find out what happened to that manager and ending with my bafflement that some people don’t get why feminism continues to be important.

Some definitions:

feminism-the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.

misogony-hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women

That is all.

your movie sucks

I am a fan of Roger Ebert. I watched Siskel and Ebert when I was younger but my fandom didn’t continue for some reason when he was partnered with other folks. Then I saw his book “Your Movie Sucks” and thought “Ah, a critic after my own heart.” The title was taken from his review of the movie Deuce Bigelow, Male Gigolo. Rob Schnieder was ragging on a critic because of a bad review with full page ads and an open letter saying:

In an open letter to Goldstein, Schneider wrote: “Well, Mr. Goldstein, I decided to do some research to find out what awards you have won. I went online and found that you have won nothing. Absolutely nothing. No journalistic awards of any kind … Maybe you didn’t win a Pulitzer Prize because they haven’t invented a category for Best Third-Rate, Unfunny Pompous Reporter Who’s Never Been Acknowledged by His Peers.”

First, Schnieder also sucks at research because it turns out that the critic had won a number of awards. And come on, he got his panties in a wad about “Deuce Bigelow” have you seen that movie? As a matter of fact have you seen any of Rob Schnieder’s movies? Come On!

But Roger Ebert did Rob Schnieder the unearned courtesy anyway of providing him with an award winning critic’s review, (Pulitzer no less), in effect concluding succinctly  — “Your Movie Sucks”

I just think that’s awesome because sometimes that is all that needs to be said before moving on to the next movie.