27 March 2010

And, I know how to use a saw...

"...because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me. Because of you, I am afraid.  I lose my way, and it's not too long before you point it out. I cannot cry, because I know that's weakness in your eyes. I'm forced to fake a smile; a laugh every day of my life. My heart can't possible break when it wasn't even whole to start with..."

Love that song...

Yes, I am listening to music while typing, why do you ask?  Now... what was I going to tell you today? Oh, yeah.  Self-sufficient, smart women...

In my world, a self-sufficient, smart woman who takes personal responsibility for her actions ought to be at the top of the "desirable" list.  Society ought to celebrate these women, regardless of their waist size or bra size... or how hawt others deem them to be.

"I have a dream that my five little girls will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their hair, or the size of their boobs... but by the content of their character."


Oh! I got off track. Sorry about that - I tend to do so... often. What is this blog about, you ask? Get to the point, you say! Here it is:

I am surrounded by what one may consider attractive women (and some not so attractive... some downright frumpy-dumpy), who are otherwise charming and engaging and pretty... until they open their mouths to speak, that is.

You know, I can plaster my walls, change my oil, change a flat, grow a garden, nurse a baby back to health, clean my house and all things in it, bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and never let you forget you're a man, 'cuz I'm a woman... (heh - you may not be old enough to remember that commercial)... I can install a ceiling fan, unplug a drain, sew clothing, bake cakes, take out set-in stains... like blood... not that I've ever needed to... that you know... I can rake, mow, clip, trim, tile, glue, hammer, nail, sand, paint... and I know how to properly use a saw...

...I also know if you're gonna use "seen" in your sentence instead, you always - without exception - have to use an auxiliary verb with it.

Everybody knows this, right? I mean, we learned this crap in 4th or 5th grade, right? After all, it's not rocket surgery!  (Side note - when my older girls were in high school and they came home with an "A" in French class, I'd ground them... because they brought home a lesser grade in English. heh. And, I wonder why they hate me. No. I'm not being serious. It's called a joke, people!)


English. The language of the free, home of the brave.

I know you were teached correctly. I seen you sitting right there beside me in class; I seen the teacher write it on the board more then once... right before we done gone outside fer recess... Ain't I beautimous?  I seen you lookin' at me. *wink, wink*

Who needs to use brains when you gots the parts with which all the boys want to tinker?

Yeah. I know how to use a saw... for all the good it does me. ;o)

In Joy & Enjoy

21 March 2010

Time to Soak It All In

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In Greek mythology ~ and other spiritual memes ~ water is the element of emotion.  Maybe that's why after a hard, exceptionally emotional day I find myself longing for the comfort of a soak in my uncomfortable bathtub.

Seriously? Why do they make small bathtubs, anyway? It seems a waste of time and materials to me. I'd imagine even little people like to immerse themselves in hot, soothing water 'way past their ears. I know I do... or would like to, anyway.

So, picture this... well, all but the me naked part, please:

I draw a bath (no, not with a pencil... keep up), grab a glass of whine... I mean, wine, and a good book (currently that book is "For Shrieking Out Loud!" by Joyce Faulkner) and start to slip into the warm blanket of tangible emotion... until the slipping comes to a screeching halt as my feet hit the opposite side of the tub and my arse barely makes the cut. And I'm short... so... I'm just saying... small.... really small...

I turn off the water, because it's already filled the two-bucket tub to the brim, and soak my noassatall, legs and feet.

A sip of wine, a crack-open of the book later I find myself shivering, as my metal, too-small tub has effectively shortened the lifespan of the hot factor of the bath water in record time.

You know, at this point I'm sure tree huggers hate my stress-reducing ritual.

I drain the tub a bit, and then add more water - straight hot this time, until it starts to turn tepid from the spout (I have water heater issues, too). I put down my book and wine glass, and sticking my feet in the air, I soak my top half - head and all. As the warm, fuzzy water enters my ear canals and reverberates the creaks, bangs and other sounds of (apparently) my home's digestive system, I relax and ponder the events of the day. My mind wanders... and I wonder...

I wonder if Ted Bundy knew Ann Rule, his co-worker, had a penchant for writing, and his life would soon be on display in a loverly little book of hers, The Stranger Beside Me. I wonder if he would've treated her any differently having had known that.

I wonder why some of the people I've met recently look and act a lot like Andrea Yates.
...I wonder if it's something in the water in this little town which makes almost every woman I've met (who's lived here all her life) want to not cut her hair...ever... or desperately attempt to keep the spiral perm of the 80s perpetually "in style" by donning it for decades... and it makes me wonder why most of these women seem to be so... obtuse.
I know they watch TV... well, at least the important shows like "Dancing With The Next American Idol", and "The Last Surviving Bachelor"... they ought be somewhat fashion-savvy.
And, I wonder if there's a book in there for me to write.

With little exception ~ unless I'm alone in my home ~ I am reminded to wonder why me sitting in a tepid tub, soaking away the effects of the day is call for little ones to barge in to ask such inane questions as, "what are ya doin?" or say grating things like, "She won't let me watch what I want to watch..."

And, I wonder why, when they are soaking, they inevitably scream from what should be the calm interior of the bathroom, "MAWM!!!" (and upon entering the bathroom, I most often hear phrases like, "Can you hand me the soap?' or "Please turn off the water.") Why is that, I wonder?

I wonder if bubbles really are tiny universes full of little worlds and other lives which exist for their own definition of eternity while the fragile emotional orb remains intact ~ a belief I've held tightly in my mind's grasp since I first discovered the concept at the age of... three?

With that thought in mind, I wonder if creating the bubbles, then popping them makes me a God or a Demon...

I sit up; drain the tub; refill it ~ using the aforementioned steps for which ecologists despise people like me. Lather, Rinse, Repeat...

And then I wonder what it's all about, Alfie. I wonder why people treat people the way they do... Why men cheat; why women bitch; why kids are abused and neglected...

And then I think, "You know, if I had a hot tub my kids would be hot tub orphans."

Heck, even if I had a just a little larger tub they'd be pseudo-neglected...

Maybe that's why they make too-small tubs.
For mother's like me.

I wonder...

In Joy & Enjoy

pass the popcorn, please!