Merry Christmas!!

I'm getting ready for a white Christmas!

Yup, we're going to the mountain. Just the two of us. He bought me a new snowboard and all the gear so I'm all decked out. Now....if only I could get the hang of snowboarding! I'm tragic. That's ok though, we have a whole week and I'll get private lessons every damn day if I have to. I'm going to be an actual snowboarder by the time this trip is done if it kills me. It could do just that too. An hour into my first two-hour lesson I snapped my tail bone real good like. I didn't know it at the time though, and I just plodded on. Made for a painful trip. Last year I didn't do much better, although I didn't break anything, so I guess that's better by definition.

THIS YEAR is my year. I'll get it. Mind over matter right? Just strap on that board and take control.

I'm so excited! I've now gotten over the guilt of leaving everyone behind for our selfish alone-time holiday. I was a bit concerned that my boys would think me evil, since they don't live with me and holidays are our time. It turns out though that they're happy for us. Even my mom, who I was really worried about was ok with it. I made him tell her he was taking me away because I was a coward. Apparently rather than the passive aggressive guilt-inducing response I expected, she smiled and told him to have a great time. I was worried about her because since my brother's death, I'm it. And she loves Christmas.

In-laws to the rescue! My mommy-in-law is having my parents over for dinner on Christmas day. It's so nice that they all like each other. So this year, I don't have to have 15 people lounging around my house, with all the wrapping paper and dirty dishes and shoes at the door and general chaos (sigh....I do love it so).

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!!!

Does this really make me a Codie???

You Are 2: The Helper

You always put on a happy face and try to help those around you. You're incredibly empathetic and care about everyone you know. Able to see the good in others, you're thoughtful, warm, and sincere. You connect with people who are charming and charismatic. At Your Best: You are deeply giving, altruistic, and humble. You devote your life to others while caring for yourself too. At Your Worst: You are manipulative and enjoy making other people guilty. Your Fixation: Rejection Your Primary Fear: Being unworthy of love Your Primary Desire: To be loved unconditionally Other Number 2's: Mother Teresa, John Travolta, Princess Diana, Dr. Phil, and Mr. Rogers.

What Number Are You?

Have a GOOD ONE??

I am getting fed up with people telling me to 'have a good one'. What good one am I supposed to have? Do you mean a good day, a good guy, a good lunch, a good orgasm? WHAT?? I have missed something. Clearly I'm in the dark. Please turn on the light.

What the fuck ever happened to 'have a nice day', 'enjoy your lunch', 'thank you for your patronage'...? Why do they all keep telling me to have a GOOD ONE?

I may snap next time I hear it.

A Man and His Dog

As I sit here now, he's staring at me with his big brown eyes, chest heaving. He's whining, looking at me, pleading for help, yelping quietly, but screaming with his puppy eyes; eyes that are showing the first signs of cataracts, as if it weren't enough, the cancer eating away at his muscle and bone.

His dog. My man's overly loved, well spoiled 12-year old Jack Russell. Normally, I must admit, I do not enough patience with this spoiled dog. I love him sure, but he's been sort of ruined by my man's inability to play alpha dog unless provoked by extremely bad behaviour. It isn't the dog's fault really, he's been coddled his whole life, but I often find his neediness tiresome. However we have formed a certain respect for each other, in that he knows he cannot get away with things with me and I respect that :> I love all animals and cannot expect too much I suppose, having entered his life after 7 years alone with his human.

What strikes me now is how hard this is for me, this news we received today. The pain he's in. It's playing with my heart in ways I was not prepared for. What started as a simple removal of benign growths ended with a phone call from the vet to say that they were not so benign after all. They're cancer. He has doggy cancer. He's all cut up, sutured and bandaged. It's unpleasant! This shouldn't surprise me too much since his sister died of brain cancer last year, but it does nonetheless. Now we await word on the type and prognosis.

What strikes me even more is how much this has affected my man, his human. He cried and cried when he heard the news. This 6'2" 230lb. former body builder and professional fighter, broke down and bawled right there on the spot. It's not so surprising that he cried, he's a sensitive metrosexual man, but the grief. I have not yet had to help him with grief, and it's an interesting character study. I'm learning about much about him. For instance, for all the loving, cuddling and understanding that he doles out, it turns out he doesn't accept it very well. During his initial break down, he wouldn't hug me back. He let me hug him. He said 'thank you' when I told him I love him. Thank you. Mechanically. Thank you. Not even with feeling. I found this interesting. Now that he's had time to process this sad news, he's moved into himself. It's interesting. I'm going to keep watching.

My Happy Place for MPJ

I have been publicly shamed by MPJ over at A Room of Mama's Own to hurry up and post my happy place for her Group Writing Project; I missed the deadline and she has kindly given me an extension so here it is!

I have many happy places, such as being in the company of my 3 teen boys, or simply sitting in silence alone in my home after it's just been cleaned from top to bottom. I also love to float on an air mattress in the pool on a hot day. Those are happy peaceful times for me, but there is one place that I love most of all and I realized the other day the significance of why I love it more than all things.

We were sitting on the couch, hunky hubby and me, watching TV when he reached for me to snuggle in to his chest, as he has so many times before. I smiled as my heart skipped a little faster (yes, I still have butterflies for his tenderness) and I settled in, feeling any anxiety, stress or negative feelings clinging to my psyche from a stressful day just fade away as I rested my head on his chest and pull my legs up under me. I have always loved this place and often to really snuggle in, I rub my face back and forth across his muscular chest, massaging my forehead while he strokes my hair. At times when I'm feeling anxious and need to calm down, I will make him stop whatever he might be doing to let me rest my head on his chest if even for a moment. This time I just settled in and closed my eyes. I had just started to doze, when he let out a soft laugh. As I felt/heard his voice reverberate through his chest, I was overtaken by a long forgotten memory.

When I was very little, my mom left my dad. Through a series of events, we ended up far away from home, just the two of us. Being in a new city with no support and due to the fact that I was only 4 years old and therefore too young to be left on my own, my mom often took me with her to social outings. When it got late, I would climb into her lap, settle my head on her chest and just listen to her voice while I rubbed one of her fingernails with my thumb. She always had pretty long painted nails and for some reason rubbing her nail while feeling/hearing her voice through her chest made me feel comfy and safe no matter the surroundings.

So there you have it in all its' simplicity. My happiest place is laying on my man's chest, listening to his breathing/talking, partly because it takes me to the safe warm place of my mama's lap, but also because I'm so in love and connected to this man, and he makes me feel happy and serene.

Not Enough Time!

I wish I had more time. I just need a bit more time. I squander a lot of time sure, but still...

I have been feeling very discombobulated lately. Scattered. It seems like I have too many balls in the air, but when I look, I mean really look at what I do and what I need to do in a day, it seems like there should be more time.

As I get older I find myself less efficient. There was a time when I was always moving, doing...cleaning. I was painfully OCD about my cleaning. I'm much better now. In fact, there are a few dishes in the sink this very minute and is that, wait, yes it is, a dust ball in the corner. I feel very good about my ability to allow my house to become just this side of messy whilst I widdle away my time lounging on the couch, iBook in my lap and/or phone to my ear. And even with this squandered time, I find it difficult to post here at my humble blog. It might have something to do with Cunt Face Social Club and my super secret society blog site. I get to do my ranting and bitching there, but I really should take more time to pay attention to my lonely, largely unread blog.

Would you visit me if I did?

Overindulgent, Irresponsible Parents!

I was out for a leisurely Sunday lunch today with my very close friend Julie. We got to talking, as we are apt to do, about family and our kids etc. The conversation always somehow gravitates to her nephew Dario and how unlikable a young man he is at 14. He's never been a likable child unfortunately. Partly due to the fact that children are like people that way, and aren't always nice people, and partly due to the fact that he's been raised by her parents in the most overindulgent fashion imaginable. "Guess what", she says to me, "Dario has been doing as of late?" To my raised eyebrows she replies, "now that he's such a large guy, he'll get up in front of my parents, chest all puffed out, towering over them, voice lowered and ask 'what did you just ask me to do?' I shook my head and said ~ sadly ~ "they created that monster", to which she wholeheartedly agreed.

I understand why Julie's parents felt they should shield and protect Dario from the big, bad world, but it just isn't acceptable to be so irresponsible; to ruin these budding humans and unleash them on society is wrong, and should be illegal quite frankly. We are not allowed to abuse children, but we are allowed to ruin them as potentially decent human beings. How, I ask, is this ok???

Julie's parents inadvertently ruined 2 humans. The first was Dario's dad. They had 2 little girls and wanted a boy. Rather, they thought, than to leave it up to nature, they would adopt. There were, after all, so many babies in need of good homes. The road to hell is paved with good intentions isn't it? The adoption agency suggested that they adopt a Native Indian baby, as there were so many in need of loving families at that time. So with all sorts of love in their hearts and hope in their naive minds, they brought home a 9-month Indian boy to raise as their own. When I met Chris I was 13 and he was 9. Julie and I had met in homeroom in Grade 8 and became fast friends. We were outside in the backyard, and her dad came out holding $5.00. He asked if it was mine. Yes it was, I told him. Even at my young age, I could see the sad defeat in his eyes. He explained to me that when I visit their home, I cannot leave my purse unattended or Chris would steal from me. Matter of fact, just like that, the rules of visiting this home were that you did not bring anything you were not prepared to guard. Fetal alcohol syndrome was a new diagnosis at that time, and this is what doctors believed Chris suffered from. This along with A.D.D. and antisocial personality. This child was a mess, and they were ill-equipped to deal. The home was ruled by Chris to say the very least. The family spent one day a week in counseling and they just tried to keep the peace; it's all they we able to do.

Chris became a heroin addict, in and out of prison. He eventually got the Dominatrix prostitute he was dating pregnant. They were both addicts and completely incapable of raising a child, though they did try for a short time. When Chris went back to prison and mama couldn't handle it anymore, Julie's parents adopted Dario and attempted to raise him as their own, determined that he be a better adjusted human than his dad.

From the day Dario came to them, it was apparent that things were going to go horribly awry. The world revolved around this child. He was the favoured one, the 'little king'. When he didn't like going to school, they took him out and home schooled him. When the other kids didn't like him because he was a little prick, he cried discrimination and the grandparents bought it hook, line and sinker. They kept him away from those 'horrible kids' and took him shopping and to Disneyland as often as possible. If he wanted it, he got it because they loved him and they wanted him to know it. There was not one iota of discipline. Ever. If Dario was to visit anyone else's home, that home was not to have a drop of alcohol, as it makes Dario upset. The world was a haven for Dario. uuuggghh! Now Dario is getting older and the real world is calling! My money has it that he'll be in prison in the next 3 years.

This is an epidemic, this type of overindulgent parenting. Children need boundaries. They need consequences, not corners to sit in when they're bad.

I am an old school parent; corporal punishment and all. I have three teen aged boys who are to date, very well behaved for the most part. I have asked them if they feel that I was too hard on them. They have said no, they respect my parenting style and intend to follow my lead. This makes my heart big and fuzzy, the codependent, insecure human that I am.

My oldest son got spanked. Often. He liked to test his boundaries and was put right back in his place. My middle son was spanked once or twice. A stern look and the knowledge of an unpleasant consequence kept him in line. My youngest son has never received a spanking. He never needed it. Consequences and the knowledge that mama was pissed was more than enough to keep him on the right path. Not all kids need punishment, but some do. Once, when they they were little and wouldn't clean up their stuff, I gave them a half an hour. I said if they didn't have everything put away, it was going in the garbage. A fair amount of stuff went in the garbage. They cleaned up their stuff from then on. Once, when my oldest wouldn't get dressed to go out after having asked him nicely like 15 times, I put him in the car in his underwear. I took clothes along and got him dressed after about 2 miles, but he got the point.

I was given a book when I had my first. It was called Parenting Isn't for Cowards, and it was the best parenting book ever written as far as I'm concerned. This book taught me so much about kids and their craving for boundaries.

In this day and age, parents are so busy talking to their kids. Apparently saying no fucks up their self-esteem...speaking of which, there are no winners or losers. WHATTHEFUCK?? NO WINNERS OR LOSERS? Are you kidding me??? Society is raising a bunch of humans who believe that all the world revolves around them, that they are all equal. They don't fail a grade when they can't read or write, and it's ok to talk back to their parents, because they are just 'expressing themselves'. They are princes and princesses who can do no wrong, and if mama has enough of their smart mouth and whacks them one, they just have to call child protective services and have them arrested. What happens to these people when they grow up and enter the real world? When they're told NO and expected to actually succeeded in their job. When they get fired for not doing well and it isn't just considered 'learning at their own pace'.

I am not a perfect parent and don't profess to be; but I am deeply concerned by this new age tra la la parenting style. I am frightened.

Last weekend my hunky hubby's uncle ~ who is one year older than him ~ came to visit with his son, who turned 19 on Saturday. We all went out for sushi and then to a lounge where we proceeded to get regrettably drunk. We were having a great time and brought home some friends to help us bring up the sun. Hunky hubby said to his cousin "isn't it cool that you can party with your dad legitimately now?", to which cousin replied "sometimes I just wish my dad was more my dad and less my friend".

'nuff said!

Wow, an award!

Well I just learned that MPJ over at A Room of Mama's Own nominated me for this Break Out Blogger award! How cool! Thanks MPJ, you brightened my day :>

Today would have been brother/hero's 42nd birthday and this is the day that I allow myself unabashed, self indulgent woe is me self pity, as I mentioned in my previous post. On top of that, my period decided to make a 2 week early appearance today, because it was 2 weeks late last time...perimenopausal much?? GEEZ!! I'm only 30 fucking 8!!! Ironically, I look younger than my 38 years, but I am almost completely gray and now this. Whatever!

So MPJ, thank you for making a stupid day better! I started this blogger journey as a way to vent my rather unorthodox irks and frustrations, without any real intention of an audience. I now find myself honored and hopeful that people might actually enjoy reading my humble blog.

And on another note:
Happy birthday brother, I hope you're at peace wherever you are. I love you.

Mourning My Loss

September is a hard month for me. It would have been his 42nd birthday coming up, my brother, my hero. Today, on this day of mourning for so many, I am almost forced to answer my subconscious prior to that day that I normally would reserve for being allowed to grieve openly and with reason. That day is September 25th, his birthday; exactly 3 years and 6 months to the day from my birthday. I don't know why that matters, but somehow it always seemed to. We were both due on the 15th and both born on the 25th, 3 years and 6 months apart.

Today I feel compelled to pour this out. Maybe it'll help...

He was a happy child, a pleaser, full of life. He had bright blue eyes and blond hair and he was bestest big brother in the world to a little brown-eyed blond haired admirer. No, that little girl was more than an admirer; that girl ate catchup and mustard sammiches 'cause Ronnie told her it was yummy. She ate dirt pies 'cause Ronnie told her to. He called her his 'little baby mountain climber' because she would not give up. If he was climbing that hill down the street, the one we used to sled down in the winter, she was climbing it too....'wait up Ronnie!' Nothing was good enough without his ok. He taught her to tie her shoes, endlessly going over the process till she finally thank god, GOT it! He taught her to swim ~ well, forced is more like it; she wasn't getting it, so in his infinite 10-year old wisdom, he pushed her in the deep end and alas, she could swim! He taught her to say, properly and without a lisp at the age of 2 1/2, the words 'truth or consequences'; this was mom's favourite game show and she wasn't saying it right! He protected her fiercely, but toyed with her endlessly, exercising his right of all older siblings everywhere since time immemorial.

And even after she awoke one 4 a.m., climbed out of bed and her ankles were grabbed by 'the boogie man'...even after they both got the strap for all the commotion she caused after being grabbed by said 'boogie man', she trusted him. With her life. Even after he 'accidentally' shot her in the ribcage with a bee bee gun, she trusted him... oh how she loved...adored him!

A poem by Ronnie, written at the age of 7;
My Sister:
My sister loves me.
When I put on my shoes, she gets her shoes and asks where are we going? She won't eat unless I eat. She won't lay down at sleep time unless I lay down with her. She only eats what I eat and she won't go anywhere unless I hold her hand. My sister follows me everywhere.
I love my sister.
The end

Not long after, our lives changed. Mom could no longer live with a husband who was fucking everything that moved and had became so abusive. While he was at work, she left. She took brother and sister on a plane and flew 3,000 miles away to visit her brother, with whom she was not nearly as close. We set up home in a dingy apartment where Ronnie had to climb in and out of the window, because mom was only allowed to have one child. Ronnie became my primary caregiver at the tender age of only 8 years, because mom had to work to pay the bills, since dad had no intention of helping. Ronnie made sure I got to preschool and then home. He sat with me when I cried. He held me and told me we'd 'all be ok baby mountain climber, don't worry'.

We were not ok.

It turns out Ronnie was severely dyslexic. In the mid '70's the school system was incompetent when it came to this particular disorder. Gramma and auntie thought mom was just too overwhelmed with TWO kids to take care of on her own. Perhaps she would be better off if it was just her and the girl. And besides, a boy needs a father figure, so maybe Ronni should come back here, 3,000 miles away and live with Auntie Joan and Uncle Bob; newly married Christians who had a nice home near a nice school and could give Ronnie everything he needed.

Nobody asked me! Mom was too stupid, nay naive, to understand the wrongness of it all. Mom took Ronnie out for lunch ~ nobody asked me!!! ~ and asked him what he thought of the idea of living with Auntie Joan and Uncle Bob. It would only be temporary after all. Mom wanted to give Ronnie the choice, the grown-up little man he was. Ronnie thought mom just wanted to have him gone. Ronnie was a pleaser. He thought he was pleasing mom when he said 'sure, that sounds ok'. That was that. I essentially became an only child at 5 years old. My mom has said so many times over the years, 'if Ronnie had been like you, he would just have said no'. She always thought that by giving him a choice, he understood that she wanted him, but this was something that might be good for him. Silly mom...

We saw each other twice a year. He still protected me fiercely and loved me deeply. There was never any doubt of that. But it wasn't the same. Living apart hurt me. It hurt him!

Ronnie was 15 the first time he got in trouble with the law. He stole a car with his friend. He told me later that he and his friend had thought they'd drive it to see me and mom! He ended up in a group home. He ended up on drugs. He went to jail when he was 17 ~ before they had the Young Offender's Act.

It hurt me so deeply. It cut right to my sole. He was supposed to come back and live with us one day, not go to fucking jail! That was not the plan goddamn it! I cried and cried. He told me not to worry we'll 'all be ok'. We were not ok. I wrote him as much as possible. I lived so far away! We visited the family for a month every summer and that was when I could go see him. It was obscene getting on that bus with all the other visitors, riding 3 hours each way, and being searched by nasty security guards, all so I could see my hero. It tortured me to see him there. I cried all the way there and all the way back home. It changed me.

He was punished to the full extent of the law for using a toy gun to rob convenience stores. More importantly he was punished for not naming his partners in crime; he spent a lot of time in solitary confinement. They shaved his head and broke his jaw (and in my mind, his spirit). They beat him repeatedly. He wouldn't talk so he got beaten. 4 long, lonely years in medium security prisons in Ontario. He kept telling me don't worry we'll 'all be ok'. We were not o-fucking-K!

Thank god, things seemed to be going the right way when he was released. He had grown into a beautiful, 6' 4" man with a plan. A hilarious, gregarious magnetic man. He was my big brother, my hero, all grown up and ready to face the world. He found a beautiful girl to marry. We were able to see each other more. It was all going to be ok after all. We got through the hell, but now we were grown and we could make our own choices.

One summer he came to visit me and my growing family without his beautiful wife. Sadly, 4 years after marrying, they were now separated. I was sad for him, but he seemed ready to make positive changes. More importantly, one of those changes was to finally move here! He was going to finally come home and be close to me. We had so much fun that trip. Through all our hell, Ron was always 2 things; incredibly funny and incredibly talented. He was the funny, quirky artist. My oldest boy was 9 months and I was due to give birth to my second in 8 weeks. We got great pictures of Uncle Ronnie and baby Jake and had the best visit ever!

A couple of my favorite stories about that particular visit:

~ My ex husband decided to take Ron target shooting, because he was a redneck that way. They went to buy ammo and Ron bought way more than necessary. After it was packaged, he put it under his arm, turned on his heels, looked at my ex and said very loudly 'well.....off to the Embassy then!' My ex laughed till he peed; I still can't help but smile through the tears at that story.

~ Ron asked me to stop at the drug store. I pulled up out front because there was no parking. He came sprinting out the doors toward the car yelling 'GO, hurry....drive'. I spewed coffee out of my nose I laughed so hard!

There are so very many memories, but for some reason ~ maybe because it was our last visit ~ those two are my faves. He was so relaxed, and he had plans! Soon he was going to be near me, right where he belonged. We were 'all going to be ok' after all.

Turns out we were so far from ok, I can't even see ok from where I am!

I will never get over that day in February 1993. My 6-month old baby had wriggled off his change table and landed on his back. I was feeling like a huge failure as a mother. I finally got my son calmed and put him down for a nap, and then my phone rang. My husband was sleeping, having worked the graveyard shift. I ran to grab the phone before it had a chance to wake him. What came from the other end of the line was the voice of my dad. All he could say was 'Ronnie's dead'. He was sobbing. The feeling accompanying those words is with me today, right now, clear as day.

After the 2.5 seconds it took me to register those words....'Ronnie's dead';
dad is that you? do you mean our Ronnie? MY Ronnie? What? WHAT??? NO, HE IS NOT, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?????

'He's dead honey. They found him with a bullet in his temple on the train trestle. He was alive when they found him, but....
wahwahwahwwwwoooaaaahhhhh.

Who knew that we really ultimately have no control over our limbs. At least I didn't at that moment. My legs no longer worked and there were no bones in my body...I collapsed. All I could see was black. All I could hear was the blood surging through my ears. I vaguely remember a sound; this sound my ex has told me, was a rather inhuman wail that scared him from sleep.

I will never be the same. I will never get over that loss. I try. I have tried for 14 years. I do not have the answer. I don't know what that means...get over it. How do you get over such a profound sense of missing. Something is missing and I can't find it! It huuurrrts. It aches so bad.

I hurt. I will always hurt.

The little girl in me screams. 'I miss you Ronnie...why did you have to leave me? Why did you always have to leave me???'

hmmm, nope I don't feel better.

I'm sorry for all those who have lost someone. It's not easy. It's never easy.

Back to basics - Ranting

Ok, I've had it. I can't take it anymore. Parenting and pregnancy are NOT fucking handicaps! I know this because I have given birth to 3 boys,so I have been pregnant and I am a parent, so I get to speak from experience here. It is not a handicap. Period.

I'll qualify my frustration.

Back in the day, there were a few reserved parking spots for disabled ~ aka handicapped ~ people. That is to say, people with physical limitations. These spots saved said disabled from having to travel farther to the mall etc., so they would have more energy to move about the mall etc., once inside. Ok fine, but lets be honest here...usually people traveling with disabilities are accompanied by some device that enables them to travel freely; oft times, the device has wheels.

Fair enough, you have a disability, I defer. Happily. Cause I'm actually a nice person deep down, and karma is serious business.

These days, when I travel to my nearest shopping destination, I find that I am relegated to the very back of the lot. This is because I have the audacity to be young, healthy and without child! Today, when I pull into the lot it starts with the whole front reserved for those with handicap stickers, next are about 12 spots for seniors, then come the 'with child' ~ aka pregnant spots, and last but certainly not least and still in prime position to make it to the doors faster than most are parent with children parking. WHAT??!!!

I'm not even going to start with the pregnant parking, other than to say that pregnant women are able to take aerobic classes right up till they give birth. I have a friend who just gave birth last week; she went to kickboxing class twice a week until a few weeks before baby. Pregnancy is not a disability. However, I will defer to your decision to birth a child and give you preferential treatment. Cause I'm nice. I'm bitter, but I'm still nice.

However, I have officially drawn the line and I will dammit, park in the parent with children spot. I am a parent, so fuck you. AND even if I wasn't, parenting is not a bloody handicap. Most children are certainly well enough to walk on their own, and babies travel in strollers. WTF???? If you're that unhealthy that you can't walk the extra 20 feet to the store then perhaps you should be home in bed. Or in palliative care maybe?

I have no problem parking a mile from the store really. I always take the stairs. I'm healthy and active. It's the principal of the thing. Enough already!

Your choice to have children is not my problem. I didn't ask for special parking or get handouts because I chose to have babies, and I sure as hell don't need to be responsible for your choice to have babies.

I'm glad I got that one off my chest!

Self medicating

Well, it's official. Summer's over. Oh well, moving on to cozy fall. Likely we'll be jetting off somewhere hot sometime very soon, so I can look forward to that. Or can I? Hmmmm, this could be interesting...

In previous posts, I have disclosed my problems with anxiety. My particular anxiety comes in the form of feeling like I'm outside myself, trapped in my mind, tingly, numb and ready to scream or otherwise 'lose control'. This anxiety has become much more closely tied to my other problem; extreme and debilitating claustrophobia. I will walk 100 flights of stairs before getting in an elevator, although at times I do push myself, mostly when hubby's there for me to hang onto. Once, when I was working at the hospital a couple of years ago, I got stuck in the elevator for like 3 seconds and holy shit, I was LOSING IT!! This hospital is like 100 years old, with some upgrades. The elevator we were in was not an upgrade! It was like 4 feet by 4 feet and I got in with my colleague and two ambulance attendants. The elevator stopped mid-floor for a few seconds, and all I could feel was the prickly fingers of panic reaching out and clawing their way to my grey matter. The blood rushed to my head, my body went numb and I was screaming in my inside mind...I thought I might actually snap and break from reality, screaming and clawing to get out. Thank G*d the elevator started again when my colleague pushed the button a few times...what a completely helpless fool I am! How can someone be so together, successful and strong (at least that's what people tell me), only to be completely ruled by anxiety?? What the fuck is wrong with me? One can avoid small spaces if one tries hard enough. So ok, whatever...just don't do elevators. Problem solved, right? NO! The anxiety has decided to follow me outside the elevator shaft and hitch a ride on my subconscious. It likes to tease me throughout the day. Particularly when I'm not free to get up and go on my own. Sometimes when I'm driving with my boys it attacks out of nowhere...'ok bitch, what are you going to do if I come in now, while you're in charge of this vehicle with your boys watching. What then??'

When this anxiety slithers out from its hiding place and wraps itself around my brain, the only thing that helps, I swear to my HP, is alcohol; my preference being vodka. I have tried it all. The benzos, the pines, antidepresents.... EVERYTHING. I have adverse reactions to most drugs. Really adverse, as in Ativan causes panic; go fucking figure!! Not alcohol though! So I am in this nasty little habit of having a couple, few, sometimes a few too many vodkas at night to stave the day's anxiety and help me sleep. It's the only time I can fully relax. I hate to admit it, but it's the truth. The funny thing is that I consider myself what I refer to as a 'fully functioning alcoholic', but I can stop drinking no problem. I'm not dependent in the sense that my body craves it. I am dependent in the sense that it's the only thing that I can use to dial it down a notch when things get bad. I'm often not drunk, or even tipsy. It does for me what Ativan does for my hunky hubby and his similar anxiety issues. So for now, I self-medicate until I find the magic cure.

Back to my vacation plans. It's been 8 years since I've flown commercially. That trip was my aforementioned adventures in Mexico. It's been 8 years now, but I have flown commercially my whole life. We used to travel between BC and Ontario 4 times a year while I was growing up, as well as our varied other vacations. I loved to travel. I loved to get on a plane and end up somewhere new. Now, all of a sudden, the idea of being trapped on a plane with all those people for hours on end, unable to get out, suspended in the heavens; oh God, I'm paralyzed with fear. I have very little time to find a way out of this fear. I don't even think my trusty vodka is going to help me out of this pickle. Besides, I hear they frown on passengers who are pissed lol. Even as I sit here typing this, I am gripped with fear, numb, terrified anxious. Now I feel I must use my surfing time to find a cure, rather than whining about it.

Wish me luck!

A funny day...funny odd not funny haha

Today is such a strange day. Our city is like that. If you don't like the weather, just wait 5 minutes!

Today is different though. Yesterday it was summer. We took the day off and had ourselves a pool party. I blackened up a little more in the sun and it was an all around perfect day weather-wise.

Today everything has shifted. It's like yesterday was the last day of summer and today it is fall. Just like that fuck you very much. No summer for you! It makes me feel strange, the shift. I'm discombobulated. We decided to take today off as well. I'm still in my jammies and hunky hubby has gone off to a funeral, making this dark and dreary day even more dark and dreary.

But wait, there's more! It's also my dad's (step-dad, but same difference for me) birthday today. Funerals and birthdays. Life and death. Dreary days. Discombobulation. And as I type this the sun peaks out from between the oh so grey clouds to taunt me. It's not staying! The rain is starting. Fuck.

Actually I love fall. It's my favourite season. I love the cozy feeling of fall. Sweaters... I love sweaters! Bright sunny summer days always make you feel like you have to get up and go do something. There's always a rush to enjoy it while it's there. But fall invites you to sit down, take a load off....and just reeelaaax. There's no urgency. Like today. I'm sitting here on my couch watching a movie blogging away still in my jammies. It's great.

So why was I complaining? I wasn't quite ready yet! It came too soon after a summer filled with rain and wind and clouds and fall-like days. I need my seasons.

Today I feel weird.

oh, and that picture there...that's almost exactly what I see when I look out my window right now. The only difference is that the mountains are still a little snow-peaked.

Miracles and the powers that be

Since I really don't have any readers other than my dear friend, and I have cuntfacemcbitchfuck to carry on many of my rantings, I have not posted here in quite some time. Today though, I feel compelled to put this out there.

Yesterday was a bad day. Like a really bad, stressful I think my head is going to pop right off and spew blood and grey matter everywhere, chainsmoking, too many drinks to dial down the nerves before bed kind of day. For those who are a part of cuntfacemcbitchfuck, they got the full brunt of my bad day, due to my RANTING about it there. And they made me feel better. That is what I'm learning about this whole blogging experience. It's so bizarre that complete strangers can make you feel better. Even more bizarre that I want to make strangers feel better. It makes me feel like I can fill up my Karma bank even faster.

Man did I need the Karma bank to cash out yesterday. So I sat outside smoking my stinky cigarette, getting ready to turn in for the night and curl up in my hunky husbands safe giant protective arms for slumber. Before coming in, I looked up at the stars and said 'ok powers, I'm giving it up to you. Please help. I need help'. I went to bed and slept. Deep, drooly sleep for 5 solid (not nearly enough) hours. I awoke this morning to the familiar prickly dread of yesterday. Nothing's changed! My problem is not solved! I am going to fail miserably. This client is going to hate me and my name will be MUD.

I came to my office and was literally numb with dread. I stared and stared and stared at my monitor, my phone, my monitor my phone.... waiting for a miracle email or phone call to come in to tell me that my problem is indeed going to be solved. I was literally sitting here in tears, wondering how I was going to solve this problem. I have done all I can do. I have had to throw it up to the Powers, and now all I can do is sit numbly, quietly and wait until the day is over.

Email comes in from client asking 'any developments'. Oh no! It's time to fess up! I'm a fraud and this was a huge opportunity and I fucked it up, I knew I couldn't do this business...on the heels of these destructive thoughts popped up another email. It was the one that saved my ass. Literally at the 11th hour and 59 minute mark, the Powers came through. They always do. Why do I worry so much?

I am amazed. Mantra and I were talking about the powers last night. She sent good wishes my way as she received good wishes herself.

Thank you Powers That Be. I can breathe again....

Anxiety Part II

So that's it, I left my husband and turned 19 at 29. I was partying like it was 1999! I traveled to Mexico all by myself for 2 weeks, and it was the greatest 2 weeks I've ever spent. Ever. Seriously. I was in another country, alone at an ultra all inclusive resort. I met so many people! It was a whole new world. I drank, I played beach volleyball and body surfed and even became Ms. Marival (queen of the resort, huge honour don't you know) for a week.

Reality check when I cam back to the real world. Hubby wouldn't give up the kids. I was a stay at home mom looking to get back to work. I didn't have the funds to fight him in court and my two older boys wanted to stay with dad (my middle son informed me the other day that he feels bad for that silly boy ~ incidentally I remember this post was borne out of my recent conversations with him). So I conceded, got a good government job, shared the boys half the time, and moved forward with my life.

Although I thought the anxiety could be attributed to my shitty marriage, it turns out it's still there. All the time, every day; it rules my life. Drugs don't work.

I can handle this for me, but it turns out good mama that I am, I have passed this anxiety gene to my aforementioned middle child. He has told me recently that it's gotten really bad. Not only that, he is suffering from some rather distracting OCD issues. Oh no, what have I done???? He didn't even know about my problems with anxiety. It's not like I walk around letting everyone know that deep down inside I'm not safe in my own head. He just one day started to exhibit symptoms. They got worse and worse, and finally my current husband told me he thought that my boy might be suffering anxiety. Hubby suffers occasional panic attacks too, so he and I, we're experts.

My son was so relieved to have people who understand! God, I know that feeling. My kid's doctor, like so many other fucking asshole, not knowing doctors out there just doesn't get it. He thinks counseling is the answer! Um NO! For anyone who suffers real, true, honest to god anxiety, you know it's not about what happened to you as a child. It's some sort of weird imbalance that wreaks havoc on you. Ativan helps my boy, so hubby makes sure he has a few at hand, which has been a lifesaver. Of course, his doctor won't give him a scrip because he too subscribes to the 'it's all in your head club'. I don't buy it! My grandmother suffered to the point of agoraphobia and ended up on Lithium for the rest of her life to control it. Her mother suffered. I suffer and now my son. Duh! Do we all suffer the same psychological issues or could it actually be that there is some sort of hereditary imbalance?? Hubby's mom suffers too....me thinks there's a connection, yes.

My son and I talk about everything. I mean EVERYTHING. He talks to be about sex, or his lack thereof (he's still a virgin thank god), and more importantly has informed me that he does indeed smoke weed. Too much weed even by his own admission. He says he loves it, but not only that, he says it helps his anxiety. UH OH! red flag red flag red flag. I ask him about other, harder drugs to which he replies that they scare him. He's afraid to take harder drugs because of his anxiety and what might happen. He promises me, looks me in the eyes with his beautiful green eyes and swears with conviction I feel, that he will not go down that path. He is aware and conscious of the destructiveness and doesn't want to go there. I want to believe him. I too have always been terrified and turned off of hard drugs; maybe he really is telling the truth. The problem is that I see him as having addictive behaviours. He even asked me one night, "mom, do you think I have the potential to go down that slippery slope to addiction?". All I could say was yes, I worry, but I pray to god that because he's honest with me and aware of the potential, I have faith.

Am I lying to myself? Can you nip an addict in the bud before it's too late????

Oh God I hope so!!!

Anxiety - part I

Although I'm very happy and content with my place in life, I do suffer from chronic anxiety and panic attacks. It's most inconvenient for someone like myself, who loves life, travel, dining out and social get-togethers. The first experience I had with a full-on panic attack, I was 12 years old, and had just tried sniffing glue with my girlfriends at a sleepover. Wow, I didn't like that! No way...I panicked. They walked me around for about 2 hours and I vowed that drugs was not going to become a part of my life. About 2 weeks later, while sitting in my mom's car at Dairy Queen, I was thinking about what a horrible experience that had been, which brought the whole feeling back in full force, no different than if I was still in that moment. I thought, 'oh GOD is this what they call a flashback? Am I going to have to relive this for the rest of my life???'. I told my mom and begged her to take me to the doctor. The doctor informed me there is no such thing as a flashback, there was nothing wrong with me, it's all in my head....just stop feeling that way. What an odd treatment plan, but it worked! I went home that day and decided 'this is all in my head, I can control it'. Miraculously it was overcome, and I went on to live an active happy outgoing and most importantly, drug-free life. My friends were all huge 'stoners', but I just opted out. Alcohol was my drug of choice.

I was 27 years old before anxiety invaded my world again. I had been married to my childhood friend for 7 years, and we had 3 little boys, a beautiful house on a 1/2 acre in the country, 2 cars a Rhodesian Ridgeback and money enough for me to stay home. Life was good. Other, that is, than the fact that my husband was controlling, misogynistic and angry. Funny that it took me so long to realize it. It was subtle and insidious. We laughed and had fun together. We had good sex (meaning almost every day and always an orgasm to be had, although it was lackluster in retrospect) even after 8 years. We had been friends since I was 14, so I really didn't know any different. I had hooked up with the best guy in our group (little did I realize at the time, that was sort of like being the tallest midget!). Long story short, we started to fight all...the...time. I didn't realize it then, but now I can see it clear as day, my situation. I was an obsessive, compulsive CLEAN FREAK. My friends stopped wanting to come for coffee, because I would spend the whole time wiping, mopping organizing, ironing etc. I just thought 'hey, I've got 3 kids, a messy husband and a dog, if I don't keep this house clean it'll go to shit'. And what would people think if they stopped by and everything wasn't in it's place, shiny and pretty? Haha, now that I'm out the other side, I can see that it was the only thing I really had control over; I was Martha Stewart on crack, just so that I could show that I was WORTH something.

After a huge fight with my husband about my being maid of honour for my best friend in Vegas (he refused to come, even after I tried to entice him with 'we could renew our own vows, it'll be fun'). To this day, I do not know why it was such a problem for him, other than that he wasn't in control. She was willing to get married on a day that was convenient for him, the boys had family to stay with, and he worked for the airline so we could fly for basically nothing. But nope, somehow he still managed to make it inconvenient and unfair to him that she would ask me. I decided that was it, I was going and he could just fuck himself thank you very much. She even paid for my plane ticket, rather than him getting a deal through work. That's about the time I snapped. My best friend and I had just finished picking out our dresses for the wedding and had gone next door for coffee afterward. We were talking and I suddenly, without warning, out of nowhere felt that old familiar tingle up my spine. The world went out of focus, the blood rushed in my ears and I had to fight the urge to run screaming into the street like a lunatic.

This started a spiral. Four months I spent on the couch or in bed. I guess in retrospect it might have been a bit of a functioning break-down. I still mothered as best I could, I still cooked, cleaned etc., but my life was different now. I was fighting for my life every day. Fighting to keep my sanity, to not break from reality, light myself on fire and melt into a pile of unrecognizable goo. I made the trip to Vegas and had a great time between attacks. A lot happened around that time, but within a year of that trip, I got what I call mad women's disease and I left my husband after 10 years. My eyes were open. I had made a mondo wicked mistake by marrying him and it needed to be rectified asap!

This is getting long...I think I'll finish later. There is a point to this story. I'll figure it out I'm sure.

Contentment

Today I am pleased. I have been sucked into a world of reading blogs, which is something I never never never thought would be something I would care to do. But when one of my very closest friends (Mantramine) said to me one day, out of the blue and without provocation, 'so I've been blogging if you simply must know', it began. She explained to me that I was one of a very very small handful of peeps that she was allowing into this world (me; filled with pride and happy to have my ego stroked. She likes me, she really likes me!). She explained that she's sick of talking about it and obsessing about it, so she thought she'd just write about it and let me read it and that way I'd be up on what was going on, so that she didn't have to 'keep talking' about it already! This makes perfect sense, what with her deep desire to some day be published.

So it began. I would eagerly check her posting every day, and then I began to poke around at her faves, to see what was up with them; are there really that many people out here in cyber world baring their soles? ohmygod are there ever! What pain and stress and torture. I find myself caring for these people and pulling for them to get through it. When I began my blog, it was simply to vent some of my silly frustrations from day to day; things that irked me. I tend to be very passionate about things that irk me…I don't really expect to be read or understood, but it's nice to have a place to put my thoughts nonetheless. What I have come to realize is how grateful I am for my life, in a way that I didn't expect. I have stress and some days I'm positive that my head is just going to pop right off my shoulders from it, but it is nothing, NOTHING like the pain and stress of addiction and failing marriages and sick children. Who the hell needs to watch the soaps??!!! I have blogging to do and it's real, and interesting. It's become my good book, filled with all the drama and adventure anyone needs.

So I sit here content with my life, and very grateful for that contentment. My house is quiet, what with hubby sick in bed and my teen boys still sleeping. I'm somewhat sad that I have to wake them soon, so that they can get ready for their ferry trip back home to their dad. I always miss them when they go back, but they'll be here again next week and then I'll be wishing I had the quiet cleanliness of my home again. An endless cycle.

I am happy today, and grateful…

Why I Can't Label Myself a Feminist, But Rather An Equalist.

I was reading the Business Examiner today. Today was special because today there was a section from Women In Business magazine. It talked about how we, as women are so hard done by because men have held us back from positions of power. It explained to us that more men are the heads of Fortune 500 companies, with only a handful of women doing the same thing. It told us this is wrong and needs to be changed. Well that's fair. It's true. It is also true that women have been discriminated against in the past, and still are to some degree; the only difference now is that it isn't politically correct, so it's a little harder to get away with these days. But let's face it, everyone is discriminated against to some degree... this my friends, is life. It's wrong, but it remains a fact. You're either too black, too female, too pretty, not pretty enough, too gay, etc. etc...someone is going to dislike you for no good reason.

I have a different perspective on the reason that less woman are high up in business (by the by, the article did note that more women than men are self-employed).

First of all, women often times just aren't as interested in being moguls. Nor are they typically as aggressive as men. The woman who actually takes the initiative and goes after it is very often sitting up there at the top of the ladder, and doing a bang-up job. For instance, my aunt started at Wood Gundy in the 1970's, as a file clerk, and graduated Vice President in 2006. Why is it so fantastical because she's a woman? Can't it just be that she's a great business leader, who happens to be a woman? Why do we continually define ourselves and our success by our ever-important vagina? We are alienating ourselves with our 'hey, look what I can do' attitude. Is it any wonder that we continue not to be taken seriously? Rather than quietly continuing to rise to the top, we feel this intense need to point out the miracle of our success. In the big scheme of things, it's only been a very short period of time since women started to step out of the kitchen, take off the apron and enter the work-force on the same level as men, so it's going to take us a while to catch up. I suspect there are a lot of women who would like to dance back to the kitchen, don that apron and quit working outside the home entirely, but are terrified to admit that, for fear of feminist women beating her senseless for such heresy; I personally sustained ridicule at giving up my career to stay home with my boys. After all, my feminist friends pointed out, I'm a woman so I should have been doing it all!

Women In Business is a good magazine celebrating WOMEN IN BUSINESS. No men, just women. I like the Business Examiner because it's about PEOPLE in business, with much less emphasis on crotch style. Although I feel that it is necessary to point out exceptional people, I take offense at the constant 'Look What I Can Do' attitude, which is amazing because I'm a woman. If there was a MEN IN BUSINESS magazine, you better believe that women would lose their minds at being excluded... the double standard is mind-boggling! We as women, feel this intense need to be put on pedestals and be a part of every sincle aspect of men's worlds. They have held us down long enough and we are going to prove that we can do everything they can do, in the same place, at the same time, and better than men damnit!! Boy scouts isn't even for boys anymore. Girls have Girl Guides (NO BOYS ALLOWED), but by God you will not stop her from joining that all boy fraternity! That is sexism you bastards, and you can't do that to us!!! Nor are you allowed to have all boy gyms, or sports teams. I digress... that's for another day.

I am a woman who owns a business, which is growing steadily. I'm proud of myself and my accomplishments. Not because I'm a woman, but because the only thing I ever wanted was to work for myself and make lots of money. I do, and I am, and I'm thrilled! Many of my clients are men (about 60%). When these clients thank me for providing a valuable service and send me referrals because of that value, I feel proud of my accomplishments and relish the success. Not one time have I thought of it as some great feat because I'm a woman. Nor am I ever made to feel that way by those nasty men, who typically hold us down. These clients of mine, men and women alike, are simply pleased that I provide them help when they need it and therefore are happy to help me along in my success, for which I am infinitely grateful.

I believe we'd be taken much more seriously if we stopped forcing ourselves on the male population and just continued to be the best we can be. I believe if we just asked for and gave equality, we'd get much farther ahead much faster.

Infiltrating

My husband just walked out the door, on his way to the gym ~ or the Temple. To him, keeping in good shape is almost a religion. God bless him! So, I got to thinking about something he said to me yestderday when he was ralating a story about a girl in the gym running on the treadmill while he rode the x-trainer. It was a funny story, but I was distracted and I couldn't help myself asking 'but honey, I thought they did all those renovations to make a women's side and a guys' side', to which he replied, 'no, there is a WOMEN's side and a CO-ED side. Guys aren't allowed to have their own gym; that would be sexist!'

This got me thinking about how we women feel this intense need to be everywhere, doing everything that the guys are doing, while they're doing it and in the same place. God forbid a man decide he wants to work out on the girl's side of the gym, the police would be summond and the local papers would print a nice big fat juicy story about the pervert in our midst who wanted to sweat in the same room as the females! Personally, I would be much happier if these little tarts would stay on their side (ok, so I have insecurities!) The only reason they aren't is because they're aching to be noticed...this is confirmed by my hubby, in that he is often relating stories of these girls getting right in front of him while he's doing whatever it is he's doing, and they bend over, stretch etc. so that all behind them get a good look. Not that he's complaining lol. But even he says it's really a bit much sometimes, embarrasing even. He belongs to two gyms....one for weights and cardio, the other is his 'fight club'. This is where he goes to 'grapple'. He fought professionally in the early days of the UFC and continues to hone his skills twice a week, in order to stay in shape. The owner of both gyms are friends, and they say that they aren't 'allowed' to have a men's only side; however, it is mandatory that they have a 'women's only' area. How is this ok? The reason that it bothers hubby, and this I agree with 100%, is that he has absolutely nowhere he can go and just 'be a man' without having to worry about his language or behaviour; where he can just fight with other guys in a controlled environment and get out his aggressions of the day. His job is very stressful and he NEEDS this environment to help ease that stress. He doesn't go out 'with the boys' to the bar or anything like that. The gym is his guy time. Of course the girls, most of whom have absolutely no experience INSISTED that they be allowed in the men's advanced class. If not, they would cause problems! Hubby refuses to 'roll' with these girls ~ he laughingly says that if he's got a girl pinned, it isn't going to be to choke her out, but more importantly, he doesn't feel it's appropriate for a 6'2" 240lb. well muscled man to be rolling around with little girls. For this among many other reasons, I love him. He has principals. They call him 'old school'. Mostly he just rolls with it and doesn't care. He's well respected there and has many friends and even instructs when called on (he's a self-admitted attention whore, so ANY attention works for him!). His only complaint is that if someone gasp, uses profanity in this environment, or louder gasp passes gas....!....one of the women will complain that this is inappropriate behaviour due to the delicate ears and noses in the room (the fairer sex). Of course, his response is always that they are free to attend the women's only classes and get the fuck out of his space ~ luckily he's well respected after all!

I work out at a differnt gym or at home. I do this because hubby and I live together, work together and spend all our free time together. I decided that he should have something that's his...so I switched gyms. I have options. I can go anywhere I want. This is my right as a woman. I just wonder why we don't give everyone the same rights. Isn't equality supposed to go both ways? I use the gym as an example because it's something that actually means something to me. I would like hubby to have a place to go where half naked women aren't showing their parts off through their skimpy workout gear. Not that I worry.....much lol.

About a year ago, a man in the States decided that equality should mean equality, so he lobbied for a membership at Curves. Holy shit, the uproar. I never did find out what happened to him, but I bet he's not a member!

Our infiltration is much farther reaching of course. There is absolutely nowhere that men or boys are allowed to be completely alone. I read a news story once that blew me away....now that women are sportscasters (because we can do anything you can do better), they whined about not being allowed into the men's locker room to interview after games, because that's discrimitation. THEN this woman sportscaster lodged a complaint when she was granted access into the MENS shower and the men were all naked! We won't even allow them a fucking locker room!

I'm so embarrased......

Ok, here I go....

I have been wanting a place to vent my frustrations with society and thought this seemed like a good place to start.

I was searching the internet for catchy pictures and things, you know, cartoons and the like to spiffy up my first post in the hope that my words would sparkle a bit more. In my search, I am reminded of why I often feel ashamed to be a woman. Am I the only woman who is embarrassed by WOMEN’S constant desire to somehow bring men down a peg to show how much better we are than they? Am I the only one who realizes we doth protest too much?! There is a barrage of cartoons and funny anecdotes showing me that I, as a WOMAN am so much smarter, more capable and generally an all-round better human because of my crotch style. Oh but hang on, there is a caveat ~ PMS and menopause. While suffering these two afflictions, I am to understand that I may behave in any manner at all, be that angry, bitchy, emotional, insane, erratic; IT IS MY RIGHT AS A WOMAN.

This is the message us women are sending:
Men are stupidy-heads! They’re clumsy, oafish, dirty, insensitive great big MEANIES!

I shall digress for a second here. I am very happy being a woman, please don’t get the wrong idea. I wouldn’t be anyone other than the woman I am. I am a professional, grounded, happy woman, who suffers occasional panic attacks. I am also the mother of 3; 2 teens and a t’ween, all boys. I am also a rare breed, who is in as happy and healthy a relationship as I ever could have dreamed, with my very best friend. We have our ups and downs, or we wouldn’t be normal, but it’s good. I am going to point out now that I did not begin this paragraph with ‘I’m a mother of 3 boys’. Something us women tend to do is define ourselves by the fact that we have birthed children. We are MOTHERS. Watch out. Don’t fuck with me, because I am a WOMAN who is a MOTHER. Psst!.... So are literally billions of other women! Gasp, sputter, say it isn’t so! I’m not extra special because I am a mother? A mother is not WHO I AM??? Nope! I, like all women, was engineered to be able to carry zygotes to embryo to baby. That was genetic design. Without the sperm of a male, it wouldn’t have happened. We have our roles. We are different by nature. Praise the Gods, God, Allah, Goddess, Mother Nature or the higher power of your choice and halleluiah!!!

I do love being a mother to these budding stupidy-head men, and I am doing my best to help them along in this society that conspires and desires desperately to emasculate them.

Women, we are doing ourselves a disservice. In our attempts to prove to men that we are better than they, we are looking pathetic, weak and sad. We are standing up and saying we are better than men because we ‘can bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan’… then we are taking them to court for ‘alimony’ and taking half of everything in the divorce, because we ‘deserve it’, whether we helped to build it or it was theirs before we got there. And by the way, after we take half, we want a monthly amount to keep us in the ‘lifestyle we have become accustomed to’. I am talking now about alimony and not child support, which is a completely separate issue. Something is not right about this. This is not independence. This is ‘having our cake and eating it too’ (although I personally never understood why anyone should have cake they couldn’t eat, it seemed the appropriate phrase).

I am done my ranting for this day. I am sure if my un-womanly writings are ever read by other women, I will be ejected from the ‘club’, but I don’t care, I’ll start my own ~ I am WOMAN after all, I can do anything! I believe I am equal to ~ in a different way ~ not better than and I stand by that. I am not a ‘liberated’ woman, I am simply a woman who believes that neither sex is better than. My guilty pleasure is chivalry….