28. PhD Candidate in Creative Writing and Literature. Loves cyborgs and zombies, sewing, steampunk and cosplay. Horror movies. Wants to be R. L. Stine when she grows up.
I found the perfect pair of pirate boots the other day. But I haven't been able to wear them yet. I haven't left the apartment (building)! Blast you Guild Wars and Okami!
I should take a picture of them because they're hot. But I'm so lazy when it comes to picture taking.
They weren't the most comfortable boots in the world, but I figure $70 is a heck of a lot better than $199 (price based upon the perfect pair of Frye Dorado boots on eBay). Besides a Dr. Scholl's insert for $8.99 makes the hard sole quite comfy indeed.
I don't know how I really feel about the death penalty just yet. Sometimes I feel like some criminals (purposeful murderers) should be executed--and it makes me kind of sick to think that a man who chopped off his victim's arms could complain that lethal injection is too inhumane. But mostly, I think I feel that no one should executed--I know it's more a drain on taxpayers to keep these violent people in prison, but why would we want to stoop to an evil person's level?
However, I am not quite comfortable with this position either, because I tend to empathize quite closely to Polly Klass's family, being around the same age and living in California when she was kidnapped and murdered, and I can understand how it feels to be relieved when the evil person is dead (her murderer was executed when I was teenager--I have tried very hard to purposefully forget that man's name because the thought of him and the thought of people like him out in the world used to scare me in only the way it can scare a ten-year-old, when ten-year-olds create their own peculiar logic, so I refuse to Google his name and memorialize him in any sort of way).
So Saddam was executed today. He was hanged, Old West style. This was another very evil man, but for some reason, it bothers me that he was hanged. He probably deserved it, but does any human being, when delivered justice, deserve the same kind of pain and torture that he doled out?
I'm having a tough issue with this too. I don't feel like this should be celebrated, or that retired military men should be hosting kegger parties in honor of a US job well done. Saddam was so quirky, so crazy, so paranoid and diabolical, it was hard not to sympathize with him like he was Gargamel and Iraq was his Smurfs. I know I shouldn't be sympathizing with a tyrant, a sadistic despot that rellished suffering, demanded total obedience from his followers, but the problem is, seeing the man stripped from his power made him so pathetic, made him human and not an unfeeling monster that deserves to have his neck snapped by a shoddy rope while his religious enemies rejoice around him. Makes me feel like we're the tyrants.
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Back In That Place
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
On December 23rd, I received a package in the mail. I live in a building that has a front desk and 24 hour security/concierge. It's really not as fancy or uppity as it sounds.
So I go to pick up my package (usually residents have to show ID in order to collect their packages). I walk up to the front desk, and say hello and I'm here to pick up a package, and do you need my ID? She smiles and says hello and replies, "No, that's okay, I know who you are." I was a little surprised, and a little embarrassed (I usually remember faces/names pretty well but maybe I forgot her?). As we walk to the mail/utility closet, she asks me, "So where's your baby?"
Apparently, I don't need to be embarrassed after all. "I don't have a baby." I feel surprisingly calm. This is not the first time I have had to answer this question. Nor is it the first time that I've been mistaken for someone else. Nor is it the first time I've been mistaken for someone who has a child (it's weird). I feel no heat in my face. It's a nice to stop feeling slightly guilty for not knowing the concierge in return.
"You don't have a baby?" I wish I could convey the right amount of the shock that was in her voice with typed words, but alas, I am not so talented.
"Nope." I manage a smile that says in my mind, no harm, no foul.
"I could have sworn you had a baby." She puts her hand on her hip now.
"Nope. Not me." I start to wonder if this lady thinks I'm trying to pull a fast one over her. Maybe I shouldn't have smiled.
"Well. Sorry about that." Relief. "Why not?" Thud. I just want my package.
I wanted to answer honest. Clever. But not too clever that it would be immediately read as snide. But instead, I said: "I'm in grad school right now, and I want to finish that up." I purposely did not say I was getting my Ph.D. Sometimes it feels snobby to say it out loud.
We walk over to the desk so I can sign out my package. "How long you been married?"
"Five years in June." This is getting awfully personal, and I ask myself why I'm answering these questions. I guess it's because the questions themselves are, so far, innocuous. Mostly. A case of mistaken identity. A question about how long I've been married. I'm conveniently forgetting the "Why not?" question because I have my package in hand. All I need to do is sign it out.
"That's a long time. Whatcha waiting for?" Now, I'm starting to feel mean. The pen is in my hand. I have to print my name, then give my signature. I take extra long signing my signature in order to compose myself-- because where I was once impulsive enough to throw poison barbs at someone offending me or poking their nose where it does not belong, I have learned self-control (it's all B's fault).
The lady said something else that was probing, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. My mind was boiling. All I know is that my response was:
"I mean, we can't even afford to buy a house right now, so... ya know how it is. Especially in L.A."
Sadly, to both questions probing me why I haven't had children, my response sounded more like a defense. An excuse. And I hate that. But I keep telling myself that I have to pick and choose my battles, and I didn't have the energy to broaden a total stranger's mind about various life choices on a Saturday afternoon with my family waiting for me back my apartment (my mom and brother were visiting). Plus, she didn't seem mean-spirited. More like curious. She didn't deserve a sharp tongued response any more than I deserved to be offended. Right?
But still, I'm ashamed at how I responded. I got flustered. I could feel my face turn red. I was caught so off-guard. And it's kind-of bothered me ever since. Not so much that she asked. But that I wasn't confident in my answer. More like hiding in it.
I felt like I had finally gotten past the point of pondering this subject. A few months ago, I put a book on hold at the library called,
Maybe Baby: 28 Writers Tell the Truth About Skepticism, Infertility, Baby Lust, Childlessness, Ambivalence, and How They Made the Biggest Decision of Their Lives. It was published by Salon.com based on their "To Breed Or Not To Breed" series. I was number 15 or 28 or something on the wait list, so I forgot about it as I normally do with the books I put on hold that aren't immediately available. But I got a notice on December 21st that the book was finally available and would be held for me until December 28th--and instead of walking the 6 blocks to the library the same day I got the notice (which is what I normally do), I decided to ignore it.It felt good to be past the place where I read everything I could on being childfree by choice, being a parent, or being on the fence. I even cut back on religiously reading/posting to the CFBC message boards that I used to frequent--and in fact, I abstained for the entire month of October just to see if I could. I had wondered to myself, and to B, if the forums were a way of justifying to myelf a certain level of bitterness about the subject because I wasn't the only one who felt pressured to make a decision by some weirdly invisible force--because no one person was pressuring me, certainly not B or my mom. Not even his parents really. Not really... well..
Okay, so when we went back for our niece's christening in October, his mom kept shoving the baby into B's arms at really inopportune moments. For instance, his sister's laptop was broken, and he was troubleshooting it (he's handy that way), and he's trying to type commands into the DOS prompt and his mom says, "Here, hold the baby," out of nowhere. And B is like, "Uh. I'm trying to do something here." He's holding the baby kind of awkwardly cradled in his arm while he's typing, one-handed, obviously annoyed. And his mom says, "Well, you better get used to it!" I so had to suppress the urge to ask, "So what does that mean?"
It's weird, and completely unfounded, but I felt like we were being judged--or rather I was being judged. After we got home from the Michigan trip in October, I felt sad when B said brightly, "Hey, we escaped the weekend without having to why we don't have kids yet! Everyone was so polite." But even though no one said it, I felt like the question was lingering in the background. Especially with the way his mom kept fawning over the baby and trying to get us to interact with her. Like, how could we be married for four-and-a-half years and not have kids yet? Like, what have I done to their good little Catholic boy?
Anyway... I guess what all this rambling is trying to say is that the concierge was the final straw. I went and picked up that Maybe Baby book today at the library because I feel like I'm back in that place. The place where it's scary to contemplate these stupid ideas because B's ambivalent anyway. I want to be ambivalent, too. It'd be much better than the fear. But--and again probably TMI--but every time we make love, every night when I take my birth control pill, I can't help but wonder how can I be ambivalent? We're actively trying not to have children. We're not open to the possibility of bringing life into the world. Wouldn't ambivalent mean that we could take it or leave it? Either outcome wouldn't suck or be the best. We'd just deal?
I missed one day of pills last week because I drove down to pick up my little brother in San Diego, and the two of us stayed up until 4 a.m. playing games--and it slipped my mind. During the first week, it's okay to miss one or two pills, if you've been on it long enough, it does not inhibit the effectiveness according to the pamphlet of information (it's the second, and especially the third week, where it gets iffy). On Sunday, after everyone left, B and I jumped each other, and as we kissed, he stopped and asked me if it's safe. I was confused and didn't know what he meant. Because you missed a couple pills last week, he said. I didn't actually miss pills, plural, I missed one, and it's fine. Okay. Back to kissing.
I don't know why, but that bothered me. I don't know if it's because it strikes me as the opposite of ambivalent or what. So why am I so annoyed at wrongly categorizing an opinion/feeling? Am I so confused that only proper labels give me solace?
Another subtle hint, which I know I'm reading too much into, but can't help myself: Zhoul didn't get a Christmas present this year. Every year we've had her (which has been almost five), B's parents have got her a little kitty something. A new toy. Some canned food. Nip. I remember being surprised and really happy that B's mom did that. I thought it was cool. When I asked why she did it, B's mom said, "Of course my grandkitties get presents, they're the only ones I've got!" Now, the first Christmas there's a real baby around, no kitty present. I'm not offended or anything. I just thought it was a little sad.
I, too, have had to deal with some awkward presumptiveness about havin' babies lately. Maybe it's something about the holiday season that brings out the nosy in people.
Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that, in the end, it's your decision 'cause it's you that has the baby (or not). Take your time, do whatever reading and thinking and soul searching you need to do, and make the decision that's right for you. Everyone else can just have their own babies if they want 'em so much.
Very true. I was just excited/relieved to not have all the questions and fears swirling around in my mind for a while. And now I feel like they're all back. I just want to not care about it right now or ever.
I've stopped the questions with my mom by telling her when she asks for grandchildren to go talk to my 17 year old little brother, she doesn't find that as amusing as I do. But what I haven't stopped is this feeling of emptiness and failure that not having child puts on my life in her eyes. When I told her about a publishing company expressing interest in a book I collaborated on, she said "Well, I can't brag to your Aunt about that, your cousin just had a little girl. It just doesn't compare." I was flabbergasted and hurt, but understand that academic achievement, personal goals and perservance mean little in our family in comparison to popping out babies for everyone to coo over. What helps me is Mike's recoil at the questions about children as he loudly exclaims, "Hell no we aren't ready for kids."
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Christmas Miracle
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Actually no Christmas miracles were to be had this year--two years ago (or maybe three years ago, I forget), I prayed for snow and it started snowing 5 minutes later. But then again I was in Michigan... but then again snow was not on the forecast... but then again, it was Michigan... I still chalk it up to my own personal Christmas miracle.
If I had to pick a Christmas miracle that actually happened, it would be getting my little brother up here to visit for 5 days. It's really hard to pry him away from his girlfriend. But apparently we were so much fun that he wants to come back next week, which is fine by me and B.
If I had to ask for a post-Christmas miracle, it would be to find the perfect pair of black boots. I have some moolah burning a hole in my pocket, and I want some awesome pirate boots, that aren't skanky.
I bought a pair of Nine West boots today that were kind of pirate-ish. But they have a stupid zipper on the calves! I thought maybe I'd get used to them, but I just can't. So I'm returning them tomorrow.
Oh and I was tagged. So here are the rules:
Once you are tagged you MUST write an entry about 6 weird habits/things you do/odd information, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next six people to be tagged and list their names.
1. I patrol eBay for clothing items I will never buy because I don't like to buy clothes or shoes on eBay. It's a stupid waste of time, but I can't stop myself.
2. I have a lesbian crush on Angelina Jolie and new one on Gwen Stefani. The funny thing is I loved Angelina Jolie back before anyone knew who she was--back when only I was the only person I knew who had seen Cyborg 2, Foxfire and Hackers. My two loves back then were Angelina Jolie and Jude Law (also pre-crazy-famous, about 10-11 years ago). But as their famousness soared, my crush on Jude Law vanished, but my crush on Angelina Jolie has never wavered. Not even through the media fiasco that was Brangelina. Not even though I think what she named her daughter is stupid (and a proven dog's name).
3. I want a pair of really expensive jeans from Blue Cult or Seven For All Mankind. They are the best jeans I have ever seen, and they look so good on. But I could never justify spending that amount of money on a pair of jeans unless I was spending birthday money or something.
4. I am writing movie treatments on the side for extra money.
5. I got a 'B' in my Women & Popular Culture class--and I don't even care that I got a B, but it pisses me off that NO GRADUATE LITERATURE CLASS outlines exactly HOW grades are achieved in the course. I would NEVER get away not outlining percentages on my own syllabus. I feel as though if the professor doesn't really like you or doesn't really like what you have to say in class, they could give you a 'B' without even reading your paper (because we never get these back anyway). Last year, in my 501 class (which is the only required course for all English Dept. Ph.D. students), they kept CHANGING the percentages that the were required for participation, the ancillaries, the presentation and the final paper. The last they told us, they were going to do away with the ancillary work and just make the presentation and paper 50% each. I got an 'A' on my presentation and a B (or was it a B+?) on my paper, which resulted in a B for the course. I was totally confused, so I went and talked to a professor and he said that they changed the percentages to 30% presentation and 70% for the final paper since most people did better on the paper than the presentation. So I was screwed.
6. I'm getting tired of nerdslut -- I think it may be time for a new domain name.
I tag Jezebel, Desmond, Lorie, Charlie, Lyn and B (you can write it here).
i am sooooo boring. do you know how hard that was? if you were here with me i probably would have had an easier time since you find sooooo much more weirdness in me!
I tagged you with this a while ago. My 6 things weren't very good. A lot of bodily functions and masturbation stories.
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Happiness is a Warm Gun
Monday, December 18, 2006
I learned how to shoot a gun when I was six years old.
My father took me out to hunt quail and shoot at cans. When he said he was taking me hunting, I hugged my momma extra tight because I suspected that I wasn't coming back home.
I learned how to shoot a .38 Smith and Wesson, a .45 Magnum and a .22. I could shoot the .38 alright, couldn't hit anything. The kickback of the .45 knocked me on my ass and my dad laughed at me. The .22 was easier to handle, gentler on my arms. The wood base was warm against my sleeves. I shot at cans and hit them. I shot at quail and missed on purpose.
It was there, with the. 22 in my arms at six years old, when I realized I could shoot my father.
It occured to me yesterday that those are not the normal kind of thoughts a six year old should have had.
Actually? I'm having a hard time tracking down an online link to the relevant psychological literature at the moment, but I'm sure that most kids, if they don't think of killing their parents, at least fantasize about what life would be like with out them (or maybe without just one or the other).
It's not as uncommon a thought as you seem to believe.
Sadly, I don't find relief in that. I wish I could, but I wonder if those are the kids who are disturbed anyway. Because sometimes I feel like I'm a ticking time bomb, and I wonder if I'm only posing as a normal person because I love my husband and don't want to disappoint him or my family. But then I suppose we all feel like from time to time.
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It was a battle nobly fought...
Thursday, December 7, 2006
And so it came to pass that I was up until 7:26 a.m. writing, finalizing and printing my paper.
My mom's 50th birthday is coming up, and my brothers and I wanted to do something special for her. We figured we'd buy her a trip to New York City--it's the one place she has always wanted to visit but never has--and will never plan a trip for herself because my mom is weird. She'll accrue vacation time but she won't use the vacation time (what is this parental inclination?).
Anyway, so my brothers and I have all decided to do this, but we don't know when to book the flight and hotel (we don't know about her vacation time). So, I enlisted one brother to find out on the DL. He said he'd pull Black Mamba style moves on her to get the information. We had a conversation all planned out on how to slyly obtain what we needed to know (like if she has vacation time, and when it'd come available).
So I call Black Mamba today and he's like, "She knows."
"Wha-?"
"Yeah. Mom's The Shit."
"Christ! Did you blow it?"
"Hell no! I was doing my thing and she goes, 'I'm going to New York aren't I?' and I'm all like, 'Where did you hear that?' and she says, 'I'm psychic.'"
My mother was born with a veil of skin over her face called a caul. It's a widely held Italian belief that it connotes psychic ability. I'm starting to believe it's true.
said...
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