Mr. Eglinton, of Adelaide, Australia asked, in a comment to my preceding post "How did those dates from a while ago, go? Any follow ups?" Well. Thank you for asking. Not all follow up is created equal of course.
Mr. Submissive, well, he's done for. It's just too darn annoying to deal with someone that unwilling to commit to a course of action. I like making decisions, but I don't want to make all decisions. Particularly if I'm hungry. When I say "Pick a restaurant", I really mean just that. Consider it an order if that helps you. Once I get to a certain level of hunger, I really can't make up my mind. Maybe it's ADHD, maybe it's low blood sugar, but if you need proof ask Innana. A hungry me shouldn't be dithered around. He dithered. He's done.
Actually, I think while I found him attractive, I really don't have the energy to make much effort. Any guy who wants to know me* and be my friend or more is going to have to make most of the effort, and most guys just don't do that after the initial outreach. Most relationships I've had and most relationships between men and women that I have observed involved a very short (think about a cheetah's sprint) pursuit by a man, followed up my lots of care and feeding by the woman. I'm not doing that. I'm making outreach, in the sense that once I find a man attractive, I do my darnedest to let him know, but other than that, he'd better be able to find a way to ask me out and take me out . . . .
This behavior pattern doesn't include male friends of course. The Professor, Mr. Movie, and Mr. Studmuffin are safe. I'll call them up just to chat. Why? Because it's relaxing to talk to them, not stressful. Men who are definitely interested in my sexually are more of a strain on the system because right now my energies are dedicated to (1) my girls, (2) my job, (3) my divorce, (4) people I actually care about other than my girls (that would be Innana, my family, and maybe a few other people, if the stars are in alignment), and (5) all the other crap in my life (impending foreclosure, writing a book, cleaning the house, swimming lessons, nudging the FoilKid over enough so that there's room for me in my Queen-size bed, etc.). Worrying about a guy and how to assuage his ego while protecting myself? A bit beyond my means right now.
Also, I know I'm vulnerable. The admiration is nice, but it's better at a bit of a distance. There's safety in numbers and there's safety in superficiality. A nice kiss goodnight is one thing, actually going to bed and having sex is another (way beyond my resources) thing. So I don't make much of an effort. Anyway, I spent the last five years (before that, PdeFF was different, and was nicer to me and more attentive) with someone who made very little effort -- anyone who actually wants to be close to me will need to make a bit of an effort, accept a bit of attitude, and stick around (it's not like the looking for extra-marital nookie search, which was blissfully straightforward).
So, no. Not much happening. Except I am having dinner on Thursday with a previously not-mentioned possible-friend-possible-swain-I-really-don't-know-which, but then nothing doing until next weekend (not this coming one, when I have the girls). Oh, but this weekend I've (truly lost my marbles) and invited Isolde to come skate with the FoilKid again. Except Isolde's father will be along to help corral his intrepid offspring. No, that's just a parental thing. Not a date or anything like that. Just coordinating parents. That will be fun, if exhausting.
*And I don't mean that in the biblical sense. I'm so far from that right now, it doesn't even seem like me. I mean "know me" as in "be acquainted with me well enough to walk down a street with me and live."
February 28, 2006
February 27, 2006
Learning to Delegate
Today I met with a very nice accountant who is going to do my taxes. This is the first year since 1983 that I won't have prepared my own taxes (or prepared them with my husband). I just can't do it this year. So you know what? I'm having someone take care of taxes for me. Uber recommended him, so I know he's competent. Trust me, she's high maintenance. And she's a partner in a big law firm. Her taxes are about umpteen million times more complicated than mine, even when you include the divorcing but not divorced problems into the mix. I told Mr. CPA: I have enough stuff keeping me awake at night. This, I just need to move from my to do pile to someone else's to pile. He said, "Don't think about it again." Trust me, I won't.
February 26, 2006
Just a Little Blue
But the blueness will go away. It's a sunny Sunday morning, and after writing this I shall collect the FoilKid from PdeFF's House of Indebtedness and take my eldest to her swimming lesson. She loves to swim. She's a fish. She likes me to swim with her, so I will get to splash around and have fun. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning. Afterwards, I'll pick up some things I forgot at the store (flour, sunflower oil, olive oil, the Sunday paper) and get myself ready for the big awards ceremony.
What big awards ceremony? One of Innana's friends is up for a a theater award for a role we saw her act in. We're going to the awards ceremony. Not the Oscars, but it should be fun.
Yesterday, aside from running errands and working out, I didn't get out of the house. That's because my plans for Saturday afternoon fell through. I didn't get out with other people and should have. I definitely moped, and when I mope, things really aren't very pretty. Oh well. I'm going to be out and about today, and then tomorrow, I get my girls back. And this coming weekend will be a happy and exhausting weekend with my amazing offspring. You just have to wonder: what event will cause the FoilKid to raise her eternal cry (C'est injuste! or It's unfair!) Last it was Innana's hair changing color. What will it be next that makes her life so hard? We'll just have to wait and see. Life's so exciting.
What big awards ceremony? One of Innana's friends is up for a a theater award for a role we saw her act in. We're going to the awards ceremony. Not the Oscars, but it should be fun.
Yesterday, aside from running errands and working out, I didn't get out of the house. That's because my plans for Saturday afternoon fell through. I didn't get out with other people and should have. I definitely moped, and when I mope, things really aren't very pretty. Oh well. I'm going to be out and about today, and then tomorrow, I get my girls back. And this coming weekend will be a happy and exhausting weekend with my amazing offspring. You just have to wonder: what event will cause the FoilKid to raise her eternal cry (C'est injuste! or It's unfair!) Last it was Innana's hair changing color. What will it be next that makes her life so hard? We'll just have to wait and see. Life's so exciting.
February 25, 2006
Cold Morning
I've already done my grocery shopping for the week (and did the whole thing for a little over $50), and am taking a blogging break before facing the sad task of preparing for an appointment with my accountant to do my taxes. Well, Uber's accountant actually, but I figure this time I'd better let an expert take over, with all the issues at stake. PdeFF is an accountant, but he failed to file the last quarterly self-employment taxes due, and also I don't trust him, period. Either to be competent or to do the right thing by either of us. FoilDad is an accountant, but I'm too embarrassed to bring him in. His reviewing my finances in detail would result in a transfer of funds and some stern paternal lecturing. And he would worry.
Also, I have some professional expertise with taxes. I just don't want to handle this, no, actually, I don't have the resources to handle this right now. So I'm going to part with more hard earned money and pay an expert to get everything done for me.
The girls are with their father. I have the urge to head over there and collect them, but I'm resisting it. I'll get to see them tomorrow morning when I take the FoilKid to her swimming lesson. Little fish.
Last night I went out for a few beers with a younger guy who likes hockey. Absolutely no spark*, but I think we will be hockey watching buddies, so that's a good thing. I am travelling up to New York in early April to see Kevin, and that should be fun. I lined up an attorney in North Carolina to make the speeding ticket turn into a non-moving violation (that's $350 I'll never see again) so that I don't have to worry about my insurance rates. I've been pretty darn productive.
Best of all, my babysitter, who is from PdeFF's cultural community, has pretty much declared she's on my side. She normally goes home to her Aunt's on the weekends (she stays with whichever of us has the kids during the week), but asked to stay with me this weekend so that she could do things with friends over the weekend. Today I drove her and some other lovely young women to the mall (they'll catch the bus back) and tomorrow, my apartment will be overrun with sweet young twenty-somethings doing a big hairbraiding extravaganza. She asked permission to stay, and I pointed out that room and board is included and this is her home. She was pleased, as was I.
To top that off, she made this wonderful donutlike pastry (basically homemade fried dough) that is great with milk, and I've been munching away. Life isn't exactly bad right now.
*And he's Hispanic? Is this a sign of the apocalypse? A Hispanic man with no sex appeal? Or maybe the Zoloft is killing the libido. Who knows.
Also, I have some professional expertise with taxes. I just don't want to handle this, no, actually, I don't have the resources to handle this right now. So I'm going to part with more hard earned money and pay an expert to get everything done for me.
The girls are with their father. I have the urge to head over there and collect them, but I'm resisting it. I'll get to see them tomorrow morning when I take the FoilKid to her swimming lesson. Little fish.
Last night I went out for a few beers with a younger guy who likes hockey. Absolutely no spark*, but I think we will be hockey watching buddies, so that's a good thing. I am travelling up to New York in early April to see Kevin, and that should be fun. I lined up an attorney in North Carolina to make the speeding ticket turn into a non-moving violation (that's $350 I'll never see again) so that I don't have to worry about my insurance rates. I've been pretty darn productive.
Best of all, my babysitter, who is from PdeFF's cultural community, has pretty much declared she's on my side. She normally goes home to her Aunt's on the weekends (she stays with whichever of us has the kids during the week), but asked to stay with me this weekend so that she could do things with friends over the weekend. Today I drove her and some other lovely young women to the mall (they'll catch the bus back) and tomorrow, my apartment will be overrun with sweet young twenty-somethings doing a big hairbraiding extravaganza. She asked permission to stay, and I pointed out that room and board is included and this is her home. She was pleased, as was I.
To top that off, she made this wonderful donutlike pastry (basically homemade fried dough) that is great with milk, and I've been munching away. Life isn't exactly bad right now.
*And he's Hispanic? Is this a sign of the apocalypse? A Hispanic man with no sex appeal? Or maybe the Zoloft is killing the libido. Who knows.
February 23, 2006
A Nice Doctor
I didn't make it out skating tonight. I'm sore all over (??) and achy, so I stayed in and made a nice Spanish omelette. Which is not an omelette with tomatoes or anything like that. A traditional tortilla española is an omelette with potatoes, onion and a little bit of garlic, cooked in an omelette pan into a pie-shaped concoction with is then cooled and cut in wedges. Oh, and add a little parsely. Yum.
Today I saw my shrink. Who loaded me down with Lunesta and Zoloft samples so I wouldn't have to pay. Who told me not to worry about the bill for now ("My kids are out of college," he said). Who told me I'm "damn impressive" and "doing marvellously" all things considered. Nonethless, he told me to come back in a month ("there's a crash coming" -- like I didn't know that).
Today I saw my shrink. Who loaded me down with Lunesta and Zoloft samples so I wouldn't have to pay. Who told me not to worry about the bill for now ("My kids are out of college," he said). Who told me I'm "damn impressive" and "doing marvellously" all things considered. Nonethless, he told me to come back in a month ("there's a crash coming" -- like I didn't know that).
February 22, 2006
Child Labor Laws
The FoilKid is out of school this week. Winter vacation. Yesterday, I brought her to work with me, and she was my assistant. She used the stapler. Many things (hands, paper clips, various post-it notes, pieces of lunch) got copied. She delivered mail. Everyone commented on how lucky I was to have her helping me. And how amazingly beautiful she is. I'm glad I work with people who are observant and have good vision. Or at least a good sense of self-preservation.
Tonight, the girls went back to PdeFF for five long days. Fortunately, I'll stop by and take the FoilKid to her swimming lessons over the weekend and that will also give me a chance to see the GaahGirl before Monday when both girls come home to me. I'll enjoy my "free" weekend, but will be looking forward to their return. I'm so lukcy to have my girls.
Tonight, the girls went back to PdeFF for five long days. Fortunately, I'll stop by and take the FoilKid to her swimming lessons over the weekend and that will also give me a chance to see the GaahGirl before Monday when both girls come home to me. I'll enjoy my "free" weekend, but will be looking forward to their return. I'm so lukcy to have my girls.
February 21, 2006
Fuck It All
Not the most mellifluous of titles, but there you have it. This does not mean my weekend wasn't great (it was) and it doesn't mean I don't have good things going on (I do), but at some level I've realized that some things are just broken beyond repair. Well, I already know that, but the events of Friday (before getting to the Carolina coast) kind of slapped a coat of shellack on that idea and sealed it for eternity (or until shellack wears off).
The refinance of the former FoilHome (now occupied by the shiftless and feckless PdeFF) has fallen through. Not because of a usurious interest rate and excessive fees. No. Not because of high closing costs. No. Not even because of my newly crappy credit rating (used to be in the 700s now much lower). No. It fell through because PdeFF and his attorney wanted $15,000 for his legal bills out of the refinancing. I simply said: if you want to stay in the house until the divorce goes through, you'll need to consent to the refinance as it has been negotiated between me and the bank. No additional benefits thrown in." Since the refinance would give PdeFF a rent free home for about 8 months, I thought he was getting more than enough already. He wouldn't bend, so the former FoilHome is now headed toward default and then foreclosure. I'm not paying his attorneys fees. Period.
More craziness followed, and Innana again got to see me cry, which I really, really don't like. You know you are losing your superheroine status when people pat you.
Fortunately, I just set it all out of my mind for the weekend. Got back to work today (with FoilKid in tow, impressing all coworkers with her beauty, poise, and clearly superior genetic stock). With FoilKid there, I read an announcement about cheap tickets to the circus coming to town and scarfed two seats up for us. My employer often gets bargain basement tickets to popular events for employees. This was one.
I'm seeing SNV tomorrow night, and we will doubtless have a great time. The Professor left me a message today telling me about a deal on a house (I can't afford it, I have a leech to support) that is across the street from his home. Does he really want me living across the street? Go figure. I haven't seen him in a month, but I guess I should call. Nice guy.
Back to PdeFF. I know I'm divorcing. I know I'm bitter, but really: what the fuck is his damage? He has pissed away every asset I ever accumulated and now wants more. Well, moving out was the smartest thing I ever did. It was worth it being married to him, as it did help me produce the FoilKid and GaahGirl who are basically the pinnacle of human existance (he is a good looking man, and I'm damn smart, so for once, the offspring got the best from both parents). But it is so worth it to be rid of him, no matter what it costs me financially. It's a pity a husband-ectomy is so time-consuming and expensive. It really would be nice if you could just get a good anti-parasitic treatment (kind of link anti-fungal creme) and apply it, but now. We have to hire attorneys. We have to go through motions. But look at it this way: the separation started on September 27. Today is Feb. 21. In six days, it will be five months, and I only have seven months to go until I can formally apply to a court for a real divorce and walk away from him and his narcissistic and destructive (and psychotic) nonsense.
The refinance of the former FoilHome (now occupied by the shiftless and feckless PdeFF) has fallen through. Not because of a usurious interest rate and excessive fees. No. Not because of high closing costs. No. Not even because of my newly crappy credit rating (used to be in the 700s now much lower). No. It fell through because PdeFF and his attorney wanted $15,000 for his legal bills out of the refinancing. I simply said: if you want to stay in the house until the divorce goes through, you'll need to consent to the refinance as it has been negotiated between me and the bank. No additional benefits thrown in." Since the refinance would give PdeFF a rent free home for about 8 months, I thought he was getting more than enough already. He wouldn't bend, so the former FoilHome is now headed toward default and then foreclosure. I'm not paying his attorneys fees. Period.
More craziness followed, and Innana again got to see me cry, which I really, really don't like. You know you are losing your superheroine status when people pat you.
Fortunately, I just set it all out of my mind for the weekend. Got back to work today (with FoilKid in tow, impressing all coworkers with her beauty, poise, and clearly superior genetic stock). With FoilKid there, I read an announcement about cheap tickets to the circus coming to town and scarfed two seats up for us. My employer often gets bargain basement tickets to popular events for employees. This was one.
I'm seeing SNV tomorrow night, and we will doubtless have a great time. The Professor left me a message today telling me about a deal on a house (I can't afford it, I have a leech to support) that is across the street from his home. Does he really want me living across the street? Go figure. I haven't seen him in a month, but I guess I should call. Nice guy.
Back to PdeFF. I know I'm divorcing. I know I'm bitter, but really: what the fuck is his damage? He has pissed away every asset I ever accumulated and now wants more. Well, moving out was the smartest thing I ever did. It was worth it being married to him, as it did help me produce the FoilKid and GaahGirl who are basically the pinnacle of human existance (he is a good looking man, and I'm damn smart, so for once, the offspring got the best from both parents). But it is so worth it to be rid of him, no matter what it costs me financially. It's a pity a husband-ectomy is so time-consuming and expensive. It really would be nice if you could just get a good anti-parasitic treatment (kind of link anti-fungal creme) and apply it, but now. We have to hire attorneys. We have to go through motions. But look at it this way: the separation started on September 27. Today is Feb. 21. In six days, it will be five months, and I only have seven months to go until I can formally apply to a court for a real divorce and walk away from him and his narcissistic and destructive (and psychotic) nonsense.
February 20, 2006
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig
We got in an hour and a half ago after dropping Innana off at 9 p.m. It was a lovely weekend. Great thrift shop shopping, nice meals, visiting with Innana's Mom, DOL. I got a ticket on my way home* but who cartes. Lovely weekend.
*Nothing unfair. I was driving too fast. No makeup on and no cleavage showing, so I got the ticket. Or maybe that was because I'm aging. But I was driving way too fast. The Grammymobile is one of those great big roadtrip type cars. You don't even notice how fast you are going. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking too it.
*Nothing unfair. I was driving too fast. No makeup on and no cleavage showing, so I got the ticket. Or maybe that was because I'm aging. But I was driving way too fast. The Grammymobile is one of those great big roadtrip type cars. You don't even notice how fast you are going. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking too it.
February 17, 2006
Off To Where the Horizon Lies
Well, anyway, somewhere on the Atlantic Coast, looking towards Africa. Hi De-ID man! And a good thing I'm getting away. PdeFF stopped by this morning to drop the GaahGirl off at 8:10 a.m., after he had dropped the FoilKid at school, making me miss the 8:15 bus (well, I had to cuddle GaahGirl, didn't I?). He could have called first, but no, the first thing I know is the babysitter unlocking the door with PdeFF looming behind her. Not intimidating at all. I couldn't tell him so (not in front of GaahGirl), but it is good to be leaving town. Until Monday night, everyone. Have a great long weekend (in the U.S.) or regular weekend, whatever it is.
Off To Where the Horizon Lies
Well, anyway, somewhere on the Atlantic Coast, looking towards Africa. Hi De-ID man! And a good thing I'm getting away. PdeFF stopped by this morning to drop the GaahGirl off at 8:10 a.m., after he had dropped the FoilKid at school, making me miss the 8:15 bus (well, I had to cuddle GaahGirl, didn't I?). He could have called first, but no, the first thing I know is the babysitter unlocking the door with PdeFF looming behind her. Not intimidating at all. I couldn't tell him so (not in front of GaahGirl), but it is good to be leaving town. Until Monday night, everyone. Have a great long weekend (in the U.S.) or regular weekend, whatever it is.
February 16, 2006
What's Wrong With This Picture
It's a good thing I went skating tonight, after walking home from the Metro. Yup. Because something truly infuriating occured today. You're thinking it has something to do with my not-soon-enough-to-be-ex-husband. But you would be wrong. Well, he can infuriate me any day of the damn week. No. I'm talking about this. Okay, so you're thinking "Beans aren't that amazing, but what's she going on about?"
Here's a vowel and a clue. Look over to the links on the right hand side of the page. See the link "Very Smart, Not-So-Scary White Chick"? Remember when I used to be the "Smart Scary White Chick"? Or maybe it was "Very Smart, Very Scary White Chick"? I don't recall (not that smart, really). But I am scary. Really. I'm not the plump, mildly attractive, chocolate chip cookie making suburban Mom who didn't intimidate Champurrado the least little bit.
BTW, while I am not at liberty to disclose the circumstances under which I met the Champ, he is what he purports to be, a loving father with cute nicknames for his teenager who is as tall as he is. But please, can't I be a bit more scary? I need the scary. Scary, scary, scary. That's me. Please?
Oh, I guess I lose intimidation points for saying please. Shit.
Here's a vowel and a clue. Look over to the links on the right hand side of the page. See the link "Very Smart, Not-So-Scary White Chick"? Remember when I used to be the "Smart Scary White Chick"? Or maybe it was "Very Smart, Very Scary White Chick"? I don't recall (not that smart, really). But I am scary. Really. I'm not the plump, mildly attractive, chocolate chip cookie making suburban Mom who didn't intimidate Champurrado the least little bit.
BTW, while I am not at liberty to disclose the circumstances under which I met the Champ, he is what he purports to be, a loving father with cute nicknames for his teenager who is as tall as he is. But please, can't I be a bit more scary? I need the scary. Scary, scary, scary. That's me. Please?
Oh, I guess I lose intimidation points for saying please. Shit.
Almost Away
Yet I am sabotaging my trip just a little bit, because instead of finishing backing the girls' stuff right now, I'm getting myself ready for a little skating. I walked home from the Metro tonight (1 mile), but still have extra energy, and it would be nice to work on some of my skating moves. Then finish packing. All will work out fine.
I do look forward to time on the ice rink. Gliding around. Even though I can't do many moves any more*, but I can still skate quite quickly and relatively gracefully. I'm simply working on rebuilding muscle strength, muscle memory, and endurance. As well as just gaining my confidence. I'll get home, have a glass of wine, and play my guitar. PdeFF, process servers, impending (possible) foreclosure? Pah. I can handle that. And within a year, I'll be doing at least a waltz jump again. PdeFF never could and never will. As FoilKid gets to like skating more and more, it'll be me who takes her skating. And I'll be getting my not-too-pudgy (and very shapely) self into shape. As Our Eminence says, in his post supporting Innana's view of exercise and diet, "Round is a shape!" As the GaahGirl would be very happy to show you (and it's a nice round shape, too).
*At age 15, I could do: right and left forward and backward crossovers, two- and one-footed spins, three turns in all directions, mohawks in all directions, spirals, waltz jumps, a half-loop jump, a whole loop jump, a salchow, toe-loop, a flip jump and almost a lutz. I never managed an axel (1.5 revoluations). I did lots of fancy footwork. Now I'm working on the basics all over again.
I do look forward to time on the ice rink. Gliding around. Even though I can't do many moves any more*, but I can still skate quite quickly and relatively gracefully. I'm simply working on rebuilding muscle strength, muscle memory, and endurance. As well as just gaining my confidence. I'll get home, have a glass of wine, and play my guitar. PdeFF, process servers, impending (possible) foreclosure? Pah. I can handle that. And within a year, I'll be doing at least a waltz jump again. PdeFF never could and never will. As FoilKid gets to like skating more and more, it'll be me who takes her skating. And I'll be getting my not-too-pudgy (and very shapely) self into shape. As Our Eminence says, in his post supporting Innana's view of exercise and diet, "Round is a shape!" As the GaahGirl would be very happy to show you (and it's a nice round shape, too).
*At age 15, I could do: right and left forward and backward crossovers, two- and one-footed spins, three turns in all directions, mohawks in all directions, spirals, waltz jumps, a half-loop jump, a whole loop jump, a salchow, toe-loop, a flip jump and almost a lutz. I never managed an axel (1.5 revoluations). I did lots of fancy footwork. Now I'm working on the basics all over again.
February 15, 2006
Really Ticked Off
It's 10:25 p.m. I just got roused from bed to accept service of my husband's complaint in his suit against me. The sheriff's department guy is rather nice. They apologized, I said it was okay -- I was the one seeking the divorce, he's just mucking up the whole process.
I then called my lawyer and left a slightly heated message basically saying, didn't you accept service last week? So PdeFF's lawyer is charging him for serving a complaint I received through my attorney, and had the great good pleasure of interrupting my late night reading time.
Not a big crisis, but even when they are nice and polite, unnecessary visits by the sheriff are never good news, or pleasant. I was just so relieved that it wasn't PdeFF standing out there.
Thank goodness I'm getting out of town this weekend.
I then called my lawyer and left a slightly heated message basically saying, didn't you accept service last week? So PdeFF's lawyer is charging him for serving a complaint I received through my attorney, and had the great good pleasure of interrupting my late night reading time.
Not a big crisis, but even when they are nice and polite, unnecessary visits by the sheriff are never good news, or pleasant. I was just so relieved that it wasn't PdeFF standing out there.
Thank goodness I'm getting out of town this weekend.
February 14, 2006
Gender Roles and Expectations and My Not-Soon-Enough-to-Be-Ex-Husband
Right now, loathing simply doesn't describe how I feel about PdeFF. I am so furious I could de-bone him, if only I had a good filleting knife.
Then I stop, and realize that if I were a man talking about a stay-at-home wife who did not get back into the work world quickly and didn't respond to being asked for a divorce in a reasonable rational way, I would be regarded as a bit of a bastard. Because I'm a woman who has been the primary caregiver, and PdeFF has been a stay at home spouse, I think I get more sympathy than I otherwise would. So maybe I need to examine my own behavior and expectations of PdeFF a little more closely.
Except it's not like any of this has been a choice by me, up until September 27, 2005 (Innana's second or third 29th birthday, and the day I finally left PdeFF). PdeFF became a stay at home dad when he had his first (at least, first noticeable to me) break with reality. He couldn't work, and I had to get back to work after having the FoilKid. He got "better" but not great. He always spent more than he saved, and really seemed to think I was just always going to make more money. When I had the GaahGirl, and lost my job, and then had abdominal surgery (don't do that; it's not fun), it was me who got out of bed and went job-hunting. He was playing tennis much of the time. It was me who combined new motherhood, contract work, and jobhunting, finally finding a full-time decent job. He got a job and lost it in three weeks. Only after I left did he get a job and keep it for the first time in six years.
Today I finally received a copy of PdeFF's complaint in his suit against me. He wants the house, full custody of the girls, and alimony. He alleges that I am an unfit mother. He says I abandoned the girls when I left him (I took them with me). He says my depression and ADHD mean I can't have custody (never mind that he is psychotic, and diagnosed as such).
At the same time, I'm trying to work out a bridge loan to keep the house a marital possession (rather than have the bank foreclose on it) until the divorce is final. I'll be using money from the house to pay the mortgage -- and PdeFF thinks this should happen ad infinitum despite the fact that the monthly payments will be more than my income (and thus clearly not a state of affairs that could continue for any period of time). At least he still has his job. But he's been living rent free since December (he paid the November mortgage, but that's it). I'm leaning toward foreclosure, even though that will totally screw my credit rating.
It's very hard to negotiate or discuss things with people like PdeFF. People who believe things (like his fond belief that on $68K/year, I can afford a mortgage of $30K/year in addition to my rent) that have no basis in reality and who cannot rationally discuss decisions like "If you want the FoilKid to stay in private school, exactly where will the money for her tuition come from?" PdeFF is clear. The money will come from me.
Back when I earned over $200K per year, that would have been a reasonable assumption. That was the year after Foilkid was born. It's been downhill since then. $180, then $160, then $130. Last year, about $80. Working four different jobs (two at once) while post-partum. Not a pace I can keep up at this age. Somehow, he has to learn that my mother-of-two-young-children working-full-time forty-four-year-old self just isn't doing the work round the clock thing so that he can live beyond my means. Not happening. And I'm pretty confident a judge will tell him that. Eish.
Then I stop, and realize that if I were a man talking about a stay-at-home wife who did not get back into the work world quickly and didn't respond to being asked for a divorce in a reasonable rational way, I would be regarded as a bit of a bastard. Because I'm a woman who has been the primary caregiver, and PdeFF has been a stay at home spouse, I think I get more sympathy than I otherwise would. So maybe I need to examine my own behavior and expectations of PdeFF a little more closely.
Except it's not like any of this has been a choice by me, up until September 27, 2005 (Innana's second or third 29th birthday, and the day I finally left PdeFF). PdeFF became a stay at home dad when he had his first (at least, first noticeable to me) break with reality. He couldn't work, and I had to get back to work after having the FoilKid. He got "better" but not great. He always spent more than he saved, and really seemed to think I was just always going to make more money. When I had the GaahGirl, and lost my job, and then had abdominal surgery (don't do that; it's not fun), it was me who got out of bed and went job-hunting. He was playing tennis much of the time. It was me who combined new motherhood, contract work, and jobhunting, finally finding a full-time decent job. He got a job and lost it in three weeks. Only after I left did he get a job and keep it for the first time in six years.
Today I finally received a copy of PdeFF's complaint in his suit against me. He wants the house, full custody of the girls, and alimony. He alleges that I am an unfit mother. He says I abandoned the girls when I left him (I took them with me). He says my depression and ADHD mean I can't have custody (never mind that he is psychotic, and diagnosed as such).
At the same time, I'm trying to work out a bridge loan to keep the house a marital possession (rather than have the bank foreclose on it) until the divorce is final. I'll be using money from the house to pay the mortgage -- and PdeFF thinks this should happen ad infinitum despite the fact that the monthly payments will be more than my income (and thus clearly not a state of affairs that could continue for any period of time). At least he still has his job. But he's been living rent free since December (he paid the November mortgage, but that's it). I'm leaning toward foreclosure, even though that will totally screw my credit rating.
It's very hard to negotiate or discuss things with people like PdeFF. People who believe things (like his fond belief that on $68K/year, I can afford a mortgage of $30K/year in addition to my rent) that have no basis in reality and who cannot rationally discuss decisions like "If you want the FoilKid to stay in private school, exactly where will the money for her tuition come from?" PdeFF is clear. The money will come from me.
Back when I earned over $200K per year, that would have been a reasonable assumption. That was the year after Foilkid was born. It's been downhill since then. $180, then $160, then $130. Last year, about $80. Working four different jobs (two at once) while post-partum. Not a pace I can keep up at this age. Somehow, he has to learn that my mother-of-two-young-children working-full-time forty-four-year-old self just isn't doing the work round the clock thing so that he can live beyond my means. Not happening. And I'm pretty confident a judge will tell him that. Eish.
A Valentine for Innana (the More Important of this Morning's Posts)
Happy Valentine's Day, Innana. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for saving my life this last year. Thank you for not telling me what to do, even though it was apparent to everyone but me, until I figured it out for myself (way late), and then supporting me doing it. Thank you for keeping LOS and FoilMormor posted as to how I was doing. Thank you for being such a big and good influence over the FoilKid. Thank you for loving my daughters (not a hard task, but you're damn good at it). Thank you for being with me when the Temporary Restraining Order was served on PdeFF. Thank you for the sweater. Thanks for showing me McKay's used bookstore in Centreville (a goddess-send, clearly). Thanks for all the free tickets and invitations to cultural events. Thanks for inviting us along with you to DOL's place this coming weekend. Thank you for loving me.
I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.
I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.
Oh, Happy Day (and It's Valentine's Day)
It's a happy day because I got a full night's sleep last night. Ten p.m. to seven a.m. With a slight interruption at 11 p.m. by the FoilKid announcing she had a bad dream, marching into my room, climbing into my bed, and attaching herself to me, limpet-like, quite firmly. Despite the wriggling, squirming, and kicking, I slept quite well.
We had a nice breakfast. The GaahGirl is saying lots more than "Gaah!" She's so advanced! At fifteen months, she says "No!" quite distinctly. She also says "Hi" with a smile to men. Not women. Just men. They invariably smile back. She has mastered "Bye!" with a royal hand wave. And "Baa! Baa! Baa!" and several other fascinating vocalizations. Needless to say, her reaction to prunes: "No!"
And amazingly, my first Valentine's Day* after becoming newly almost-single, I actually have a date. A lunch date, because I have the girls tonight, and why would I want to go out on a date when I have the girls? Guys are cheap and guys are easy.** You can't leave the house without tripping over one. They can accommodate my custodial schedule, thank you very much.
But Mr. Submissive made lunch reservations at a nice restaurant I have not tried before. Full report later. I should feel a bit guilty, going to lunch just to get material, but really. It's investigative reporting, that's what it is. And any man who appreciates bossy women, well, that's a man pretty much made for me. Or not.
*Really, even more bogus a holiday than Mother's Day. Which is wasted on me, since my birthday and Mother's Day often (well, once every seven years) coincide, which is a really annoying waste, so I just disregard Mother's Day as annoying.
**I know, I'm sounding a bit hard-edged. But truthful. How to pick up a guy is three easy steps. (1) Show some leg. (2) Wear some make up. (3) Say hi. See how easy?
We had a nice breakfast. The GaahGirl is saying lots more than "Gaah!" She's so advanced! At fifteen months, she says "No!" quite distinctly. She also says "Hi" with a smile to men. Not women. Just men. They invariably smile back. She has mastered "Bye!" with a royal hand wave. And "Baa! Baa! Baa!" and several other fascinating vocalizations. Needless to say, her reaction to prunes: "No!"
And amazingly, my first Valentine's Day* after becoming newly almost-single, I actually have a date. A lunch date, because I have the girls tonight, and why would I want to go out on a date when I have the girls? Guys are cheap and guys are easy.** You can't leave the house without tripping over one. They can accommodate my custodial schedule, thank you very much.
But Mr. Submissive made lunch reservations at a nice restaurant I have not tried before. Full report later. I should feel a bit guilty, going to lunch just to get material, but really. It's investigative reporting, that's what it is. And any man who appreciates bossy women, well, that's a man pretty much made for me. Or not.
*Really, even more bogus a holiday than Mother's Day. Which is wasted on me, since my birthday and Mother's Day often (well, once every seven years) coincide, which is a really annoying waste, so I just disregard Mother's Day as annoying.
**I know, I'm sounding a bit hard-edged. But truthful. How to pick up a guy is three easy steps. (1) Show some leg. (2) Wear some make up. (3) Say hi. See how easy?
February 13, 2006
Insomnia -- Crafts (Knitting) Crisis
It is 3:00 a.m. Tomorrow is a work day. I can't sleep. I should be pleased with myself. I have finished Francesca's sweater* except for a few seams, the button band, and the collar. But in order to do the button band, I need the buttons. I bought some truly lovely wood buttons at G Street Fabrics a month ago. Only $.45 per button. Teardrop shapes, lovely unique wood buttons that will add a lovely accent to this sweater. I can't find them. I've looked in every yarn back and button stash I have. I've looked in all the FoilKid's hiding places. I've reorganized my nightstand and bureau seeking these buttons. I can't find the darn things. This sweater is lovely, regardless of whether I found these buttons. But I picked them out so carefully, matching each button to the maroon color. I lay on the floor looking underneath the bed, the nightstand, the bureau. I've checked the kitchen drawers. I can't find them.
I know it's not really the buttons that are bothering me to the point of sleeplessness(although they are bothering me). It's just one more thing that I have lost control of. I want to finish Francesca's sweater and send it to her in Europe while she can still wear it in the remaining weeks of winter. If I have to wait to buy more buttons (which will have to wait until my next paycheck), I won't finish the button band until sometime in March most likely.
I'm going to go finish David Foster Wallace's essay on English Usage. That should put me to sleep.
Good things: I have a nightstand full of books. Zadie Smith's On Beauty. Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. Stephen Ambrose's Citizen Soldiers. The Jane Austen Book Club. The Time Traveler's Wife. John Keegan's Six Armies in Normandy. Asne Seierstad's A Hundred & One Days -- A Baghdad Journal. T.C. Boyle's Drop City. Batavia's Graveyard, by Mike Dash. The Island of Lost Maps: A True Story of Cartographic Crime by Miles Harvey. In the Shadow of the Prophet by Milton Viorst. The Bedford Boys -- One Small Town's D-Day Sacrifice by Alex Kershaw. The American's at D-Day by John C. McManus. Plus other books in my kitchen bookshelf (really an otherwise empty cupboard.
The girls come home tomorrow. I'm going back to bed.
*Made with the lovely boucle blue wool and the maroon worsted weight yarn given to me by Prom, thank you very much (main color: blue, the maroon is an accent color; I'll have enough maroon left over for another entire sweater).
I know it's not really the buttons that are bothering me to the point of sleeplessness(although they are bothering me). It's just one more thing that I have lost control of. I want to finish Francesca's sweater and send it to her in Europe while she can still wear it in the remaining weeks of winter. If I have to wait to buy more buttons (which will have to wait until my next paycheck), I won't finish the button band until sometime in March most likely.
I'm going to go finish David Foster Wallace's essay on English Usage. That should put me to sleep.
Good things: I have a nightstand full of books. Zadie Smith's On Beauty. Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. Stephen Ambrose's Citizen Soldiers. The Jane Austen Book Club. The Time Traveler's Wife. John Keegan's Six Armies in Normandy. Asne Seierstad's A Hundred & One Days -- A Baghdad Journal. T.C. Boyle's Drop City. Batavia's Graveyard, by Mike Dash. The Island of Lost Maps: A True Story of Cartographic Crime by Miles Harvey. In the Shadow of the Prophet by Milton Viorst. The Bedford Boys -- One Small Town's D-Day Sacrifice by Alex Kershaw. The American's at D-Day by John C. McManus. Plus other books in my kitchen bookshelf (really an otherwise empty cupboard.
The girls come home tomorrow. I'm going back to bed.
*Made with the lovely boucle blue wool and the maroon worsted weight yarn given to me by Prom, thank you very much (main color: blue, the maroon is an accent color; I'll have enough maroon left over for another entire sweater).
I'm Not Joking
Tomorrow the girls are back with me. Yippee!
Yesterday evening when I was talking with MBLBRF, he mentioned that one of the things he finds amusing about this blog is how I have this running joke about the perfection of the FoilKid and the GaahGirl. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I'm not joking." I managed to keep a straight face for maybe 30 seconds. But even after we both burst out laughing, I then started enumerating the perfect qualities of the FoilKid (beautiful, smart, brave, funny, empathetic, kind, protective, goofy, athletic, tall, bouncy, etc.) and the GaahGirl (toothy, beautiful, round, cheerful, cherubic, adoring younger sister, gurgly, happy, smiley, and, again, round, etc.) and then forced him to look at pictures. He wisely noted the amazing beauty of both my treasures. Of course, he wasn't humoring me, was he?
Yesterday evening when I was talking with MBLBRF, he mentioned that one of the things he finds amusing about this blog is how I have this running joke about the perfection of the FoilKid and the GaahGirl. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I'm not joking." I managed to keep a straight face for maybe 30 seconds. But even after we both burst out laughing, I then started enumerating the perfect qualities of the FoilKid (beautiful, smart, brave, funny, empathetic, kind, protective, goofy, athletic, tall, bouncy, etc.) and the GaahGirl (toothy, beautiful, round, cheerful, cherubic, adoring younger sister, gurgly, happy, smiley, and, again, round, etc.) and then forced him to look at pictures. He wisely noted the amazing beauty of both my treasures. Of course, he wasn't humoring me, was he?
February 12, 2006
Mid-Weekend Update
We had a winter storm last night, and today I awoke to a shiny white world, all the trees, the one's that hadn't fallen under the weight of the precipation, coated in ice and snow, bejewelled. I've had a nice weekend. I came home on Friday and simply unwound, and then had a phone conversation with a friend, and slept. Saturday, I organized files, and then went to a movie and then dinner with BLBRF, which was truly enjoyable.
If you haven't yet, go see The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. It's a wonderful movie. Sad and hilarious by turns. Profane and spiritual. It really suited my world view, that's for darn sure. And the sexiest (in my book) woman in the movie was Melissa Leo, who definitely looked to be in her forties, and not physically perfect. Julio Cedillo, who played Melquiades Estrada, was a delight. Oh, but this movie is not for the squeamish. There is a decomposing body (in various states of decomposition depending on the flashback) throughout. Go see the movie.
At dinnner, MBLBRF and I discussed my hopes of getting published.* Obviously, such an eventuality would be a long-shot, but it's flattering and a target to aim at. However, as much as I like talking about myself on this blog, I don't want to always talk about myself in person, and afterwards I felt a bit like an older teenager, leaving the egotism of childhood behind and beginning to realize that not everyone, possibly, revolves around me and how I feel. I didn't ask much about his family, his work, or things going on in his life. Most of the dinner was all about me. That makes me feel rather badly. But I had a great time.
Of course, when he dropped me off after dinner, the electricity was off because of the quarter-inch of snow (WTF is wrong with Pepco?) that had fallen. I'm not scared of the dark . . . well, yes, I am scared of walking into a totally dark apartment to search for a flashlight the FoilMormor placed in a drawer back on September 27, 2005. Fortunately, BLBRF is a gentleman, and escorted me in without me actually having to say "I'm scared>" Fortunately, also, I had cleaned up the place a bit so there weren't GaahGirl toys scattered willy-nilly to trip us up. I found the flashlight, and still wasn't thrilled to be home alone in the dark, but hey. I'm FoilWoman. Being a bit scared of the dark isn't going to stop me.
Today, I've already done the groceries, finished cleaning, and am now about to head over to SNV's for a nice walk and visit. And then maybe stop by Innana's (she's not feeling great, and may need a care package or so). The event Innana and I thought was happening tonight isn't on until two weeks from now, which is good, since Innana is feeling poorly.
The one bad thing about the snow is that FoilKid's swimming lesson was cancelled. Normally I get to take her swimming, even when she is with PdeFF that weekend, because she's too old to go through the men's locker room (girls allowed in with fathers up to age five). So I don't get to see my girls until tomorrow night. Sigh. I'd better get out of the apartment so I don't brood. FoilMormor sent me a portrait of the GaahGirl, looking gorgeous, naturally. I have all theirmy girls' pictures spread out over the dining area table so I can see them whenever I want. One picture, with the FoilKid holding the GaahGirl, shows the FoilKid smiling and the GaahGirl's chubby thighs. Innana refers to the thigh-picture in question as "the drumstick of death." Those are my girls. Sigh.
*MBLBRF writes for a living, and not for Playboy magazine, but for a real publication in which people really do read the articles** and has published more than one book. So he actually knows something about this. And since we're post-crush/just friends/not-planning-on-sleeping-with-one-another-any-time-soon/whatever, I think I can take his advice and suggestions as earnest and honest, not as calculated to achieve a goal other than publication.
**Hustler Magazine has a few key scenes in The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, for those of you who look for stuff like that.
If you haven't yet, go see The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. It's a wonderful movie. Sad and hilarious by turns. Profane and spiritual. It really suited my world view, that's for darn sure. And the sexiest (in my book) woman in the movie was Melissa Leo, who definitely looked to be in her forties, and not physically perfect. Julio Cedillo, who played Melquiades Estrada, was a delight. Oh, but this movie is not for the squeamish. There is a decomposing body (in various states of decomposition depending on the flashback) throughout. Go see the movie.
At dinnner, MBLBRF and I discussed my hopes of getting published.* Obviously, such an eventuality would be a long-shot, but it's flattering and a target to aim at. However, as much as I like talking about myself on this blog, I don't want to always talk about myself in person, and afterwards I felt a bit like an older teenager, leaving the egotism of childhood behind and beginning to realize that not everyone, possibly, revolves around me and how I feel. I didn't ask much about his family, his work, or things going on in his life. Most of the dinner was all about me. That makes me feel rather badly. But I had a great time.
Of course, when he dropped me off after dinner, the electricity was off because of the quarter-inch of snow (WTF is wrong with Pepco?) that had fallen. I'm not scared of the dark . . . well, yes, I am scared of walking into a totally dark apartment to search for a flashlight the FoilMormor placed in a drawer back on September 27, 2005. Fortunately, BLBRF is a gentleman, and escorted me in without me actually having to say "I'm scared>" Fortunately, also, I had cleaned up the place a bit so there weren't GaahGirl toys scattered willy-nilly to trip us up. I found the flashlight, and still wasn't thrilled to be home alone in the dark, but hey. I'm FoilWoman. Being a bit scared of the dark isn't going to stop me.
Today, I've already done the groceries, finished cleaning, and am now about to head over to SNV's for a nice walk and visit. And then maybe stop by Innana's (she's not feeling great, and may need a care package or so). The event Innana and I thought was happening tonight isn't on until two weeks from now, which is good, since Innana is feeling poorly.
The one bad thing about the snow is that FoilKid's swimming lesson was cancelled. Normally I get to take her swimming, even when she is with PdeFF that weekend, because she's too old to go through the men's locker room (girls allowed in with fathers up to age five). So I don't get to see my girls until tomorrow night. Sigh. I'd better get out of the apartment so I don't brood. FoilMormor sent me a portrait of the GaahGirl, looking gorgeous, naturally. I have all theirmy girls' pictures spread out over the dining area table so I can see them whenever I want. One picture, with the FoilKid holding the GaahGirl, shows the FoilKid smiling and the GaahGirl's chubby thighs. Innana refers to the thigh-picture in question as "the drumstick of death." Those are my girls. Sigh.
*MBLBRF writes for a living, and not for Playboy magazine, but for a real publication in which people really do read the articles** and has published more than one book. So he actually knows something about this. And since we're post-crush/just friends/not-planning-on-sleeping-with-one-another-any-time-soon/whatever, I think I can take his advice and suggestions as earnest and honest, not as calculated to achieve a goal other than publication.
**Hustler Magazine has a few key scenes in The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, for those of you who look for stuff like that.
February 9, 2006
Friends, Possible Lovers, and Self-Care
Enough of this thinking thoughts about things like pornography (okay, guys: you can just pretend you stopped thinking about it -- you can practice faking it and see what it's like), intelligent design, god, and the meaning of life. Let's get back to the important stuff. Me! And my life, such as it is.
Despite impending fiscal disaster, which I may yet avert, but can't count on, today was a good day. Yesterday, I had a nice dinner at a Brazilian grill with a friend of mine who is unfortunately moving to Florida. I have to give this guy points big time, because we met and hit it off, but I assumed nothing would happen, because this man is 5'6", max, and not beefy -- he has a lean muscley build. Now I may be Foilwoman, but I'll be the first to admit that my secret identity person (as opposed to my Internet superheroine person) in the flesh is a bit of a pudgemuffin. A very attractive pudgemuffin, but on the boney to rounder continuum, I'm definitely nearer the rounder end. Not as round as the GaahGirl of course (although Mac did nicely give me GaahGirl's lovely dimpled knees), but round. And, wearing my work shoes, I'm 6'1" or 6'2", a good five or six inches taller. But he asked me out, and made it clear that he thinks I'm just fine and I think that takes some nerve (asking me out) and very good taste (thinking I'm just fine). So we hit it off, and he got a new job in Boca Raton. Oops. But actually that's probably good because I'm nowhere near a state where I could actually form anything resembling an actual functional relationship with a man (unless he were signing up for punching bag duty), and right now it's best to keep this light, affectionate, transient, and transitional.
But speaking of punching bags, one of my earlier swains, a guy who was single who I met in my foray into attempting adultery, has popped back up (no, not that way, go back and read the porn post). I had told him I didn't was to be in an unequal relationship (where he might need or want me more than I wanted or needed him, with all my familial responsibilities) and he understood. Once I was semi-single again, I dropped him a line asking if he'd like to meet. He did, and I told him where and when to meet me. When we met, I apologized for being bossy, and this professional and successful guy says: "I like that in a woman." I am absolutely serious. Well. He has certainly knocked on the right door. I'll show him bossy. Hee. So I told him where to take me out on Valentine's Day (for lunch, I have the girls that evening, and I'll celebrate this fake romantic holiday quite sincerely with the two apples of my eye, my two treasures), and he's doing it. Now, the taking me out to lunch or dinner on command is fine, but will he do laundry on command? That would be a turn on.
This is an instance where writing this online diary and publishing it affects my behavior. Mr. Submissive is attractive to me, but not wildly so. I'm not sure if what he has told me indicates that he is a BDSM-type submissive guy, or just a man who likes bossy women. If I weren't writing about this here, I'd probably just ask him "What do you mean by that", look out for the "what's my perversion" cues*, and probably decide this was outside my comfort zone.
However, I am writing about my adventures in life and am looking for material. So here, I'm just going to watch this unfold. So the very fact that I am recording my life changes it. (Oh! Shades of Tristram Shandy!) I'm just interested in not forcing the issue and seeing what develops or doesn't. Of course, as can often happen, it could just develop into complete disinterest and then there will be nothing to talk about. But I think not.
Kevin, who I last had dinner with back in December when he was in town interviewing for a job here has instead accepted a job in New York City. A pity, because he's someone I've known for six or seven years, and old friends are easier to deal with at times like this than new friends. But he got a great job in New York, and is living in the East Village. He invited me up for a weekend when I am temporarily kidless. I'm going to go and scarf up Opera tickets and such.
I have never gotten a strong attracted-to-me vibe from Kevin, and I never like to make assumptions. But he's made a pretty big effort to keep in touch for someone who I worked with from 1999-2002. But I think this is just a "Foilwoman is broke and needs a treat, and I can host her without much trouble" invitation rather than "Gee, I hope she'll come to New York so I can jump her pudgy middle-aged bones".** But he's a decent guy, I like him, and running around NYC one weekend would be fun.
But the best thing about today was this: I just went skating and I did forward and backward crossovers in every direction, three-turns, mohawks, bobbles, and forward and backward edges. I didn't try a waltz jump, but I'll get to that eventually. I could feel my skating legs returning (and can definitely feel my leg muscles now).
And I'm getting together with a lot of friends over the weekend (I always overprogram during weekends the girls are away), I'm seeing Innana, SNV, BLBRF, and going skating too. I'm looking forward to the weekend rather than dreading it.
*There is nothing wrong with being submissive and I don't disapprove. I just don't want to be wanted because of a fetish or something like that, and I think the whole roleplaying stuff seems pretty silly most of the time.
**Kevin is probably ten years younger than I am, which doesn't rule out interest, but it does make it seem less likely.
Despite impending fiscal disaster, which I may yet avert, but can't count on, today was a good day. Yesterday, I had a nice dinner at a Brazilian grill with a friend of mine who is unfortunately moving to Florida. I have to give this guy points big time, because we met and hit it off, but I assumed nothing would happen, because this man is 5'6", max, and not beefy -- he has a lean muscley build. Now I may be Foilwoman, but I'll be the first to admit that my secret identity person (as opposed to my Internet superheroine person) in the flesh is a bit of a pudgemuffin. A very attractive pudgemuffin, but on the boney to rounder continuum, I'm definitely nearer the rounder end. Not as round as the GaahGirl of course (although Mac did nicely give me GaahGirl's lovely dimpled knees), but round. And, wearing my work shoes, I'm 6'1" or 6'2", a good five or six inches taller. But he asked me out, and made it clear that he thinks I'm just fine and I think that takes some nerve (asking me out) and very good taste (thinking I'm just fine). So we hit it off, and he got a new job in Boca Raton. Oops. But actually that's probably good because I'm nowhere near a state where I could actually form anything resembling an actual functional relationship with a man (unless he were signing up for punching bag duty), and right now it's best to keep this light, affectionate, transient, and transitional.
But speaking of punching bags, one of my earlier swains, a guy who was single who I met in my foray into attempting adultery, has popped back up (no, not that way, go back and read the porn post). I had told him I didn't was to be in an unequal relationship (where he might need or want me more than I wanted or needed him, with all my familial responsibilities) and he understood. Once I was semi-single again, I dropped him a line asking if he'd like to meet. He did, and I told him where and when to meet me. When we met, I apologized for being bossy, and this professional and successful guy says: "I like that in a woman." I am absolutely serious. Well. He has certainly knocked on the right door. I'll show him bossy. Hee. So I told him where to take me out on Valentine's Day (for lunch, I have the girls that evening, and I'll celebrate this fake romantic holiday quite sincerely with the two apples of my eye, my two treasures), and he's doing it. Now, the taking me out to lunch or dinner on command is fine, but will he do laundry on command? That would be a turn on.
This is an instance where writing this online diary and publishing it affects my behavior. Mr. Submissive is attractive to me, but not wildly so. I'm not sure if what he has told me indicates that he is a BDSM-type submissive guy, or just a man who likes bossy women. If I weren't writing about this here, I'd probably just ask him "What do you mean by that", look out for the "what's my perversion" cues*, and probably decide this was outside my comfort zone.
However, I am writing about my adventures in life and am looking for material. So here, I'm just going to watch this unfold. So the very fact that I am recording my life changes it. (Oh! Shades of Tristram Shandy!) I'm just interested in not forcing the issue and seeing what develops or doesn't. Of course, as can often happen, it could just develop into complete disinterest and then there will be nothing to talk about. But I think not.
Kevin, who I last had dinner with back in December when he was in town interviewing for a job here has instead accepted a job in New York City. A pity, because he's someone I've known for six or seven years, and old friends are easier to deal with at times like this than new friends. But he got a great job in New York, and is living in the East Village. He invited me up for a weekend when I am temporarily kidless. I'm going to go and scarf up Opera tickets and such.
I have never gotten a strong attracted-to-me vibe from Kevin, and I never like to make assumptions. But he's made a pretty big effort to keep in touch for someone who I worked with from 1999-2002. But I think this is just a "Foilwoman is broke and needs a treat, and I can host her without much trouble" invitation rather than "Gee, I hope she'll come to New York so I can jump her pudgy middle-aged bones".** But he's a decent guy, I like him, and running around NYC one weekend would be fun.
But the best thing about today was this: I just went skating and I did forward and backward crossovers in every direction, three-turns, mohawks, bobbles, and forward and backward edges. I didn't try a waltz jump, but I'll get to that eventually. I could feel my skating legs returning (and can definitely feel my leg muscles now).
And I'm getting together with a lot of friends over the weekend (I always overprogram during weekends the girls are away), I'm seeing Innana, SNV, BLBRF, and going skating too. I'm looking forward to the weekend rather than dreading it.
*There is nothing wrong with being submissive and I don't disapprove. I just don't want to be wanted because of a fetish or something like that, and I think the whole roleplaying stuff seems pretty silly most of the time.
**Kevin is probably ten years younger than I am, which doesn't rule out interest, but it does make it seem less likely.
Women and Pornography
There is very little a woman can honestly say about the vast appetite for pornography that many men seem to have, except that it's threatening. I intellectually have no problem with people using whatever helps them (that doesn't harm others) to get themselves aroused or satisfied, but somehow that intellectual position doesn't translate into a real comfort level.
The Things I Know About Pornography With Which I Am Comfortable and Do No Have a Problem
Guys like to look at naked women.* This is probably unchangeable.
Guys (for whatever reason) like to look at other men have sex with naked women.** And of course women having sex with other women. This is probably unchangeable.
Guys jerk off a lot. This is probably unchangeable.
Pornography is highly profitable, and is a multibillion dollar industry.
The Things I Know About Pornography With Which I Am Uncomfortable and Perhaps Have a Problem
It infantalizes and hypersexualizes women simultaneously, which is just creepy.***
The sex depicted, at least from my perspective, has absolutely no connection to sex that might be likely to arouse a woman and bring her to orgasm.
The women participants often look bruised, and I will say with a great deal of certainty that most (not all) of these women have learned how to take a punch from an adult male at some point in their lives. Just my opinion, but really, that's what I believe. I think some men are aware of this, and the fact that the women are or have been victimized doesn't suppress desire.
The women are so clearly faking it.
I don't know where the money shot convention came from, but not every act of intercourse has to end with semen being squirted on a female. Really.
It's just mind-numbingly boring. For the most part, watching oil derricks go up and down, in and out, is more arousing. And more likely to make me come.
All that said, pornography isn't going anywhere. But how does one reconcile really toddler-level-ego-projection type fantasy which must play into watching these things with men who one might otherwise hope are intelligent, empathetic, and kind? It really seems rather scary that the two different approaches to sex (male and female) talk right past one another, which is rather sad since I assume that both sexes desire sex with another person rather than alone with some lube and a videotape. This whole world of male desire and the wish to have it fulfilled . . . . ugh. I think of myself (perhaps wrongly) as someone who knows her own desire and is willing to take pretty direct steps to satisfy it, but I can't imagine getting off on scenarios so removed from the reality of my potential partner's satisfaction. The absence of mutuality is what is so astounding. And that's the way the whole thing is set up.
Someone explain or rationalize this to me so that it doesn't make the male sex drive seem so predatory.
*I'm talking about straight men of my knowledge and experience. Of course, gay men look at pornography as well, and they're not looking at women. I'm just talking about my own knowledge and experience.
**I'm comfortable with it, but I don't really understand it. Don't they understand that at a certain level they're being left out. She ain't fucking you, bucko. She's fucking him. Or them, as the case may be.
***By this, I'm referring to the exaggerated body types combined with prepubescent grooming, as well as the not-too-infrequent daddy fetishes which seem to turn up a bit more often than I'm comfortable with, as well as the escalation of the extremity of the physical acts undertaken and performed (something DFW mentions with concern as well).
The Things I Know About Pornography With Which I Am Comfortable and Do No Have a Problem
Guys like to look at naked women.* This is probably unchangeable.
Guys (for whatever reason) like to look at other men have sex with naked women.** And of course women having sex with other women. This is probably unchangeable.
Guys jerk off a lot. This is probably unchangeable.
Pornography is highly profitable, and is a multibillion dollar industry.
The Things I Know About Pornography With Which I Am Uncomfortable and Perhaps Have a Problem
It infantalizes and hypersexualizes women simultaneously, which is just creepy.***
The sex depicted, at least from my perspective, has absolutely no connection to sex that might be likely to arouse a woman and bring her to orgasm.
The women participants often look bruised, and I will say with a great deal of certainty that most (not all) of these women have learned how to take a punch from an adult male at some point in their lives. Just my opinion, but really, that's what I believe. I think some men are aware of this, and the fact that the women are or have been victimized doesn't suppress desire.
The women are so clearly faking it.
I don't know where the money shot convention came from, but not every act of intercourse has to end with semen being squirted on a female. Really.
It's just mind-numbingly boring. For the most part, watching oil derricks go up and down, in and out, is more arousing. And more likely to make me come.
All that said, pornography isn't going anywhere. But how does one reconcile really toddler-level-ego-projection type fantasy which must play into watching these things with men who one might otherwise hope are intelligent, empathetic, and kind? It really seems rather scary that the two different approaches to sex (male and female) talk right past one another, which is rather sad since I assume that both sexes desire sex with another person rather than alone with some lube and a videotape. This whole world of male desire and the wish to have it fulfilled . . . . ugh. I think of myself (perhaps wrongly) as someone who knows her own desire and is willing to take pretty direct steps to satisfy it, but I can't imagine getting off on scenarios so removed from the reality of my potential partner's satisfaction. The absence of mutuality is what is so astounding. And that's the way the whole thing is set up.
Someone explain or rationalize this to me so that it doesn't make the male sex drive seem so predatory.
*I'm talking about straight men of my knowledge and experience. Of course, gay men look at pornography as well, and they're not looking at women. I'm just talking about my own knowledge and experience.
**I'm comfortable with it, but I don't really understand it. Don't they understand that at a certain level they're being left out. She ain't fucking you, bucko. She's fucking him. Or them, as the case may be.
***By this, I'm referring to the exaggerated body types combined with prepubescent grooming, as well as the not-too-infrequent daddy fetishes which seem to turn up a bit more often than I'm comfortable with, as well as the escalation of the extremity of the physical acts undertaken and performed (something DFW mentions with concern as well).
February 7, 2006
Pornography and You
I previously promised a post on pornography, which, like Justice Potter Stewart, I will decline to define in any detail, but I know it when I see it.* Well, here it is. This is partially inspired by reading "Big Red Son", by David Foster Wallace, in Consider the Lobster, a collection of essays.** This is also inspired by Innana's recent diptychs of biblical scenes showing Artemisia Gentileschi's interpretations of Judith and Holofernes and Susanna and the Elders compared to those of other (presumably male) artists. Another inspiration for this is my own complete lack of interest in most pornography that presently exists, despite actually thinking it would be very nice to see some stuff if it were actually arousing.
In "Big Red Son", Wallace details attending an awards ceremony of the adult video industry, for which he clearly did a a teensy-weensy bit too much research.*** Wallace seems shocked by his discovery that avid fans of pornography act embarrassed, but the porn participants themselves don’t. Well, why should they? They aren’t the people who have to rent a substitute to get themselves off, are they now? And really, I think Wallace is more shocked that the women porn participants aren’t embarrassed. Because of course for women, having sex on camera should be shameful. Whereas watching it and jacking off to it is just a guy’s god-given right, I guess.
Then Wallace loses me completely, because he touches on his preferences as to female performers (apparently Jenna Jamison isn’t one of his faves). The performers he and he believes others favor actually seem to be sharing an intimacy with their lonely audiences, in his mind at least. He likes the ones who he believes apparently do come on camera.
Now, I haven’t watched that much pornography (boring, boring, boring), but I have a curious mind, and I have watched some. While I have seen a number of simulated female orgasms, I doubt I actually saw a woman come while watching pornography. There is no female equivalent of the money shot where the guy unloads. Why not? Because these guys couldn’t tell if a female human were coming or going. Maybe I’m wrong here, but my gut feeling is that most female pornography performers fake their orgasms. A radical position I know.+
What disturbs me the most about most descriptions of the pornography industry isn’t the mysogyny and stupidity,++ of the audience and the producers+++, but the double standard. It’s okay to watch, it’s okay to rent, it’s okay to want to see, but “Jesus, did that woman actually do that?” Yes she did, and you paid money to see it, so next time they’ll try to up the ante a bit more. And you (voyeur) did that. You and your video purchase or rental dollars did that, put it in motion, supported it. Next thought of voyeur (and that’s what the audience is): “What’s wrong with her that she’ll do that?” This is really just transference of the thought “What’s wrong with me for wanting to see that? Or for getting off on it, even though I didn’t know I wanted to see it?”
I’d love to see pornography that was actually about bringing a woman to orgasm and keeping her there for a while. It would be really boring to watch. She’d come home, after a hard day to a clean house and a cooked dinner, and he’d run her bath. Afterwards, they’d cuddle for a good long time, and maybe they’d have sex or not. If so, after he’d come, he’d spend time necessary. This wouldn’t involve lots of changes of positions or anything. Hands and tongue mostly, and not all that flickering action you see in pornography that really does next to nothing. Then they’d cuddle more and talk. Yup. That’s a video I’d rent. Not really, but hey.
Part of my problem with pornography is the lascivious gaze that distorts (at least in my perspective) women’s sexuality. Look at the two Susanna and the Elders paintings that Innana posted. Pick, on first glance, which one was painted by a man, viewing the scene as erotic. Then pick which one was painted by a woman who had actually been tortured to prove the truth of a rape charge she had made. It ain’t all pleasurable and erotic, and the sad fact is that some of what turns guys on are events that actually have women in fear for their lives (Susanna would have been stoned to death had the threats been carried out).
I do concede that there are women who find danger and threats erotic, who relish relinquishing control, and who would find circumstances that I find repugnant exhilerating. But I believe those women are in a distinct minority. I think most women would rather have the freedom to be sexual without threat.
In the comments, before I finished this post, I said I
And let's be honest. Many women are threatened by pornography. Once you've have a baby or do, well, you're breasts were that big right after childbirth when the milk came in, but that's it. Otherwise, the ideal is basically that of a prepubescent pre-pregnancy and childbirth female (hairless, tiny waist) with enormous knockers. I do find the fact that the pornography industry simply can't work with a basic a pretty universal marker that a female is sexually mature (pubic hair) more disturbing than just about anything else. Are these supposed to be adult women? But for most women, I think the issue is this: if he really get's off from looking at all these women with the long legs, skinny waists, and big breasts, where does that leave me, with my average (or sometimes less than average) body? One friend of mine, upon finding her husband's copious pornography stash said, with real feeling: "That's it. I'm never taking my clothes off in front of him again. I lost my waistline bearing his children and he wants to look at that?"
Now, that's insecurity, and maybe he could convince her otherwise, but I don't think his massive collection of "Pleasing Pudenda" or whatever the issues were called really improved his sex life much for the six months that followed that discovery. There is the element of professionalism. Now that it's videotaped and marketed nationwide, there's a standard that most of us just aren't going to meet. So how should an average woman react? Obviously, nothing is going to stop men from watching this stuff, but really, how to make it less threatening for your average woman?
The other element of this is that when you watch pornography, you wonder, or at least I do. Was this really done willingly? One of the reasons I say this is that every time I've ever watched a video, I start noticing bruises and scars on the women. Since they're made up and shot to look pretty, we're only seeing the stuff that slips through. But I wonder. Does one notice that the performer has bruises on her thigh that actually don't look insignificant and simply put it out of one's mind? Is it irrelevant (like the female orgasm in this context)? Is it a turn on?
Anyway, I have no solution or resolution or anything. I just wonder whether in this modern world it's possible to live without pornography? We can't make it illegal because the First Amendment really is a worthwhile part of the Constitution and because driving it underground just doesn't work, it only creates a black market. Let's get all the taxes we can from men jerking off.*+ But I do think the whole context creates even more distance than before the pornography industry became so widespread and its products so available. No solutions, just thoughts. Any ideas?
* See Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, 197 (1964).
**Thank you, I think, Champurrado.
***While I am unsure, having read this essay, what I think of Mr. Wallace's ambivalence toward something he clearly enjoys (but has been socialized enough to feel ashamed of or at least to know he should feel ashamed of), I did thoroughly enjoy this essay. Mr. Wallace can write, and I will be reading much more of his work in the future.
+I really hope not. Anyone (guy) who is shocked by this statement, well, uh, you’re easily fooled. But then one doesn’t even have to fake an orgasm for some men to think you’ve reached your pinnacle, as I know to my dismay.
++And it’s the mysogyny and stupidity so clearly prevalent in the industry that are the most disturbing things about Wallace’s essay, not his own myopia. He actually appears to feel empathy and horror, while being aroused, so despite my previous snarky comments (see nn. *** and + above), the essay and Wallace do not arouse my antipathy.
+++I’ll give the participants a bye. If they were rocket scientists or could make a decent living doing something else, I doubt they’d be swallowing sperm for a living.
*+Is it true that in Australia, tampons are taxed as a luxury (nonessential????) good, but condoms aren't? Benny, BJ, tell all.
In "Big Red Son", Wallace details attending an awards ceremony of the adult video industry, for which he clearly did a a teensy-weensy bit too much research.*** Wallace seems shocked by his discovery that avid fans of pornography act embarrassed, but the porn participants themselves don’t. Well, why should they? They aren’t the people who have to rent a substitute to get themselves off, are they now? And really, I think Wallace is more shocked that the women porn participants aren’t embarrassed. Because of course for women, having sex on camera should be shameful. Whereas watching it and jacking off to it is just a guy’s god-given right, I guess.
Then Wallace loses me completely, because he touches on his preferences as to female performers (apparently Jenna Jamison isn’t one of his faves). The performers he and he believes others favor actually seem to be sharing an intimacy with their lonely audiences, in his mind at least. He likes the ones who he believes apparently do come on camera.
Now, I haven’t watched that much pornography (boring, boring, boring), but I have a curious mind, and I have watched some. While I have seen a number of simulated female orgasms, I doubt I actually saw a woman come while watching pornography. There is no female equivalent of the money shot where the guy unloads. Why not? Because these guys couldn’t tell if a female human were coming or going. Maybe I’m wrong here, but my gut feeling is that most female pornography performers fake their orgasms. A radical position I know.+
What disturbs me the most about most descriptions of the pornography industry isn’t the mysogyny and stupidity,++ of the audience and the producers+++, but the double standard. It’s okay to watch, it’s okay to rent, it’s okay to want to see, but “Jesus, did that woman actually do that?” Yes she did, and you paid money to see it, so next time they’ll try to up the ante a bit more. And you (voyeur) did that. You and your video purchase or rental dollars did that, put it in motion, supported it. Next thought of voyeur (and that’s what the audience is): “What’s wrong with her that she’ll do that?” This is really just transference of the thought “What’s wrong with me for wanting to see that? Or for getting off on it, even though I didn’t know I wanted to see it?”
I’d love to see pornography that was actually about bringing a woman to orgasm and keeping her there for a while. It would be really boring to watch. She’d come home, after a hard day to a clean house and a cooked dinner, and he’d run her bath. Afterwards, they’d cuddle for a good long time, and maybe they’d have sex or not. If so, after he’d come, he’d spend time necessary. This wouldn’t involve lots of changes of positions or anything. Hands and tongue mostly, and not all that flickering action you see in pornography that really does next to nothing. Then they’d cuddle more and talk. Yup. That’s a video I’d rent. Not really, but hey.
Part of my problem with pornography is the lascivious gaze that distorts (at least in my perspective) women’s sexuality. Look at the two Susanna and the Elders paintings that Innana posted. Pick, on first glance, which one was painted by a man, viewing the scene as erotic. Then pick which one was painted by a woman who had actually been tortured to prove the truth of a rape charge she had made. It ain’t all pleasurable and erotic, and the sad fact is that some of what turns guys on are events that actually have women in fear for their lives (Susanna would have been stoned to death had the threats been carried out).
I do concede that there are women who find danger and threats erotic, who relish relinquishing control, and who would find circumstances that I find repugnant exhilerating. But I believe those women are in a distinct minority. I think most women would rather have the freedom to be sexual without threat.
In the comments, before I finished this post, I said I
don't think DFW disapproves of the porn participant women, he's just commenting about their lack of embarrassment, and then detailing the acts he's seen them perform, and the underlying theme is not that his witnessing was degrading, but there is an implication (maybe this reader just inferred it, but I don't think so) that the woman is somehow degraded on a different level, and the basic fact that it's the men who haven't been able to make their sexuality appealing enough to women to convince women to engage in sex with them often enough that they don't have to go pay money for a masturbatory substitute is simply taken for granted as the situation, and the women who do accommodate or like (or receive money for) that desire are somehow deviant. Maybe it's just me reading about male desire through the female gaze (a switch, because normally men get to observe women without apology, not the reverse), but if men really want to masturbate to the tune of however many billions of dollars they spend on the porn industry, is that a preference or a poor substitute (for actual sex). If it's a preference, I feel sad and worried for all the mooks, 'cause no, Jenna Jamison ain't climbing into their bed, pretty much ever. If it's a substitute, let's think about changing the underlying behavior that has the desire and wish to act on it distributed so unevenly [between the sexes].Obviously, if men are spending billions of dollars, which they are, to watch women who will never willingly touch them have sex with other men, this isn't a very effective evoluationary strategy. Since photos and video weren't invented when the human sex drives (male and female) came along, it clearly is a sidestep, but it does expose a real chasm between men and women.
And let's be honest. Many women are threatened by pornography. Once you've have a baby or do, well, you're breasts were that big right after childbirth when the milk came in, but that's it. Otherwise, the ideal is basically that of a prepubescent pre-pregnancy and childbirth female (hairless, tiny waist) with enormous knockers. I do find the fact that the pornography industry simply can't work with a basic a pretty universal marker that a female is sexually mature (pubic hair) more disturbing than just about anything else. Are these supposed to be adult women? But for most women, I think the issue is this: if he really get's off from looking at all these women with the long legs, skinny waists, and big breasts, where does that leave me, with my average (or sometimes less than average) body? One friend of mine, upon finding her husband's copious pornography stash said, with real feeling: "That's it. I'm never taking my clothes off in front of him again. I lost my waistline bearing his children and he wants to look at that?"
Now, that's insecurity, and maybe he could convince her otherwise, but I don't think his massive collection of "Pleasing Pudenda" or whatever the issues were called really improved his sex life much for the six months that followed that discovery. There is the element of professionalism. Now that it's videotaped and marketed nationwide, there's a standard that most of us just aren't going to meet. So how should an average woman react? Obviously, nothing is going to stop men from watching this stuff, but really, how to make it less threatening for your average woman?
The other element of this is that when you watch pornography, you wonder, or at least I do. Was this really done willingly? One of the reasons I say this is that every time I've ever watched a video, I start noticing bruises and scars on the women. Since they're made up and shot to look pretty, we're only seeing the stuff that slips through. But I wonder. Does one notice that the performer has bruises on her thigh that actually don't look insignificant and simply put it out of one's mind? Is it irrelevant (like the female orgasm in this context)? Is it a turn on?
Anyway, I have no solution or resolution or anything. I just wonder whether in this modern world it's possible to live without pornography? We can't make it illegal because the First Amendment really is a worthwhile part of the Constitution and because driving it underground just doesn't work, it only creates a black market. Let's get all the taxes we can from men jerking off.*+ But I do think the whole context creates even more distance than before the pornography industry became so widespread and its products so available. No solutions, just thoughts. Any ideas?
* See Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, 197 (1964).
**Thank you, I think, Champurrado.
***While I am unsure, having read this essay, what I think of Mr. Wallace's ambivalence toward something he clearly enjoys (but has been socialized enough to feel ashamed of or at least to know he should feel ashamed of), I did thoroughly enjoy this essay. Mr. Wallace can write, and I will be reading much more of his work in the future.
+I really hope not. Anyone (guy) who is shocked by this statement, well, uh, you’re easily fooled. But then one doesn’t even have to fake an orgasm for some men to think you’ve reached your pinnacle, as I know to my dismay.
++And it’s the mysogyny and stupidity so clearly prevalent in the industry that are the most disturbing things about Wallace’s essay, not his own myopia. He actually appears to feel empathy and horror, while being aroused, so despite my previous snarky comments (see nn. *** and + above), the essay and Wallace do not arouse my antipathy.
+++I’ll give the participants a bye. If they were rocket scientists or could make a decent living doing something else, I doubt they’d be swallowing sperm for a living.
*+Is it true that in Australia, tampons are taxed as a luxury (nonessential????) good, but condoms aren't? Benny, BJ, tell all.
Could Someone Religious and Well-Respected Publicly Disavow This Moron?
Of course, I am talking about Pat Robertson as a living exemplar that the theory of White Supremacy is sadly misguided.* And people wonder why I don't have much hope for religion.
*This phrase stolen from the infallible Pope Benedict the Sixteenth (Madder and Badder than the Fifteenth), except the phrase was with regard to Dubya.
*This phrase stolen from the infallible Pope Benedict the Sixteenth (Madder and Badder than the Fifteenth), except the phrase was with regard to Dubya.
Lunch (Yippee) Hour Post
Well, I not only made it into work, I ate my first meal since the pathetic attempt at chicken soup yesterday, which was my first meal since Sunday night. Nice to be able to renourish oneself. Of course, last night I collapsed at nine and slept until 7:45. My collapse was preceded by the FoilKid succumbing to whatever it was that I had, all over her homework. Got her cleaned up and ready for bed, when she declared that she was ever so much better and could we please read The Wind in the Willows.
If I were a more suspicious mother (which I'm not, I'm an official doter -- or as Innana describes, with explanatory alphabetic arm gestures accompanying and a smirk on her otherwise serene face*, an "M-O-T-H-E-R"), I'd think the FoilKid arranged the projectile vomiting to get out of the rest of her homework, but really, that sort of thing can't be feigned without real effort. But no. It was real. Only twenty minutes later, she (and everything else) was all cleaned up and she was cuddling with me while I read to her. She awoke this morning ready for school and cheerful. I still couldn't manage breakfast. Fortunately, my blessed babysitter sent me to bed last night after reading The Wind in the Willows and didn't let the kids wake me this morning. I need to do something very nice for that woman.
Anyway, finally, lunchtime is here, and I managed a light lunch, I've actually gotten some work done, and I talked to Innana and she says I sound like myself (not all fuzzy). Now, where were we? Foreclosure? Lawsuits? More later.
"I used the birth control" she says, which is really snarky for a fertility goddess, I'd say.
If I were a more suspicious mother (which I'm not, I'm an official doter -- or as Innana describes, with explanatory alphabetic arm gestures accompanying and a smirk on her otherwise serene face*, an "M-O-T-H-E-R"), I'd think the FoilKid arranged the projectile vomiting to get out of the rest of her homework, but really, that sort of thing can't be feigned without real effort. But no. It was real. Only twenty minutes later, she (and everything else) was all cleaned up and she was cuddling with me while I read to her. She awoke this morning ready for school and cheerful. I still couldn't manage breakfast. Fortunately, my blessed babysitter sent me to bed last night after reading The Wind in the Willows and didn't let the kids wake me this morning. I need to do something very nice for that woman.
Anyway, finally, lunchtime is here, and I managed a light lunch, I've actually gotten some work done, and I talked to Innana and she says I sound like myself (not all fuzzy). Now, where were we? Foreclosure? Lawsuits? More later.
"I used the birth control" she says, which is really snarky for a fertility goddess, I'd say.
February 6, 2006
Sick and Tired
That's literal, by the way. Of course, I'm also sick and tired of PdeFF's shenanigans, the length of time it will take the separation and divorce to take effect, and the general state of my finances, but the reality is that right now I am simply physically sick. I'm at work (no real leave accrued yet), and miserable. I can't get comfy, and my joints ache. And I'm starving, but I don't dare eat (trust me on this one). This had better end soon. I can handle any amount of emotional abuse, but my tummy's hurting, and I can't stand that. Of course, I'm tired because the FoilKid couldn't sleep and cam to my room. Then I got sick. She did not wake, d'oh. She's six. Sick Mama/Well Mama: No real difference. I'm glad she remained oblivious. I really hope I can sleep tonight.
February 4, 2006
Six-Year Olds Skating (Exhausted Moi)
I am feeling everyone one of my forty-four years. I feel the twinge in the shoulder that I dislocated back in 1998 out for a run with my best bud in Boston when I fell into a pothole near the big dig. I feel every piece of scar tissue of each horribly nasty abominal surgery I had (one in 2002, one in 2004). I feel my age.
What brought this on? The living proof that I am a very youthful forty-four year old. This weekend is my weekend with the girls. Well, the FoilKid woke two times last night, and the GaahGirl three. Everyone ended up in my bed. They got a good night's rest.
Then, showing that PdeFF is not alone in his membership in the Non-Reality-Based Community, I foolishly (earlier this week) acceded to the FoilKid's pleas and arranged a playdate with a classmate of hers. The one girl in her class that FoilKid finds worthy, Isolde is a dainty delicate thing who can pick up my twice-her-size daughter. She gets invited to all the same birthday parties my daughter gets invited to -- those of the little boys in the class. She looks like a dainty ballerina, but no, she's more of a roller-derby type. She would succeed in SEAL training. She could be an Army Ranger, no problem. This kid is one tough customer.
Isolde and FoilKid went skating with me as chaperone. I have never skated so far and so fast in one two-hour period. FoilKid likes to skate, but doesn't like to fall, so when we skate together, it's a fairly restrained couples skate, where I get her to go forwards, backwards, and do bobbles. We rest frequently. Isolde, with limited skating ability, gets on the ice and sprints. She doesn't skate well, so she keeps falling down. This kid fell down at least 50 times, probably 100. And Isolde is no offspring of mine -- there is no padded tush to fall on. All bones. But Isolde is one tough little terrier and gets back up, smiles at me, and commences sprinting again. Each time. FoilKid decided it was completely uncool to be holding my hand and started chasing after Isolde. Despite having a better control of her skates and the medium of the ice, FoilKid just isn't as fast as that little girl. FoilKid's already good skating skills increased ten-fold, simply by chasing this "I'll just run on the ice in my skates" creature.
The only time we stopped for two hours was when the zamboni did the mid-period clean up. Of course, we couldn't sit down. We had to stand by the glass and wave, trying to catch the Zamboni driver's attention. Victory was declared when he did indeed honk at the girls.
I've just had a nice hot soak in the tub. I think I need another.
What brought this on? The living proof that I am a very youthful forty-four year old. This weekend is my weekend with the girls. Well, the FoilKid woke two times last night, and the GaahGirl three. Everyone ended up in my bed. They got a good night's rest.
Then, showing that PdeFF is not alone in his membership in the Non-Reality-Based Community, I foolishly (earlier this week) acceded to the FoilKid's pleas and arranged a playdate with a classmate of hers. The one girl in her class that FoilKid finds worthy, Isolde is a dainty delicate thing who can pick up my twice-her-size daughter. She gets invited to all the same birthday parties my daughter gets invited to -- those of the little boys in the class. She looks like a dainty ballerina, but no, she's more of a roller-derby type. She would succeed in SEAL training. She could be an Army Ranger, no problem. This kid is one tough customer.
Isolde and FoilKid went skating with me as chaperone. I have never skated so far and so fast in one two-hour period. FoilKid likes to skate, but doesn't like to fall, so when we skate together, it's a fairly restrained couples skate, where I get her to go forwards, backwards, and do bobbles. We rest frequently. Isolde, with limited skating ability, gets on the ice and sprints. She doesn't skate well, so she keeps falling down. This kid fell down at least 50 times, probably 100. And Isolde is no offspring of mine -- there is no padded tush to fall on. All bones. But Isolde is one tough little terrier and gets back up, smiles at me, and commences sprinting again. Each time. FoilKid decided it was completely uncool to be holding my hand and started chasing after Isolde. Despite having a better control of her skates and the medium of the ice, FoilKid just isn't as fast as that little girl. FoilKid's already good skating skills increased ten-fold, simply by chasing this "I'll just run on the ice in my skates" creature.
The only time we stopped for two hours was when the zamboni did the mid-period clean up. Of course, we couldn't sit down. We had to stand by the glass and wave, trying to catch the Zamboni driver's attention. Victory was declared when he did indeed honk at the girls.
I've just had a nice hot soak in the tub. I think I need another.
February 3, 2006
Dreamland
That's the FoilKid's favorite lullaby, and I had to give a demand performance tonight with guitar accompaniment. It's nice to have the girls for the next five days. Tomorrow: pancakes from scratch, then pizza dough (and let it rise) then skating. Sunday: swimming lessons and possible visit with Innana. It's good to have my girls back.
An Overarching Theme (Single Issue Weblogs)
One thing I have noticed in the last nine months that I have been writing this blog and visiting other people's is that the blogs with the biggest readership are single-issue blogs: whether the issue is religion, a lack thereof, politics, food, work, or some other more esoteric theme (like "People's Secrets", a la Post Secret), readers return more and post more to single issue blogs.
It's no secret. I like readers. I like to see my readership numbers rise,* and I like my readers to return and comment and push a pin in on the Bravent Map. But if I really want to enhance my readership, I have to go single issue. Which means I'll end up with about 10 blogs. I need blogs for:
How to survive separation and impending (I sure as shit hope) divorce.
My amazing children and their loving subjects.
My family.
My daily life in DC.
Friends.
Internet relationships.
Guitars.
Music.
Books.
Food.
Religion.
The mysteries of human male/human female relationships and communication.
Discussion of male Uselessness.
Sex.
Celebrity crushes.
Dating in middle age/being single again after a long marriage.
Being a single mother.
Superpowers.
Smiting the unworthy.
The stupidity that is humanity.
Politics (actually, I think we could include that in "The Stupidity that is Humanity").
Knitting and lacemaking (new skill).
Work.
Being a supervisor.
Annoying commuters.
Hockey and hockey players.
Unfortunately, I'm not a single issue super-heroine. I like to read and write about intelligent design, religion, knitting, pornography,** the Supreme Court, Papal Encyclicals, Darwinism being proved every day, charity, the joys of parenthood, dating, attractive men, and philosophy, to take on the subject that have popped into my ADHD-afflicted brain whilst writing this sentence. So, for those of you who actually read my blog despite there being no coherent theme, thank you. Or maybe the theme is the title of a Hole (I have actually never listened knowingly to anything that band put out) album, which makes me a bit queasy: "Live Through This." Don't worry. I will.
*Now closing in on 22,000 according to StatCounter, the meter I signed on with back in April of 2005.
**A post on that coming soon, I promise.
It's no secret. I like readers. I like to see my readership numbers rise,* and I like my readers to return and comment and push a pin in on the Bravent Map. But if I really want to enhance my readership, I have to go single issue. Which means I'll end up with about 10 blogs. I need blogs for:
How to survive separation and impending (I sure as shit hope) divorce.
My amazing children and their loving subjects.
My family.
My daily life in DC.
Friends.
Internet relationships.
Guitars.
Music.
Books.
Food.
Religion.
The mysteries of human male/human female relationships and communication.
Discussion of male Uselessness.
Sex.
Celebrity crushes.
Dating in middle age/being single again after a long marriage.
Being a single mother.
Superpowers.
Smiting the unworthy.
The stupidity that is humanity.
Politics (actually, I think we could include that in "The Stupidity that is Humanity").
Knitting and lacemaking (new skill).
Work.
Being a supervisor.
Annoying commuters.
Hockey and hockey players.
Unfortunately, I'm not a single issue super-heroine. I like to read and write about intelligent design, religion, knitting, pornography,** the Supreme Court, Papal Encyclicals, Darwinism being proved every day, charity, the joys of parenthood, dating, attractive men, and philosophy, to take on the subject that have popped into my ADHD-afflicted brain whilst writing this sentence. So, for those of you who actually read my blog despite there being no coherent theme, thank you. Or maybe the theme is the title of a Hole (I have actually never listened knowingly to anything that band put out) album, which makes me a bit queasy: "Live Through This." Don't worry. I will.
*Now closing in on 22,000 according to StatCounter, the meter I signed on with back in April of 2005.
**A post on that coming soon, I promise.
A Picture I Can Post
I do know how to post pictures. I really, really do. Here's a nice one. Ivan Majesky, defenseman, Washington Capitals. Nice to small children, full of muscles, and probably dumb as a box of rocks. I'm not planning on having a conversation with him, you know?
Maybe I should add his picture to my profile, because he beats up people for a living (he's a defenseman in the NHL, 6'5" 230 lbs -- he didn't get hired for his superb puck-handling ability although I think we can assume that's good too).
Anyway, Ivan is my new celebrity crush. Sam Donaldson for intellectual (sort of) thought, and Ivan for other thoughts. I'm feeling cheerier (compared to yesterday, who wouldn't be) now.
February 2, 2006
New Attempted Profile Pic
Of course, the picture is great. The only question is why I still can't post it in profile. (Now blogger tells me the URL doesn't have a .jpg, .pic, .pnf, or .gif or other acceptable suffix. Meh.)
Part of Life's Rich Pageant
Well, there are good days and there are bad days. Yesterday was a bad day. It was such a bad day that when I called Innana at 11ish, she answered the phone, and I simply started to sob. Today is better. Not good, but better.
What was bad yesterday? Well, first of all, my DSL connection (Verizon DSL -- don't use it -- dial-up is faster. Comcast was better. AOL was better. I'm pretty sure most sub-sarahan connections are better) just wouldn't connect. This has been happening a lot lately. Eight customer service calls in one month and one day. They keep saying it's fixed, and then I try and log on again. Not fixed. Nosirree. I really needed to write here, get feedback, and feel better about the total load of craptitude that occasionally appears to qualify as my life.
Of course, I did have a lovely time ogling hockey players at the meet the fans party. Uber (I was SO pleased to have a free ticket to give her, for once) and I circulated with our little autograph books, getting autographs for pre-teen boys we know who love hockey. The players are much nicer to the women of a certain age getting the autographs for kids than they are to the ladies asking them to autograph their shirt while still in it. Nicer still to the actual kids.
I got autographs from Ted Leonsis (millionaire owner who was very sweet, but did not seem to appreciate the wonder that is Foilwoman), Jeff Friesen (#41, from Saskatchewan), Olaf Kolzig (#37 from Johannesburg, South Africa: DeID, I guess that was in your honor), Ivan Majesky (#23 from Slovakia), Brendan Witt (#19, from Humboldt, Saskatchewan), Brian Willsie (#24 from London, Ontario) and several others I can't recall. I liked Majesky the best, mainly because he teased all the little kids in line, and made a drawing for the little kid for whom I was getting an autograph. Any defensemen who can poke an adoring seven year old in the belly without worrying about losing his macho dignity gets points from me. No idea if he's a good player or not, but Ivan Majesky, cute, cuddly, he's my fave.
Good thing I had a treat, because PdeFF is suing me. He wants the house (I should pay the mortgage, he should have use and possession), the kids (wants full custody), and everything else. His lawyer did the filing badly, and PdeFF won't get these things, but we still have to respond. Waste of money, which I do not have. My lawyer called his and explained the family budget such as it is (stoney brokeness) and PdeFF's attorney says I need to go back to earning more and give the kids to him. And pay him to live like an upper-middle class guy. Huh? Meanwhile, the bank wants to be paid up or foreclosure begins. I can't pay the mortgage and my rent, and my parents won't (shouldn't) help unless PdeFF agrees to sell and pay them back out of the proceeds. Not going to happen. There's at least $200K in equity there. It's going to disappear. Oh, and since PdeFF is suing me, I need $5000 to pay my attorney for a retainer. I don't have it, and I can't ask my parents for more. They are retired and need their savings.
How did the mighty Foilwoman handle this setback? I told Uber about it, while ogling young men, and got her advice (and phone numbers of realtors). Then I tried to email the family members who need to be advised (because their money is on the line). When I couldn't get online to email because Verizon Online DSL service is the worst DSL service bar none and Verizon customer service (especially the supercilious twit named Andrew) is the worst known to modern humanity I called up Innana and sobbed like a baby. Actually worse. Big gulping undignified sobs. Totally pathetic.
This morning I arose and I had Internet access (which, btw, Verizon Online Useless Customer service I should have all the fucking time) I emailed my parents. On getting to work, we were evacuated due to a bomb threat. Since I couldn't work, I called Nuclear Grammy and the check for the retainer is in the mail. "You can't help that your husband went crazy dear." She said. "I'm 95 years old. Better you benefit now, than when I'm dead." I reminded her she wasn't turning 94 until the end of this month. "Ninety-five sounds better" she retorted. "Makes me sound like it's a miracle I'm still here." It's not a miracle. She's too tough to die. I hope. I want to be like that 50 years from now. Rescuing errant grandchildren right and left.
I called the realtor Uber sent me to, and she has many cunning plans. She has referred me to a nice (truly) banker who is high enough to have loan approval authority and I may be able to refinance (don't count on it, but it would be nice), and if not, she has done many distress sales.
FoilMormor and FoilDad and the SecondMate are hatching cunning plans of their own. Nuclear Grammy offered to come beat some sense into PdeFF, but agreed in the end to simply fund a lawyer to do that. Life still sucks, but I'll live through this.
Oh, another good thing that I'm not allowed to write about in detail, but will allude to. The Champ was in the DC area con su hijita. I was daring enough to make chocolate chip cookies for them, and they were not rejected out of hand as beneath contempt. My life may be falling apart, but I can still feed a teenager a cookie she'll devour. Yup. Life ain't so bad.
What was bad yesterday? Well, first of all, my DSL connection (Verizon DSL -- don't use it -- dial-up is faster. Comcast was better. AOL was better. I'm pretty sure most sub-sarahan connections are better) just wouldn't connect. This has been happening a lot lately. Eight customer service calls in one month and one day. They keep saying it's fixed, and then I try and log on again. Not fixed. Nosirree. I really needed to write here, get feedback, and feel better about the total load of craptitude that occasionally appears to qualify as my life.
Of course, I did have a lovely time ogling hockey players at the meet the fans party. Uber (I was SO pleased to have a free ticket to give her, for once) and I circulated with our little autograph books, getting autographs for pre-teen boys we know who love hockey. The players are much nicer to the women of a certain age getting the autographs for kids than they are to the ladies asking them to autograph their shirt while still in it. Nicer still to the actual kids.
I got autographs from Ted Leonsis (millionaire owner who was very sweet, but did not seem to appreciate the wonder that is Foilwoman), Jeff Friesen (#41, from Saskatchewan), Olaf Kolzig (#37 from Johannesburg, South Africa: DeID, I guess that was in your honor), Ivan Majesky (#23 from Slovakia), Brendan Witt (#19, from Humboldt, Saskatchewan), Brian Willsie (#24 from London, Ontario) and several others I can't recall. I liked Majesky the best, mainly because he teased all the little kids in line, and made a drawing for the little kid for whom I was getting an autograph. Any defensemen who can poke an adoring seven year old in the belly without worrying about losing his macho dignity gets points from me. No idea if he's a good player or not, but Ivan Majesky, cute, cuddly, he's my fave.
Good thing I had a treat, because PdeFF is suing me. He wants the house (I should pay the mortgage, he should have use and possession), the kids (wants full custody), and everything else. His lawyer did the filing badly, and PdeFF won't get these things, but we still have to respond. Waste of money, which I do not have. My lawyer called his and explained the family budget such as it is (stoney brokeness) and PdeFF's attorney says I need to go back to earning more and give the kids to him. And pay him to live like an upper-middle class guy. Huh? Meanwhile, the bank wants to be paid up or foreclosure begins. I can't pay the mortgage and my rent, and my parents won't (shouldn't) help unless PdeFF agrees to sell and pay them back out of the proceeds. Not going to happen. There's at least $200K in equity there. It's going to disappear. Oh, and since PdeFF is suing me, I need $5000 to pay my attorney for a retainer. I don't have it, and I can't ask my parents for more. They are retired and need their savings.
How did the mighty Foilwoman handle this setback? I told Uber about it, while ogling young men, and got her advice (and phone numbers of realtors). Then I tried to email the family members who need to be advised (because their money is on the line). When I couldn't get online to email because Verizon Online DSL service is the worst DSL service bar none and Verizon customer service (especially the supercilious twit named Andrew) is the worst known to modern humanity I called up Innana and sobbed like a baby. Actually worse. Big gulping undignified sobs. Totally pathetic.
This morning I arose and I had Internet access (which, btw, Verizon Online Useless Customer service I should have all the fucking time) I emailed my parents. On getting to work, we were evacuated due to a bomb threat. Since I couldn't work, I called Nuclear Grammy and the check for the retainer is in the mail. "You can't help that your husband went crazy dear." She said. "I'm 95 years old. Better you benefit now, than when I'm dead." I reminded her she wasn't turning 94 until the end of this month. "Ninety-five sounds better" she retorted. "Makes me sound like it's a miracle I'm still here." It's not a miracle. She's too tough to die. I hope. I want to be like that 50 years from now. Rescuing errant grandchildren right and left.
I called the realtor Uber sent me to, and she has many cunning plans. She has referred me to a nice (truly) banker who is high enough to have loan approval authority and I may be able to refinance (don't count on it, but it would be nice), and if not, she has done many distress sales.
FoilMormor and FoilDad and the SecondMate are hatching cunning plans of their own. Nuclear Grammy offered to come beat some sense into PdeFF, but agreed in the end to simply fund a lawyer to do that. Life still sucks, but I'll live through this.
Oh, another good thing that I'm not allowed to write about in detail, but will allude to. The Champ was in the DC area con su hijita. I was daring enough to make chocolate chip cookies for them, and they were not rejected out of hand as beneath contempt. My life may be falling apart, but I can still feed a teenager a cookie she'll devour. Yup. Life ain't so bad.
February 1, 2006
Nuts! (Peanuts, That Is)
I can't help myself: I love these quizzes. I know, I know. They are idiotic beyond all measure. So what? I like 'em. I actually think I'm more of a Lucy.* Or Peppermint Patty.* Or Snoopy.* Or Pigpen.* But I'll take Woodstock.
You are Woodstock!
Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
*Innana, what's your pick for me? You, of course, are the little red-headed girl, except you could also be Schroeder. Anyone else want to vote on my Peanuts character?
You are Woodstock!
Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
*Innana, what's your pick for me? You, of course, are the little red-headed girl, except you could also be Schroeder. Anyone else want to vote on my Peanuts character?
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