TigerGrrl has been in a new school this year. She's making friends. She's settling in. She does, however, miss her favorite beaux/sparring partner/slave from last year, Romeo. Romeo is a cute little French boy who introduced my daughter to the joys of Harry Potter. He carried her pumpkin. He is no longer her classmate. This is bad.
However, Uber to the rescue (unbeknownst to her). Apparently, Romeo is a big baseball fan. Who knew? And Uber has important business out of town this weekend. So her season tickets to the Nationals (our local major league baseball team) would go unused. So she called me and asked me if I wanted them. I didn't wait to figure out the logistics. Four tickets? I said yes. And that was good.
I first called Innana, but she has (sit down, you'll be shocked) absolutely no interest in baseball, softball, or any other game where men throw balls of one sort or another. Mr. Studmuffin and The Professor are out of town (I'd suspect an affair, but they really don't know each other well). When I told TigerGrrl about the tickets, she asked if Romeo could come. Saintly Babysitter will babysit GaahGirl, so I called Romeo's parents and they said Romeo could come. Then I realized I have four tickets, and Romeo has a brother. So tomorrow, it's me, TigerGrrl, Romeo -- her cicisbeo, and his brother Moose, or whatever he's called. What possessed me? But TigerGrrl and Romeo are both very, very pleased, which is fun. Maybe I'll even follow the game a bit. Or not.
September 29, 2006
September 27, 2006
Fun with a Friend and Thoughts on Bureaucracy
First things first (and by order of importance): Innana and I celebrated her *cough* twenty-seventh birthday by having a nice meal at The Evening Star Cafe. I started out with a nice Austrian Gruner Veltliner (a white wine), and had the grilled flank steak salad with a nice Shiraz of Australian, but otherwise unrecalled, vintage. Innana had the something-encrusted salmon. We followed up with coffee and butter pecan ice cream (Innana) and expresso brownie ice cream decadent thing-a-ma-bobby (me). Then we went back to Innana's and did some worshipping of a former stray handsome boy who is well on the way toward being one spoiled feline, the Prince (name changed to protect his anonymity). Then we attempted to play chess. It's kind of hard to play when neither party remembers any strategy, but we did out level best.
Now I'm back home, relaxing, and thinking about a number of things, like bureaucracy. In particular, the new kind of bureaucracy of "adjudication" in large organizations. For instance, someone with whom I was acquainted was charged with sexual harassment. It was pretty clear the man (Mr. H, for these purposes) did harass the woman in question (Ms. V). Ms. V claimed that Mr. H had touched her. Not in a sexual way, but she's told him not to touch her and he didn't stop. Mr. H agreed that he had touched Ms. V -- patted her knee, touched her hand, that sort of thing. Ms. V did not claim that Mr. H was making a pass or whatever.
You'd think this could be resolved by the supervisor in question having a little chat with Mr. H ("Hey, moron, don't touch her again. Okay?") or better yet, by Ms. V speaking up and stating clearly that she really, really doesn't want to be touched ("Goddamnit all! That's the last time. You touch me again and I'm sticking a fork in you. You're done."), but no. If a subordinate reports sexual harassment (which includes unwanted touching), by the rules of the organization, an investigation must ensue. Even if it's a first (only?) and minor incident. Kind of ruins the ability to supervise, I'd say. Bad management.
I can see why an organization would have such a policy (really), but getting locked into a legaistic response to problems that are essentially human relations problems, not legal problems, too early at least, seems foolish.
Well, the birthday celenbration was nice.
Now I'm back home, relaxing, and thinking about a number of things, like bureaucracy. In particular, the new kind of bureaucracy of "adjudication" in large organizations. For instance, someone with whom I was acquainted was charged with sexual harassment. It was pretty clear the man (Mr. H, for these purposes) did harass the woman in question (Ms. V). Ms. V claimed that Mr. H had touched her. Not in a sexual way, but she's told him not to touch her and he didn't stop. Mr. H agreed that he had touched Ms. V -- patted her knee, touched her hand, that sort of thing. Ms. V did not claim that Mr. H was making a pass or whatever.
You'd think this could be resolved by the supervisor in question having a little chat with Mr. H ("Hey, moron, don't touch her again. Okay?") or better yet, by Ms. V speaking up and stating clearly that she really, really doesn't want to be touched ("Goddamnit all! That's the last time. You touch me again and I'm sticking a fork in you. You're done."), but no. If a subordinate reports sexual harassment (which includes unwanted touching), by the rules of the organization, an investigation must ensue. Even if it's a first (only?) and minor incident. Kind of ruins the ability to supervise, I'd say. Bad management.
I can see why an organization would have such a policy (really), but getting locked into a legaistic response to problems that are essentially human relations problems, not legal problems, too early at least, seems foolish.
Well, the birthday celenbration was nice.
September 24, 2006
SNV To The Rescue
In the last year, SNV and I have gotten together more than we used to when I lived with PdeFF. When I lived with PdeFF, SNV and I would meet for lunch every month or so. Now I see SNV almost every other weekend. Almost every non-custodial weekend. Here's the schedule. I call SNV on a Wednesday, and she asks if I want to get together. I say yes, and we plan to take a two mile or so walk, have lunch, and then walk back to her house where she, Ex-Marine Fred, and I will sit around, drink wine and talk about our respective divorces. Since my divorce is the ongoing one (SNV's being about 20 years ago, and EMF's being about 15 years ago), that gets most of the attention.
Then SNV makes a delicious dinner, of which I sneak tidbits to their cat or EMF and SNV announce that we are going out to dinner and they are treating. Because both SNV and EMF have been divorced, and both divorces involved and insane person (SNV's former mother-in-law, a paranoid schizophrenic and EMF's ex-wife, a loon), both have some experience dealing with a mentally not-so-sound individuals and are endless sources of support.
Today, we did car inspection. Apparently the Grammy-mobile is in great shape. Of course, it may be over 10 years old, but it only has 22,000 miles on it, so it's great shape is just fine.
But it's nice to visit with people where I don't have to guard my tongue at all. I know that they've been there. Also, they have the two most gorgeous (other than Innana's cat) cats ever, two lovely plumpkins who are just luscious.
Normally SNV are pretty hands off. We like each other, like seeing each other, and like talking to each other, but this last year, SNV has been pretty hands on. Checking up on me, encouraging me, reminding me that I will live through this. And she does it without the "So really, how are you doing?" tone and look of earnest inquiry that makes one feel as though suicide is just around the corner, or if it isn't, it should be. (Not writing literally here -- trust me when I say I never feel suicidal. Homical, you betcha. Suicidal, no.)
Oh, speaking of which, I foolishly attended a not-to-be-identified divorce support group, which was a serious error in judgment. Apparently, there are a lot of people out there who are divorcing "because they aren't sure what they want" or "they feel they aren't understood" by their spouse, or who are divorcing for legitimate, substantial reasons (to me) such as infidelity, abuse, financial irresponsibility, or complete lack of love and support, but need to hash over "problems" such as how to take care of their children on support payments of $5,000 a month (really) or wondering why his teenage daughters won't give him the time of day and are mean to his 22 year old girlfriend (different person, same level of idiocy). I asked them about handling PdeFF, explained my situation and was met by absolute silence.
I didn't say, but wish I had: "Oh, confronted by an actual, not just imagined problem, that actually needs a practical and real solution and your loquaciousness just vanishes." But I don't think that's the right support group for me. As a matter of fact, I think I'll just join a reading group or something. It'll make me happier.
SNV doesn't manufacture problems. I had forgotten, but she and I became friends when she was divorcing the pre-EMF husband (the trainee husband, as I referred to him, which made EMF laugh). At that time, I would invite SNV to my apartment to make Danish Christmas cookies and candies (vanille kranse, klejner, finsk brod, marzipan dipped in chocolate) and go to movies and now she's returning the favor.
Oh, and everyone, please remember to wish Innana a happy birthday on Wednesday, the 27th. I believe she's turning 27 again again.
Then SNV makes a delicious dinner, of which I sneak tidbits to their cat or EMF and SNV announce that we are going out to dinner and they are treating. Because both SNV and EMF have been divorced, and both divorces involved and insane person (SNV's former mother-in-law, a paranoid schizophrenic and EMF's ex-wife, a loon), both have some experience dealing with a mentally not-so-sound individuals and are endless sources of support.
Today, we did car inspection. Apparently the Grammy-mobile is in great shape. Of course, it may be over 10 years old, but it only has 22,000 miles on it, so it's great shape is just fine.
But it's nice to visit with people where I don't have to guard my tongue at all. I know that they've been there. Also, they have the two most gorgeous (other than Innana's cat) cats ever, two lovely plumpkins who are just luscious.
Normally SNV are pretty hands off. We like each other, like seeing each other, and like talking to each other, but this last year, SNV has been pretty hands on. Checking up on me, encouraging me, reminding me that I will live through this. And she does it without the "So really, how are you doing?" tone and look of earnest inquiry that makes one feel as though suicide is just around the corner, or if it isn't, it should be. (Not writing literally here -- trust me when I say I never feel suicidal. Homical, you betcha. Suicidal, no.)
Oh, speaking of which, I foolishly attended a not-to-be-identified divorce support group, which was a serious error in judgment. Apparently, there are a lot of people out there who are divorcing "because they aren't sure what they want" or "they feel they aren't understood" by their spouse, or who are divorcing for legitimate, substantial reasons (to me) such as infidelity, abuse, financial irresponsibility, or complete lack of love and support, but need to hash over "problems" such as how to take care of their children on support payments of $5,000 a month (really) or wondering why his teenage daughters won't give him the time of day and are mean to his 22 year old girlfriend (different person, same level of idiocy). I asked them about handling PdeFF, explained my situation and was met by absolute silence.
I didn't say, but wish I had: "Oh, confronted by an actual, not just imagined problem, that actually needs a practical and real solution and your loquaciousness just vanishes." But I don't think that's the right support group for me. As a matter of fact, I think I'll just join a reading group or something. It'll make me happier.
SNV doesn't manufacture problems. I had forgotten, but she and I became friends when she was divorcing the pre-EMF husband (the trainee husband, as I referred to him, which made EMF laugh). At that time, I would invite SNV to my apartment to make Danish Christmas cookies and candies (vanille kranse, klejner, finsk brod, marzipan dipped in chocolate) and go to movies and now she's returning the favor.
Oh, and everyone, please remember to wish Innana a happy birthday on Wednesday, the 27th. I believe she's turning 27 again again.
September 21, 2006
Thankfulness
Yes, Thanksgiving is two months away, but it is my favorite holiday, and I'm starting early. Also, it's mentally healthier for me to think of good stuff than obsess about the LoserOfTheUniverse (LOTU), also known as PdeFF. So far this week, I've had to warn him to stop calling the Saintly Babysitter to harass her, remind him of his daughter's school schedule, and basically resist the urge to say to him "Are you fucking insane?" when I discovered that he is paying a day care provider twice what I pay the Saintly Babysitter. And by that, I mean he is paying the provider to care for DestructoGirl (nee FoilBaby formerly known as GaahGirl) two days a week and TigerGrrl two afternoons a week twice what we pay Saintly Babysitter to care for both girls five days a week. Yes, you read that right. And there really isn't any money left, so I'm wondering on what alternate planet he does his finances. I've told him: I won't pay, it's stupid, we have day care, get over it. But since Saintly Babysitter doesn't want to travel (by bus, more than an hour each way) to his house, he wants to use another provider. Oh, this will end, but the courts don't consider his an emergency. While he commits financial hari kari and shows a complete lack of knowledge of logistics and common sense.
So: I'm thankful that it's fall. I love fall. The weather has cooled, and I can walk to and from the Metro (1+ mile each way) without ruining my work clothes. Nice. No Dramatiste.
I'm thankful the pool remains open a bit longer (end of September, longer than most) and when that closes, a YMCA I can go to (don't think Village people, just don't) has an outdoor heated pool that's open all year round. I love swimming there in the winter. Lovely.
I'm thankful Innana is still speaking to me with my new phone aversion/phobia.
I'm glad I have knitting and guitars.
I'm glad Mario Vargas Llosa, T.C. Boyle, Margaret Atwood, Joan Didion, Anne Tyler, Jane Smiley, Nora Ephron (although her new book bothers me -- not that I've read it), David Foster Wallace, Ian MacEwan, Eliot Perlman, Yann Martel, Rick Moody, Pat Barker, Tracy Kidder, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, and Zadie Smith write and publish (not to discount Tony Hillerman, Sara Paretsky, or Sue Grafton).
I'm grateful and glad that Laura Ingalls Wilder, Howard Pyle, Margaret de Angeli, Miguel de Cervantes, Jane Austen, George Eliot, Emily Bronte, Anne Bronte, Charlotte Bronte, Mary Shelley, Shakespeare, John Donne, Galdos (Dona Perfecta), Miguel de Unamuno, Federico Garcia Lorca (Bodas de Sangre, mmmm), Jorge Amado, Jorge Luis Borges, Julio Cortazar, Pablo Neruda, Leo Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Italo Calvino, Herman Melville, John Gardner, e.e. cummings, Conrad Aiken, Auden, Elizabeth Bowen, Milton, Robert Browning, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louisa May Alcott, Willa Cather, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Carson McCullers, Flannery O'Connor, Camus, Trollope, Isak Dineson, Pearl Buck (really), and so many others I've forgotten to list (it would fill volumes), wrote.
So: I'm thankful that it's fall. I love fall. The weather has cooled, and I can walk to and from the Metro (1+ mile each way) without ruining my work clothes. Nice. No Dramatiste.
I'm thankful the pool remains open a bit longer (end of September, longer than most) and when that closes, a YMCA I can go to (don't think Village people, just don't) has an outdoor heated pool that's open all year round. I love swimming there in the winter. Lovely.
I'm thankful Innana is still speaking to me with my new phone aversion/phobia.
I'm glad I have knitting and guitars.
I'm glad Mario Vargas Llosa, T.C. Boyle, Margaret Atwood, Joan Didion, Anne Tyler, Jane Smiley, Nora Ephron (although her new book bothers me -- not that I've read it), David Foster Wallace, Ian MacEwan, Eliot Perlman, Yann Martel, Rick Moody, Pat Barker, Tracy Kidder, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, and Zadie Smith write and publish (not to discount Tony Hillerman, Sara Paretsky, or Sue Grafton).
I'm grateful and glad that Laura Ingalls Wilder, Howard Pyle, Margaret de Angeli, Miguel de Cervantes, Jane Austen, George Eliot, Emily Bronte, Anne Bronte, Charlotte Bronte, Mary Shelley, Shakespeare, John Donne, Galdos (Dona Perfecta), Miguel de Unamuno, Federico Garcia Lorca (Bodas de Sangre, mmmm), Jorge Amado, Jorge Luis Borges, Julio Cortazar, Pablo Neruda, Leo Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Italo Calvino, Herman Melville, John Gardner, e.e. cummings, Conrad Aiken, Auden, Elizabeth Bowen, Milton, Robert Browning, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louisa May Alcott, Willa Cather, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Carson McCullers, Flannery O'Connor, Camus, Trollope, Isak Dineson, Pearl Buck (really), and so many others I've forgotten to list (it would fill volumes), wrote.
September 20, 2006
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
The bad and ugly first: I'm trapped in a death spiral battle of wills with PdeFF regarding childcare, the Saintly BabySitter, and, soon enough, custody. PdeFF is paying twice what I pay the Saintly BabySitter to have GaahGirl in daycare two days a week and TigerGrrl in afterschool care on those afternoons. I told him we couldn't afford that, that I couldn't afford that, and he said I should pay my share (about 60% under the custody agreement in place). He can't unilaterally double the daycare bill and doesn't seem to understand that. Conference on Friday with both attorneys present. That should be fun. Not.
So I haven't done a list of things that make me happy lately, and yet, things still make me happy, and now seems like as good a time as any to stop and take note.
1 -- My girls are the best girls ever.
2 -- TigerGrrl has set aside (sort of) her Harry Potter obsession and is now happily immersing herself into the world of one of my childhood heroes, Laura Ingalls. We've finished Little House in the Big Woods and are about to finish Little House on the Prairie. Next, either Farmer Boy or On the Banks of Plum Creek, depending on whether we stick to the order of the books as written (switching to Almanzo Wilder's story for a novel) or stick to the order of Laura's youth, and read the next book in the bildungsroman of Laura Ingalls. I can't wait for her to be old enough to read Otto of the Silver Hand, written and illustrated by Howard Pyle. She is old enough for Thee Hannah by Margaret de Angeli, which we will read shortly.
3 -- TigerGrrl is reading on her own, and with just a little help from her Mama, read all of Parachuting Hamsters and Andy Russell.
4 -- GaahGirl said Gaah!, probably for the last time, in Innana's presence at the pool last weekend. She, not yet two, is communicating in two-word sentences that primarily begin with her name: "GaahGirl bo!" (bottle), "GaahGirl boo!" (book), "GaahGirl shuffu" (shoe/chausseur), "GaahGirl li" (lire -- read), "GaahGirl ju" (juice), "GaahGirl bro" (brush [the teeth]). It's very exciting. And she has a positively hilarious angry face. Her lower lip sticks out so far, I'm afraid it will fall off. She gets so mad when I giggle when shes mad, but then I tickle her, or play "Ride a Horsey" or do something else to distract her (she may be brilliant, but she has the attention span of a gnat) and all is sunshiney.
5 -- The beautfy of both my girls, TigerGrrl, when in repose (doesn't happen often, you have to look quickly), has the face of a renaissance madonna (actually, probably one of the Spanish masters) and GaahGirl's round face with her adorable overbite is just to die for. How do parents with ordinary children manage, especially when they see mine and are forced to realized that mine are the best?
6 -- Bronze John (it still embarrasses me just a bit to call him BJ, but really, at this point I should be beyond embarrassing) still writes (not as frequently as I would like, but there's not too much influence I can bring to bear between here and Australia) the best blog ever, Stranger's Fever.
7 -- Innana's 28th (*cough*) birthday is coming up (on September 27), and while she may have rejected the offer of a party ("All those annoying people, dearest Foil. Please, leave me with some good Victorian literature and nice tisane and my lovely Rajah, and I'll be content.") but that day is still one to celebrate.
8 -- I have several good books that I am reading right now. I just finished After the Plague (a collection of short stories by T.C. Boyle) and will be starting on Cosmopolis by Don Delillo soon. And others. With regard to T.C. Boyle, I'm a bit worried about him. What do you say to a man whose most life affirming and happy story in a collection is the title one about life after humanity, with a few exceptions has been wiped out by a plage? Great collection though.
9 -- The weather is getting cool and that means the urge to knit will probably reawaken.
10 -- I'm probably seeing Innana, as well as SNV and Ex-Marine Fred this weekend, and that's good.
More later.
So I haven't done a list of things that make me happy lately, and yet, things still make me happy, and now seems like as good a time as any to stop and take note.
1 -- My girls are the best girls ever.
2 -- TigerGrrl has set aside (sort of) her Harry Potter obsession and is now happily immersing herself into the world of one of my childhood heroes, Laura Ingalls. We've finished Little House in the Big Woods and are about to finish Little House on the Prairie. Next, either Farmer Boy or On the Banks of Plum Creek, depending on whether we stick to the order of the books as written (switching to Almanzo Wilder's story for a novel) or stick to the order of Laura's youth, and read the next book in the bildungsroman of Laura Ingalls. I can't wait for her to be old enough to read Otto of the Silver Hand, written and illustrated by Howard Pyle. She is old enough for Thee Hannah by Margaret de Angeli, which we will read shortly.
3 -- TigerGrrl is reading on her own, and with just a little help from her Mama, read all of Parachuting Hamsters and Andy Russell.
4 -- GaahGirl said Gaah!, probably for the last time, in Innana's presence at the pool last weekend. She, not yet two, is communicating in two-word sentences that primarily begin with her name: "GaahGirl bo!" (bottle), "GaahGirl boo!" (book), "GaahGirl shuffu" (shoe/chausseur), "GaahGirl li" (lire -- read), "GaahGirl ju" (juice), "GaahGirl bro" (brush [the teeth]). It's very exciting. And she has a positively hilarious angry face. Her lower lip sticks out so far, I'm afraid it will fall off. She gets so mad when I giggle when shes mad, but then I tickle her, or play "Ride a Horsey" or do something else to distract her (she may be brilliant, but she has the attention span of a gnat) and all is sunshiney.
5 -- The beautfy of both my girls, TigerGrrl, when in repose (doesn't happen often, you have to look quickly), has the face of a renaissance madonna (actually, probably one of the Spanish masters) and GaahGirl's round face with her adorable overbite is just to die for. How do parents with ordinary children manage, especially when they see mine and are forced to realized that mine are the best?
6 -- Bronze John (it still embarrasses me just a bit to call him BJ, but really, at this point I should be beyond embarrassing) still writes (not as frequently as I would like, but there's not too much influence I can bring to bear between here and Australia) the best blog ever, Stranger's Fever.
7 -- Innana's 28th (*cough*) birthday is coming up (on September 27), and while she may have rejected the offer of a party ("All those annoying people, dearest Foil. Please, leave me with some good Victorian literature and nice tisane and my lovely Rajah, and I'll be content.") but that day is still one to celebrate.
8 -- I have several good books that I am reading right now. I just finished After the Plague (a collection of short stories by T.C. Boyle) and will be starting on Cosmopolis by Don Delillo soon. And others. With regard to T.C. Boyle, I'm a bit worried about him. What do you say to a man whose most life affirming and happy story in a collection is the title one about life after humanity, with a few exceptions has been wiped out by a plage? Great collection though.
9 -- The weather is getting cool and that means the urge to knit will probably reawaken.
10 -- I'm probably seeing Innana, as well as SNV and Ex-Marine Fred this weekend, and that's good.
More later.
September 19, 2006
Well, It's Official
The Cookie Monster (SuperCookie) is coming to the greater DC area in November, in time for a nice Thanksgiving Dinner at ChezFoil (really, the FoilFlat, but ChezFoil sounds so much more chichi). I hope he survives the interaction with TigerGrrl and GaahGirl. He may think he's tough, but I think they'll walk all over him in little girl shoes. Yup. He's a guy, they'll abuse him.
It's not like he hasn't been warned.
Cookie and Innana, meanwhile, have been furiously concocting plans: the Baltimore Tattoo Museum (Who knew? Obviously, Cookie found that.), the Baltimore Aquarium, the National Zoo, a road trip, various Smithsonian museums, some performing arts venues, lots and lots of places to eat and drink, and of course (again, Cookie's fond wish) a meal at Hooters. Innana, rightfully, refuses to accompany Cookie to such a den of iniquity on feminist and culinary principles. I'm not that strong. I will go and enjoy the visit. I'll estimate, for each waitress, how many hours a day she spends grooming and how many graduate degrees she could have earned or foreign languages learned if she had just spent some of that time reading. Think of the blog post potential. Of course, I'll be doing that out of the goodness of my heart. Cookie doesn't want to eat and such an establishment alone does he?
I'm really pleased by the news that the visit is a go. At least one U.S. government functionary didn't screw up somebody's life yesterday. Although, after spending a few hours in the GaahGirl and TigerGrrl's illustrious presence, Cookie may think that having his visa approved might actually have counted as screwing up his life . . .
It's funny: Innana and Cookie talk regularly, I talk with Cookie occasionally, and read his blog daily. We're not people who ordinarily would have met. This isn't romantic (I'm about the age of Cookie's Mum), and we (Innana and me) are meeting Cookie for the first time on his arrival. I'm not the least bit nervous about this. If things really don't click (which I'm just not worried about, again), well, we'll find Cookie a place with people his own age and drinking capability. But I'll follow the same principles that LOS does with her two sons (late teens): an exhausted young man is a young man who is staying out of trouble. So I'll just set the girls loose on him, and let him sleep when he says Uncle. And anyway, I just know we're all going to enjoy ourselves. Cookie will stay some of the time and Innana's and some of the time at ChezFoil. Plus we'll send him on some day trips. Maybe even a superlong trip up to NYC to see the sights.
Have we been honest enough? Cookie, I can't speak for Innana, but really: you're visiting a 45-year old divorcing harridan with two small children who's quite fond of you in a maternal sort of way. ChezFoil is small (1000 square feet, give or take) and when the girls are here, well, it will be cozy, and you will get to test the sleepability of the living room couch. Nonetheless, the greater DC area has a lot to offer, and I think you'll have a blast, and I'm looking forward to meeting you in person.
Now I have to start preparing the Thanksgiving dinner. Obviously, a turkey, Ben Franklin's wish for a national bird.* Baked pototoes, cranberry relish, salad, stuffing, gravy, a few vegetables, biscuits, creamed onions (do I have the energy for that?), and what else? Oh, obviously dessert: pumpkin pie, pecan pie, possibly apple pie and mince pie. Indian pudding? Chess pie? Shoefly pie? I have to start thinking. Ouch.
*As an aside, bald eagles are scavengers and thieves. Once in Maine, I saw an osprey catch a fish and be bullied out of it by an eagle. Probably somewhere near Kennebunkport if you catch my drift.
It's not like he hasn't been warned.
Cookie and Innana, meanwhile, have been furiously concocting plans: the Baltimore Tattoo Museum (Who knew? Obviously, Cookie found that.), the Baltimore Aquarium, the National Zoo, a road trip, various Smithsonian museums, some performing arts venues, lots and lots of places to eat and drink, and of course (again, Cookie's fond wish) a meal at Hooters. Innana, rightfully, refuses to accompany Cookie to such a den of iniquity on feminist and culinary principles. I'm not that strong. I will go and enjoy the visit. I'll estimate, for each waitress, how many hours a day she spends grooming and how many graduate degrees she could have earned or foreign languages learned if she had just spent some of that time reading. Think of the blog post potential. Of course, I'll be doing that out of the goodness of my heart. Cookie doesn't want to eat and such an establishment alone does he?
I'm really pleased by the news that the visit is a go. At least one U.S. government functionary didn't screw up somebody's life yesterday. Although, after spending a few hours in the GaahGirl and TigerGrrl's illustrious presence, Cookie may think that having his visa approved might actually have counted as screwing up his life . . .
It's funny: Innana and Cookie talk regularly, I talk with Cookie occasionally, and read his blog daily. We're not people who ordinarily would have met. This isn't romantic (I'm about the age of Cookie's Mum), and we (Innana and me) are meeting Cookie for the first time on his arrival. I'm not the least bit nervous about this. If things really don't click (which I'm just not worried about, again), well, we'll find Cookie a place with people his own age and drinking capability. But I'll follow the same principles that LOS does with her two sons (late teens): an exhausted young man is a young man who is staying out of trouble. So I'll just set the girls loose on him, and let him sleep when he says Uncle. And anyway, I just know we're all going to enjoy ourselves. Cookie will stay some of the time and Innana's and some of the time at ChezFoil. Plus we'll send him on some day trips. Maybe even a superlong trip up to NYC to see the sights.
Have we been honest enough? Cookie, I can't speak for Innana, but really: you're visiting a 45-year old divorcing harridan with two small children who's quite fond of you in a maternal sort of way. ChezFoil is small (1000 square feet, give or take) and when the girls are here, well, it will be cozy, and you will get to test the sleepability of the living room couch. Nonetheless, the greater DC area has a lot to offer, and I think you'll have a blast, and I'm looking forward to meeting you in person.
Now I have to start preparing the Thanksgiving dinner. Obviously, a turkey, Ben Franklin's wish for a national bird.* Baked pototoes, cranberry relish, salad, stuffing, gravy, a few vegetables, biscuits, creamed onions (do I have the energy for that?), and what else? Oh, obviously dessert: pumpkin pie, pecan pie, possibly apple pie and mince pie. Indian pudding? Chess pie? Shoefly pie? I have to start thinking. Ouch.
*As an aside, bald eagles are scavengers and thieves. Once in Maine, I saw an osprey catch a fish and be bullied out of it by an eagle. Probably somewhere near Kennebunkport if you catch my drift.
September 18, 2006
No, I'm Not a Geek. I'm Female, and I Actually Did Kiss a Boy (Or Possibly Two) In High School
Nonetheless, you are all going to think my title is untrue after I post the solution to my "Which Star Treck Character Are You" quiz. Actually, it's not my quiz. I just completed it. But here goes:
Your results:
You are Worf
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
I'm Worf! Of course I am.
Your results:
You are Worf
| You are trained in the art of combat and are usually intimidating.  |
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I'm Worf! Of course I am.
September 17, 2006
Notable Women
I've noticed I go on about guys more than I do women. This is so wrong. SNV and the SaintlyBabysitter deserve lengthy posts of their own. Actually multiple posts. And many other women. I'll try to do better. I think it has more dramatic value when Ex-Marine Fred is utterly mensch-like (and a bit yenta-ish). It's unexpected and darn cute. But the women . . . . The problem is how to make being a good and reliable friend, a rock of Gibraltar a fun read? A challenge for me. Oh, and I could do lots on Innana, but since she participates and is known to many of you (and can reveal my secret identity) I have to watch my step a bit. Of course, she rescued a homeless cat a few weeks ago, right before the hurricane remnants flooded the area. He's a pretty boy.
September 16, 2006
Marriage: The Triumph of Hope Over Experience
No, I am not contemplating marriage. Or, to be more precise, I am not contemplating another marriage of my own. I am contemplating other people's second marriages. Everyone I know who is married for the second time (including both my parents -- well, BigGrampa is married to his third wife, but that's only because his second wife died of ovarian cancer -- that was also a happy marriage) is happier than they were in the first marriage. Much, much happier.
Which is the fate I wish for Kira, if with no further furniture destruction, upon her marriage to Alex.
Innana called me on Friday to mention to me that Ex-Marine Fred had brought in a cake to work. This is the man who organized sympathy flowers from his Pentagon office-mates for the death of Innana's cat, so maybe the cake was for Arbor Day (when is that, anyway?) or something like that? No. Basically, while serving the cake, he says to his colleagues (including the normally hyper-perceptive Innana). "None of you noticed anything different?"* "Your haircut looks great Fred." said his boss. "No. I've been wearing a wedding ring all week and none of you noticed." Well, that was true.
So I called SNV at her office and mentioned how glad I was that her two girls (cats) are no longer illegitimate and can hold their heads up when strolling around the neighborhood.** She allowed as how that was the factor that tipped the scales. She said that after twelve years and due consideration, she and Fred decided to stop shaming the girls. I'm actually glad about this marriage. Not that I thought their union was in any danger, but SNV is, as a Norwegian citizen, not actually a citizen of this country and while she works here legally, since she works in diplomacy a change in job (or politics) could result in her forced repatriation. Unlikely, but still. However, now she can stay (after the Homeland Security Marriage Police confirm that Fred and she are not engaging in immigration fraud by marrying) as long as she wants to and has inheritance rights, etc.
I did mention to SNV that some people do find it pleasant to invite friends to things like marriage ceremonies. And to tell their friends about marriages. Actually, I think I've read a whole bunch of Dear Abby/Anne Landers/Since You Asked/Tell Me About It/Dear Prudence letters where someone is mortally offended that they learned of a wedding after the fact. Whoops. (Who are those over-sensitive and narcissistic -- it's really not about them, is it -- tender flowers?) I was amused. And note that it was Fred, not SNV who challenged his coworkers for not noticing the ring. I love it when gender stereotypes don't hold. I suspect Fred and SNV will continue to be quite happy.
*Yes, it's official. Ex-Marine Fred may be able to kill you with a spoon, but he's really a teen-aged girl.
**Not really. SNV and EMF are responsible urban cat-owners. The girls are indoor felines.
Which is the fate I wish for Kira, if with no further furniture destruction, upon her marriage to Alex.
Innana called me on Friday to mention to me that Ex-Marine Fred had brought in a cake to work. This is the man who organized sympathy flowers from his Pentagon office-mates for the death of Innana's cat, so maybe the cake was for Arbor Day (when is that, anyway?) or something like that? No. Basically, while serving the cake, he says to his colleagues (including the normally hyper-perceptive Innana). "None of you noticed anything different?"* "Your haircut looks great Fred." said his boss. "No. I've been wearing a wedding ring all week and none of you noticed." Well, that was true.
So I called SNV at her office and mentioned how glad I was that her two girls (cats) are no longer illegitimate and can hold their heads up when strolling around the neighborhood.** She allowed as how that was the factor that tipped the scales. She said that after twelve years and due consideration, she and Fred decided to stop shaming the girls. I'm actually glad about this marriage. Not that I thought their union was in any danger, but SNV is, as a Norwegian citizen, not actually a citizen of this country and while she works here legally, since she works in diplomacy a change in job (or politics) could result in her forced repatriation. Unlikely, but still. However, now she can stay (after the Homeland Security Marriage Police confirm that Fred and she are not engaging in immigration fraud by marrying) as long as she wants to and has inheritance rights, etc.
I did mention to SNV that some people do find it pleasant to invite friends to things like marriage ceremonies. And to tell their friends about marriages. Actually, I think I've read a whole bunch of Dear Abby/Anne Landers/Since You Asked/Tell Me About It/Dear Prudence letters where someone is mortally offended that they learned of a wedding after the fact. Whoops. (Who are those over-sensitive and narcissistic -- it's really not about them, is it -- tender flowers?) I was amused. And note that it was Fred, not SNV who challenged his coworkers for not noticing the ring. I love it when gender stereotypes don't hold. I suspect Fred and SNV will continue to be quite happy.
*Yes, it's official. Ex-Marine Fred may be able to kill you with a spoon, but he's really a teen-aged girl.
**Not really. SNV and EMF are responsible urban cat-owners. The girls are indoor felines.
September 14, 2006
At Least Hungary Has a Sense of Humor
While PdeFF continues his "convenient and rationale daycare is just for other people" campaign, Hungary reacted with real diplomatic aplomb to Stephen Colbert's harassment campaign. On The Colbert Report, Mr. Colbert has been gaming the system, encouraging all his friends, enemies, neighbors, and the occasional watcher of his show to write in his name as the name for a new bridge which Hungary was holding a write-in Internet naming contest. Mr. Colbert got the most votes, oddly enough. Hungary's reaction was just delightful: the Ambassador to the U.S. from Hungary went on the Colbert Report and announced that Stephen had won the bridge-naming contest. Really. Of course, for the bridge to be named after Mr. Colber he has to (1) be fluent in Hungarian and (2) be dead. Hah. I love that show. I'll add links later. But insomnia can be defeated by daily doses of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.
September 10, 2006
I Have to Admit It's Getting Better, It's Getting Better All the Time
Well, a little bit better. I mentioned in a reply to a comment of Prom's that PdeFF may be, if not seeing the light of reason regarding the child care situation, at least accepting the reality on the ground. The reality is that the Saintly Babysitter is perfectly willing to care for our children everyday, but in the FoilFlat so she can get to her evening classes on time (and entirely coincidentally, I'm sure, not deal with the big ball of neediness that is PdeFF).
I normally get the FoilKids back on Monday night after his weekends with them, but tomorrow, he is bringing both girls to my place in the morning so that TigerGrrl can catch her bus to school and so that GaahGirl can spent the day with the Saintly Babysitter. I hope this is a harbinger of things to come. Of course, other areas of irrationality are sure to arise. Just like the sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow. But that's me, thinking logically, and PdeFF is probably unaware of all that.
As an aside, I have heard many mothers bemoan their children's attachment to childcare providers. Why? I was playing a game with GaahGirl last week and told her I loved her (not an unusual statement by any stretch of the imagination) and I asked her if she loved me and she smiled and nodded. Then I asked her who she loved best of all: I thought she was going to say Keke, her nickname for her big sister. No, she said "Tata", which is her nickname for the Saintly Babysitter. This is good news, not bad. And Tata loves GaahGirl, and is pretty much ready to filet PdeFF with a none-too-sharp knife right about know. As am I. But she and her beautiful big sister come home tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, PdeFF is accepting how things are going to have to be. I live in hope.
I normally get the FoilKids back on Monday night after his weekends with them, but tomorrow, he is bringing both girls to my place in the morning so that TigerGrrl can catch her bus to school and so that GaahGirl can spent the day with the Saintly Babysitter. I hope this is a harbinger of things to come. Of course, other areas of irrationality are sure to arise. Just like the sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow. But that's me, thinking logically, and PdeFF is probably unaware of all that.
As an aside, I have heard many mothers bemoan their children's attachment to childcare providers. Why? I was playing a game with GaahGirl last week and told her I loved her (not an unusual statement by any stretch of the imagination) and I asked her if she loved me and she smiled and nodded. Then I asked her who she loved best of all: I thought she was going to say Keke, her nickname for her big sister. No, she said "Tata", which is her nickname for the Saintly Babysitter. This is good news, not bad. And Tata loves GaahGirl, and is pretty much ready to filet PdeFF with a none-too-sharp knife right about know. As am I. But she and her beautiful big sister come home tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, PdeFF is accepting how things are going to have to be. I live in hope.
September 9, 2006
Non-Shrinking Woman Kills Intruder With Bare Hands
Now here's someone we shouldn't cut out of the gene pool. I hope she has kids or is a grandmother. At 5'7 and 260 pounds, the article politely says her size "may have given her an advantage". Now try to imagine Kate Moss managing this. I have a whole post about women shrinking, and about my own current non-dieting shrinking (the "Destroy-Your-Life-And-Lose-Weight-Diet") in my head somewhere, but it will have to wait. Meanwhile, brava Ms.Kuhnhausen.
Another Non-Tragedy
Okay, here's another example of my comments about the late, and surprisingly enought to me, apparently lamented Steve Irwin. Thanks to Abu Gingy for this story. Let us stop to consider the societal resources spent rescuing some person moronic enough to paraglide on the Golan Heights who then crashes. Shouldn't society just say: Let's let him and his line die off? Let's edit and improve the gene pool -- this is a golden opportunity?
Now, a quick feminist question (or actually, very sexist, but realistic, question): is anyone in any doubt about the gender of this genius? If so, before reading the story, please comment. Do you think the putz of a paraglider is male or female and why, in fifty words or less. Thank you.
Now, a quick feminist question (or actually, very sexist, but realistic, question): is anyone in any doubt about the gender of this genius? If so, before reading the story, please comment. Do you think the putz of a paraglider is male or female and why, in fifty words or less. Thank you.
September 8, 2006
Anticipation and Dread
Unfortunately, my request for an emergency family court hearing has been denied. I still get a hearing, but in a few weeks, not right away. Apparently, having a parent completely disrupt his children's lives is not an emergency. Intellectually, I actually understand that. There are parents who actively harm their children: set them on fire, have sex with them, beat them, starve them, lovely things like that. Those scenarios are true emergencies.
My emergency is a middle class emergency. I have good, reliable child care. My babysitter doesn't like going back between PdeFF's flat and the FoilFlat. She wants to have all her clothes in one place. Add to that that the FoilFlat is right on the way to her college, where she takes classes at nice, and she wants to be with me. Oh, and don't forget that when Babysitter was with PdeFF and had a tooth access exploding in her head he did . . . nothing. She called me and I got her to much needed dental care.
PdeFf is maddest of all because the Babysitter is the one that he hired after he fired the other babysitter for no reason. He told her: You work for me, you do what I tell you. She -- a truly meek and mild person -- looked at him and said: I work for Foilwoman and you, and my job is to take good care of the Foilkids. Whether I do it at her place or at yours, I'm still doing my job. PdeFF basically thinks Babysitter is being disloyal for wanting to work in a place she can travel to and from by bus easily.
So this state of affairs is going to continue until the hearing or until he runs out of money, whichever comes first.
In the meantime, I have no idea what's going on in my children's heads. Well, with the GaahGirl I have a pretty good idea: "What's that? Yummy. Hungry now. Ooh, shiny!" But TigerGrrl is seven and old enough to have a clue that things aren't going like they should. She's doing well in school, but has been crankier of late. Of course she is.
This really is an emergency. We shouldn't wait until everything is truly FUBAR (fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition, for those of you unfamiliar with American military acronym slang). More calls to lawyer today, more money spent. In addition to the $600 for replacing a cracked exhaust pipe and power steering leak on the Grammymobile. Grrh. Arrgh.
My emergency is a middle class emergency. I have good, reliable child care. My babysitter doesn't like going back between PdeFF's flat and the FoilFlat. She wants to have all her clothes in one place. Add to that that the FoilFlat is right on the way to her college, where she takes classes at nice, and she wants to be with me. Oh, and don't forget that when Babysitter was with PdeFF and had a tooth access exploding in her head he did . . . nothing. She called me and I got her to much needed dental care.
PdeFf is maddest of all because the Babysitter is the one that he hired after he fired the other babysitter for no reason. He told her: You work for me, you do what I tell you. She -- a truly meek and mild person -- looked at him and said: I work for Foilwoman and you, and my job is to take good care of the Foilkids. Whether I do it at her place or at yours, I'm still doing my job. PdeFF basically thinks Babysitter is being disloyal for wanting to work in a place she can travel to and from by bus easily.
So this state of affairs is going to continue until the hearing or until he runs out of money, whichever comes first.
In the meantime, I have no idea what's going on in my children's heads. Well, with the GaahGirl I have a pretty good idea: "What's that? Yummy. Hungry now. Ooh, shiny!" But TigerGrrl is seven and old enough to have a clue that things aren't going like they should. She's doing well in school, but has been crankier of late. Of course she is.
This really is an emergency. We shouldn't wait until everything is truly FUBAR (fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition, for those of you unfamiliar with American military acronym slang). More calls to lawyer today, more money spent. In addition to the $600 for replacing a cracked exhaust pipe and power steering leak on the Grammymobile. Grrh. Arrgh.
September 6, 2006
Feminism Rant Alert: Another Media-Hype Damned If You Don't Story For Women (Just to Make Us Crazier)
This story made my blood boil. In case you don't click on links and can't be bothered to watch the ad to get access to the story on Salon, trust me, here's the gist. Women who remain virgins into their twenties and thirties are now stigmatized because they haven't gotten busy all over the place (and all over everyone).
Personally, I'm all in favor of finding your groove and staying in it. I actually picked my first sex partner because (1) I was eighteen, (2) I was in college (no longer boarding school, where nookie could get you suspended or expelled), and (3) I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. It took me a bit longer to find out what all the fuss was about, but I don't regret my choice. However, lots of people need more information, more time to get comfortable, more familiarity to take an action like that. Some people like to feel they've been swept away -- i.e., it's not a choice, it's a force of nature.
However, this article is deeply icky. I'm pretty sure they have another article published or soon to be published telling of the dire fates awaiting women who actually do pop the tab on their soda can and become actively practicing heterosexuals (I can't even imagine what Salon or any other media outlet would do with gay women becoming aware of and acting on their sexuality). In the article there will be a mention of the stigma that sexually active women face, as well as statistics regarding increased chances of venereal disease (well, duh), cervical cancer, and, gasp, pregnancy (duh, again: we are talking about sex, right?). Also, decreased marriage chances, blah, blippity, blah.
Women go crazy reading this stuff. And whatever choice we make, there's someone ready to tell us we're wrong and will be punished. I once had a boss, a true idiot of a man, named Robert C. Means (yes, I'm naming him: he was that much of a narcissistic douchebag). He declared (in sonorific, yet deeply stultifying and pedantic tones) that women who done have children are selfish. He of course, had left the children someone had unselfishly had for him in another state upon his divorce. ("Kids? No I didn't forget to have them. I forgot I had them. Oh yes. I'm just a narcissitic dweeb.") I always wanted to ask him: "Are we just supposed to make our wombs publicly available?"
Because having kids is not simply a choice. There's luck involved. A lot of men one dates and even sleeps with, simply aren't people one would want to have kids with. Whether financially irresponsible, immature, risk-loving, substance abusing, narcissistic, or just plain dumb, a lot of guys, when you get to know them better, don't fill you with the wish to bring a new life into the world, particularly a new life who will depend on them.* Or the guy could objectively have many fine qualities, but just not suit. Or your dream guy could decide, no, she's not right for me.
Or everything could work out and you could be in the early stages of partnership bliss and you could just not conceive. Or you could conceive and miscarry.
Are the women who turn down bad prospects "selfish?" The women who get dumped before conceiving? The women who can't conceive? The ones who conceive but can't bring a child to term? No further illumination was available from the not-so-meaningful one.
The Salon story is another variation on this theme. Women who don't have sex by a designated date are suspect. Probably deficient. Yeah, right. Like they aren't going to turn around and say: if you've had more than three sexual partners, you, as a female are going to die a lonely and horrible death.
I know four women who didn't lose their virginity until after age 25. Two in their late twenties, one in her thirties, and one in her late thirties or early forties. These are lovely women. They are shyer and more reserved than, say, me. They are a bit more risk averse than average in some ways. But each is attractive, intelligent, and has a lot to bring to the table. One remained a virgin through lack of options (she didn't want to be a virgin, but simply didn't get asked out much and was socially retiring), until she did have options of course. One remained a virgin out of religious conviction (misguided as hell, I think: if the deity cares about the state of one's hymen rather than whether one feeds the hungry or kills small animals or cheats on one's taxes, the deity is a dim bulb) until she married, and she waited until she met someone she actually wanted to marry. One was recovering from her parents horrible divorce and needed time and perspective to be able to approach adult male-female relations in a healthy way. One simply had bad timing: she wasn't fast acting and often-times situations would change before she was ready. However, she eventually met someone who waited her out and they spent three blissful years together.**
While I don't react to sexual possibility the way those women do (really, I'd have decided "I like him" or "I don't" and made my move long before they would even think about kissing the guy), I don't think that everyone is wired the way I am. I have ADHD and trust my impulses. If I sit around and try to keep gathering information for three months, I'll do something much more rash than sleep with a near stranger before the time is up. I'll forge ahead or pull the plug.
But the Salon article (and every other article designed to scare women, the Forbes "Don't Marry Career Women" article, the Newsweek "Over 40 and Unmarried: You have more chance of being killed by a terrorist than marrying", etc.) has no actual information one can use. And it is oddly geared toward women.
I also know a number of men who have apparently not had sex with adult women. Now maybe they are gay and closeted, but I don't get that vibe. I get the "It didn't happen in my twenties, and I don't know how to get started now" vibe. Salon oddly didn't mention promiscuity or chastity in men and either's effect of future male sexual success. And the men I know who missed the boat don't seem to have much chance of getting on it, unlike the women. Where's the article for them? Or is this just one of those things women are supposed to appropriate and worry about.
Here's my take. We're all wired differently. It is easier to gain experience at the time when everyone else is, but there are people who benefit from waiting. There are also people who have no choice, or don't perceive their choices, and most things evolve to equilibrium, so why worry?
I've never understood the actually dynamics of selecting partners, either for short-term sex or for long-term relationships. I'm amazed when anyone hooks up or connects. The last thing anyone needs is the threat that if they don't get laid now, they will be a freak in the future: a virgin past her sell by date. And why would any concern about this be focused on women? I blame the patriarchy (right along with Twisty Faster).
*Yes, I know. This should have occurred to me before I went on a second date with PdeFF back in 1988, but hey, then I wouldn't have GaahGirl and TigerGrrl, the two best girls on the planet, no ifs ands or buts.
**Yes, the relationship eventually ended, as most relationships do. But when one good night is worth savoring, several good years is nothing to sneeze at.
Personally, I'm all in favor of finding your groove and staying in it. I actually picked my first sex partner because (1) I was eighteen, (2) I was in college (no longer boarding school, where nookie could get you suspended or expelled), and (3) I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. It took me a bit longer to find out what all the fuss was about, but I don't regret my choice. However, lots of people need more information, more time to get comfortable, more familiarity to take an action like that. Some people like to feel they've been swept away -- i.e., it's not a choice, it's a force of nature.
However, this article is deeply icky. I'm pretty sure they have another article published or soon to be published telling of the dire fates awaiting women who actually do pop the tab on their soda can and become actively practicing heterosexuals (I can't even imagine what Salon or any other media outlet would do with gay women becoming aware of and acting on their sexuality). In the article there will be a mention of the stigma that sexually active women face, as well as statistics regarding increased chances of venereal disease (well, duh), cervical cancer, and, gasp, pregnancy (duh, again: we are talking about sex, right?). Also, decreased marriage chances, blah, blippity, blah.
Women go crazy reading this stuff. And whatever choice we make, there's someone ready to tell us we're wrong and will be punished. I once had a boss, a true idiot of a man, named Robert C. Means (yes, I'm naming him: he was that much of a narcissistic douchebag). He declared (in sonorific, yet deeply stultifying and pedantic tones) that women who done have children are selfish. He of course, had left the children someone had unselfishly had for him in another state upon his divorce. ("Kids? No I didn't forget to have them. I forgot I had them. Oh yes. I'm just a narcissitic dweeb.") I always wanted to ask him: "Are we just supposed to make our wombs publicly available?"
Because having kids is not simply a choice. There's luck involved. A lot of men one dates and even sleeps with, simply aren't people one would want to have kids with. Whether financially irresponsible, immature, risk-loving, substance abusing, narcissistic, or just plain dumb, a lot of guys, when you get to know them better, don't fill you with the wish to bring a new life into the world, particularly a new life who will depend on them.* Or the guy could objectively have many fine qualities, but just not suit. Or your dream guy could decide, no, she's not right for me.
Or everything could work out and you could be in the early stages of partnership bliss and you could just not conceive. Or you could conceive and miscarry.
Are the women who turn down bad prospects "selfish?" The women who get dumped before conceiving? The women who can't conceive? The ones who conceive but can't bring a child to term? No further illumination was available from the not-so-meaningful one.
The Salon story is another variation on this theme. Women who don't have sex by a designated date are suspect. Probably deficient. Yeah, right. Like they aren't going to turn around and say: if you've had more than three sexual partners, you, as a female are going to die a lonely and horrible death.
I know four women who didn't lose their virginity until after age 25. Two in their late twenties, one in her thirties, and one in her late thirties or early forties. These are lovely women. They are shyer and more reserved than, say, me. They are a bit more risk averse than average in some ways. But each is attractive, intelligent, and has a lot to bring to the table. One remained a virgin through lack of options (she didn't want to be a virgin, but simply didn't get asked out much and was socially retiring), until she did have options of course. One remained a virgin out of religious conviction (misguided as hell, I think: if the deity cares about the state of one's hymen rather than whether one feeds the hungry or kills small animals or cheats on one's taxes, the deity is a dim bulb) until she married, and she waited until she met someone she actually wanted to marry. One was recovering from her parents horrible divorce and needed time and perspective to be able to approach adult male-female relations in a healthy way. One simply had bad timing: she wasn't fast acting and often-times situations would change before she was ready. However, she eventually met someone who waited her out and they spent three blissful years together.**
While I don't react to sexual possibility the way those women do (really, I'd have decided "I like him" or "I don't" and made my move long before they would even think about kissing the guy), I don't think that everyone is wired the way I am. I have ADHD and trust my impulses. If I sit around and try to keep gathering information for three months, I'll do something much more rash than sleep with a near stranger before the time is up. I'll forge ahead or pull the plug.
But the Salon article (and every other article designed to scare women, the Forbes "Don't Marry Career Women" article, the Newsweek "Over 40 and Unmarried: You have more chance of being killed by a terrorist than marrying", etc.) has no actual information one can use. And it is oddly geared toward women.
I also know a number of men who have apparently not had sex with adult women. Now maybe they are gay and closeted, but I don't get that vibe. I get the "It didn't happen in my twenties, and I don't know how to get started now" vibe. Salon oddly didn't mention promiscuity or chastity in men and either's effect of future male sexual success. And the men I know who missed the boat don't seem to have much chance of getting on it, unlike the women. Where's the article for them? Or is this just one of those things women are supposed to appropriate and worry about.
Here's my take. We're all wired differently. It is easier to gain experience at the time when everyone else is, but there are people who benefit from waiting. There are also people who have no choice, or don't perceive their choices, and most things evolve to equilibrium, so why worry?
I've never understood the actually dynamics of selecting partners, either for short-term sex or for long-term relationships. I'm amazed when anyone hooks up or connects. The last thing anyone needs is the threat that if they don't get laid now, they will be a freak in the future: a virgin past her sell by date. And why would any concern about this be focused on women? I blame the patriarchy (right along with Twisty Faster).
*Yes, I know. This should have occurred to me before I went on a second date with PdeFF back in 1988, but hey, then I wouldn't have GaahGirl and TigerGrrl, the two best girls on the planet, no ifs ands or buts.
**Yes, the relationship eventually ended, as most relationships do. But when one good night is worth savoring, several good years is nothing to sneeze at.
September 5, 2006
Not Sex and Food, Breasts for Food
I do not understand the big hullaballoo about breastfeeding. I don't understand people getting upset when people breastfeed. She's feeding her baby. Deal with it. It's not dirty (actually, more hygenic than bottles), it's normal, it's not deviant, and the baby being hungry is more important than any taboos or concerns the average offended person might have.
However, I do have to add a caveat. I breastfeed the TigerGrrl (then FoilBaby I) for a year and the GaahGirl (then Foilbaby II) for six months. I never had any negative public reaction. I fed my babies whereever they were hungry. Bookstores, park benches, Starbucks, family restaurants, planes, whereever. No one ever told me to stop it. Never. And I am not the most discreet and restrained of individuals. Of course the fact that I towered over most of whom might have been offended might be a part of why I was never asked to put a sock on it or button my shirt or whatever.
But then you read this media (and response) hype, such as mentioned in Twisty Faster's latest post, Got Milk. A year or so ago in my neck of the woods, women had a nurse-in at a coffee shop, claiming they had been told not to breastfeed there. Of course, it was a shop I had been to with the GaahGirl. While I had been there on several occasions, she had gotten hungry and I had fed her. No one noticed or reacted. Or if they did, they didn't let me know.
What's going on here? Are there really people running around approaching nursing mothers and saying: "Please don't feed your baby, it bothers me?" I mean, someone asked me not to read to my child in public, I suppose reading/feeding, same difference. I've read the "Sure, breastfeeding is a natural body function, but so is urination, and I don't do that in public." Well, no. Elimination of waste is not normally done in public, but feeding of others often is. And mothers feed their children -- it's pretty instinctive for those of us who are mammals, and by definition, a woman breastfeeding her child is pretty clearly a mammal. The breastfeeding (mammary glands/mammals -- get it) is the big give-away. No, it's not the same as clipping your toenails in public. That's grooming. You do that privately.
However, who are these people who keep getting confronted whereever they go? Let it be considered a given that anyone dumb enough to interrupt a nursing mother deserves whatever happens to him or her. Whatever. But again, in my experience with two children (and I just called LOS, and she breastfeed two for a total of two years, and never got a negative comment) the harassment of me as a breastfeeding mother never happened. So what gives?
I get the vibe that a lot of the people involved in these scenarios aren't very skilled at life planning and conflict resolution. Exactly what needs to occur before you sit and nurse? Not much. You plop yourself and your offspring down, get comfy, make clothing adjustments, and voila, the bar is open. So where does all this negative interaction come in? What am I missing here?
I.e., if you wear a nursing bra, a t-shirt or a dress with buttons in the front, and if you have a lightweight scarf, you can breastfeed anywhere and no-one will even notice. Also, breastfeeding is more comfortable in privacy. It's quiet time for Mom and her little lovable parasite/hoover attachment. So I always nabbed a corner table or turned my back to the room. I even sometimes asked someone to move and would get their seat to be able to breastfeed in an unobtrusive spot. The trick is to pick your victim, er, target carefully. I would pick either a young man who looked like he hadn't procreated yet or a middle-aged guy in a suit. I'd say, "Excuse me, could we switch? My daughter's hungry and this table is in the corner." Nine times out of ten my scammee (hero) would bring me back a glass of milk to drink while I nursed.
No, I never took the table right by the door. I wouldn't want to feed either FoilBaby right by the door. Yes, I would discreetly drape a scarf. Yes I would unbutton and rebutton quickly. There were a few moments of embarrassment: GaahGirl would latch on as though she had never been fed before (and since she was and is the essence of cherubic chubbiness, with the Michelin man legs and bracelets of chub and the wrists, she was clearly lying, to the extent a three month old can lie) with a large gasp, pop, and then sucking sound. Everyone would turn and look. And then smile. I guess they all saw Tampopo's last scene too.
However, I do have to add a caveat. I breastfeed the TigerGrrl (then FoilBaby I) for a year and the GaahGirl (then Foilbaby II) for six months. I never had any negative public reaction. I fed my babies whereever they were hungry. Bookstores, park benches, Starbucks, family restaurants, planes, whereever. No one ever told me to stop it. Never. And I am not the most discreet and restrained of individuals. Of course the fact that I towered over most of whom might have been offended might be a part of why I was never asked to put a sock on it or button my shirt or whatever.
But then you read this media (and response) hype, such as mentioned in Twisty Faster's latest post, Got Milk. A year or so ago in my neck of the woods, women had a nurse-in at a coffee shop, claiming they had been told not to breastfeed there. Of course, it was a shop I had been to with the GaahGirl. While I had been there on several occasions, she had gotten hungry and I had fed her. No one noticed or reacted. Or if they did, they didn't let me know.
What's going on here? Are there really people running around approaching nursing mothers and saying: "Please don't feed your baby, it bothers me?" I mean, someone asked me not to read to my child in public, I suppose reading/feeding, same difference. I've read the "Sure, breastfeeding is a natural body function, but so is urination, and I don't do that in public." Well, no. Elimination of waste is not normally done in public, but feeding of others often is. And mothers feed their children -- it's pretty instinctive for those of us who are mammals, and by definition, a woman breastfeeding her child is pretty clearly a mammal. The breastfeeding (mammary glands/mammals -- get it) is the big give-away. No, it's not the same as clipping your toenails in public. That's grooming. You do that privately.
However, who are these people who keep getting confronted whereever they go? Let it be considered a given that anyone dumb enough to interrupt a nursing mother deserves whatever happens to him or her. Whatever. But again, in my experience with two children (and I just called LOS, and she breastfeed two for a total of two years, and never got a negative comment) the harassment of me as a breastfeeding mother never happened. So what gives?
I get the vibe that a lot of the people involved in these scenarios aren't very skilled at life planning and conflict resolution. Exactly what needs to occur before you sit and nurse? Not much. You plop yourself and your offspring down, get comfy, make clothing adjustments, and voila, the bar is open. So where does all this negative interaction come in? What am I missing here?
I.e., if you wear a nursing bra, a t-shirt or a dress with buttons in the front, and if you have a lightweight scarf, you can breastfeed anywhere and no-one will even notice. Also, breastfeeding is more comfortable in privacy. It's quiet time for Mom and her little lovable parasite/hoover attachment. So I always nabbed a corner table or turned my back to the room. I even sometimes asked someone to move and would get their seat to be able to breastfeed in an unobtrusive spot. The trick is to pick your victim, er, target carefully. I would pick either a young man who looked like he hadn't procreated yet or a middle-aged guy in a suit. I'd say, "Excuse me, could we switch? My daughter's hungry and this table is in the corner." Nine times out of ten my scammee (hero) would bring me back a glass of milk to drink while I nursed.
No, I never took the table right by the door. I wouldn't want to feed either FoilBaby right by the door. Yes, I would discreetly drape a scarf. Yes I would unbutton and rebutton quickly. There were a few moments of embarrassment: GaahGirl would latch on as though she had never been fed before (and since she was and is the essence of cherubic chubbiness, with the Michelin man legs and bracelets of chub and the wrists, she was clearly lying, to the extent a three month old can lie) with a large gasp, pop, and then sucking sound. Everyone would turn and look. And then smile. I guess they all saw Tampopo's last scene too.
September 4, 2006
The Year of Living Dangerously
I want to comment on news of the day. The completely unsurprising (and therefore not news) news that Steve Irwin -- a/k/a the self-titled Crocodile Hunter or Animal Planet -- had died of a stingray barb to the heart.
Now, Mr. Irwin's family has my sympathy,* but this is kind of like the girlfriend of a Kennedy getting killed or paralyzed in a car- or plane-crash (John-John is the winner there: two young women and himself in one fell swoop). It's not a surprise. It's not news. An aside: I actually attended school with a now-dead Kennedy once (really). My BigGrampa's sage advice on discovering that his Littlest Angel (me) had such a classmate? "Never get in a car with that young man, dear." I didn't (no real trick to it -- I definitely flew underneath his radar), and I live to tell the tale.
But back to the non-news value of Mr. Irwin's death. Is anyone on this planet surprised that this man died because he annoyed an animal? I've been rooting for the crocs to take a good, big, hearty bite for a while now. He's been annoying reptiles, mammals, and more for too long. Heck, he darn near annoyed me to death.
When people live dangerously, it isn't that their deaths (or injuries) shouldn't be mourned, but they have already devalued the worth of their lives and health. Gary Busey, brain damaged by a motorcycle crash when riding without a helmet (and campaigning against laws requiring wearing helmets)? Not a tragedy. Fitting and ironic. You betcha. I could come up with a list of numerous people who died or were seriously injured while engaged in very risky behavior, and I wonder were we all draw the line.
Some people don't worry about drinking a glass or two or wine and driving and others don't. Some idiots will drink all evening and then drive. Now, I don't have a problem with the Scandinavian rules regarding driving: don't drink. But most people don't follow those rules completely. I also understand the "One glass of wine isn't going to totally impair me or even substantially impair me" school or thought. But the guy at the bar who says "Hey, I'm only drinking beer" who gets behind the wheel after six or seven (or more) beers? Eesh.
Seatbelts? I don't care whether they're uncomfortable. Vaccinations? I'll take the risk of a rash over seeing my kid get measles. Wild animals? Well, I've written about this before but don't have the energy to find the link. Let's just say this: stupid humans are their own worst enemies. So Steve, I understand you loved wild animals. Did you love them more than seeing your kids reach adulthood? Oh, you can't say. You're dead.
Next post: improving Australian images of masculinity by offing the Wiggles, one by one. I have a 22-month old. If those men make another DVD, trust me, when they're in the greater DC area, they'll be living dangerously. Really. Greg, Murry, Anthony, and Jeff: just say no to annoying this suburban mom further. Especially "Dancing with Dorothy" or whatever that song was. Sing "Tie Me Kangaroo, Down" and "Riding in the Big Red Car" and all the other stuff. No, don't! Just stop now. Take up weightlifting. I'm sure there's a doctor in Adelaide who will strongly recommend taking up sports for your health. Get into the football. Something. Anything. Just no more DVDs. Thank you. This was a public health service from Foilwoman.
*I know this post sounds uncharitable. It is uncharitable. I am uncharitable. I do not mean to say that Steve Irwin did not have hidden depths, or that his death doesn't affect those who loved him and/or depended on him. He was a human being. He's dead. No matter how ironic or ludicrous or winner-of-the-Darwin-award-ish his death was, he is dead. The truth of that and the seriousness of that, however, will not stop me from poking fun at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. I'll say right now: if Jeff Corwin** get's eaten by a polar bear or knocked into polar waters by a baby harp seal and dies of hypothermia, maybe some witless reporters and writers will call it shocking or surprising or "news". I'll call it totally expected, even if less than likely.
**Mr. Corwin is doing a show on polar bears right now.
Now, Mr. Irwin's family has my sympathy,* but this is kind of like the girlfriend of a Kennedy getting killed or paralyzed in a car- or plane-crash (John-John is the winner there: two young women and himself in one fell swoop). It's not a surprise. It's not news. An aside: I actually attended school with a now-dead Kennedy once (really). My BigGrampa's sage advice on discovering that his Littlest Angel (me) had such a classmate? "Never get in a car with that young man, dear." I didn't (no real trick to it -- I definitely flew underneath his radar), and I live to tell the tale.
But back to the non-news value of Mr. Irwin's death. Is anyone on this planet surprised that this man died because he annoyed an animal? I've been rooting for the crocs to take a good, big, hearty bite for a while now. He's been annoying reptiles, mammals, and more for too long. Heck, he darn near annoyed me to death.
When people live dangerously, it isn't that their deaths (or injuries) shouldn't be mourned, but they have already devalued the worth of their lives and health. Gary Busey, brain damaged by a motorcycle crash when riding without a helmet (and campaigning against laws requiring wearing helmets)? Not a tragedy. Fitting and ironic. You betcha. I could come up with a list of numerous people who died or were seriously injured while engaged in very risky behavior, and I wonder were we all draw the line.
Some people don't worry about drinking a glass or two or wine and driving and others don't. Some idiots will drink all evening and then drive. Now, I don't have a problem with the Scandinavian rules regarding driving: don't drink. But most people don't follow those rules completely. I also understand the "One glass of wine isn't going to totally impair me or even substantially impair me" school or thought. But the guy at the bar who says "Hey, I'm only drinking beer" who gets behind the wheel after six or seven (or more) beers? Eesh.
Seatbelts? I don't care whether they're uncomfortable. Vaccinations? I'll take the risk of a rash over seeing my kid get measles. Wild animals? Well, I've written about this before but don't have the energy to find the link. Let's just say this: stupid humans are their own worst enemies. So Steve, I understand you loved wild animals. Did you love them more than seeing your kids reach adulthood? Oh, you can't say. You're dead.
Next post: improving Australian images of masculinity by offing the Wiggles, one by one. I have a 22-month old. If those men make another DVD, trust me, when they're in the greater DC area, they'll be living dangerously. Really. Greg, Murry, Anthony, and Jeff: just say no to annoying this suburban mom further. Especially "Dancing with Dorothy" or whatever that song was. Sing "Tie Me Kangaroo, Down" and "Riding in the Big Red Car" and all the other stuff. No, don't! Just stop now. Take up weightlifting. I'm sure there's a doctor in Adelaide who will strongly recommend taking up sports for your health. Get into the football. Something. Anything. Just no more DVDs. Thank you. This was a public health service from Foilwoman.
*I know this post sounds uncharitable. It is uncharitable. I am uncharitable. I do not mean to say that Steve Irwin did not have hidden depths, or that his death doesn't affect those who loved him and/or depended on him. He was a human being. He's dead. No matter how ironic or ludicrous or winner-of-the-Darwin-award-ish his death was, he is dead. The truth of that and the seriousness of that, however, will not stop me from poking fun at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. I'll say right now: if Jeff Corwin** get's eaten by a polar bear or knocked into polar waters by a baby harp seal and dies of hypothermia, maybe some witless reporters and writers will call it shocking or surprising or "news". I'll call it totally expected, even if less than likely.
**Mr. Corwin is doing a show on polar bears right now.
September 1, 2006
With a Little Help From My Friends
What would you do if I sang out of tune? Well, you wouldn't know, because I certainly don't have the technical know-how necessary to record sound files, much less publish them on this blog.
But the AmazingFluffyBunnyMan's suggestion in his comment to my last post, that I set up a donations button, really made me think about how people I've met, either in real-life or through comments, email, and phone calls, through this blog has been so helpful to me. I really would not have survived this last year without the support I have received from erstwhile strangers who have read about my experiences and thoughts in trying to deal with the apparent (to everyone except me, at first) demise of my marriage, building a new life for myself and my daughters, retooling my career, and havigating the waters of divorce court and procedure.
I'm not going to set up a Paypal or other donations button as yet, for a number of reasons. I think it's a perfectly okay thing to do: I think it's great that Zoe (of My Boyfriend Is a Twat fame -- and I'll love and respect her forever for having the best-named blog of all time) supplements her income with gifts from grateful readers who are overcome with awe at her fortitude in dealing with her Twat, Quarsan (who may also be named Andy, I've never quite figured it all out). But I do wonder if I might come across as overly grabby by doing this. I'm not as funny (or as widely read) as Zoe, and I'm really writing a diary that I publish on the internet, not writing a daily column or something like that.* Also, it would be embarrassing if my net take were something like $1.46 per month. That would be darn depressing.
Also, I think I would mostly be taking from people who are simply better at managing their money and lives than I have been to date, who manage better, sometimes, on less, and who shouldn't have to think about dipping into their pockets to help me out just because I was slow to pull the trigger on PdeFF and his incredibly fiscally irresponsible ways. I may earn below the median income in the county where I live, but I earn a decent salary with health and dental benefits, and my lawyer will keep representing me even if it takes me a while to pay him.
Last, I think the helping me pay for divorce help is a burden that I will, chauvinistically and big-babyishly allow to fall on my family. FoilMormor's husband, the SecondMate, is quite comfortable financially, and BigGrampa is also in good financial shape (and NuclearGrammy is, if not wealthy, in possession of more money than she's going to spend before she dies, even if she lives to be 110 and she is 94 now). To the extent I can't pay my legal fees (or any bills for any true necessities), I can turn to my parents, grandmother (I'm forty-five and my Grammy still will ride to the rescue!), and even aunts and uncles. They're comfortably middle class and appear pretty darn committed to seeing that I remain middle class for the sake of my daughters.
That's not saying that if I am still fighting this battle in mid-2007 that my family won't have Follies of Foilwoman Fatigue and pull the plug, at which point, if I have any readers left you can be darn sure a donation button will turn up. I'm not against receiving help from those who offer it. TigerGrrl still wears her Australia/kangaroo hoodie sweatshirt from Bennie with kangaroo backpack, and GaahGirl is pretty much entirely clad in clothes from Kira's children. Cookie and Prom have kindly provided my girls with many favorite books (Wind in the Willows, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Willows in Winter, Robot Zoo, Aesop's Fables, and many others), stuffed animals (Mr. Scratchy and Mr. Spot are big faves from Tony "Who talks funny" according to TigerGrrl), yarn (I will finish Francesca's sweater, courtesy of Prom), and other gifts from others who have read about my life and felt what? Pity, horror, schadenfreude, "thank heaven's it's her and not me", or delight? Who knows. I haven't bought any clothes for the baby and spent a very limited amount on TigerGrrl thanks to the generosity of once-strangers. Somehow, clothes for my kids (or yarn people aren't using) seems less like I'm shaking other people down.
Actually, if it's for my kids, I'm just grateful. I got a recent box for Kira and I may never have to buy shoes for GaahGirl. Really.
But the legal fees? For now, I'll pay them, and when I run out of funds, I'll call BigGrampa up and he'll send me a check, and if I still have more fees, I'll call NuclearGrammy and she'll send me a check. That really sounds crass when I write it like that, but while my personal financial security cushion is almost gone, the familial safety net is quite sturdily present and exists underneath me.
Nonetheless, it feels very good to read a comment like the AmazingFluffyBunnyMan's. That cheered me up. A lot. Thank you Mishi.
*I may be trying to convert parts of this blog into book format and publish it, but that's not why I write it. I write it rather for the same reasons that I try to sleep every night. I feel better after a bad day of dealing with PdeFF (or insane other people, such as Dramatiste) when I can write about it. And then go to sleep.
But the AmazingFluffyBunnyMan's suggestion in his comment to my last post, that I set up a donations button, really made me think about how people I've met, either in real-life or through comments, email, and phone calls, through this blog has been so helpful to me. I really would not have survived this last year without the support I have received from erstwhile strangers who have read about my experiences and thoughts in trying to deal with the apparent (to everyone except me, at first) demise of my marriage, building a new life for myself and my daughters, retooling my career, and havigating the waters of divorce court and procedure.
I'm not going to set up a Paypal or other donations button as yet, for a number of reasons. I think it's a perfectly okay thing to do: I think it's great that Zoe (of My Boyfriend Is a Twat fame -- and I'll love and respect her forever for having the best-named blog of all time) supplements her income with gifts from grateful readers who are overcome with awe at her fortitude in dealing with her Twat, Quarsan (who may also be named Andy, I've never quite figured it all out). But I do wonder if I might come across as overly grabby by doing this. I'm not as funny (or as widely read) as Zoe, and I'm really writing a diary that I publish on the internet, not writing a daily column or something like that.* Also, it would be embarrassing if my net take were something like $1.46 per month. That would be darn depressing.
Also, I think I would mostly be taking from people who are simply better at managing their money and lives than I have been to date, who manage better, sometimes, on less, and who shouldn't have to think about dipping into their pockets to help me out just because I was slow to pull the trigger on PdeFF and his incredibly fiscally irresponsible ways. I may earn below the median income in the county where I live, but I earn a decent salary with health and dental benefits, and my lawyer will keep representing me even if it takes me a while to pay him.
Last, I think the helping me pay for divorce help is a burden that I will, chauvinistically and big-babyishly allow to fall on my family. FoilMormor's husband, the SecondMate, is quite comfortable financially, and BigGrampa is also in good financial shape (and NuclearGrammy is, if not wealthy, in possession of more money than she's going to spend before she dies, even if she lives to be 110 and she is 94 now). To the extent I can't pay my legal fees (or any bills for any true necessities), I can turn to my parents, grandmother (I'm forty-five and my Grammy still will ride to the rescue!), and even aunts and uncles. They're comfortably middle class and appear pretty darn committed to seeing that I remain middle class for the sake of my daughters.
That's not saying that if I am still fighting this battle in mid-2007 that my family won't have Follies of Foilwoman Fatigue and pull the plug, at which point, if I have any readers left you can be darn sure a donation button will turn up. I'm not against receiving help from those who offer it. TigerGrrl still wears her Australia/kangaroo hoodie sweatshirt from Bennie with kangaroo backpack, and GaahGirl is pretty much entirely clad in clothes from Kira's children. Cookie and Prom have kindly provided my girls with many favorite books (Wind in the Willows, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Willows in Winter, Robot Zoo, Aesop's Fables, and many others), stuffed animals (Mr. Scratchy and Mr. Spot are big faves from Tony "Who talks funny" according to TigerGrrl), yarn (I will finish Francesca's sweater, courtesy of Prom), and other gifts from others who have read about my life and felt what? Pity, horror, schadenfreude, "thank heaven's it's her and not me", or delight? Who knows. I haven't bought any clothes for the baby and spent a very limited amount on TigerGrrl thanks to the generosity of once-strangers. Somehow, clothes for my kids (or yarn people aren't using) seems less like I'm shaking other people down.
Actually, if it's for my kids, I'm just grateful. I got a recent box for Kira and I may never have to buy shoes for GaahGirl. Really.
But the legal fees? For now, I'll pay them, and when I run out of funds, I'll call BigGrampa up and he'll send me a check, and if I still have more fees, I'll call NuclearGrammy and she'll send me a check. That really sounds crass when I write it like that, but while my personal financial security cushion is almost gone, the familial safety net is quite sturdily present and exists underneath me.
Nonetheless, it feels very good to read a comment like the AmazingFluffyBunnyMan's. That cheered me up. A lot. Thank you Mishi.
*I may be trying to convert parts of this blog into book format and publish it, but that's not why I write it. I write it rather for the same reasons that I try to sleep every night. I feel better after a bad day of dealing with PdeFF (or insane other people, such as Dramatiste) when I can write about it. And then go to sleep.
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