Monday, February 21, 2005

The Consultation Part

Okay, so up to this point, this site has been totally my Ruminations. Well, ruminations might be too strong a word to use. Some might call it rambling. Some might call it stream of consciousness. Some might call it diarrhea of the mouth.

But, for the sake of fair advertising, I will provide some Consultation resources for your edification. Now, since I rarely consult with anyone myself, as I like to make my mistakes all my my lonesome, I don't have much in the way of advice that I have received recently to relay to you. Also, as much as I avoid asking for advice, I avoid giving it ten times more strongly, so I definitely don't have much advice to give you. I think the following three items pretty much encompass the knowledge I feel competent to pass on to you in good faith:

1. Ingesting cat food, either dry or regurgitated, will not irreparably harm your toddler.
2. Curry tastes great, but neither smells good before you cook it or after you eat it.
3. Masturbating frequently will not make you blind or cause hair to grow on your palms. In fact, it might keep you from gouging someone's eyes out.

Given that I am not personally a good source of advice, below are some reputable or at least interesting sources for you, Gentle Reader:
Straightforward (and often hilariously plain-spoken) advice from Dr. Tracy. Don't ask her if you don't want her to call it like she sees it. The Love Library is great, especially if you want to remind yourself that your love life could be fucked up way, way worse.
Can BDSM be part of a normal relationship? For the answer to this and other pressing questions, go ask Alice! (Hint: Columbia has a BDSM student group. Now, that's where I should have gone to college.)
Wondering why you should go vegetarian or even vegan? These nubile, partially nekkid young things can give you a few good reasons. My favorite: "Because I'll give you head."

So there. Don't say I never gave you anything.

I've Got a Big Butt and I Cannot Lie

You other brothas can't deny, When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in yo face-

Oops. Did I sing that out loud? I was having a Sir Mix a Lot moment. But hey- who DOESN'T fucking love that song?

I do have a big butt though, and my comparatively itty bitty waist is much larger than it used to be. I was walking tonight at the Y, trying to get back into the exercise habit (I'm good at sticking to my bad habits, but not so great at even starting good ones...I say this as I drink my second beer...but I haven't had a cigarette tonight, so I'm doing well. And it's a well known fact that masturbation does not make you blind, so I don't consider that a bad habit either.) Anyway, the indoor track is on the second floor, and there are windows on two sides so that you can view beautiful downtown G'boro. Well, seeing as how it was 7pm, the windows acted not like windows, but rather like mirrors. While hustling down my lane, feeling good about lappinjg 2 gossiping women and a slow fat guy, I looked up into the mirror and was faced with a fact so startling I completely lost whatever momentum I had achieved in my 5 minutes of speedwalking when I realized that "My God- I have a bubble butt."

Now, let me explain that I think bubble butts are cute as hell on other women. I know it sounds stereotypical (because it is), but African-American women seem to carry off the bubble butt quite well, especially along with a sassy personality, a nice rack, and some tight pants. It is an asset, pardon the pun. It is not viewed as an asset on dorky, flat-chested, pasty white chicks in Buddy Holly glasses. Not for the first time in my life, I wish I was not white. Black people just seem to have more fun. Please don't stone me for that remark~ think about this- have you ever enjoyed going to church? It can be like pulling teeth at its best. Now think about all the black church programs you have ever seen on Sunday morning TV. Now if they can make going to church fun, just think how much fun they're having at a club on Saturday night, luscious bubble booties bouncing, while us fat white girls sit home and worry about our cellulite? And our white men would never think to tell us how much they just love our ample derriers, because, truth be known, they probably don't. They just say stuff like, "Oh, it's not that big," and then they won't touch it. But there's a whole song, written by an African-American guy, devoted to big asses. You can't tell me they don't have more fun. If they can make going to church fun, and proclaim the wonders and beauty of a set a large buttocks, then they are having more fun than 99.9% of the white people I know.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

These dreams

I have some fucked up dreams.

There's no other way to say it. I've had the usual dreams- naked dreams (naked at school, naked at Wal-Mart, naked at Church), flying dreams (flying like a bird, flying like a fairy, flying really, really high, man- wait, that one was real...), screwing dreams (screwing someone you want to screw, like a movie star or your boyfriend or your girlfriend, and screwing someone you definitely don't want to screw, like your mom/dad/favorite furry animal).

But I also have some very unusual dreams. A recent selection includes a series of dreams in which I was traveling with my boss' boss (our VP). They weren't sex dreams at all, but implicit in the dream was that we were traveling as intimate companions, even though we are both happily ensconsed in relationships and have children. One of these dreams involved visiting a nightclub/zoo at which we saw tiny baby monkeys the size of your thumbnail get scattered like so many marbles and a foot-long flying green worm with dark spectacles and a top hat who delighted in attacking me by air whle everyone else laughed uproariously.

Lots of my dreams end with everyone else in the dream having a great deal of fun at my expense. I think I'm a little paranoid about people not liking me. After being married to someone whose chief thrill in life seemed to be to criticize everything about me, this is not a shock. However, in his defense, I have to say, I had that issue before we met. He just developed it. And even after being involved in other relationships, friendly and romantic, in which I felt loved and safe and appreciated and interesting and not completely stupid, ugly, inane and irrelevant, I still apparently can't shake this fear of being completely unlovable. Perhaps, deep down, I'll always feel inadequate, unworthy of affection, liable to be abandoned at any moment by those I love most, just as my parents abandoned me physically and emotionally in my childhood.

On the other hand, maybe psychoanalysis of dreams is all bunk. Maybe dreams are just psychic waste and waking up is like flushing the crapper, except I obviously have a problem with my flapper, because my shit keeps swirling around in my bowl instead of washing away.

Or maybe I just think way too much.

Such is life...

In my previous post, I was bemoaning the fact that there were just too many things to do on February 12 that it was difficult to decide which one I really wanted to do.


We ended up not doing ANY of them since we couldn't get a babysitter. Foolish of me to think that Grammy might want to babysit for one night, especially right around Valentine's Day. It's okay though. We ended up exchanging presents and falling asleep in front of the TV at 830pm. Ah, romance.

I got a promotion. Now I'm getting paid very slightly more to do the same job I've been doing for6 months, and I won't get paid overtime since they've made me an exempt employee. And since that entails more reponsibility, I am expected (but not explicitly told) to stay later than the regular quittin' time, since all the other exempt employees do. And I have so much work that I have to stay if I even want to make a dent in it. And of course, Little Dude is down with the fearsome and incredibly contagious PINK EYE this week, so I'm going to miss at least 2 days of work! I had to drop by yesterday for what was supposed to be 15 minutes but turned into an hour and a half just to check on some things...I really don't get paid enough for this. They've told me that I should ask my boss to get set up for access at home, but I don't think that's a great idea. I can just hear it now- You aren't finished with that yet? That's okay, you can work on it tonight at home and have it done first thing in the morning! Fuck. That. I'll just tell them that we eschew technology in our home for the sake of meditative solitude, and that we don't even have a microwave, much less a computer. Well, the microwave part is true.

I need a vacation. It's only February and I've already had to use 5 vacation days for Little Dude's sicknesses. I don't see a vacation happening, unless I come down with pnuemonia or some other fearsome acute illness that causes me to be hospitalized. That might be my only chance for days off. Hmmm...lying about all day, watching the tube, receiving sympathetic calls and possibly flowers from dear friends, getting all my meals delivered in bed...if it wsan't for the bedpans and the hospital food, it would sound incredibly appealing.

I'm not any closer to getting my guitar yet, but I did get 4 DNC CDs! I can listen to them and practice my air guitar now! Hell yeah!