You know, it never ceases to amaze me how far people will go to fuck themselves up, how utterly pathetic and fucking useless they will become to themselves and everyone around them before the thought ever occurs to them that it's really NOT THAT DIFFICULT to get the fuck out of whatever shitty circumstances they are in and MOVE ON. But no. They have to become junkies, fucking crackheads and thieves because somehow that's easier. Tell me, please. Enlighten me. How the fuck is it easier to be a junkie and a crackhead in ROCKFORD...
Okay, nevermind. Know what? It is easier. It is easier to sit on your fucking ass and let all the bullshit in that town suck you completely dry.
Lucky you, Eddie. Lucky you.
Well, the shopping trip didn't happen yesterday. Maddie wanted to take a nap, so looks like we'll be going today instead, which is great because I really need to get out of this house. It's so easy, not having a balcony or porch, for me to just hole myself up in here, googling and cleaning while Maddie climbs the walls, especially when the weather is crappy. And this being February in Wisconsin, it's not too hard for me to look out the window and say, "Uh, no." Not today, dammit! I'm gonna get out of this house if it kills me.
A quick note: Greg rocks my world, and may I die a lonely old woman if I don't mention that fact to every person I bump into from here to eternity. He showed up unexpectedly last night after we had to cancel our original plans to hang out, thereby forever deconstructing the little road in my head that, in the past, has linked the words "Sorry, but we can't _____ tonight because I have to ___," to the words, "We're not on the same page in our lives." Somehow, through past experience, I have managed to mentally equate cancelled plans with "You're a single divorced mother and I'm not ready to deal with that in my life," or some other similar nonsense. Not that anyone has actually *said* those words to me, mind you, just that it's my own stupid little insecurity, reinforced by every magazine, news editorial, 20something female gossip circle, etc., which has stated over and over and OVER again that men in their 30s (or any age, for that matter) do not want to date someone who is divorced with a child, let alone divorced with a child at the ripe ol' age of 25. This is a myth, ladies. While it is true that most men would prefer a sparkling clean virgin who is independent and strong, some - SOME - brave fellows such as Greg are willing to accept not one, but TWO strong-willed ladies into their life, even if one of those ladies is the by-product of another, previous lover, and therefore a living, breathing reminder that the mother of said child HAS HAD SEX, WITH SOMEONE ELSE, AT SOME POINT IN HER LIFE. They're rare, but they do exist. And if they don't, well, then my boyfriend must be noncorporeal. And that can't be true, because I just saw him, live in the flesh, two hours ago, all bedhead and puffy-eyed - but I'm not gonna get all Cartesian "does my hand exist?" on you this early in the day. Not to mention the fact that most of these news editorials, etc., which inaccurately report said unwillingness on the part of men are written by WOMEN. Never have I seen a report from a MAN which says, "I don't wanna be with someone's mommy." I HAVE, on the other hand, heard the term MILF ("Mama I'd Like to Fuck").
So, get off it, ladies. To all the single mommies out there: I guarantee you, there is someone out there who wants to blow your mind. And not even in spite of your mommy-ness, but perhaps even *because* of it.
I guess I just have a hard time believing that anyone would want to be with me in the I-love-you-forever sense because I don't know how well *I* would deal with my significant other having a child, and that child's other parent, in our life together, no matter how great I thought the guy was.
Then again, that's not true, because I've done it before, and to tell the truth, the guy wasn't even that great. Far from it, actually.
Plus, I'm a woman, and as women, we ladies tend to analyze the spoken word far too much. What we say isn't necessarily precisely what we mean. Men, on the other hand, are proven word conservationists - women, on average, speak five times as many words in a given day as men do (as proven by this entry) - and therefore, perhaps because of a fear of an impending language shortage or perhaps because they don't like the sound of their voices or perhaps because they're task-oriented....therefore, they tend to use words in a very utilitarian manner. Translation: they say what they mean. There are of course exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, this is true. "I have to work late," means, "I have to work late." NOT "My work is cooler than you," or, "I would rather spend my time running around like a chicken with its head cut off, doing random tasks for mostly unappreciative people, than spend an evening making sweet love." The sooner we ladies stop comparing ourselves to every animate or inanimate being that takes up the itty-bittiest amount of space in our men's lives, the happier we will be.
Another thing: I need to teach my child some more 3-year-old friendly quotes. One of my favorite movie quotes is from "Sabrina," when Audrey Hepburn says (or rather, writes), "I don't want to go to Paris. I want to die." Well, Maddie has taken this one up for herself. As I write, she is sitting on the floor, playing with this little toy cat thingy that she got me for Christmas. It has a button on the bottom that makes the cat collapse when you push it, then as you release the button, the little strings that hold all the pieces together pull down, forcing the cat back into its original upright position. She's sitting on the floor, saying "I don't WANT to go to Paris. I want to," (collapsing the cat), "DIE."
It's kind of creepy.
Ice cream at the mall it is.
Note to Greg, and any other Rollins fans reading this: for a laugh, check out this picture of Henry signing a bomb. What a dork.
Gap time. Over and out.
Maddie got her first pair of Chucks yesterday. We came home from the show, and Ryan was here, watching Maddie until we got back. I walked him to the door, and when I looked down, there was a little teeny tiny pair of black high-top Chucks on the rug.
I could just cry.
My daughter. Wearing Chucks. Three years old. Little, tiny, itty-bitty Chuckeroos. I'm gonna make her sleep in them, I swear, just because she looks so damn cute. Pictures. Must take pictures.
I just walked into Maddie's room to find that she had completed - by herself - a puzzle of the United States. ALL 50 STATES. In the right places. There are grown adults who don't know where the fuck Nebraska is. Hell, I'm not even sure without looking at a map. Next to Colorado? Above Wyoming? Or is Wyoming north? Not sure. But Maddie? She knows.
I am amazed.
The Henry show last night was great. I know it sounds stupid, and it is, but after so many years of hearing his spoken word performances, reading his books, listening to his music, etc., one begins to feel almost as though he's an old friend. Of course, I don't claim to know Henry any more than, say, my mom does. It's just one of those old comfort zones, I guess. Being in a room with Henry and my best friend, after so many years, just feels comfortable. I remember she and I spending hours lying on her floor, listening to "Sweatbox," staring at the ceiling fan and pondering his tangents, and every time I get to hear him speak, it's like we're just hanging out at Tracey's mom's house again, sipping Junior Juice. And the best part about it is, it's not just nostalgia. Because Henry has spent so much time in the public forum, it's possible to watch him sort of evolve, and this sounds REALLY cheesey, I know, but I have to say I am so proud of him. He has done so much for so many people just by being himself and sharing his thoughts, and I have a lot of respect for the messages he conveys. Bless that man. Bless him all to hell.
Tracey got to meet Greg last night as well, which needless to say, rocks my world. Wish we'd had more time to hang out, but that will come in due time.
Off to the mall I go. Maddie and I are going to go out for lunch, then on a mission for blue jeans.
Last night, Henry. Today, the Gap. My, how things have changed. :)
WHOOHOO! Henry Day is here! What a great weekend. Looked through some old notebooks of junk yesterday, searching for some salvageable, publishable material. Found very little that I'd want to share with any breathing creature - in fact, much that I'd like to shred, douse with gasoline, set ablaze, then deliver the remains directly to the sewage dump myself - BUT I did figure out why everyone thought I was so crazy in my youth. Jesus Christ, people. WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME!!!! Wait. I guess you did. ;) I have to say, though, 25-year-old me is pretty happy with the way things turned out. It was funny to read stuff from when Tracey graduated, me whining "ohmigodyou'removingawayI'llneverseeyouagain," when the truth is that we talk more now than we did when we were both still in Rockford, particularly that last year of high school. Well, Tracey's last year of high school. I was too busy getting drunk, tattooed, pierced, and high to go garage-saling that year. Poo on me.
AND HERE WE ARE! 13 years of friendship later, and tonight, we're doing the same damn thing we've been doing all these years: eating pizza, and listening to Henry gab for three solid hours. It's nice to go back and revisit the people we were before we had children. "Oh yeah - that's right. We wanted to kill everybody, then start the world over again, minus the SUVs and business attire." Genocide, really. What funny little people we were. How cute. Steph and Trace, rockin' the free world. And we're still doin' it. Only now we have steam cleaners to clean up the mess when we're done. Yay!
Looking forward to the tangents. Henry's tangents put the John Burger Story to shame. Sorry John, but this man's been perfecting the art for the last 25 years. His tangents take boats to Africa, loop back through Ian and DC 20 years ago, and end up at a party with Ozzy Osbourne and Marilyn Manson. And let us not forget the numerous, creatively inserted reminders that smoking is evil and the government, particularly George Jr., is out to get us. Have a nice day, kids.
YAY! I'm gonna stop with the Henry drivel for now, because I'm sure I'll have lots more to say once we've actually *gone to the show*.
And Tracey's meeting Greg tonight!
Happiness. Sheer mad joy. Ah. I can't even stand it.
*mish*
HELLO! What a rockin' night. Spent all day doing NOTHING, banned myself from doing any household chores whatsoever, then went to the Pal for dinner, simply because I didn't feel like cooking. Went to the Clare for a drink to see Greg, then to Onopa to see The Etiquette. I fucking love those guys. No one covers "Helter Skelter" like Gene. Hot shit.
Home now. Having a cup of tea, watching television for a bit, and hoping that Greg will show up after he's done working. I miss my man. *mish mish*
Happy Tuesday, everyone! It's currently 10:14 a.m. and a balmy 20something degrees outside, sunny, gorgeous day. Went to Rockford/Ladd/Paw Paw with Greg on Sunday for a fun-filled afternoon of fried chicken at Rip's in Ladd, all kinds of painted and ceramic chickens at Grandma and Grandpa's house in the ol' chicken shack in Paw Paw, then absolutely no chickens whatsoever on our soothing ride home. This was the first time Greg and the Fam have met, so he was a little nervous, but all went very well. I knew everyone would be rather impressed, so I wasn't nervous about it at all. I don't want to say too much about it, because Greg might read this, and if I'm all OHMYGODI'MHAVINGTHISGUY'SBABIES on the great wide open internet, he might freak out and run away. ;) Let's just say that I'm really, really happy.
Had a massage yesterday, courtesy of above-mentioned superstereowonderman, and enjoyed it immensely. Melissa, the chick who gave me my hour of pure bliss, has hands like pillows. I love her. She's fabulous, and I will - I WILL - be going back. If you're ever in Milwaukee, take advantage of Apple a Day Massage. You will not regret it. Plus, I bought some yummy oils and I smell and feel like an Earth Goddess right now. Highly recommended, especially for you mommies out there. Om......
Off to Target today for new shoes for Maddie, then the usual household chores, laundry, dishes, etc. Made a salad last night and was so excited about it. I'm such a dork. Romaine lettuce, fresh oranges, Roquefort blue cheese and a spattering of olive oil for dressing. Mmmmm. Think I'll do a reprise of that one this afternoon.
Over and out.
I was just browsing the net, looking at Pixies sites because Greg, for some unknown reason, has asked me to compile a list of my favorite Pixies songs (yes, I know the song titles; I just couldn't remember the name of the "Doolittle" album for some reason). Now, I have mentioned to Greg before that Tracey and I used to say that if/when we became rich, we'd pay the Pixies to reunite and play at our birthday party, and our birthdays are coming up soon.... Add this to the fact that Greg is a musician, and the manager of a bar that hosts bands regularly....Hmm...... A cover, perhaps? I don't want to speculate. Hell, I'd be excited to get a comp CD. Or a private listening session of Greg singing "La la love you." Anyway.
It would seem that Trace and I won't have to scrimp and save, at least no more than thirty bucks or so, because.....THE PIXIES ARE REUNITING!!!! The original lineup will be playing a few dates in the US, and I'll be goddamned if Tracey and I don't go to at least one of them. I'm sure they'll play Chicago, and if they don't, well, then we have a road trip to get started on.
I'M SO FUCKING EXCITED! My adolescent wet dream is coming to fruition. Even if Kim and Frank get into a fistfight halfway through the second song, I will be forever grateful for the first song and a half.
See The Pixies Official Website for details!!!!
After at least a century of modern medicine, you'd think that the medical community would have invented a softer, squishier, more vagina-friendly device to use for examinations. Why, I ask all of womankind, why have we not staged a march on gynecological conventions about this? If Tampax is now making tampons smooth as fresh-churned butter, and if I can buy "personal massagers" ERGONOMICALLY SHAPED to fit my voluptuous curves (laugh and I'll hit you), why, oh god, WHY can they not come up with something with a little less resemblance to some kind of ancient medieval torture device crossed with a fucking snowplow? Hell, have another guy (a cute one, preferably) stand there and hold the gates to all mystery open. He could talk to me, in very quiet and soothing tones, maybe with an exotic accent (Irish comes to mind...or Spanish), about how my glowing orifice is the womb of mankind, how precious and beautiful and wonderful my bouncing, squishy little ovaries are, how perfect in their elliptical shape, how wispy and mysterious my ovarian tubes are, how they wind and flow through my ethereal abdomen. Read some Pablo Neruda, god dammit.
But, no. Instead, I'm gonna have some schmuck with a really horrible accent impale me with a duck-lipped wrench, shove his latex-covered hand halfway to my lungs, squeeze my tender little ovaries like so many fragile grapes, scrape out my insides with a dry, wooly wand, then tell me to go home. Oh, and meanwhile, there'll be some Nurse Ratchet on standby, making sure this complete and total stranger with his arm up my crotch isn't getting any personal enjoyment out of the process.
Bottom Line: If I'm gonna be fist-fucked by a creepy little man with Robin Williams monkey arms, the least they can do is play some Tori Amos in the background. End of story.
Work tonight. Have to find babysitter to watch Maddie on Wed. and Thurs. nights when I'm at work, or else find new job during daytime hours. Ryan's keeping her on Fridays still, but the other two nights are done.
Lunch with Barry and Laura tomorrow, hopefully. They'll be watching Maddie while Greg and I are in Ireland. Whoo-hoo! Getting so excited.
Also, it would appear that Greg has set up a massage for me tomorrow!!!!! I'm REALLY looking forward to that. I've never had a professional massage before, not to mention that Greg thought this one up by himself and just DID it, just to be nice because he likes me.
I'm gonna hurl, this is so goddamn great.
So yeah. Good weekend ahead.
Hope you all have good weekends, too! More to come soon, I'm sure.