Saturday, May 31, 2008

Evil's got style

Sir has been away for a full week on job-related duties that involve boats (--ships!) and oil spills (oops). It's been a miserly week for him, so to cheer myself up I got my hair cut. My idea of taking care of my hair is usually cutting it myself and feeling proud if I get it colored once a year, so it was a daunting decision. Nevertheless, I prepared. I took in my obligatory photos of Keira Knightley and proceeded to spend fifteen minutes telling the stylist what I wanted, only I wasn't sure what I wanted, does she know what I want? But I don't want THAT, I want this, for sure, or maybe not, YOU decide. Do I or don't I want to be able to tuck a bit of hair behind my ear? THESE ARE BIG DECISIONS. Or how about the color? I want THIS, but not really that. Even though they're the SAME thing.

I think after a while she decided I didn't know WHAT I wanted so she'd take care of poor little Chiquita.

This is the result. Sexy, no?

I'm pleased. If you're in the San Diego area and thinking, "oh shit, I need to look great for the beach!" try hitting up the Hair and Body Bar out in Point Loma. Dahling, it's fabulous.

However, I didn't inform Sir of the hair excursion and the resulting expense, so when he told me he'd be getting drunk with me tonight (waggly eyebrows are happening on my forehead as I type this), I realized I ought to fess up. It's not like I can hide the shoe bag or the new mascara I bought (hey! My old mascara was from LAST YEAR. You don't want me to go blind, do you?), so I set out to write him an email. Here's how I prepped him:

Babe, I look a little different....

I walked into three doors, had a major car accident on Tuesday that I didn't tell you about that I had to go to the hospital for, I've got stitches holding my right eyebrow to my face from where I hit the steering column, and that mysterious bump I had on my forehead weeks ago is back, inexplicably. Oh, and I had your dog with me in the car when I had the accident. She's limping.

The great thing about emails is that, for dramatic emphasis, you have two options. You can send another email later, or you can hit the Enter button lots and lots of times. After lots of Enter-ing, I finally said:

Actually, I just cut my hair. The dog's fine. I'm fine.
Speaking of hair, I think my husband is going to be one hot silver-haired lad.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Swearin' like a sailor('s wife)

Here's where I admit, after a perusal through my blog, that I swear a lot. This might offend a lot of people, but after growing up as an apologist, I've decided not to make restitutions for what I acknowledge as a possible character flaw. Certainly I'd cringe to find out my childhood pastor and his wife read my site.

As dearly as I loved my pastor and his family, I realized that most of the dreams I had were unachievable so long as I put great stock in how they viewed me, especially with regards to whether or not they'd allow me to babysit their youngest daughter knowing what a mouth I've got on me. That's all well and good, except that I used to dream of being a writer until I realized that I couldn't ever own up to anything I wrote if there was a chance they'd read it. Fuck what my family thought; I knew obligatory society rules would protect me from permanent outcast status and eventually they'd come around to seeing what I see or at least agreeing to disagree. I couldn't grasp of a world in which the elders that I respected thought of me as a bad person, and I adapted my outlook to fit the sort of person I felt I ought to be.

Entering college was the cliche eye-opening experience in which I began to cautiously engage in various behaviors I'd previously thought of as despicable: I smoked, I swore, I drank (underage!), I lied. Each transgression was worse than the next as time wore on, until I couldn't see myself as a good person any longer. After graduating college, I'd fallen into a depression wherein I felt myself to be a worthless human being, living in my parents house and unable to find a job with my expensive degree. It culminated to a head one night as I cracked open a fresh bottle of Sapphire gin and proceeded to dump the contents down my throat, one martini glass straight at a time; I stripped myself naked and locked myself into the bathroom. My parents, understandably worried, broke down the door and spent the night praying over me, willing me to live through the night. I've wondered why they didn't get my stomach pumped considering the nearly-lethal amount I'd consumed on an empty stomach. My Irish cast-iron stomach failed me, for the first time in nearly 20 years. The following days were black, but I no longer had the courage to care if I died nor the energy to blot out my life. Ironically, I lost the last shreds of my faith somewhere along the lines when I realized there was nothing waiting for me at the end of my life, only the memories of what I've done with the life I have.

It wasn't long after that I met the man I fell in love with (with help from my friends at and eventually married; in many ways, he's been my reason for living and the force that propels me through my days. Because of his support and unwavering love, I found it in myself to face the dreams that I'd long ago schucked to the wayside in favor of modeling my life after a person I couldn't be and began looking for the me I wanted to be. I've embraced my vulgar and intellectual sides equally, realizing that the intense pleasure I get from a well-executed swear word is as valid a reason to continue as is the intense pleasure of a great roll in the hay or my love of collecting outdated idiomatic phrases.

So if in my vulgarity I offend, I hope you find diamonds in the rough elsewhere. Or else, there's the door. It's a small "x" on your screen that allows you to vacate the premises.

Protest the Protest: Stupid Protests


After looking around The Pill Kills website created by the American Life League, I wanted to put out a PSA to remind the Internet that when you're getting your information from the great World Wide Web, you gotta consider the source. Me, included. You might wonder why you should listen to me telling you what questionable content I found on their website, but here's the thing: consider what I have to say, but do your own research. Don't take anyone's word at face value, and that means my word, too.

That said, let's take a look at some of the cringe-worthy gems.

How the Pill kills unborn babies:

I suppose they're overlooking the possibility that that was the purpose after all--to keep from getting pregnant. Hmmm.

The point they're trying to make is that pregnancy begins at conception--that is, the joining of an egg and a sperm to create a zygote. However, pregnancy technically begins at implantation, which can occur as soon as 6-8 days after conception, at which point it can be detected by pregnancy tests. Here's a pretty fuckin' funny animated video to illustrate what happens from conception to implantation. So basically, until implantation happens, you're not technically pregnant. Many things can happen to prevent implantation (pregnancy): an inhospitable uterus, ectopic pregnancy (pregnancy outside the uterus), etc. Also, it hasn't been proven that the Pill actually prevents implantation; the Pill is made up of estrogen and progestin (if you're on the combo-pack)--estrogen prevents the ovaries from releasing eggs in the first place, and progestin thickens the mucus on the uterine wall, which blocks sperm from joining the egg (if one's been released). It hasn't been proven that the Pill prevents a fertilized egg from attaching itself to the uterine wall (answered under How Do Birth Control Pills Work?).

Can I make it any clearer? You're not aborting a pregnancy by taking the Pill.

The List of Side Effects:
*Acne: Did you know? It's a common benefit that the Pill actually helps clear skin. They listed a ton of side effects that are incredibly rare--you have to have a distinct sensitivity to various components of the Pill, like estrogen.

*Many of the listed side effects are symptoms of not having the right dosage. For instance, I had a lot of spotting (which is listed as a serious side effect) when I was on a different Pill (Desogen, to be exact) with a really low estrogen level, and I was also feeling depressed. I switched to the one I use now (Ortho-Tricyclen), and my mood improved and I'm able to regulate my periods better.

A couple taking the pill: "Hence to use this divine gift [the sexual act] while depriving it [taking contraception], even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is equally repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will."
Seriously, I couldn't make that up. I thought the nature of man and of woman was to have jolly fun in the sack, but I guess God thinks sex is only for making babies.

Speaking of the "nature of man and of woman," here's a slight tangent. I thought you might like to know another view of why we have sex:

Q: What about the human instinct to breed?

Humans, like all creatures, have urges which lead to reproduction. Our biological urge is to have sex, not to make babies. Our "instinct to breed" is the same as a squirrel's instinct to plant trees: the urge is to store food, trees are a natural result. If sex is an urge to procreate, then hunger's an urge to defecate.

Culturally-induced desires can be so strong that they seem to be biological, but no evolutionary mechanism for an instinct to breed exists. Why do we stop breeding after we've had as many as we want? If the instinct is to reproduce, how are so many of us able to over ride it? There are too many who have never felt that urge: mutations don't occur in this high a percentage of a population.

Looking to our evolutionary roots, imagine Homo erectus feeling the urge to create a new human. He then has to understand that a cavewoman is needed, sexual intercourse must be engaged in, and they will have to wait nine months.

Considering how often our species has the urge for sex, it's likely human sexuality serves primarily a pair-bonding function rather than procreative. Human infants are vulnerable for so long that their survival, in prehistoric times, may have depended on a strong pair bond between parents. Bonobos, perhaps our closest biological relative, engage in sex for social reasons far more than for reproductive reasons. From
Ways in which the pill destroys relationships:

  • It easily opens the door for marital infidelity;

  • it especially opens the door for temptation to youth;

  • "a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and... reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection."
I told my husband he must have gotten used to my contraceptive methods and started thinking irreverently about me. I guess I must be a fuck doll. Poor me. Not to mention that one or both of us might have some sort of marital infidelity ('cause it's easier, didn't you know?), and if that happens, it's all the Pill's fault. Good to know, right?

Let's look at just a few of their resources for compiling that list of side effects:
1 Randy Alcorn, Does the Birth Control Pill Cause Abortions? (Gresham, OR: Eternal Perspective Ministries, 1998), 29-30 (online condensation by Randy Alcorn; accessed April 14, 2008).

4 Bogomir M.Kuhar, PharmD, FASCP, Infant Homicides through Contraceptives, 5th ed. (Bardstown, KY: Eternal Life, 2003).

6 MICROMEDEX® (online collection of drug databases available only to medical professionals), (Depo-Provera Monograph, Vol. 85, 1995).
Guess I can't check their facts there!

9 Pope Paul VI, Encyclical Letter Humanae Vitae, Vatican: The Holy See, July 25, 1968, (accessed April 13, 2008).
Their Talking Points are quite a doozy:
Q: How does the pill work?
A: The birth control pill and similar birth control products work in a woman's body in one of three ways: It can prevent ovulation and it can obstruct sperm from reaching the egg (prevent fertilization) by thickening the cervical mucus. However, if both of these methods fail and a new human person is created, the pill and other contraceptives can stop a tiny child's implantation in his/her mother's womb because the pill irritates the lining of the uterus so that the tiny baby boy or baby girl cannot attach to the lining of the uterus and the newly formed human person is aborted and dies. This is called a chemical abortion.
It's widely accepted in medical fields to use the term "fetus" in order to avoid the complications involved in using the hotly-contested term of "child" or "baby" before it's born. However, notice the distinct lack of tact.

Q: How does the pill kill babies?
A: This can happen because the pill and other birth control products can prevent implantation from occurring. When the preborn baby implants in the womb, the baby establishes a connection with the mother so that he or she can receive the sustenance needed to grow. If the preborn baby cannot implant in the mother's womb, he or she will die.
Ok, let me quote one more and then I'll make my remarks...

Q: Isn't it better to be on the pill when you
are sexually active?

A: Better for whom? The pill does not prevent you from getting a sexually transmitted disease, it is not 100 percent effective in preventing pregnancy and you could conceive a child who gets chemically aborted before the baby's presence is even known to you. Moreover, sexual activity outside of marriage is seriously wrong.
So's being a judgmental prick. Whew, so that's out of my system, here's what I was going to say regarding the last two I quoted: isn't the point of the Pill to prevent pregnancy? Obviously when one's taking the Pill, they're hoping for just such a thing to happen. Perhaps not in such gruesome terms as causing an "abortion" to happen, but here's something else that they're not telling you here: Planned Parenthood is upfront about the possible effects of the Pill. It's not a dirty secret they're hiding. It's also not proven that birth control prevents the fertilized egg from implanting itself into the uterine wall.

Q: The Supreme Court has ruled that it's my right to privacy -- who do you think you are to say otherwise?
A: On June 7, 1965, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down the Griswold v. Connecticut decision. The Supreme Court justices first presumed that previous Court decisions dealing with a citizen's right to liberty and security that prohibited invasion of one's home and acquisition of evidence that might later be used to convict him of a crime also addressed privacy within marriage. In fact, the justices argued, "The concept of liberty is not so restricted... it embraces the right of marital privacy though that right is not mentioned explicitly [emphasis added] in the Constitution" and is based on "specific guarantees in the Bill of Rights [which] have penumbras, formed by emanations from those guarantees that help give them life and substance." 5

This confusing language, which has no relationship whatsoever to what the Founding Fathers intended, gave married women permission to use the birth control pill. The Supreme Court literally created the "right to privacy" out of thin air.

We now know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that not only did the Supreme Court literally make up the right that you claim gives you permission to use birth control, but the most popular form of birth control, the pill, can kill innocent preborn children. If there is a chance that human beings are going to be murdered, I am going to do everything in my power to help prevent that from happening. If you knew there was a chance that someone might poison your neighbor, don't you think you would try to notify your neighbor and do as much as you could to help save a life?

I don't know if you caught that, but what they're advocating is allowing the government to regulate what happens in your private life by stating that women's rights and privacy within marriage are NOT covered by the Bill of Rights and were never intended to be covered according to the Founding Fathers. Not to mention, wow; I'm supposed to feel like a murderer if I choose not to continue with an unwanted pregnancy, bringing a child into a world where I might be ill-equipped to provide the basic elements of a good life, because I'd try to save my neighbor from being poisoned? TOTALLY NOT THE SAME THING.

And the last gem from the Talking Points:
Q: Why does Planned Parenthood say the pill does not cause an abortion?
A: Planned Parenthood and other organizations cover up the reality that the birth control pill can, in fact, kill a preborn baby. They have a vested interest in lying to young women because they exploit them. Planned Parenthood brainwashes young girls by telling them that the pill merely prevents pregnancy, when the fact is that the pill can act after fertilization, which is when pregnancy begins, and kill the preborn baby. Planned Parenthood says that pregnancy does not begin at fertilization, but this is their biggest lie. In 2006, Planned Parenthood received over $345 million in clinic income. One-third of its clinic income is from selling birth control. Obviously, they make big money by lying to women.
I'm not sure if you're aware, but the Planned Parenthood's totally raking in the dough by providing affordable reproductive health services. I heard they're taking donations to feed their Starbucks addictions without dipping into their own gold-lined pockets! (Note to the stupid: that's a joke.) Actually, $345 million doesn't go very far when you consider the expenses involved in providing cheaper, quality alternatives for services that typically cost far more than men's health-related services, operating costs, staffing costs, and just putting up money for all the programs to help low-income women afford basic health care, including that precious topic, prenatal care for those that choose to keep their babies.

And, oh, by the way...aren't their duds so cute?

Want to protest the protest? Here're some ideas:
*Write your legislators, thanking them for supporting women by keeping access to birth control options open. Also make sure to remind them not to support the Domestic Gag Rule, should it come up.

*For that matter, sign the petition to urge Secretary of Health and Human Services Mike Leavitt to support women, not severely limit women's access to birth control options.

*Volunteer at your local Planned Parenthood on June 7, 2008; find their number, call and ask what you can do to help them on that day. Chances are if the Protest the Pill gets big enough, they'll be happy to have help dealing with the protesters.

*If you think up more, let me know.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Guess what I'm NOT doing June 7, 2008?

Protest the Pill Day. Fuck that. How about a Protest the Protest the Pill Day? I'll pop a few Pills to that.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I wish I were Mary Poppins

I'm experiencing a strong aversion to doing the laundry.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Eight Poops a-Poppin'

Popping out for a quick, refreshing walk with the dog has never been such an emotional train wreck. Other people's dogs seem to be able to poop wherever, whenever the need arises, as evidenced by the startling frequency of stepping in poop that I do. Not one to be overly concerned with another's ability to take a well-rounded poop, nevertheless I've become entirely wound up in everything my dog eats and when she goes out. I'm convinced that if I err from the schedule or feed her the wrong thing, there will be poop in my house. Nevermind that there's rarely poop outside my house most of the time--especially lately, which has worn my nerves to the point that I stand anxiously peering at my dog's bottom, waiting to see the crowning signs that indicate it's time for her to go outside. Sadly, even then a poop isn't a guaranteed sighting. My dog suffers from DADD, Dog Attention Deficit Disorder, otherwise known as THE FUCKER WON'T TAKE A SHIT. My 'hood has lots of dogs, and my immediate apartment complex is the only place where the dogs are actually kept inside rather than outside, and none of the cat owners bother to coax the kitties inside at night, so at any moment, day or night, Ari will assume the position, expel the head of some poop, and catch sight of any of the 92349987234 cats and/or dogs running loose. SWOOP! The poop goes back inside and nothing can induce her to put her focus back on the task at hand. Enter a red-faced Chiquita, annoyed as fuck.

I am at my wit's end. I like to reward her for a job well done, using her favorite fat-free chicken jerky, but not even that is working anymore.


Friday, May 23, 2008


Note to self: If Firefox dumps your passwords and you can't figure out why you're not logging into your favorite websites, update your Java application. Thanks, dumbass.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Vitamin C

I refuse to believe that I am the only person on the planet with several neuroses involving fruit. See, once upon a time, I incurred a sinus infection whilst visiting a pernicious ex-boyfriend. Said ex lived in the basement of his mother's house well into his early 20s, so visiting him was visiting his family. His mother (make no mistake, by the way, out of the two of us, I made out with the better deal: amazing friendships with his mother and sister) took matters into her own hands and shoved an entire orange into my own weak hands, demanding that I finish it with no delays.

Here's where I explain something: I don't like oranges.

Actually, that's a lie; I like oranges, but in order to stick one down my gullet, I must undergo an intensely involved process of preparing it. First, I must have the proper tools: an orange, a knife, a plate and a pair of tweezers. I prefer to peel the orange, using the knife, and leave it on the counter for ten minutes to dry.

Then, using the tweezers, I peel the remaining pulp and strings from each segment. If this sounds like it'd take forever, you're right! Each segment takes approximately 2-5 minutes, depending on how much crap is on it.

That day, being forced to consume an entire orange without the appropriate prep-work left me gagging. So somehow, I forgot about this event when, two weeks ago, I decided to buy an entire flat of oranges, of which I've consumed two. The other day, peeling my orange, I remembered it. Nevertheless, I carried on, and removed all the strings, then ate my orange, segment by segment.

Friday, May 16, 2008

California Same-Sex Marriage Ban Lifted

Yesterday's decision by the California Supreme Court is certainly good news for same-sex couples. California's state ban on same-sex marriages was lifted on Thursday, eliciting a joyous response from people all over the state.

As awesome as the news is, I'm on the edge of the edge, waiting for someone to teeter the tenuous balance of the playground see-saw into the favor of extreme conservatives, overturning the ban yet again. It happened in 2000; I'm hoping California has the guts to stand behind its court's decision even should an amendment to the state's constitution to reinstate the ban appear on the ballot this fall.

Luckily, Mr. Scwharzenegger said he won't fight the court's decision.

"Also, as I have said in the past, I will not support an amendment to the constitution that would overturn this state Supreme Court ruling." Via Mercury News
It's not wrong to celebrate -- yes, do! But remember:

This decision is already under threat, because opponents of same-sex marriage weeks ago submitted more than 1 million signatures in support of an effort to place a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage on the ballot in California this fall. Should that measure make it onto the ballot and be approved by the voters, the court’s decision today would be overturned and the victory fleeting. From Feminist Law Professors

At least one of the groups opposing same-sex marriage is considering asking the Supreme Court to stay its ruling until after Election Day in November, so California voters have a chance to decide whether to amend the state's constitution to ban same-sex marriage and make Thursday's ruling moot. State officials are still verifying petition signatures submitted to put this amendment on the ballot. From Mercury News

As my friends from Evilslutopia put it:

...Regardless of how or why we got here, we can't consider this ruling anything less than a victory. It is great news. However, this isn't a total victory yet... Religious and conservative groups are still working on stopping same-sex unions.

...celebrate, propose to your loved ones, plan your trip to Cali... but remember that we're far from done. From my friends at

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Teenager seeks help from YouTube

Finding no help or answers, a 16-year-old girl from Florida turned to YouTube to find sympathetic ears. According to Jezebel, the 23-year-old who allegedly raped her was not prosecuted because the girl was a month shy of turning 16, the legal age of consent, and it turned into a case of "he said/she said."

CNN's Ashley Fantz reports that with 5 percent of Florida cases never even reaching a prosecutor's office, many women who've survived sexual assault turn to other sources to find someone to hear their story, like Facebook, Myspace, or even, as we see here, YouTube.

"What you hear from every rape crisis center from Pensacola to Key West is that there are hardly ever any prosecutions," she said. "Most sexual violence is acquaintance rape, and unfortunately, a lot of juries still think that if a victim had a relationship with their attacker, then they cannot be raped by that person." (Emphasis mine.)

The question is quickly becoming, are they finding the help they need? Luckily, Crystal's plea may lead her to better support than she received in the past, but check out the responses to her posting - not exactly what she was hoping for:

Good acting and good story, go somewhere else for attention.

if anything she should be liable for court and municipal costs related to her bullshit claim

Another woman, Stacy, 25, was raped by an acquaintance and soon found herself in a similar situation. She reported it to the university authorities, but instead of treating the accusation with the gravity it deserved, they allowed her attacker to continue going to class (which she shared). Not finding the help she needed, she started looking elsewhere.

She began instant messaging in chat rooms but quickly realized that many people who initially seemed sympathetic were only pretending.

"The next thing you know, they are making it seem like they are turned on. They were asking me for details of my rape. It was very disturbing," she said. "I had to block several people. After that, I thought the worst of the world. I thought everyone was a perpetrator, and I trusted no one." Via CNN

Should the take-away message here be “trust only thyself”? No, of course not. If you have been sexually assaulted, here’re a couple of things you can do:

*Report the incident; if you’re not comfortable, confide in someone you trust and ask them to help you.

*Check out the National Sexual Assault Online Hotline; they’ve got people trained to listen to you and hear your story, as well as the resources to help you. You can also call them at 1.800.656.HOPE (1.800.656.4673). It’s anonymous, so you don’t have to share your identity if you don’t want to.

*If you decide to tell your story through online forums (Myspace, YouTube, LiveJournal, etc.), carefully consider how much information you want to give out. It’s a serious concern that a lot of women are giving out too much information about themselves, which can be really dangerous:

Advocates worry that victims are divulging too much information. CNN found several Facebook and MySpace profiles on which young people say they have been raped. The postings include their names, photographs and hometowns. Via CNN

*Along those lines, also think about the future when posting:

Because anything posted on the Web is available forever through an Internet search, a rape survivor must consider how they would feel if that information were dredged up in the future, counselors said. By making themselves -- or their IP address -- available, victims open themselves to unreliable and unprofessional advice and the harsh judgment of their peers.

Perhaps worst of all, they could give their perpetrator a chance to find them again or gain more satisfaction. Via CNN

Always, always protect yourselves.

If your loved one is the victim of sexual assault, here’s what you can do to help:

  • Listen. Be there. Don’t be judgmental.
  • Be patient. Remember, it will take your friend some time to deal with the crime.
  • Help to empower your friend or family member. Sexual assault is a crime that takes away an individual’s power, it is important not to compound this experience by putting pressure on your friend or family member to do things that he or she is not ready to do yet.
  • Encourage your friend to report the rape to law enforcement (call 911 in most areas). If your friend has questions about the criminal justice process, talking with someone on the National Sexual Assault Hotline, 1-800-656-HOPE, can help.
  • Let your friend know that professional help is available through the National Sexual Assault Hotline, 1-800-656-HOPE, and the National Sexual Assault Online Hotline.
  • If your friend is willing to seek medical attention or report the assault, offer to accompany him or her wherever s/he needs to go (hospital, police station, campus security, etc.)
Encourage him or her to contact one of the hotlines, but realize that only your friend can make the decision to get help. (From RAINN)

Monday, May 12, 2008

Quite possibly, almost certainly, insane

Good morning. May I introduce you to the latest flaw in my make-up? I'm a klutz. Somewhere between the decision to find sleep and actually finding sleep at around 11 last night, I gouged the hell out of my forehead. Imagine the dismay on Sir's face when I showed it to him; it's a right goodly owie. Woke up this morning still drunk, scrunched my face up in my usual [adorable] morning face scrunch, and noticed that part of my forehead did not move. Reached up to feel my forehead like it was simply an annexed foreign part, and noticed further still that it was crunchy to the touch and my first thought was, did I chop a pimple off my face with an ax? Ran to the sink in my bedroom, flipped the light on and stared, panicked.

Sir doesn't have a clue how I did it; he was drunker than I was. I'm totally PSYCHED that my skin all around it ("IT" is this giant dance of words trying not to call it what it is: an inexplicable fucking deep gash in my forehead - ohhh, that's why...too many words) looks gorgeous. Look at my skin. Isn't that some nice skin?

Friday, May 9, 2008

He-Man and She-Ra, if they weren't sibs

This picture is typical of my marriage: yes, I am a spaz, and yes, he does often look at me wondering where do I get off? But however spaz-tastic I've been during the day or how irritated he is with me, at night we sit down on our sofa, usually with Ari the Doglet curled up in a dogbun at our feet, and I listen to him. He tells me many things--the state of the world, the state of his mind, the state of me, the state of the smell of the dog, about the trips he took with his mother and the stress and horror of his job. I listen, because when in the presence of a storyteller with amazing capability for lyrical twists and turns, you don't speak. You listen, to hear where you're going this time, this trip, this story.

In one such evening, listening to him talk, he stood up mid-speech and disappeared into his room to rummage for an essay, and instead brought me something else. When we were getting married, he wrote his vows to me. We went another way with our vows, but he never told me about having done this, until last night.

I read one sentence and began to cry. It doesn't belong out where uncaring, disinterested eyes might fall upon it, but I can share a little:

I want you to be proud and vocal and to state your positions like a warrior goddess. What you want matters deeply to me. I pray that you have me hear you ... Today we are united before all that is and will be but I beg you to let your individualism flourish. I commit all my resources toward a union wherein the absolute You may thrive in singular grace and dignity. Today, You and I are We but also You and I.

How lucky am I to have someone committed to helping me become a warrior goddess??

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

The Reckoning

It was the sixth of May when Chiquita found out the awful, awful truth. Awakening to the sort of cold morning where one wears her husband's prAna shorts and gloves, she knew something was very, very wrong. Her beloved dog had poo'ed her cage! Sighing wretchedly, Chiquita checked the doglet's paws to ascertain the safety of the floors surrounding the cage and determined it acceptable to walk the dog to the bathroom for a washing. Sadly, after cleaning the doglet, found it was necessary to move the rugs from the bathroom. Miss Ari the Doglet retched the contents of her stomach: poo, poo, and some undigested dog chow.

Miss Ari, found poor Chiquita, was coprophagous.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

The Truth about San Diego

The Reception Temperature in San Diego is pretty chilly. Don't be misled; San Diego literally is somewhere between 60 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit most of the time - I don't mean how warm it is. When it comes to how well I'm settling in and making a life for myself, well, let's just say that San Diego isn't helping. Most of the time, the above picture demonstrates quite well how I feel: lackluster. Sure, I look smart, but also shy, and apparently that doesn't go over well when competing against 500 other applicants for every single available position; when qualifications have leveled the playing field, personality becomes the litmus test for every job. Unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out how to turn my peculiar version of friendliness into something less awkward than announcing in an interview that I wanted to work in a chiropractor's office because I want to study the human anatomy when really, I just want a job. And really, who are these people to make a receptionist job out to be the end-all and be-all of all jobs and only select those people who're dying to make minimum wage when they can get a perfectly capable and friendly college graduate instead?

I digress. It makes me feel like this inside:

Today, however, being a Saturday, I took it as a Sabbath day and nixed any applications I could be putting out. For some reason, I felt unreasonably attractive. Could be the glow; maybe San Diego's rubbing off on me despite my bitter grudge.

Grandma, Mom

I love raspberries. The scent, the texture, the taste, has always reminded me of being a small child when squishing the berries was a simple delight. My grandmother pulling up a stool beside the stove, stirring a large pot of homemade raspberry Jell-O, the scent wafting to my nostrils; it spoke of her love for a little girl whose rapt adoration was treasured like a little token. My mother bringing me fresh raspberries in a bright orange Tupperware bowl after having spent an entire day searching for them to satisfy a deathly sick little girl's was as if I knew the raspberries were the key to holding onto life. Every evening the aroma of a flower delicately scented with tinges of raspberry floats around my apartment. Living in San Diego has been difficult with unsuccessful job searches, law school rejections and money problems, but just the same, I can't help but stop to smell the flowers.