I have been very busy of late. Last week was spent preparing for a surprise birthday party for the love of my life. It went perfectly, and he was quite happy. I wanted to talk about how much I love him, because I don't say it enough.
Brian works from 10am til 2am with a two hour break inbetween.
When he comes home, I like to watch him sleep, because he is so beautiful, and I like to look at him. I don't see him very much anymore, so every moment I get to be in his presence is precious to me. I don't want to sleep through those moments. I kept him up a bit late last night, first by having him help me clean Graycie's ears, then by making love to him, so I let him get to sleep right away tonight (he took a few minutes before going to bed to say hi to Graycie. She loves him).
I love to see him sleeping, so peaceful and lovely. His face is just so endearing to me, and I love cuddling up to him, sliding my hands over his smooth skin, feeling his muscles, stroking the little patches of body hair. I especially love the patch right below his navel; his body hair is very fine and smooth. He also has a patch right on his sacrum that I enjoy petting. Of course, I also play with his long, lovely head of hair, stroking it back from his face and clutching a lock of it while I press myself against him.
He's so warm and smooth and soft, and he smells so good. He doesn't understand that part; he isn't very big on smells, but his natural scent is intoxicating to me. I've never been able to date someone who didn't "smell" right to me, even if they were perfect in every other way. I also love to nuzzle my cats, enjoying their individual scents. Aakhu smells like a dry, dust summer breeze. Dom smells kind of like a fresh bandaid out of the package. Ptera, oddly enough, has a sweet vanilla odor--one that even Brian was able to detect.
Nuzzling Brian's back, neck, shoulders, chest...the scent of him just makes me want to eat him up. I have to restrain myself from nibbling on him when he needs to sleep; I want my sweetie to be rested enough to work safely, although I do want him to know how much I love him, and how much he turns me on.
And his sweet sleeping face, so guileless and relaxed. I adore his face, the strong nose, his full, well-defined lips, the high cheekbones, the naturally arched eyebrows, and, most of all, the beautiful smile. The smile is the first thing I noticed about him, so sweet, charming, and friendly. It reflects his kind, gentle heart. If I kiss his cheek, forehead, or, best of all, that little birthmark on his temple, he smiles in his sleep. That gives me a little thrill, a shiver that feels like it's deep in my body.
And then, there is his tendency to be surrounded by the feline family. His sleeping form is a cat magnet. They love him so very much; they see him as I do, as a gentle, tender soul who can be trusted not to cause harm. At the moment, little Ianto, just a troubled child of a cat, is pressed against Brian's hip, sprawled on his back, with a paw covering the face. Morgan is in her usual spot, tucked into the bend of his knees. Earlier, Dom was on Brian's pillow, a plush, purring hat, and sweet little Anya was snuggled against Brian's back. Ptera, at least, prefers me, and is frequently curled up in my arms, or under my blanket, pressed to my side. If she were here right now, she'd be in my lap, between me and the keyboard.
We all love him so much. His gentle touches, his harmonious voice, his snuggly body. He is so willing to cuddle and be cuddled. He is so unwilling to cause harm, purposely or inadvertently. He is always eager to use his hands to soothe aching muscles, give loving caresses, provide food and water and shelter to all of us. He is the most generous man I have ever known--generous with his material possessions, his body, his strength, and his feelings. I am the most fortunate person in the world to have chanced upon him; I could not ask for more, except to wish I'd met him sooner.
Showing posts with label brian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brian. Show all posts
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Reading comprehension
Some of the more idiotic troll comments I've gotten have been along the lines of, "Good luck finding someone to be attracted to you!" and "Tell yourself it's okay to be fat, but you'll be alone your whole life unless you're thin!"
These comments just tell me that the people making them are not very bright. I've made no secret of the fact that I am quite happily married. I have not mentioned that we have sex, lots of it, with both parties thoroughly enjoying it. No, my being fat does not make it difficult for us to have sex. We do it like most other people, penis in vagina (not penis in a "fat fold" like fat hating idiots often claim). Sometimes he's on top. Sometimes I'm on top, and no, it doesn't suffocate him or hurt him; he often requests it, in fact. Yes, he does perform oral sex on me; he really enjoys doing it, and no, I am not unsanitary down there or anywhere else--I bathe just like thin people do. (Sorry you had to read this paragraph, mom)
I mean, really, people. Is that what this is about? Is it like homophobia, where people get all upset because their dirty little minds go right to imagining the BUTTSEX involved, and get mad at two men who are doing nothing but holding hands in public, just because the homophobes have overactive imaginations? You see a fat person, and you don't have enough of an understanding of the mechanics of sex to keep your little mind from running ridiculous scenarios of how they would be having sex? Or is it the fear that these people, whom you don't find attractive, are going to make you have sex with them? That a fat woman or a gay man won't be able to control themselves around your oh-so-thin-and-sexy body and rape you? There is an easy solution to this: Grow up and stop making everyone around you into sex objects, and stop acting like you are the center of the fucking universe. I swear, it is so fucking ridiculous to see people having a hissy fit when they aren't the object of desire of people they aren't actually interested in, yet getting equally offended when they are.
Oh, and, as for me being fat and lonely, I present to you Exhibit A:
These comments just tell me that the people making them are not very bright. I've made no secret of the fact that I am quite happily married. I have not mentioned that we have sex, lots of it, with both parties thoroughly enjoying it. No, my being fat does not make it difficult for us to have sex. We do it like most other people, penis in vagina (not penis in a "fat fold" like fat hating idiots often claim). Sometimes he's on top. Sometimes I'm on top, and no, it doesn't suffocate him or hurt him; he often requests it, in fact. Yes, he does perform oral sex on me; he really enjoys doing it, and no, I am not unsanitary down there or anywhere else--I bathe just like thin people do. (Sorry you had to read this paragraph, mom)
I mean, really, people. Is that what this is about? Is it like homophobia, where people get all upset because their dirty little minds go right to imagining the BUTTSEX involved, and get mad at two men who are doing nothing but holding hands in public, just because the homophobes have overactive imaginations? You see a fat person, and you don't have enough of an understanding of the mechanics of sex to keep your little mind from running ridiculous scenarios of how they would be having sex? Or is it the fear that these people, whom you don't find attractive, are going to make you have sex with them? That a fat woman or a gay man won't be able to control themselves around your oh-so-thin-and-sexy body and rape you? There is an easy solution to this: Grow up and stop making everyone around you into sex objects, and stop acting like you are the center of the fucking universe. I swear, it is so fucking ridiculous to see people having a hissy fit when they aren't the object of desire of people they aren't actually interested in, yet getting equally offended when they are.
Oh, and, as for me being fat and lonely, I present to you Exhibit A:
Friday, February 15, 2008
Migraine, Migraine, go away
I've spent the past few days on a migraine rollercoaster. The first one hit me on Tuesday evening. I took an Imitrex, which helped, but I felt fragile all of Wednesday, and Thursday, it blossomed into bright, agonizing pain again. I don't get the usual migraines; I get cluster headaches, which are worse (I've experienced both).
Thursday, my beautiful husband picked up some Imitrex samples from my doctor. I discovered that the samples are 100mg, while my prescription was for 25mg. The 100mg helped, and I basically melted into the bed, a puddle of "huh?" when spoken to. I didn't dare move. I slipped into sleep, and I apparently needed some major healing, because my body slept for a very long time while an electrical storm raged in my brain. I had bizarre dreams and several periods of waking with sleep paralysis still in place (I hate that SO much).
If I had health insurance, I'd probably ask for my brain to be scanned or something.
I awoke around 2pm today, still a bit fragile, but much, much better. I think that, if I'd had the higher dose on Tuesday, I would have nipped this thing in the bud. As it is, I had a great deal of myofascial pain while the storm raged.
Let me describe myofascial pain: I felt like I had a network of very fragile, brittle material, like blown glass, or ice, just beneath my skin, all over my body, limbs, and head. The material felt like it cracked and crunched when I moved certain parts, especially the helmet of it over my head. There is no actual material, just nerves giving bizarre and incorrect feedback to my brain.
So I had a really miserable time for one of my favorite holidays--I adore Valentine's Day. My sweet, wonderful husband was so kind to me--he brought me cupcakes from the bakery near his work, which has the very best cakes and frosting in the area (Cinnamon Stick in Clifton Park Center--trust me on this one, you'll never get a birthday cake anywhere else!). He also framed a small print of "The Ravishment of Psyche" by Bouguereau, one of my favorite paintings. I was delighted! I had managed to make him some homemade batter-dipped mozzarella sticks, which he and my roommate enjoyed very much. I was planning on making him a wonderful dinner, then having dessert (I got him some key lime pie) in the bedroom. That was ruined, and I feel really ripped off. Screw you, trigeminal nerve. Screw you, myofascial pain.
I hope others were able to enjoy Valentine's Day. I wouldn't wish my experience on anyone else!
Thursday, my beautiful husband picked up some Imitrex samples from my doctor. I discovered that the samples are 100mg, while my prescription was for 25mg. The 100mg helped, and I basically melted into the bed, a puddle of "huh?" when spoken to. I didn't dare move. I slipped into sleep, and I apparently needed some major healing, because my body slept for a very long time while an electrical storm raged in my brain. I had bizarre dreams and several periods of waking with sleep paralysis still in place (I hate that SO much).
If I had health insurance, I'd probably ask for my brain to be scanned or something.
I awoke around 2pm today, still a bit fragile, but much, much better. I think that, if I'd had the higher dose on Tuesday, I would have nipped this thing in the bud. As it is, I had a great deal of myofascial pain while the storm raged.
Let me describe myofascial pain: I felt like I had a network of very fragile, brittle material, like blown glass, or ice, just beneath my skin, all over my body, limbs, and head. The material felt like it cracked and crunched when I moved certain parts, especially the helmet of it over my head. There is no actual material, just nerves giving bizarre and incorrect feedback to my brain.
So I had a really miserable time for one of my favorite holidays--I adore Valentine's Day. My sweet, wonderful husband was so kind to me--he brought me cupcakes from the bakery near his work, which has the very best cakes and frosting in the area (Cinnamon Stick in Clifton Park Center--trust me on this one, you'll never get a birthday cake anywhere else!). He also framed a small print of "The Ravishment of Psyche" by Bouguereau, one of my favorite paintings. I was delighted! I had managed to make him some homemade batter-dipped mozzarella sticks, which he and my roommate enjoyed very much. I was planning on making him a wonderful dinner, then having dessert (I got him some key lime pie) in the bedroom. That was ruined, and I feel really ripped off. Screw you, trigeminal nerve. Screw you, myofascial pain.
I hope others were able to enjoy Valentine's Day. I wouldn't wish my experience on anyone else!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Is it Monday already?
Sorry for the weekend hiatus. My husband has the weekends off for about the next month or so, and we spend this past one doing stuff together. One activity was taking Owl to the adoption clinics; he was not adopted, but maybe next weekend! Once he finds a home, two of his siblings will come into our care. Brian has a stronger bond with Owl than I do, so he was better at comforting the little munchkin while I worked out my volunteer schedule with the coordinator. We also did some catsitting for a friend, spent time together watching some DVDs, and enjoyed each others' company.
Meanwhile, I have had some nasty comments here, and I want to take the time to state that, while I believe in freedom of expression, I don't believe that it requires me to give someone a forum to be uncivil to me in my own space. You don't go into a biker bar and bitch about how stupid and offensive tattoos and motorcycles are. You don't go to the gay bar and whine that homosexuality is evil. You want to say that stuff? Find a place to do so with your peers, without invading and intruding upon others. Want to complain that fat people are icky? Make your own blog. That kind of crap isn't welcome in mine.
Meanwhile, I have had some nasty comments here, and I want to take the time to state that, while I believe in freedom of expression, I don't believe that it requires me to give someone a forum to be uncivil to me in my own space. You don't go into a biker bar and bitch about how stupid and offensive tattoos and motorcycles are. You don't go to the gay bar and whine that homosexuality is evil. You want to say that stuff? Find a place to do so with your peers, without invading and intruding upon others. Want to complain that fat people are icky? Make your own blog. That kind of crap isn't welcome in mine.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Your spouse is fat? Grow up and deal.
I was looking over my stats today, and I found that I'd been linked to from a forum where people go to whine about their spouses gaining weight.
From what I can tell, the site is full of people who have taken their spouses' weight gain as a personal insult. Their belief is that, and I quote, "It Is Disrespectful To Willingly Become Unattractive To Your Life Partner".
Yes, I know many of you are busily putting a half dozen markers on your bingo cards already. But, for those who don't know about "bingo", I'm going to deconstruct this a little bit.
"Become Unattractive" -- by this, they don't mean gone and tattooed a swastika on forehead". They mean "has gained weight." I would like to point out that being unattractive and being fat are NOT mutually exclusive; it is our social conditioning that makes us equate fat with unattractive, and many people, despite the constant barrage of fat=ugly messages in our surroundings, manage to find fat people attractive in spite of the messages. Fat is not inherently unattractive.
"Willingly" -- I'll let the Gina Kolata article explain why diets don't work, and how hard it is to make thin people fat. What I want to discuss is the flawed logic behind saying that it was "willingly", as if the life partners did so on purpose. Look, if I knew that my husband did not prefer blondes, I wouldn't go dyeing my hair blonde. If I'm already blonde, however, I am not going to dye my hair just to suit his tastes, and he wouldn't expect me to (because he's not an asshole). He was able to accept my blondeness when we got together, and as a part of me, he accepts it now--and has even grown to like it.*
I honestly doubt that any of the spouses involved willingly became fat. After all, there is a considerable amount of shaming that comes from every direction when a person gains even a little weight. Americans spend an egregious amount of money and effort trying to avoid becoming fat.
"Disrespectful" -- Really? These folks truly think that, by having more adipose tissue, their life partners are being disrespectful? And that, even if that were true, which it isn't, that they ought to find ways to make their partner lose weight, instead of, oh, I don't know, getting some goddamn marriage counseling? Or getting a divorce? I see two scenarios here:
1. If the spouse really IS being disrespectful to you, then get out of the relationship.
2. If they are not being disrespectful, but have gained weight, and their weight gain makes them no longer interesting to you, then get out of the relationship and set them free to find someone who isn't as shallow.
What kind of self-centered whiny baby goes around complaining that their partner disrespected them by putting on weight? The same kind of self-centered whiny baby that posts on websites with other whiny babies that encourage each other to nag and bitch at their spouses to starve and exercise themselves into a "hot little body" (yes, that's a quote from the site) for the sole purpose of becoming more sexually attractive to their spouse.
Interestingly enough, my husband has no problem finding me sexually attractive. Our relationship never stopped at the "Platonic" station; we went straight to Lust City the very night we met. I'm not saying that everyone has to be attracted to me, but I AM saying that, if my husband stops being attracted to me, I'd rather he do me the favor of getting a divorce instead of resenting me and sniping at me for it. Yes, that's right, I am suggesting you split up if your relationship is so dysfunctional that you cannot tolerate a change in the amount of adipose tissue your partner carries. They're better off without you.
* Please note that the blonde story is just hypothetical. I actually had purple hair when Brian and I met, and it's light brown now.
From what I can tell, the site is full of people who have taken their spouses' weight gain as a personal insult. Their belief is that, and I quote, "It Is Disrespectful To Willingly Become Unattractive To Your Life Partner".
Yes, I know many of you are busily putting a half dozen markers on your bingo cards already. But, for those who don't know about "bingo", I'm going to deconstruct this a little bit.
"Become Unattractive" -- by this, they don't mean gone and tattooed a swastika on forehead". They mean "has gained weight." I would like to point out that being unattractive and being fat are NOT mutually exclusive; it is our social conditioning that makes us equate fat with unattractive, and many people, despite the constant barrage of fat=ugly messages in our surroundings, manage to find fat people attractive in spite of the messages. Fat is not inherently unattractive.
"Willingly" -- I'll let the Gina Kolata article explain why diets don't work, and how hard it is to make thin people fat. What I want to discuss is the flawed logic behind saying that it was "willingly", as if the life partners did so on purpose. Look, if I knew that my husband did not prefer blondes, I wouldn't go dyeing my hair blonde. If I'm already blonde, however, I am not going to dye my hair just to suit his tastes, and he wouldn't expect me to (because he's not an asshole). He was able to accept my blondeness when we got together, and as a part of me, he accepts it now--and has even grown to like it.*
I honestly doubt that any of the spouses involved willingly became fat. After all, there is a considerable amount of shaming that comes from every direction when a person gains even a little weight. Americans spend an egregious amount of money and effort trying to avoid becoming fat.
"Disrespectful" -- Really? These folks truly think that, by having more adipose tissue, their life partners are being disrespectful? And that, even if that were true, which it isn't, that they ought to find ways to make their partner lose weight, instead of, oh, I don't know, getting some goddamn marriage counseling? Or getting a divorce? I see two scenarios here:
1. If the spouse really IS being disrespectful to you, then get out of the relationship.
2. If they are not being disrespectful, but have gained weight, and their weight gain makes them no longer interesting to you, then get out of the relationship and set them free to find someone who isn't as shallow.
What kind of self-centered whiny baby goes around complaining that their partner disrespected them by putting on weight? The same kind of self-centered whiny baby that posts on websites with other whiny babies that encourage each other to nag and bitch at their spouses to starve and exercise themselves into a "hot little body" (yes, that's a quote from the site) for the sole purpose of becoming more sexually attractive to their spouse.
Interestingly enough, my husband has no problem finding me sexually attractive. Our relationship never stopped at the "Platonic" station; we went straight to Lust City the very night we met. I'm not saying that everyone has to be attracted to me, but I AM saying that, if my husband stops being attracted to me, I'd rather he do me the favor of getting a divorce instead of resenting me and sniping at me for it. Yes, that's right, I am suggesting you split up if your relationship is so dysfunctional that you cannot tolerate a change in the amount of adipose tissue your partner carries. They're better off without you.
* Please note that the blonde story is just hypothetical. I actually had purple hair when Brian and I met, and it's light brown now.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The Kitten Whisperers?
Yesterday, we had a wonderful breakthrough with Owl. I went in to spend time with him, pulled his growling, hissing little body onto my lap, and started petting him. Previously, he would grrrrr grrrr ssssssss at us. The growling ceased, and I heard a strange popping noise that evened out into a loud, contented purrrrrrrr! He began rubbing his face on my hands and feet (I was sitting cross-legged), and he eventually rolled over to get belly rubs.
When he was done being social, he climbed down from my lap and went back into the little box I set up for him. The box is on its side, so he has a roof and three walls, and I put in a a big fleece shirt that I'd worn before putting it into the box. The shirt's presence was to help him get accustomed to my scent, and he spends most of his time curled up on or in it.
Before this breakthrough, the little doll would try to make himself as small as possible, tucking his head downward to glare at us. We were certain that the only body parts he was capable of moving were his eyeballs, because he wouldn't move anything else, even when we picked him up! Now he will walk, eat, play, and do all kinds of things in our presence. It was a glorious moment indeed when Owl leaned up to rub his cheeks on my face!
I have a few pictures of his adorableness, and one video to share with you of him getting cuddles from Brian. He spent a lot of yesterday evening lolling about on Brian's chest, getting cuddles and belly rubs.
I do want to say one thing about this. I was really worried that maybe he was not quite right somehow. His proportions are a little odd, and his behavior was really weird. Instead of aggression, he was just a tight ball of fear. We hadn't made a millimeter of progress with him, and yesterday afternoon, I was in my room, thinking about our beloved Teya. I asked her, if she was still with us in spirit, if she would help Owl to trust us and be happy. I don't mean to offend anyone who has different beliefs, but it was not even an hour after that when he completely changed his behavior. When he climbed back into his box after purring at me, I thanked Teya out loud for her help.
Now, on to the pictures and video!
(Click on these pictures if you want to see larger ones)
I did take a couple more videos, but I have not yet uploaded them; my computer has been super-wonky lately, and it was acting freaky while I was trying to get these uploaded. I'll get them in and post them at a later date :)
As to the title of this post, I wrote to Robin (the founder and namesake of the rescue) to tell her the good news, and got this response:
"This is fabulous news! You and Brian are the kitten whisperers!"
Maybe--but, I will give the credit to the unseen helper as well.
When he was done being social, he climbed down from my lap and went back into the little box I set up for him. The box is on its side, so he has a roof and three walls, and I put in a a big fleece shirt that I'd worn before putting it into the box. The shirt's presence was to help him get accustomed to my scent, and he spends most of his time curled up on or in it.
Before this breakthrough, the little doll would try to make himself as small as possible, tucking his head downward to glare at us. We were certain that the only body parts he was capable of moving were his eyeballs, because he wouldn't move anything else, even when we picked him up! Now he will walk, eat, play, and do all kinds of things in our presence. It was a glorious moment indeed when Owl leaned up to rub his cheeks on my face!
I have a few pictures of his adorableness, and one video to share with you of him getting cuddles from Brian. He spent a lot of yesterday evening lolling about on Brian's chest, getting cuddles and belly rubs.
I do want to say one thing about this. I was really worried that maybe he was not quite right somehow. His proportions are a little odd, and his behavior was really weird. Instead of aggression, he was just a tight ball of fear. We hadn't made a millimeter of progress with him, and yesterday afternoon, I was in my room, thinking about our beloved Teya. I asked her, if she was still with us in spirit, if she would help Owl to trust us and be happy. I don't mean to offend anyone who has different beliefs, but it was not even an hour after that when he completely changed his behavior. When he climbed back into his box after purring at me, I thanked Teya out loud for her help.
Now, on to the pictures and video!
(Click on these pictures if you want to see larger ones)
I did take a couple more videos, but I have not yet uploaded them; my computer has been super-wonky lately, and it was acting freaky while I was trying to get these uploaded. I'll get them in and post them at a later date :)
As to the title of this post, I wrote to Robin (the founder and namesake of the rescue) to tell her the good news, and got this response:
"This is fabulous news! You and Brian are the kitten whisperers!"
Maybe--but, I will give the credit to the unseen helper as well.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Thank you
Thank you to everyone who expressed their sympathy on the loss of our kitty. We aren't doing great; there's a huge cat-shaped hole in our hearts, and our family has to continue without her, no matter how much it hurts. It's difficult to face, and it's painful to even think of her in the past tense, let alone speak of her in that way.
She was really cool. When Dom would harass Morgan, usually-sedentary Teya would go over and kick his butt. When she was younger, she learned how to flush the toilet, and would stand on the sink, paw holding the lever down, so she could watch the water swirl around. Brian thought something was wrong with his toilet, because he kept hearing it flush, and caught her in the act one day.
She was absolutely devoted to Brian; it took her a long time to warm up to me when I moved in, because she wasn't a fan of non-Brian people. But I spoiled her with lots of grooming, and she eventually decided that I was tolerable. I brushed and combed her, because she had difficulty grooming herself, and I occasionally bathed her, which she grew to enjoy because the warm water felt good, and being clean felt good too. One pass with the brush or comb, and I had instant purr.
She also loved ear rubs, and the last day she was with us, she didn't want to purr until I gently rubbed her ears. I'm glad I knew her ways well enough to bring her that little comfort. She got plenty of hugs and kisses before she left us.
I suppose time will make it less painful, but I don't want memories to fade. I want to keep her here, in my mind and heart.
Again, thank you all for your kindness.
She was really cool. When Dom would harass Morgan, usually-sedentary Teya would go over and kick his butt. When she was younger, she learned how to flush the toilet, and would stand on the sink, paw holding the lever down, so she could watch the water swirl around. Brian thought something was wrong with his toilet, because he kept hearing it flush, and caught her in the act one day.
She was absolutely devoted to Brian; it took her a long time to warm up to me when I moved in, because she wasn't a fan of non-Brian people. But I spoiled her with lots of grooming, and she eventually decided that I was tolerable. I brushed and combed her, because she had difficulty grooming herself, and I occasionally bathed her, which she grew to enjoy because the warm water felt good, and being clean felt good too. One pass with the brush or comb, and I had instant purr.
She also loved ear rubs, and the last day she was with us, she didn't want to purr until I gently rubbed her ears. I'm glad I knew her ways well enough to bring her that little comfort. She got plenty of hugs and kisses before she left us.
I suppose time will make it less painful, but I don't want memories to fade. I want to keep her here, in my mind and heart.
Again, thank you all for your kindness.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Rituals of loss
She's gone, on the couch, covered in a cream-colored towel. My favorite towel, soft and thick. Our kitty, his kitty first; our beautiful black cat named Teya, who was only nine years young. Too soon.
Brian's outside, digging her resting place, a spot against the house, by the kitchen; she'll be as close to us as possible.
I awoke around 3:15am, after having slept several hours. I had encouraged Brian to spend the night on the couch with her. She had looked not too bad when we brought her home; a little shaky, but perked up, and she was willing to eat.
I'm moving around the house, searching for the right container. A cardboard box will not do. I find a piece of upholstery fabric from the couch, her favorite place to hang out, and I tuck it under my arm, along with some black felt.
He's running hot water to melt the ground. The stump from a catalpa sapling is in the middle of where he's digging, and it's being stubborn. We'd had to cut it down; it was not thriving, and ants were making it worse. It's too bad; I love catalpa trees.
I came downstairs after waking up and asked how she was. Brian said she'd moaned a lot throughout the night. I sat at my desk so I could drink some water and take a Vicodin. I wish she could have had something like it; I knew she was in pain.
I glide down to the basement, my long skirt swirling around my bare feet. I'd been looking for a certain box, but my eyes settled on another one--a better one. A wicker box that I've had for nine years, with a brass clasp. It's big enough that she won't be cramped, but not too big. The box goes upstairs with me.
He's digging away at the stump. I go outside to check on him, and we come up with the idea to use the kitchen sprayer to get hot water onto the frozen ground instead of trekking buckets in and out. He helps me pop out the screen, and we give that a try. It works.
I sat with her, and I tried gently to give her the medicine, but she's not having it. There was something about the way she's clenching her jaw that just seemed wrong. She'd been sleeping, and I had awakened her. We stroked her and held her feet, her head, her ears. I cried, while Brian just touched her. She started to cry out in deep howls that seem to take every effort, and her breathing was labored, so I called the vet's emergency number. We were instructed to take her to the emergency clinic in Latham, so I gave them a call.
I'm taking time out to sob uncontrollably. We're out of facial tissue, so I'm having to use paper towels. Tip: Bounty paper towels are less scratchy than toilet paper.
He's still digging. It's cold and sleeting a bit. It's 5:30 in the morning.
I threw on some clothing; a favorite skirt, and a sweater over my chemise. I brought him a shirt when I came down. He got his shoes on, and he was getting some things together. I looked at her, and I called him into the room. I told him to turn on the light, which he did. I told him to sit down on the other side of her. He looked at me, and sat down. Her breath was coming in gasps, and she'd stopped crying out. I took hold of her paw, her beautiful front paw, with the wrist shaved from her IV the night before.
I line the wicker basket with wax paper, then with the black felt. I tuck a red towel in, then scoop her up and gently settle her into the basket. It's tearing me to shreds. I fold the ends of the towel over her, then close the lid without latching it.
He's nearly done. He scoops the water out of the hole and pours it downhill a bit. I go outside to check on him, and ask him to come in and see.
We had our hands on her, and we told her we loved her, and that we were sorry, so sorry. I cried and cried. She stopped breathing, and had a couple of convulsions. Her pupils became dilated. We tried to close her eyes, without much success. We stroked her for a while after that, not ready to let go. Never ready.
We open the box, and stroke her fur for the last time, saying goodbye. I'm nearly throwing up with grief. He's so stoic, so strong, and I'm a wreck. I tuck in a packet of food, and he puts a couple pieces of bread in the container. Bread is her favorite thing to steal. I also tuck in a towel anointed with violet oil. The lid closes, and is latched.
We went outside with the box and lowered it into the grave. Brian removed it, wanting to dig just a little deeper. While he shoveled, I went inside to get the bulbs I'd procrastinated about planting. When he was satisfied with the depth, he had to climb in to place the box on the bottom. He refilled the hole slowly, and when he was nearly done, I sprinkled the bulbs over the disrupted soil. He put a layer of soil over them, and I went inside and returned with a partial bag of cypress mulch, which we spread over the ground.
We came inside; I made tea to warm us, and I sent him off to shower. If I was cold, I didn't feel it. If I was hurting physically, I wasn't aware. And I did the only thing I know to soothe my soul: I sat down and began to write. And now, I'm done.
Brian's outside, digging her resting place, a spot against the house, by the kitchen; she'll be as close to us as possible.
I awoke around 3:15am, after having slept several hours. I had encouraged Brian to spend the night on the couch with her. She had looked not too bad when we brought her home; a little shaky, but perked up, and she was willing to eat.
I'm moving around the house, searching for the right container. A cardboard box will not do. I find a piece of upholstery fabric from the couch, her favorite place to hang out, and I tuck it under my arm, along with some black felt.
He's running hot water to melt the ground. The stump from a catalpa sapling is in the middle of where he's digging, and it's being stubborn. We'd had to cut it down; it was not thriving, and ants were making it worse. It's too bad; I love catalpa trees.
I came downstairs after waking up and asked how she was. Brian said she'd moaned a lot throughout the night. I sat at my desk so I could drink some water and take a Vicodin. I wish she could have had something like it; I knew she was in pain.
I glide down to the basement, my long skirt swirling around my bare feet. I'd been looking for a certain box, but my eyes settled on another one--a better one. A wicker box that I've had for nine years, with a brass clasp. It's big enough that she won't be cramped, but not too big. The box goes upstairs with me.
He's digging away at the stump. I go outside to check on him, and we come up with the idea to use the kitchen sprayer to get hot water onto the frozen ground instead of trekking buckets in and out. He helps me pop out the screen, and we give that a try. It works.
I sat with her, and I tried gently to give her the medicine, but she's not having it. There was something about the way she's clenching her jaw that just seemed wrong. She'd been sleeping, and I had awakened her. We stroked her and held her feet, her head, her ears. I cried, while Brian just touched her. She started to cry out in deep howls that seem to take every effort, and her breathing was labored, so I called the vet's emergency number. We were instructed to take her to the emergency clinic in Latham, so I gave them a call.
I'm taking time out to sob uncontrollably. We're out of facial tissue, so I'm having to use paper towels. Tip: Bounty paper towels are less scratchy than toilet paper.
He's still digging. It's cold and sleeting a bit. It's 5:30 in the morning.
I threw on some clothing; a favorite skirt, and a sweater over my chemise. I brought him a shirt when I came down. He got his shoes on, and he was getting some things together. I looked at her, and I called him into the room. I told him to turn on the light, which he did. I told him to sit down on the other side of her. He looked at me, and sat down. Her breath was coming in gasps, and she'd stopped crying out. I took hold of her paw, her beautiful front paw, with the wrist shaved from her IV the night before.
I line the wicker basket with wax paper, then with the black felt. I tuck a red towel in, then scoop her up and gently settle her into the basket. It's tearing me to shreds. I fold the ends of the towel over her, then close the lid without latching it.
He's nearly done. He scoops the water out of the hole and pours it downhill a bit. I go outside to check on him, and ask him to come in and see.
We had our hands on her, and we told her we loved her, and that we were sorry, so sorry. I cried and cried. She stopped breathing, and had a couple of convulsions. Her pupils became dilated. We tried to close her eyes, without much success. We stroked her for a while after that, not ready to let go. Never ready.
We open the box, and stroke her fur for the last time, saying goodbye. I'm nearly throwing up with grief. He's so stoic, so strong, and I'm a wreck. I tuck in a packet of food, and he puts a couple pieces of bread in the container. Bread is her favorite thing to steal. I also tuck in a towel anointed with violet oil. The lid closes, and is latched.
We went outside with the box and lowered it into the grave. Brian removed it, wanting to dig just a little deeper. While he shoveled, I went inside to get the bulbs I'd procrastinated about planting. When he was satisfied with the depth, he had to climb in to place the box on the bottom. He refilled the hole slowly, and when he was nearly done, I sprinkled the bulbs over the disrupted soil. He put a layer of soil over them, and I went inside and returned with a partial bag of cypress mulch, which we spread over the ground.
We came inside; I made tea to warm us, and I sent him off to shower. If I was cold, I didn't feel it. If I was hurting physically, I wasn't aware. And I did the only thing I know to soothe my soul: I sat down and began to write. And now, I'm done.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
gimme a head with hair
So, my husband's long, beautiful hair is thinning a bit. His brother has already lost everything on the top of his head, so I know that Brian's genetically disposed toward losing it too.
So far, he's used a product that is supposed to help with the early stages of thinning. However, I think it's begun to not work as well as it once did. Now, when we got together, he had plenty of long, beautiful hair, and I think it's completely unfair of him to lose all that hair. He won't be as attractive. And men with less hair are probably not as healthy, right? Because they're older and stuff.
Well, I will not stand for it. No way. If he doesn't look like he did when we met, then that means he isn't trying hard enough, and therefore he doesn't love me. He'd better go and try Rogaine. If he doesn't, I might have to get my mom to hound him about it, and tell him that if he loved me, he'd try everything to keep his hair.
And what if Rogaine doesn't work? I think there are other options, like implants and transplants. Sure, they're probably painful, but if he cares about me, he will do everything in his power to retain the good looks he had when we met. Right?
So far, he's used a product that is supposed to help with the early stages of thinning. However, I think it's begun to not work as well as it once did. Now, when we got together, he had plenty of long, beautiful hair, and I think it's completely unfair of him to lose all that hair. He won't be as attractive. And men with less hair are probably not as healthy, right? Because they're older and stuff.
Well, I will not stand for it. No way. If he doesn't look like he did when we met, then that means he isn't trying hard enough, and therefore he doesn't love me. He'd better go and try Rogaine. If he doesn't, I might have to get my mom to hound him about it, and tell him that if he loved me, he'd try everything to keep his hair.
And what if Rogaine doesn't work? I think there are other options, like implants and transplants. Sure, they're probably painful, but if he cares about me, he will do everything in his power to retain the good looks he had when we met. Right?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
KITTENS!
I haven't been posting lately. Instead of staying inside with the blinds down like a good little fatty, sparing the fragile eyesight of fat-haters, I've been BUSY!
I have been volunteering with a local cat rescue. I participated in their craft fair ("Holiday Furry Frenzy"! Cute!) and have been fostering kittens. Kittens have attracted guests, so I've entertained company many days this past week, spending a lot of time cooking, making tea, baking things for guests to have with tea, and enjoying life (how dare I).
I also had seven more snakes land in my lap this weekend. Long story, to be told later, with pictures.
But, the best reason for this post is, KITTENS! Kittens are good for the soul. They're entertaining, endearing, warm, purry, furry, appreciative of love, and, most of all, in need of help. I was more than happy to open my home to these fuzzy, cute passers-through, and they have provided many photo ops! So, onward with the pictures!
Ptera with her extra toeses:
Charlotte, fluffy and cuuuute and sweet as pie:
(she's such a little princess)
Anya on top of Charlotte; Charlotte tends to let everybody pile on. Anya doesn't have many pics because she is the super active one, and she is a blur most of the time:
My beautiful, wonderful, cat-loving, sweet, cuddly, uber-hawt husband with all three:
A man who loves cats is a man worth keeping.
I have been volunteering with a local cat rescue. I participated in their craft fair ("Holiday Furry Frenzy"! Cute!) and have been fostering kittens. Kittens have attracted guests, so I've entertained company many days this past week, spending a lot of time cooking, making tea, baking things for guests to have with tea, and enjoying life (how dare I).
I also had seven more snakes land in my lap this weekend. Long story, to be told later, with pictures.
But, the best reason for this post is, KITTENS! Kittens are good for the soul. They're entertaining, endearing, warm, purry, furry, appreciative of love, and, most of all, in need of help. I was more than happy to open my home to these fuzzy, cute passers-through, and they have provided many photo ops! So, onward with the pictures!
Ptera with her extra toeses:
Charlotte, fluffy and cuuuute and sweet as pie:
(she's such a little princess)
Anya on top of Charlotte; Charlotte tends to let everybody pile on. Anya doesn't have many pics because she is the super active one, and she is a blur most of the time:
My beautiful, wonderful, cat-loving, sweet, cuddly, uber-hawt husband with all three:
A man who loves cats is a man worth keeping.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Let's talk about sex
Mom, for gods' sake, please don't read this. You will die of embarrassment, and so will I. :P
In my last entry, I wrote:
In that entry, I talked about the joy of not having to sleep alone. Now, I want to talk about sex.
I like sex. Even though idiotic jackasses of long ago tried to say that women aren't capable of sexual fantasy, and they tried to deny our enjoyment of it, I am yet another woman that has the gall to enjoy sex. I know, I know, I should be shot, right?
As long as I can remember, I have been bombarded with the message that sex is a commodity, something that women engage in because they want something in return, not because they like it. Men are little more than animals that will give just about anything for sex, while women hold it in front of them like a carrot on a stick. Sex is to be used to manipulate, to bargain, and to acquire, but it is not to be enjoyed in and of itself if you're a woman. It's a distasteful, miserable act, barely tolerable, but if you want your husband to give you money or let you go out with the girls, you have to grit your teeth and spread your legs.
Then, at an age I will not specify, I found that my body did actually want that dirty stuff! I liked it, and I was appalled that someone would lead another person on, leaving them frustrated, just to manipulate them into something. My first marriage was a disaster, and a huge part of that was my former spouse's icy libido. Since I had grown up with the idea that the man always wants it, and the woman is always denying it, I somehow had the idea that my being a woman who wanted it all the time was a desirable thing. Not so, with the first spouse; we were a complete role-reversal of the sexual stereotypes. I felt betrayed, ugly, and, of course, extremely frustrated. There are only so many times a sex toy is sufficient; I needed a man's warm body pressing against mine; I needed kisses, I needed hugs, I needed to be held and stroked. In other words, I needed someone else.
I suppose that relationship, despite the anguish it put me through, prepared me to appreciate those very basic things. I probably drive him nuts sometimes, but I marvel at being touched, kissed, and admired. I feel a sense of wonder when I touch him, a joy and relief at finding someone who is unconditionally in love with me. I don't think that I will ever be able to take these things for granted because I know what it is like to be in a relationship without them, to beg, plead, and cry to have them and be denied. To have to ask permission (and often be denied) to kiss or be kissed, to touch or be touched. I hope I never again have to live that way, but as long as Brian and I both live, I won't.
In my last entry, I wrote:
Last night, I cuddled close to my lovely husband, enjoying his presence. I love to hear him breathing, hear his heart beating, smell his unique scent, and feel his smooth skin and soft hair under my fingers, lips, and cheeks. I nuzzle his neck, arms, hair, and back while touching his hips, legs, and torso with my fingertips. He is warm, cuddly, and does not pull away from me when I press myself against him. He permits me to touch him anywhere, everywhere, anytime; he is completely open to me all of the time, completely mine all of the time. He does not deny me a kiss or a touch, a hug or a smile. We have sex often, without restrictions or conditions attached, in many ways, with both of us enjoying it, neither submitting joylessly to the other.
In that entry, I talked about the joy of not having to sleep alone. Now, I want to talk about sex.
I like sex. Even though idiotic jackasses of long ago tried to say that women aren't capable of sexual fantasy, and they tried to deny our enjoyment of it, I am yet another woman that has the gall to enjoy sex. I know, I know, I should be shot, right?
As long as I can remember, I have been bombarded with the message that sex is a commodity, something that women engage in because they want something in return, not because they like it. Men are little more than animals that will give just about anything for sex, while women hold it in front of them like a carrot on a stick. Sex is to be used to manipulate, to bargain, and to acquire, but it is not to be enjoyed in and of itself if you're a woman. It's a distasteful, miserable act, barely tolerable, but if you want your husband to give you money or let you go out with the girls, you have to grit your teeth and spread your legs.
Then, at an age I will not specify, I found that my body did actually want that dirty stuff! I liked it, and I was appalled that someone would lead another person on, leaving them frustrated, just to manipulate them into something. My first marriage was a disaster, and a huge part of that was my former spouse's icy libido. Since I had grown up with the idea that the man always wants it, and the woman is always denying it, I somehow had the idea that my being a woman who wanted it all the time was a desirable thing. Not so, with the first spouse; we were a complete role-reversal of the sexual stereotypes. I felt betrayed, ugly, and, of course, extremely frustrated. There are only so many times a sex toy is sufficient; I needed a man's warm body pressing against mine; I needed kisses, I needed hugs, I needed to be held and stroked. In other words, I needed someone else.
I suppose that relationship, despite the anguish it put me through, prepared me to appreciate those very basic things. I probably drive him nuts sometimes, but I marvel at being touched, kissed, and admired. I feel a sense of wonder when I touch him, a joy and relief at finding someone who is unconditionally in love with me. I don't think that I will ever be able to take these things for granted because I know what it is like to be in a relationship without them, to beg, plead, and cry to have them and be denied. To have to ask permission (and often be denied) to kiss or be kissed, to touch or be touched. I hope I never again have to live that way, but as long as Brian and I both live, I won't.
A sleep partner is a wonderful thing
Last night, I cuddled close to my lovely husband, enjoying his presence. I love to hear him breathing, hear his heart beating, smell his unique scent, and feel his smooth skin and soft hair under my fingers, lips, and cheeks. I nuzzle his neck, arms, hair, and back while touching his hips, legs, and torso with my fingertips. He is warm, cuddly, and does not pull away from me when I press myself against him. He permits me to touch him anywhere, everywhere, anytime; he is completely open to me all of the time, completely mine all of the time. He does not deny me a kiss or a touch, a hug or a smile. We have sex often, without restrictions or conditions attached, in many ways, with both of us enjoying it, neither submitting joylessly to the other.
I want to comment on the joy of sharing a bed with another human being. Somewhere in our recent history, this became strictly an adult privilege, with children left to face the nights alone. I never understood why our most emotionally vulnerable people are the ones who are abandoned nightly whilst their parents go off to share a bed with one another. Most of these parents are, in fact, unhappy and miserable if they have to spend a night apart from their spouse.
If we look at other cultures, the family tends to sleep together. The modern tendency to separate children from parents and one another is a recent phenomenon that occurs in Western culture. Western parents have been taught that they need to drill independence into their kids from birth, and I truly believe that this has emotionally crippled more of us than we'd like to admit. As for myself, I remember being horrifically lonely when sleeping alone, and when I was a teenager, I probably would have been a happier, more secure person if I could have shared my sleeping space--with the person of my choosing, of course.
If I had grown up in an earlier culture, I would have spent my childhood in a family bed, then married young so I did not have to sleep alone. While there are obvious negatives associated with being a woman in those days, I believe that it is completely unnecessary to sacrifice the good of family closeness. I honestly cannot imagine having grown up in a family bed, and the idea makes me cringe--but I believe that it only makes me cringe because of closeness and touching issues I have that are probably less prevalent in people who grow up with the family bed.
I began dating someone in college who became a very serious significant other, a relationship that lasted about three years. We would often take naps together, and the closeness of that was more gratifying to me than sex would have been. I had never before had the privilege of that type of contact since I was a small child. Curling up with another person for naps is a natural, wonderful activity, and I wish there were a way to not deny young people that joy. I know that most parents fear for their teenagers' chastity, but perhaps permitting the closeness of co-sleeping would make young people feel more emotionally secure and less likely to seek out sex out of a craving for basic human contact.
I don't have the answers here, and these are just my opinions and feelings, the things that result from reflecting upon my happy relationship.
I want to comment on the joy of sharing a bed with another human being. Somewhere in our recent history, this became strictly an adult privilege, with children left to face the nights alone. I never understood why our most emotionally vulnerable people are the ones who are abandoned nightly whilst their parents go off to share a bed with one another. Most of these parents are, in fact, unhappy and miserable if they have to spend a night apart from their spouse.
If we look at other cultures, the family tends to sleep together. The modern tendency to separate children from parents and one another is a recent phenomenon that occurs in Western culture. Western parents have been taught that they need to drill independence into their kids from birth, and I truly believe that this has emotionally crippled more of us than we'd like to admit. As for myself, I remember being horrifically lonely when sleeping alone, and when I was a teenager, I probably would have been a happier, more secure person if I could have shared my sleeping space--with the person of my choosing, of course.
If I had grown up in an earlier culture, I would have spent my childhood in a family bed, then married young so I did not have to sleep alone. While there are obvious negatives associated with being a woman in those days, I believe that it is completely unnecessary to sacrifice the good of family closeness. I honestly cannot imagine having grown up in a family bed, and the idea makes me cringe--but I believe that it only makes me cringe because of closeness and touching issues I have that are probably less prevalent in people who grow up with the family bed.
I began dating someone in college who became a very serious significant other, a relationship that lasted about three years. We would often take naps together, and the closeness of that was more gratifying to me than sex would have been. I had never before had the privilege of that type of contact since I was a small child. Curling up with another person for naps is a natural, wonderful activity, and I wish there were a way to not deny young people that joy. I know that most parents fear for their teenagers' chastity, but perhaps permitting the closeness of co-sleeping would make young people feel more emotionally secure and less likely to seek out sex out of a craving for basic human contact.
I don't have the answers here, and these are just my opinions and feelings, the things that result from reflecting upon my happy relationship.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
About me-mini biography
I suppose I've never properly introduced myself here, have I?
I was born in 1974 in Colorado Springs, Colorado, on the Fort Carson army base where my dad was stationed as an enlisted man. After he completed his service, my parents moved back to their hometown of Quincy, IL to raise me and give me a baby sister (born 1978). We were not religious, and I'm really glad for this.
I eventually went to Quincy University, a Franciscan university where many of the instructors were friars. Their biology program was pretty good, and I became an avid birdwatcher as a result of my ornithology class. For most of the time I was there, I dated someone who was wonderful, but ultimately incompatible.
After I ran out of scholarship money to attend school, I floated for a while in jobs until I met my first spouse and moved to Schenectady, NY to live with him in 1998. We did great at first, but things eventually fell apart.
I was going to school for fisheries and aquaculture, making the Dean's List, when I met Brian. I have been glued to him pretty much ever since. A few months after we met, I needed surgery for PCOS--I had a number of large cysts removed, and Brian took good care of me while I recovered. After that surgery, my body started to really go haywire, and I developed fibromyalgia.
At that point, I had been fat and fit for over five years. I could no longer do things that were perfectly easy before the surgery. Every dream I'd had of becoming a field biologist was gone, because I could no longer do the physical labor associated with the work.
So here I am, a brain full of knowledge and a wrecked body full of pain, wondering what's next.
I was born in 1974 in Colorado Springs, Colorado, on the Fort Carson army base where my dad was stationed as an enlisted man. After he completed his service, my parents moved back to their hometown of Quincy, IL to raise me and give me a baby sister (born 1978). We were not religious, and I'm really glad for this.
I eventually went to Quincy University, a Franciscan university where many of the instructors were friars. Their biology program was pretty good, and I became an avid birdwatcher as a result of my ornithology class. For most of the time I was there, I dated someone who was wonderful, but ultimately incompatible.
After I ran out of scholarship money to attend school, I floated for a while in jobs until I met my first spouse and moved to Schenectady, NY to live with him in 1998. We did great at first, but things eventually fell apart.
I was going to school for fisheries and aquaculture, making the Dean's List, when I met Brian. I have been glued to him pretty much ever since. A few months after we met, I needed surgery for PCOS--I had a number of large cysts removed, and Brian took good care of me while I recovered. After that surgery, my body started to really go haywire, and I developed fibromyalgia.
At that point, I had been fat and fit for over five years. I could no longer do things that were perfectly easy before the surgery. Every dream I'd had of becoming a field biologist was gone, because I could no longer do the physical labor associated with the work.
So here I am, a brain full of knowledge and a wrecked body full of pain, wondering what's next.
Friday, August 3, 2007
That's entertainment?!
My husband was watching a video posted on YouTube, some Japanese comedy skit with subtitles. It showed a fat man who happens to be seated next to a famous woman in a restaurant. The woman is being interviewed by someone who asks what kind of men she likes. She states that nice men are good, bad men are okay, but fatties are just disgusting. The interviewer agrees with her, and the fat guy almost cries right there.
Afterwards she apologizes, and gives the guy her autograph. Unbeknownst to her, she signed a magic book; if a person's name is written in the book, they almost instantly become fat.
Cue freshly fat woman breaking furniture as she balloons into approximately 275lbs. First the table explodes due to her expanding belly. Then her chair breaks, because that's what all chairs do when fat people are sitting on them. The fat guy then stumbles and breaks his own table into pieces by falling on it. The laugh track plays as both fat people fall over, legs in the air, because being fat makes you clumsy and unable to stand upright for more than five seconds.
My husband said, "That was just STUPID." He's a good man.
Now, I know this is going to come as a surprise to everyone, but I have never broken a table by bumping against it. I have never broken a chair with my gargantuan girth. I can actually stand upright for many minutes at a time without falling over such that my legs stick up in the air, and I am also capable of walking around without bumping into and breaking every stick of furniture in the place.
You might also be surprised to know that I eat only vegetarian food, usually with utensils and plates, instead of gobbling Big Macs by the dozen from a trough. When I am finished with a meal, and I am offered a tiny after-dinner mint, I do not actually explode in a disgusting mess of partially digested food. And, believe it or not, I have never crushed a thin person by sitting on them.
Imagine that.
Afterwards she apologizes, and gives the guy her autograph. Unbeknownst to her, she signed a magic book; if a person's name is written in the book, they almost instantly become fat.
Cue freshly fat woman breaking furniture as she balloons into approximately 275lbs. First the table explodes due to her expanding belly. Then her chair breaks, because that's what all chairs do when fat people are sitting on them. The fat guy then stumbles and breaks his own table into pieces by falling on it. The laugh track plays as both fat people fall over, legs in the air, because being fat makes you clumsy and unable to stand upright for more than five seconds.
My husband said, "That was just STUPID." He's a good man.
Now, I know this is going to come as a surprise to everyone, but I have never broken a table by bumping against it. I have never broken a chair with my gargantuan girth. I can actually stand upright for many minutes at a time without falling over such that my legs stick up in the air, and I am also capable of walking around without bumping into and breaking every stick of furniture in the place.
You might also be surprised to know that I eat only vegetarian food, usually with utensils and plates, instead of gobbling Big Macs by the dozen from a trough. When I am finished with a meal, and I am offered a tiny after-dinner mint, I do not actually explode in a disgusting mess of partially digested food. And, believe it or not, I have never crushed a thin person by sitting on them.
Imagine that.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
My menagerie
In case anyone was wondering, these are the creatures currently in my household. If you have any questions about them, please let me know--I love talking about them. Also, if you want to see what they look like, I'll be happy to snap a recent photo.
male.female.unsexed
0.1 Baird's rat snake (Elanor)
3.1 yellow rat snake (Julian, Lucius, Marcus, Cornelia)
1.1 Everglades rat snake (Gregor, Claudia)
1.0 Honduran milk snake (Tezcatlipoca)
2.1 ball python (Prowler, Renenet, Jerry)
0.1 Central American boa constrictor (Luna)
1.0 Jurassic milk snake (Hobbes--Cali king/Honduran milk hybrid)
0.1 Chinese smooth green snake (Yu-Mei)
0.0.1 rough green snake (Olive)
0.1 speckled kingsnake (Sophia)
0.1 rubber boa (Hecuba)
0.1 eastern milk snake (Seska)
1.0 Malayan box turtle (Fig)
1.1 diamondback terrapin (Toby, Nate)
0.0.1 house gecko
0.0.2 Argentine horned frog (Blinky, Inky)
1.0 human (Brian)
1.2 domestic shorthair cat (Teya, Morgan, Dom)
1.0 ocicat (Aakhu)
0.0.lots Lobster roach colony (want some? I give them away for free!)
Aquarium:
2 Leopard ctenopoma
3 red-tailed chalceus
3 Synodontis eupterus
1 Synodontis angelicus
1 Synodontis alberti
1 Synodontis ocellifer
1 Synodontis longirostris
1 grey leopard/Sultan (L-264) pleco
3 clown botia
5 weather dojo
3 ropefish
3 Neolamprologus brichardi
1 crown jewel cichlid (one-eyed)
1 yellow labidochromis
1 Frontosa (one-eyed)
2 gold gourami
2 opaline gourami
1 festivum cichlid
2 Arulius barb
1 ruby shark
1 spiny eel
1 brown African knife
male.female.unsexed
0.1 Baird's rat snake (Elanor)
3.1 yellow rat snake (Julian, Lucius, Marcus, Cornelia)
1.1 Everglades rat snake (Gregor, Claudia)
1.0 Honduran milk snake (Tezcatlipoca)
2.1 ball python (Prowler, Renenet, Jerry)
0.1 Central American boa constrictor (Luna)
1.0 Jurassic milk snake (Hobbes--Cali king/Honduran milk hybrid)
0.1 Chinese smooth green snake (Yu-Mei)
0.0.1 rough green snake (Olive)
0.1 speckled kingsnake (Sophia)
0.1 rubber boa (Hecuba)
0.1 eastern milk snake (Seska)
1.0 Malayan box turtle (Fig)
1.1 diamondback terrapin (Toby, Nate)
0.0.1 house gecko
0.0.2 Argentine horned frog (Blinky, Inky)
1.0 human (Brian)
1.2 domestic shorthair cat (Teya, Morgan, Dom)
1.0 ocicat (Aakhu)
0.0.lots Lobster roach colony (want some? I give them away for free!)
Aquarium:
2 Leopard ctenopoma
3 red-tailed chalceus
3 Synodontis eupterus
1 Synodontis angelicus
1 Synodontis alberti
1 Synodontis ocellifer
1 Synodontis longirostris
1 grey leopard/Sultan (L-264) pleco
3 clown botia
5 weather dojo
3 ropefish
3 Neolamprologus brichardi
1 crown jewel cichlid (one-eyed)
1 yellow labidochromis
1 Frontosa (one-eyed)
2 gold gourami
2 opaline gourami
1 festivum cichlid
2 Arulius barb
1 ruby shark
1 spiny eel
1 brown African knife
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
About my wonderful spouse
People kept asking me if I was nervous at my wedding. I really just wasn't. I knew I had a crack team of decorators, organizers, and sous chefs. I knew that the musicians were capable. I knew that everyone would behave themselves (I had a family wedding once where there was a fistfight!).
And I knew that marrying Brian was, without ANY doubt, exactly the right thing to do. Before my previous marriage, I was very nervous about binding myself to someone. I was very unsure of myself before and during the ceremony. We didn't have a perfect relationship at that time, but it wasn't awful, like it eventually became. Even so, I had doubts, and I even almost cried during the ceremony because I was afraid.
Loving Brian is a very easy and natural thing to do. I trust him to care for me, to be good to me. I know that he will put me first, always, and I don't EVER have to be afraid of him. He gives me the freedom to explore my interests, and encourages me to pursue the things that matter. He is a true helpmate. I know that I will never be screamed at for not having dinner ready, for not having folded his clothes for him, for asking for sex, or for being ill. I know that does not resent me in any way. He is happy and thankful to be with me. He enjoys spending time with me. He enjoys being physically affectionate with me. He will NEVER complain or say no if I want him to kiss me, touch me, or otherwise be affectionate.
I think I had to know how bad things could be in order to appreciate the things most people take for granted. I would have expected that marriage should contain affection, love, sex, and mutual respect. Having experienced one that did not have those things, I now know how very lucky I am to have found this wonderful, beautiful man.
We very rarely fight. Sometimes I get crabby or get some anxiety, but those are the result of my being tired and/or in pain, and he is very patient with me in those times. We occasionally get frustrated with each other, but it's mostly over silly little things, like me being self-deprecating, or not wanting to inconvenience him with something (that he is willing to do), or I've adopted another snake. We do NOT insult one another. We do not threaten each other. We haven't set rules saying so; it is simply not something that we are really capable of doing to one another. For one of us to purposely hurt the other would cause pain to the self. It is unthinkable.
He is my Brian. He is the center of my universe, my hero, my beautiful man. No matter how crappy things get outside of that, having him makes it all worth it. He really is like an angel; he is very kind, and gentle, and loving. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like him, but I'm 100% devoted to him.
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