Sunday, August 26, 2012

and then i lost my top

Howdy, loverfaces.

Today's topic is my most embarassing moment, but first, a mini Willow update!

She says "uh oh!" now and it's the cutest thing ever. Cuter than when she says mama. Also, she sings and reads herself stories (she'll flip the pages and say random words she knows or just babble). People tell me this is normal but, fuck you, I have the smartest, cutest baby ever.

Now, on to story time, this time illustrated. Aren't you lucky!

Once upon a time, I was on vacation with Rachel's family who I basically lived with at the time. We were at the Wisconsin Dells and they have this, like, surfing thing where there's waves and they teach you how to stay on the board. . Or try to. Whelp. . . I sucked. And one time it went like:

Sexy dude. Sexy dude trying to teach me to surf. Ok, I can do this.
I can do this!!
. . .
Do not want.

So. . It went like that, except I wasn't wearing a t-shirt that time. I was just wearing my bikini top. And with the strength of the water and tumbling up to the top, it came loose. Aaaaaaaaaand there was boobage for the world to see.

There you have it. My most embarrassing moment, in pictures, taken by Rachel's mom.

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Thursday, August 23, 2012


Wooohooo! This blog now has over 4,000 hits. That's crazy!!

Today's topic is about things I am passionate about. Five things, to be specific. Be warned, this is going to be a crazy hippie mommy rant.

1. Routine infant circumcision. Seriously the dumbest thing in the world. The AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) and most health organizations recommend against routine infant circumcision. . Because it's not needed and has no benefits. Some people say it prevents HIV, cervival/penile cancer, and makes a circumcised penis easier to clean, thus keeping it from getting infected (you clean it like you would a finger, with soap and water. . And never, ever, ever, retract the foreskin unless it has done so by itself, naturally!). All that is basically a big, steaming pile of bull shit. Circumcision was brought into popular medicinal use (not religious, like Jews) by Dr. John Harvey Kellogg of Kellogg cereal. Why? Because he was crazy Christian and said it would keep little boys from masturbating, which was a deadly sin. They also thought circumcision would cure epilepsy. . Man, were they wrong.

Edit 9/11/12: The AAP has since retracted pussied out on their stance on circumcision now stating that it may be beneficial. The Whole Network responded.

This is how a circumcision is performed. Sexual feeling is greatly decreased (I think 40% less, but I'm not sure of the number and can't find it at the moment) and what happens when something goes wrong as it too often does? Death, amputation, disfigurement, trauma. All a ridiculous risk for a cosmetic surgery on an consenting minor. If the kid grows up and decides he wants his penis cut, he can do it then.

The Whole Network has more information, if you'd like to check it out.

2. Equal rights. Can we please just get over stupidity and let people that want to get married get married? This shouldn't even be an issue. . Neither should circumcision, though.

3. Drug companies/Immunizations. We have put off immunizing Willow until she is at least 2 years old, but I would prefer never. The ingredients in vaccines are terrifying and just the fact that they have tried to contact me through text, snail mail, email and phone (all sponsored by Pfizer!!!) makes me extremely wary of them and their agenda.

4. General nerdery. Wonder Woman, Batman, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Xena, mythology, psychology, sociology. . . It's ridiculous how nerdy I am. If I wanted to, I would never have to leave the house because the internet would make me a total hikikomori. I have everything I need. Except snacks. .  .

5. Ending cannabis prohibition. I've never really talked about this on here, but I am quite passionate about it. I believe that the goddess put everything on earth for a reason, and that if we think some plant, bug, or animal is useless, science just hasn't found out what it's useful for. I definitely, definitely think weed should be legalized, thus fixing the economy (tax the shit out of it and pizza ((you know, for munchies)), and you'll save the economy!) and allowing it to be used medicinally, which might save a lot of people.

Some people claim that cannabis can help (or even cure!) sufferers of cancer, diabetes, insomnia, ulcers, arthritis and more.

Disclaimer: I thoroughly believe that too much of anything is a bad thing. Though no one has ever died from cannabis overdose (since they fall asleep before levels of toxicity reach lethal levels), studies are inconclusive as to whether or not heavy cannabis users can get addicted to it. So, I definitely think moderate use of cannabis is the smartest idea, because everyone knows bugging out is no fun. . But other than that, I fully support toking up.

So, that's that. There are tons more things I am passionate about, but for now, I think it's best that I cuddle with my kiddo in bed, because it's late.

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Wednesday, August 22, 2012

on doing what i love

My dream job would be wading through the muck of peoples inner demons, sorting them into neat little piles with the edges trimmed out, labeling them, shredding them, lighting fire to the shreds and using the ashes to finger paint acceptance onto their memories.

I love awful movies. Movies where the protagonist gets murderdeathkilled, heroinfaceraped, and has to watch their family go through Chinese water torture. Seriously though. I love thinking about their lives, how I could help them, or what they're thinking and sometimes I can relate to them. Movies like that make me feel like someone understands something or other about me. . . Understands how it feels to be alone, or sad, or hurt or whatever. Also, a cathartic cry never hurt anyone, bitches.

I used to check out psych textbooks from my school library. When I was twelve. And read them all the away through. Multiple times. I was a weird kid, with a fascination for sadness. Again, I think it's because I related.

So, my dream job is being a psychologist.

Because I love figuring people out, and attempting to figure myself out.

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Tuesday, August 21, 2012

ten months?!?!

My little girl is ten whole months old. Ten of them!!

She's crawling, pulling herself up on things and sometimes cruising along them, hamming it up whenever she knows she's got an audience and otherwise just being adorable.

She loves: her Dada, Batman, my mom, walks,dos boobies, swinging on the swing, clapping, pointing at things and occasionally waving when she feels like it.

She is scared of: her dinosaur, but is slowly warming up to it, random things when she's tired.

She says: Dada (constantly!), Baba (Batman), hi, bye bye, bye bye/hi dada/mama, papa, book and egg.

Before her glory days. (Don't mind me, I was pregnant and it was 100 degrees out so I officially didn't give a flying fuck.)

Guyyyys! It's bright out here. And my head's huge.
One month old!!!!

10 months of cuddly happiness all rolled into one chubby package.

I love her so, so, so, so, so much!!! It's not even funny how much I love this girl, guys. Sometimes it scares me.

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Saturday, August 18, 2012

what doesn't kill you. . .

The hardest thing I've ever had to go through. . Damn.

Um. It's kind of hard to pick one because they were all hard in different ways.

I think I'm going to have to go with loosing Chatham, and that whole time period in my life. Not only was having to go through an almost 2nd trimester miscarriage without a D&C awful, but it just ripped my brain to shreds.

I was also all alone in a town I was unfamiliar with, with no friends. I was depressed as all balls before I miscarried and the possibility (it wasn't a possibility in my head though, it was a certainty) of a baby drew me out of my depression and got me eating better.

That was actually the lowest weight I had been at in years, just skipping meals for days and even weeks at times. . It was just really easy to do by avoiding the cafeteria.

But-- I was eating. And tracking my intake and making sure I was getting enough protein (I was still a veggie at the time) and fats etc.

My med combo wasn't working at all and all I did was sleep. . In class, mostly. Actually, just everywhere. It was super embarrassing but I would just fall asleep when I didn't even want to (probably because I wasn't eating). My class notes go "and in 1852 General Batman sadhehwn iehfi hf fjeheiedhdi feejffh hie fjeejejefjeie.

Oh, and in the margins are absolutely awful things I had written about myself or plans about what I would eat if I could. Damn eating disorder. Even as I'm writing this I feel sad for who I was but part of me misses all of it.

And after I miscarried I dropped out of school because I couldn't concentrate at all.   But I felt like the biggest failure for dropping out. I knew I was smart, but I knew I would have killed myself, and to this day I know it was the right decision but I wish I hadn't made it. Now it's so much harder to go back even though I want to.

So, that's the hardest part of my life. It's a little random and disjointed but it's hard to remember because all I remember is a resounding DEPRESSED.

So much happier now. :]

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Wednesday, August 15, 2012

wtf, the paper type people, and influences

Our local paper, simply (ironically, stupidly, etc. . ) named "The Paper" sucks. It literally hurts me to see it in my mailbox every Wednesday. After writing for both the Quincy Herald and the State Journal Register, I'd like to think I know good journalism when I see it, but damn, Dwight, what is this shit? Basically a calendar of events for Dwight and surrounding areas, The Paper rarely covers news stories.

This week, the upcoming barn crawl is front and center, while the Shopko that just replaced Pamida is on page 3.

At least Willow likes it (4 months old)
Now, I realize nothing ever happens around here (forgive my cynicism, I hate this place) so I guess I'll cut The Paper some slack.

Nope. Not happening. Because every week a column titled "5 Minutes with Boma" happens. A recent graduate of Dwight high school, Boma is also the son of the owner of The Paper. When I learned this, the world made sense again. . Because there is no way any person in their right mind would let this guy write for the general public unless it was nepotism.

This week, he listed his favorite foods. I did that in kindergarten. Cottage cheese and apple sauce, fudge cookies dipped in chocolate frosting-- damn, I didn't even eat like this when I was whale-sized, nine months into being pregnant with Willow. Gross.

The grammar is atrocious, the editing fails consistently and it just needs someone has a semblance of what they're doing to fix it.

And with that rant, which I've been meaning to make for weeks, I move on.

Ten people who have influenced my life. (Edit, for some reason I jumped to number 9. . . Crazy mommy brain.)

1. My boyfraaaand. I can't say enough about him. He's my best friend.

2. J.R.R. Tolkein. I have read the LOTR books 9 times in one summer. I'm a fanatic. If there was a street gang, I'd be their leader.

3. Jamie Tworkowski. Jamie has a blog at Jamie Writes and it's amazing. His words make me soar.

4. Walt Whitman. I have spent countless an afternoon sitting on top of washing machines having gay sex with men and being a crazy vagabond with untamed white hair. Also, he's my husband. Bon Jovi and Whitman.

5. Mr. Nicholes. He was one of two that visited me in the psych ward. His wife brought me a teeny little photo album and he brought me the world in the form of a poem. I still have it. It still makes me cry.

6. Professor Watson. She believed I was good at my dreams which gave me the courage to be good at my dreams. I learned to speak before I thought and chart sociology on star graphs.

7. Professor Udel. Not my favorite professor but her choice in literature is fantastic. Bless Me, Ultima, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, Lies my History Teacher Told Me.

8. Joss Whedon. Buffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffy. Fan girl orgasm commence.

9. My dad. I'm so thankful I don't believe in the invisible man in the sky anymore.

10.  Is a tie between Don Miller and Sierra DeMulder. He taught me that not all Christians are crazy and ridiculous. Also, Blue Like Jazz. And Sierra's poetry gives me goose bumps.
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PS: Good journalism, granted video journalism, to me, would be Philly D / Phillip DeFranco. The title of this post is a nod to him.

Monday, August 6, 2012

you make me smile like the sun

Five things that make me the happiest right now:

1. Willow. She's my light. Look at how cute she is!!!

2. That dude that hangs out at my house and sleeps in my bed and asks me to cook food for him. He's pretty awesome. Oh, he's also Willow's dad.

3. This blog. It amazes me that people want to read what I write.

4. Angel. Even though I've watched Buffy to completion, sometimes my friends show up in Angel. The show's not too bad itself.

5. Our family. This might seem redundant but I can't think of a number five. Also, I love us, as a unit. I love snuggling in bed together.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

dear annie

10 things I'd tell my 16 year old self:

1. It will all be ok. I know it doesn't seem like it but I promise, it will. You will be happy.

2. Your parents don't know what their doing. No parent does, but your parents especially don't know what their doing.

3. Stop wearing really baggy shirts. Stop it! It's not attractive at all.

4. I know you think you're fat and hideous, but you're nowhere near as hideous as you will be in a few years you look beautiful and you will look back in a few years and wish you looked like that.

5. Purging is not good for you. You will fuck up your teeth and your metabolism irreparably.

6. You won't always be ashamed of your scars. Some day, you will bear them like a warrior.

7. Too much eyeliner.

8. Get help. Waiting until you're older isn't a good idea. Do whatever you have to even if it seems like it will inconvenience your parents. They're not the ones that are living with all your demons and they aren't the ones that will live with them years from now. There is no better time to get help. Once you fall in love and have a kid, going to rehab or a psych ward will not be an option any more.

9. Read less. Go outside. Learn how to be scared of nature and other people less.

10. Disobey your parents more. It won't matter as much in the long run and contrary to popular belief (also see number 2) they're not doing what's best for you. Also, your "rebellion" isn't bad, wanting to do the things you want is actually just a normal part of being a human being.

Friday, August 3, 2012

book! and holy shit baggage!

Willow said book! It's the first word she's said other than mama, dada and hi (or more accurately, hiiiiiiiiiii!). The next morning she also said egg (aaayig) and tried to say kitty (keh).

Also, I think she's a genius baby because the day she said book she had pulled out 3 of her books from her full toy chest, dragged them to the middle of the room and then grabbed a book off one of the bookshelves, by passing all the toys and collectables on there. So, she pulled only books out. And I hadn't even said book all morning other than when she tried to grab my book and I said "No, please. That's mama's book." Freaking Rhodes scholar baby.

So, the next activity on the list is describing my relationship with my parents. I really don't want to do this one because our relationship is awkward and really, really hard to describe. Also, it's likely to cause the motherload of drama, but in the interest of figuring out my fuckedupness some more (JP and I have been talking about my parents and my upbringing a lot lately) and blogging honesty, I will try.

My dad: late 50's preacher-man. So much anti-gay, covert misogyny and just plain fear of the unknown. Also, he's a little. . . Lost in fantasy land. Like, anything that he doesn't believe in or like doesn't compute with him. That's the best way to put it: does not compute. Well, Jesus said that gays were evil so yeah. Or, I really want to be able to support myself and my family just by tutoring homeschooled kids and maybe by working a part time job in the summer. I have to like this part time job though, so maybe more tutoring or some Bible reading? Oh, yeah. He reads the Bible. Constantly. Like, he will get up at 3 in the morning and read the Bible.

He used to be a bit psychotic. Ok, a lot psychotic. Once I found a page of his writing talking about how he could instal locks from the outside of our doors and windows to keep my mother and I locked in our home. He wouldn't let me go to youth group because I might get influenced for evil.

One time, even though I made highest GPA in our school (ok, it was like 50 kids, but still) he wouldn't let me go on the honor roll field trip even though I was pretty much the only one that thought it was cool. Mind you, he was principal/my teacher, so he planned this. I watched the bus leave from my bedroom.

He and my mom used to promise to buy me a pet at the next house, well, ok, the house after that. . No, not this house, it's too much trouble. And yeah, that's not too bad, but when you consider I had NO friends or basically no contact with anyone my age and always hung out with their church people, it's kind of mean to deny a little girl a hamster.

They wouldn't let me go on any field trips at all my first few years of school (I went to a Greek public school and they tended to visit Greek Orthodox churches) and to make up for it they'd always tell me they'd take me on a family weekend trip. Nope, never.

Oh, they don't celebrate Christmas. No big deal, right? Well, imagine being the only kid in a whole classroom who has nothing to say when the teacher asks you what you got for Christmas in front of the whole class.

I also don't remember either of them buying me a single toy-- never mind, there was a doll and a teddy bear that my mom kept in a plastic case that I think I was allowed to play with once in a while. I remember once asking my dad to get me a Barbie comic book (they have fucking awesome things in Greece) and he said no because of something or other. . That's pretty much it.

Oh, and the fights. My god. My parents met each other when neither one could speak the other's language. They admit that they "dated" with a Greek-English dictionary between them. They were also set up, left to roam one of the most beautiful islands in Greece for about a week. So, they meet, decide they like each other after a week, my dad leaves for America, he comes back a few months later after a phone call or two and they get married. I'm not a relationship expert, but that seems like a bad formula. Sometime after they had me they figured out they don't really like each other too much. All this boils down to me stepping in and stopping physical fights.

My mom: mid-50's, Greek, sarcastic as all balls. To this day upholds that she did not influence my eating disordered thoughts. . Even though it was EATEATEAT. . my god you're getting fat all throughout my childhood. Even though I remember choosing low-fat instead of regular yoghurt at 6 or 7.

I was raised by my Thia (Aunt) Rita. She is my mom's best friend. My mom was in grad school for cardiology and either studied or was depressed all the time, so Rita watched me. I have almost no memories of my mother before I was around 8 years old. The only ones that come to mind right now are visiting her at the hospital while she was working.

My mother also always compares me to other people my age. Well, SecretWhoreyMcWhoreyson has pretty, long hair- look at yours, it's short and blue and ugly. But I'm only telling you this because I love you and want whats best for you.

They've both done their share of awful, and I was a typical crazy teenager. But then there was stuff that I honestly don't think I'll ever be able to forgive them for.

Like, after I tried killing myself at 15, they brought me home after getting me Arby's (a huge treat), sent me to bed and next morning re-enrolled me in the school my dad was principal at. Maybe they thought I needed more peer contact? Maybe they thought all day in my room reading was too much? The only thing they ever said about it was once my dad complained about the bill.

They also never talked to me about what happened after the rape and the psych ward stays. Never. Not once. They decided the best course of action was to pack up everything and move half a country away from all my friends and everything I was familiar with.

They did talk to me about cutting. That they did do. . . With Bibles pulled out. Leviticus was a favorite. The first time they saw my cuts they thought I was a witch (ironic) or a Satanist (granted I was going through a phase. . . ) and strip searched me.

They never trusted me. It was always everyone else's word against mine. They'd have long talks with me. . Hours long, about what the Bible said about this that or the other and how I did something wrong.

Once, when I was about 8, my dad sat me down and told me that at some point, all little girls start bleeding from their privates, but if I was a good, Christian little girl, I wouldn't let the hormones change my attitude and would maintain a happy, bright disposition like Blanketyblankblank.

I'm sure there's more. There's always more.

And yet, I keep visiting them. Almost every month. Unless we're having a spat, I talk to my mom at least once a day, usually 2 or 3 times. I still sit through car rides where my dad goes off about letting gays into the military and won't shut up and listen to me, or just keeps repeating himself over and over. Or where his reasons are "Jesus told me".

JP says it's an abusive relationship. He says I keep going back because I don't know better. I think he's right but I don't want to hurt them. I'm the only thing my mom has left. I honestly think it might kill her if I stopped talking to her.

 But then I think about Willow and I know I don't want her to grow up hearing the things they say. My mom started the "you eat too much" comments when Willow was a newborn. Sure, they were meant as a joke, but she always tries to pass it off as a joke when she says them to me too. And my dad keeps praying that Willow will grow up to be a woman of god even though he knows I'm not a Christian anymore. I don't want her to grow up to be a woman of god (necessarily, unless she wants to be! Then, though I disagree with her, I will support her) I just want her to grow up strong.

And my parents did not raise a strong woman. They raised a weak one. I'm not being self-deprecating, I'm being honest. I have an almost complete innability to stand up for myself, the things I believe in or even my daughter unless it's in writing or on the internet (fucked up, right?). I would rather have people walk all over me and compromise me (to, I'm reluctant to admit, almost any point) than hurt their feelings or offend them. I'm better, I continue to be better, and admitting all of this makes me better, but-- the point still remains that, to me, my parents are almost toxic. Their love comes with their hate, their ridicule and their bigotry.

So. . . That. That is my relationship with my parents. This post will probably make someone mad, but quite honestly, I'm getting past the point of caring.

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