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.

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.

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.

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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death and all his angels

Describe 3 legitimate fears you have and how they became fears.

1) After Saturday, and having a car blow up in my damn face, I can definitely say that I fear dying. Not because it might hurt or I'm scared of the afterlife. . But of leaving Willow alone in this world. Of leaving JP to be a single dad. That terrifies me.

    So, now I have to tell you all the story, because it's crazy, and every few minutes I have to keep reminding myself that I didn't make it up. Saturday, I was at work, I was just getting ready to make a safe drop because I had been putting it off for hours and I had way too much money in my register. So, there's no one in the store, no one is fueling outside, it's quiet. I count money, get ready to enter it into the computer and I hear the worst sound I have ever heard in my life. It was really, really loud. I know that this was partially because of the intercom being on, but damn, it was loud. So, naturally, I looked outside! That's when I see a car on it's hood sliding straight at me. There were sparks and smoke coming off of it and it was coming STRAIGHT FOR MY FACE. I'm not even lying. Straight for my fucking face. Really, really, really fast. So, I run the opposite direction, thinking I could make it behind the counter or best case scenario to the kitchen or the back room and maybe, maybe escape with my life. I look back for some stupid reason and see the car airborne. I know I was yelling something about cars blowing up. . . So honestly, at this point, I literally had no clue what was going on. It was like time was standing still and I was stuck in this bubble, with tons of money in my hand and I didn't know where to run or what to do or say and I thought I was going to die. I thought of Willow. That was the only tangible thought I remember having. Finally, my coworkers came out of the kitchen and one of them, thank god, had her head about her to yell instructions. So, I shut off the gas, called 911 (they already knew about it, some cop had seen it happening) and ran out there. There was a man holding his elbow sitting right in front of the store door. Right next to him was a detached car door. I thought it was the man from the car and he had somehow, miraculously, gotten thrown from the car. It turns out he had gotten hit in the face with the car door but was fine.

So, this is how I have pieced the events together based on what I remember and what emergency personnel told me.

The guy, Michael Basso, 55 years old, from Woodridge, gets off 55 and turns right towards town. Sometime after that and before he gets to Dempsey's car lot (about 1/8th of a mile from the exit) he dies of something that I'm assuming causes his foot to clamp down on the gas, because of how fast he was going. He goes off the road, through the grass, hits one of the ramps that a show car was on, and goes airborne. He then crosses a road, comes through the Casey's parking lot and straight for the window that I was looking out of. Somehow, he bounces off the sidewalk, and then it's a little muddled. He hit that guy with his car door, crashed into the front of an SUV parked at one of the pumps and ended up with his car wrapped around the van of the guy who was hit in the face. In the meantime, he also managed to wrap one of our signs around it's pole, break an intercom and hit the bottom of the gas pump at a completely different pump. The signs and intercom are about 10 feet up.

Between running around putting "out of order" signs on all the pumps and selling cigarettes to some douchebag who decided he couldn't wait or go to another store, I finally realize that the guy sitting in front of the store is not the driver.

Lots of time elapses where we're cleaning the store because the super big kahuna lady shows up and freaking out because this kind of shit only happens in movies, and over 3 hours later they get the body out from under the car.

I finally went home an hour and a half after I was supposed to go home. I had to get a ride from someone because my car was blocked by firetrucks and we walked a very, very crabby Willow home. She hadn't eaten in 8-9 hours (she still won't take a bottle) and it was way past her bedtime.

Now that it's all over, I'm unsure of what to feel. People keep asking me if I'm ok, and I am, but I don't know how I'm supposed to react. I keep thinking I made it up, but the pictures are real.


2) I'm afraid of paranormal stuff. Ghosts, zombies, demons, even a good conspiracy theory will get me freaked out. At the same time, I love that stuff. But too much or at the wrong time and I'm in the corner crying,. Just ask JP. There may have been a time during my pregnancy that I cried like a little girl and didn't let him out of my sight because I read a description of a book about a guy who thinks zombies are real.

3) I'm scared I'm never going to amount to anything. I have so many dreams and so much I know I can do, but I'm terrified that either I won't have the money to do them (like going to school) or that my demons will keep fucking with me until I give up one way or another.

There you have it. Long time writing, but when I finally did, it was some good shit.

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20 randoms

HOPESandDREAMS: 30 Things: gave me this idea.

1. I used to ride horses at least once every week. I miss it a lot and am really sad I couldn't continue. My favorite was jumping.

2. I have developed an intense love for hokey movies. My favorite by far is Dead Alive, a Peter Jackson zombie movie that is said to be the bloodiest movie every (judging by the number of gallons of fake blood they used). Most recently we watched Hercules And The Moon Men.

3. I love Baby Einstein. My favorite is Baby Shakespeare. Especially when I'm not sober.

4. I was an alcoholic. For about a year. I once told JP that I drink to feel normal.

5. I rarely drink anymore. Getting drunk isn't as fun as it was, and the health risks aren't worth it.

6. I love hoodies. They're comforting to me and I wear them year round, sometimes even when it's hot out.

7. JP's nickname for me is Snowflake. He says it's because I'm unique. I think it's because the day he decided that was my nickname I was running around the TJ Maxx parking lot trying to catch one on my tongue.

8. I can say really, really dumb things. Like, "how many beers are in a six pack?" or, at night, "is it, like, dark outside?".

9. Bo Burnam is amazing. My favorite song of his is Catholic Rap. "Dear God, dear Lord, dear vague muscular man with a beard or a sword. Dear good all seeing being, my way or the highway yahweh, the blue balled anti-masturbator, the great all-loving faggot hater."

10. I read Cosmo every month even though I find it sexist.

11. JP and I want to start a business sometime in the next 10 years. We want to call it the Handy Hippie. We'd go around installing solar panels and windmills and generally greening up businesses and homes.

12. I thought becoming a mother would profoundly change my personality. It didn't. I wish it had. I figured I would be more assertive and strong, but I'm only that way when it comes to Willow, and sometimes not as much as I should be.

13. Joss Whedon is my hero. Buffy is my favorite TV show. Firefly is a close second. Dr. Horrible was the first time I realized I actually like musicals as long as they're not Rodgers and Hammerstein. The only thing he's done that I don't like is the Avengers (and the Buffy movie, but he wasn't really involved so I don't count that).

14. I was profoundly fucked up when I was younger. Yesterday I went through some of my old binders from freshman year of college and in almost every margin I'm putting myself down or drawing skeletal figures. Or razor blades. It's so sad.

15. When I was a kid and we were in the car, I would say bye to every object I saw. "Bye tree, bye car, bye people. . "

16. So many bad things have happened to me that when I think or talk about them sometimes I forget one or two. "Oh, yeah! I forgot that happened too."

17. The last few years are the first time I actually remember being happy. Especially since Willow was born.

18. I have read the Lord of the Rings series 9 times in one summer.

19. I love vacuuming when there's tiny pieces of crunchy stuff on the floor. Doesn't everyone? But I hate dealing with vacuum cords.

20. This Christmas, our tree topper was Bizarro with his flag upside down. . . Oh, god. I'm a nerdy hipster!

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no posts?

I'm lame.

And there are only a few things that I don't feel comfortable sharing with you guys.

And those are the things that have been consuming most of my time lately. Those things, and work.

But-- here's an update!

Willow is 8 months old as of yesterday!!!! She's a happy but usually serious baby who's definitely a mama's girl. She waves, likes getting her armpits tickled, loves splashing in the tub, pulling hair (especially hers when she's sleepy), army crawling, playing with things that aren't made for babies, reading magazines, my mom, hairbrushes and not going to sleep. She still has no teeth, but is definitely interested in "human" food. Her mama is now "Maaaaaaaam!" and she has crazy separation anxiety. We're still nursing (go us!!) and she's starting to become very adamant about boobies when she's hungry.

I'm still working, and it's going well. I like getting away for a few days a week. It gives me something to do and something to talk about other than Willow and crazy hippie stuff.

That's about it.

Live long and prosper.

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