joeyfullystated

Don’t Cross Me

Posted on April 28, 2013 by joey

It takes two hours to drive out to Drew’s and almost three hours to drive back in the night rain.

On the ride back, I realized that there sure were a lot of roadside grave markers. I hope the people who love me never need to erect a roadside grave marker for me. This is not just because I plan to die in my own bed, but because a lot of Christians love me, and they might naturally decide to designate my departure with a cross.

This may or may not be why I was experiencing atrocious vertigo and nausea by the time we got home around midnight, (I’d rather think I was all worn out from too much love and joy in one day) but just in case…

I feel it’s important to publicly announce that I would not appreciate a cross posted in my honor. I feel like the scene of my departure is insignificant. I don’t even want to be buried in a cemetery with a proper grave marker, let alone at a second franchise location. Also, driving past graveside road markers is depressing to passersby, and I wouldn’t want to be party to that. Furthermore, if I died in a vehicle out there on the interstate, is it really worth risking your life to be on foot out there? I’m thinkin NO.

If you insist, despite my wishes, on marking my passing with a landmark, I believe this is a more appropriate choice.

Cheerful, non?

If you’re worried about littering, may I recommend a wreath of white tulips?

Either way, please just hurl it from your car window. It stresses me out, thinkin about you walkin around the ditch, next to eighty-mile-an-hour traffic….

Thank you for your understanding in this matter.

Posted in Personally | Tagged death, roadside grave markers | 7 Comments

I’m a City Mouse

Posted on April 26, 2013 by joey

I don’t fare well in the suburbs. In the suburbs, I find I feel kinda pressured to achieve the status quo, when I don’t even like the status quo. In the suburbs, you must conform. You must upgrade to granite countertops, install crown moulding, drive an SUV, fill your children’s weekends up with activities, host cookouts, join the PTO, and fuss over your property taxes. Before you know it, you’re sampling low-cal ranch dressing, selling catalog products, and painting your eyelashes til your blue eyes are green with spots of brown.

None of those things are particularly offensive to me, until they’re displayed en masse like a cult of Stepford Wives arriving with a basket of baked goods, sugar-free, of course, to lure you into their cult. I can’t breathe when I’m surrounded by so much *achem* perfection. The fringes of cashmere pashminas and the whiffs of Desperate Housewife perfume begin to choke and strangle me.
In suburbia, there will be no clotheslines, no chicken coops, no washing your car in the driveway.
I know this, because I’ve lived it.

In the city, you wave to your neighbors and you maybe chat over a fence. In a city, you assume people don’t want to be bothered, because, well, you don’t want to be bothered. People keep to their own business. Anonymity is possible. Anonymity appeals to me, like some naughty unattainable pleasure.

The city has dim sum and Starbucks. The city with its parks and punks by day and its lights and buzz by night — that’s appealing, too. Theaters, museums and zoos do please me so. Also, I thrive in diversity. Don’t make me tell you about the time I worked with nine white married Christian women, Jesus Fucking Christ, I could not get out of that place fast enough.

I loved living in the city. The hood, even. Not the ghetto *shakes head* — the hood.

In the country, you wave to everyone and only talk to people when you have a purpose. As in, “Hey, let’s have that tree between us cut down before it falls on the fence.”
But ah, the country. The air smells better, everything grows wild. I love to garden..Wildlife in your own backyard..but oh, coyotes. *frowns* I would love to raise chickens, and maybe even sheep or pigs from time to time. I should totally live on a dairy farm. I should buy a lotta cows. Ain’t nobody gettin milk for free, let alone organic milk from not-pregnant cows, mk? My cows would be happy, I’m just sayin.

Several years ago, Drew bought a property out in one of those “no stoplight” towns. Sweet little house, gorgeous lot with enormous Sycamores and a creek running along the back. Charming. But driving out there, alone in the darkness, on the gravel road, between cornfields, proved to be a little too eerie for me. I kept expecting Malachi to jump out?

At one point, I turned a corner and massive flood lights glared at me.

Initially, I thought alien spaceship, but it turned out to be combines.

As I am a true Midwesterner, I am no stranger to cornfields. In fact, I love corn, maybe in a slightly-too-sensual way. I’ve played in cornfields, shucked corn, made corn dollies, used cornfields as a shortcut, lost my virginity in a cornfield. It’s no small thing for me to be frightened of scary-ass-ten-foot-corn in the night.

My cousin’s got land in California. She shared this picture of her snow. Right after, “I miss snow,” I thought, “I wish I had some land.”

Too scary. Far too scary to live so far from everything and everyone. Just because I want anonymity doesn’t mean I don’t want to know my anonymous neighbors are there.

Also I didn’t marry a farmer. I think The Mister would welcome the idea of a big truck, a riding mower, and a barn fulla tools, but I’m pretty sure if he can’t train a dog, he’ll be no more naturally disposed toward farm critters.

The problem with the city and the country is not the extreme difference between them. It’s the school systems.
I don’t want my kids to go to a crap school in the city.
I don’t want my kids to go to a too-white, too-Christian school in the sticks.
I cannot afford private school tuition, and even if I could, so many of those schools are too-white and too-Christian. I can not abide this kinda crap:

I couldn’t homeschool them, because I can’t math beyond ninth grade, and that’s only supposing they didn’t drive me into a bottle of lithium first.

SO, I’m tryin to live in the best of both worlds. In a small city that feels like a town, garners a modicum of urban agriculture, hosts big city venues, possesses Big Ten education, affordable mass transit, mandatory recycling, as well as boasting a plethora of parks, all the while surrounded by farmland in a Blue state. Now, if you could just find someone to hire The Mister, so that we can move, so that we can unpack, so I can enroll the kids in school, so that I can find a job, so that we can settle down — well, that’d be swell.

Posted in Personally | Tagged city mouse vs country mouse, communities, corn, diversity, Drew, education, suburbia, The Mister | 4 Comments

Lure Me Into Spring

Posted on April 22, 2013 by joey

Just two days ago, the gray sky spit out snow, and we wore long underwear to soccer. Today, however, it was warm and sunny. Before dinner, we took a long and winding stroll around the .. quite a ways.

I wanted to take pictures of the Bradford Pear trees, as ~~threatened~~ promised.

Well, I’m no photographer.
But I tried.

Because you aren’t walking through them, under a bright blue sky, on a sunny Spring day, with wind blowin in your hair and the smell of fresh-cut grass underfoot, you can’t really grasp their beauty. To me, “Ooooh!” To you, “Yes, yes, pretty trees.”

Here are two professional pictures I Googled in the hopes that they’ve captured beauty I could not:

I wanted to walk my dog, who hasn’t been on many walks since she arrived at the Palace of Rules, and has since gained a little cheek fat from all the Milanos she’s been.. No,wait,that’s me…Yes, long walks for the dog, mmhm.

I marvel at the length of Spring. Spring should be a process. Every day of Spring should toy with you just a little more than the last. A bit more green, coupla snowfalls, a few more buds, open the windows, big thunderstorms, suddenly green grass, a hail storm, turn the heat back on, a surprise bulb blooming — that’s the Spring I love. In the South, one day you get up and the azaleas have bloomed. That’s it. A few weeks later, it feels like summer. I am truly a Yankee. I actually want to be taunted and teased into Spring. (And every other season, for that matter.)

On our walk, the girls delighted in the abundance of soft, green grass. They climbed up a hill, covered with thick mounds of it, still uncut, and rolled down, woo-hooing all the way. After that, Moo announced, “I love Indiana!”

I wanted to fashion a dandelion crown for Moo.

You know, people loathe dandelions in their yards, but I think they’re simply gorgeous in a field.

Moo was more than happy to help me pick the longest, thinnest dandelions she could find, but once the crown was assembled, she didn’t seem as pleased as I was at her age. (Or maybe even as pleased as I am now.)

Moo wore it, I wore it, the dog wore it, and yes, even The Mister wore it.

He’s a good sport. I think he looks rather imperial. I realize I’m biased.

Twas a lovely evening.

Sposta rain tomorrow. I love the rain. Ah, It’s so good to be home!

Posted in Personally | Tagged bradford pear trees, dandelions, home, Moo, nature, seasonal change, The Mister | 11 Comments

Who’s Afraid of Oatmeal?

Posted on April 21, 2013 by joey

One of the first things sufferers of anxiety need to learn is not to ask why we’re having anxiety. The truth is, people with anxiety usually ask whys of everything, and so not asking why we’re having anxiety is a nearly impossible feat. Also, people with anxiety are highly imaginative, so if we really don’t know why we’re in the grips of anxiety, if we’re given opportunity in the moment, we can be sure to summon a suitably scary reason, feeding the initial anxiety, causing a surge of new anxiety, and maybe leading ourselves into a full blown panic attack.

For me, anxiety is not an emotional feeling like happy, sad, anxious – No. For me, anxiety is something I feel physically, just like catching a cold. Initially, I can only say I feel unwell. I’ll start to feel uncomfortable, on edge, ill-at-ease…something’s not quite right, but I can’t put my finger on what…I acknowledge that feeling and focus on my task, and often enough, that’s all I need to do. But for whatever reason (I wouldn’t dare ask!) it escalates through heart palpitations, chest pain, muscle spasms, closed throat, churning stomach, hot flash, vertigo, tunnel vision, tingling extremities, cotton mouth, dissociation – all until I’m sweating, shaking, crying, and convinced I’m dying. After that, I will get a sinister migraine, (Oh my Gawd, it must be a brain tumor!) my whole body will ache like I’ve been thrown from a train, (Oh my Gawd, I’ve got Fibromyalgia!) my intestines will damn near explode, (Oh my Gawd, I’ve got colon cancer!) and I will be unable to perform the simplest of tasks without painstaking labor.

You people with appropriate reactions to stress probably can’t relate, because we anxiety people, we are completely unreasonable. *laughs*

For people with anxiety disorder, the gauge is askew.

So you know, I’m shoppin, aisle to aisle I go, and suddenly! I’m picking up a box of oatmeal! and that is the last straw!

Oatmeal is not scary.

clearly a hot bowl of death..

My reptile brain has just informed my body that picking up a box of oatmeal is dangerous, as though while I am hunting oats, a larger, more lethal predator is hunting me. My reptile brain did not have the decency to ask me, “Joey, do you feel threatened by oatmeal? Are you harboring a grudge against oatmeal? What does the oatmeal represent to you?” No. It just decides that something about this is scary as fuck, sends a surge of adrenaline, and off we go to being all kindsa unwell about OATMEAL.

So yeah, don’t ask why.
It’s amazing the things my brain thinks are frightening. I’ve had panic attacks while fetching oatmeal, peeling potatoes, driving, riding in a car, braiding hair, walking my dog, getting my mail…

In turn, I’m amazed at what doesn’t take me over the edge. For instance, I never mind traffic jams. The whole time I was packing and moving, I never once took a pill. But the other night, cooking in “not my kitchen” sent me into a downward spiral? Alrighty then.

Stress isn’t what we perceive it to be. Stress isn’t one pinky or one index finger, it’s the whole hand. The truth is, since we left Georgia, I’ve experienced less reaction to stress. One would think I preferred my own home, my own schedule, and the security of continued income. In reality, knowing my husband won’t be in a combat zone again (short of a zombie apocalypse) has actually reduced my reaction to stress more than I can measure. Some of my ease has come from not being constantly hot. Who can say what the landscape here is doing for me, when I am so in love with it?

If I weighed the landscape and the fear for my husband’s life on one side, against living with my in-laws, well, it turns out, the former outweighs the latter. While I concede that living in someone else’s home is stressful, it’s actually not as stressful as constant heat and worry. For me, anyway. And I would not have guessed that.

The crux of the matter is that my reptile brain doesn’t perceive this time in my life as a powerful threat to my wellness. I can tell, because my body shows me. I sleep well, I eat well, I don’t get heartburn all the time, my skin is calmer, my intestines are not damn near exploding, and gosh durn it, I just feel better!

(Most of the time. When I’m not cooking in “not my kitchen.” When my children are minding me. When I’m not nursing a blister from new shoes. When I don’t have a weather-induced headache, or a stiff neck from too much laptop use. I maybe get a little nervous if I need to move the oatmeal, and I don’t feel good when the alarm goes off in the morning or anything crazy like that. *shakes head*)

Posted in Personally | Tagged anxiety, anxiety disorder, anxiety symptoms, happiness, health, mental-health, neurotic, panic | 17 Comments

On Aunting

Posted on April 20, 2013 by joey

Today, we had a visit from my oldest nephew, Simon. (We’ll call him Simon, because that’s totally not his name.)
He’s one of my most favorite people.
Our relationship is based on coffee. When Simon was small he would wait for me to leave the room, drink down all my coffee, and when I returned he would smile his coffee mustache smile.

He did it a few weeks ago, too, just for old time’s sake, but now he has an actual mustache.

From the time he was almost two, til the time he was almost eleven, I took care of him off and on, how aunties do. He was not like my fifth child, because I rottened him somethin awful. Aunties do that, too. And also, because Simon always minded me, which one’s own children seldom do. *winks*

I did schlep him around with my own kids, which I believe made it look I’d paused between my own sets of children to bear a Simon love child, since he is neither fair like all of us, nor blonde like all of them.

I like to think I was publicizing diversity, but it probably just looked like I had an affair.

I still like to schlep him around, take him out for his own cold coffee.

He’s Bubba’s oldest friend, as cousins often are. They’re both quiet, introverted, intellectual types. Subsequently, those are the only kinds of boy children I can c~~ope with~~ relate to.

He’s Moo’s Simon, and long has been. Perhaps because when Bubba claims Sassy, Simon and Moo are paired-up to fill the gaps. It could be based on how they share a love of the color orange, strawberry milk, cold coffee, comfy cotton clothes, and chewing gum. Maybe he still feels badly for tipping her out of her baby swing. Whatever the reason, it warms my heart.

They shared a nap beside me this afternoon. *gushes*

Now that we’re “home,” we have a lot more of these moments.

Posted in Personally | Tagged Bubba, coffee, Moo, Sassy, Simon | 2 Comments

Forever Isn’t Long Enough

Posted on April 16, 2013 by joey

Today I called upon one of the many mentors in my life, my fairy godmother. She is a cunning, vibrant, artistic, sprite-like woman who always inspires me. She bought me my first little black dress, and on New Year’s Eve, she left a bottle of tequila on my doorstep. She gave me a ukulele and a topaz ring, both antique. She made for me many sketches I’ve since framed. She threw my 18th birthday party, taught me how to make the best chicken stock in the world, and paid me way too much to dog-sit. I cherish everything she’s ever given me, especially all the good, solid advice I’ve gathered from her over the years. Fairy Godmother is a spectacular person, and I’m sorry y’all don’t know her.

She’s suffering a terrible depression. She lost her husband unexpectedly in September and she is still reliving the scene of his death. She is locked into the pain like it was just this morning. “This!” she exclaims, with her forefinger raised in the air, “has damn near killed me.”
I had feared she wouldn’t quite be herself, but I didn’t expect her to be as vulnerable and obviously pained as she truly was today. Her grief was enormously powerful. I left with a sore, heavy chest.

I didn’t expect.
Why didn’t I expect?
Because in my head, she is strong? She is the moxie I channel, the spirit I imbibe. All my life, she has been this one thing, and to see her any other way is devastating. Her heartbreak is my heartbreak.
Because in my mind, ten months should be long enough to recover a certain amount of mental health? She is invincible. Death couldn’t do this to her. After her own death, she will haunt me with piano music and sudden bursts of spicy perfume.

Anger, sadness, fear, and dread dominated our visit.

Her love is gone. Taken from her at 3:00 on a random Wednesday afternoon. I spoke the words to her, “It would never have been a good day. No matter the time or day. Fifty-one years of love, friendship, intimacy..” as she wept, I realized there are no words to ease this pain. But I gave her good ones anyway, and held her, and rubbed her back.
When she joked about whether there was room for him up there (he was a large man,) I told her bigger men may have been taken that day, but none better. She thanked me for that.
In just as many words, I made her laugh. I know she needed the laughter.

Strange, but although my intentions had been to give Fairy Godmother my love and attention, to remind her how important she is to me — my tables were turned, and I found that yet again, she was giving to me. She was giving me wisdom and experience.

She was reminding me of who I am. Despite my age, I am still one of her many “Satin Dolls.”
“How are the girls?” I asked her.
“Well, how are you? See?” she asked me back.

Fairy Godmother can whistle so well, you’d think she’s got a hidden woodwind section in her mouth. A former chanteuse, she still croons the blues. She piddles at the piano, but she won’t sketch or paint, as much as anyone tells her to channel this pain into something beautiful. Is the pain already beautiful? It felt beautiful when she held her breath, let out a long wail and said, “God, Joey, I didn’t even know how much I loved him.” It devastated me. There was a beauty in her anguish, because a love that deep is too much to be measured. Mascara proved an unsuitable dam for tears.
We never know what we have until it’s gone, much as we count our blessings. We don’t even hafta lose much to realize that phrase is timeless for a reason. Ever been thirsty on a long, dry hike?

Was she showing me my future? I feared. First, how to have a long and happy marriage, and then, how to cope with the loss of it?
Shit.
It makes me wish I’d never fallen in love. What a gift, love. If depths are equal to heights, I’m fucked. After fifty-one years of this love, I should aim to be only as depressed as she is. I should aspire to merely be wrapped in an impermeable blanket of melancholy, cocooned into the fetal position, weeping incessantly.

Fairy Godmother said she is not ready to have lunch and go shopping. Her friends do not understand. They don’t get it.
I said, “It’s funny how our best friends are so often our enemies.” She liked that. Well, Hell, we grow apart and together, year after year. Friends are a good gauge for growth, really. But it’s miserable to be friends with the suffering. And it’s miserable to be the suffering when everyone else is so satisfied. Space is easier than time: it can be created and given. Real friends, even when they’re our enemies, will still be there when we bounce back or spiral downward.
Her friends tell her it’s time to get back to living. They tell her to move forward.
I’ve heard that for years, and I bet she has, too.
The truth is, no one could ever predict how long it takes to mourn. There is no magic formula, no logarithm to calculate how long it takes to be okay. Time is cruel to the grieving. A person in mourning knows they need time, but unfortunately, they have to endure time to get to the time.
I do understand this, as I am often surprised by my own emotions, whether I display them or not.

Like any interaction I’ve ever had with Fairy Godmother, I’ve been impressed upon once again. I was schooled.
“Go on and tell your mother I’m totally pathetic.”
“You think she’s gonna send in the Calvary? I will tell her you’re alive and well. Maybe next time I see you, you’ll be alive and better.”

Leaving her house, heading back, The Mister and I rode in silence, holding hands. Just grateful for another day of love, y’all.

Hold your beloved. Forever isn’t long enough.

Posted in Personally | Tagged Fairy Godmother, grief, loss, love, marriage, mental-health, mourning, The Mister | 5 Comments

My Grass Will Be Greener

Posted on April 14, 2013 by joey

Sometimes, like when I’m placing metal ornamental palm trees into a half-empty basket on the bathroom floor, to make room for mouthwash on the vanity, I get freaked out that my husband hasn’t gotten a job yet.
We’ve been here nearly a month.
I would have thought by now we’d be making temporary housing arrangements for him to live in Illinois. I would have guessed that by now, he’d be coming home weekends.

Sometimes, like while Moo watches Nova and MIL tells her, “If you love science, you ought to read the Bible,” I am glad my husband hasn’t gotten a job yet, because his smirk can keep me from freakinthefuckout.

I know that my natural tendencies edge me toward fear and panic during stress. Fear is a dark wash that confines me to sadness. All too quickly, I can feel shattered and paralyzed by it, and then without cause or provocation, hope blows in like the wind, renewing my faith.

I’m not sure why I vacillate between utter despair and hope. I’d like to live in abiding hope, as the world seems clearer and far more magical when I’m hopeful.
Of course, he will find a job he likes, and of course, we will find a home we like — because this is how it’s always been.

Waiting for that moment is always a challenge. My own personal challenge is not waiting for everything to come together, but rather in enjoying the life I have now. I need to relax into it. I need to accept each day for what it is, and for what small joys I find.

I always do this, but right now, it seems particularly crucial to my mental health. The scenery is most helpful. I breathe into it, as it seems to breathe into me. Expanses of green grass and small scurrying critters exhilarate me. My joy in the landscape is only matched by my relief not to be in my previous landscape.

The life I have right now is merely uncomfortable, not painful or overwhelming. While I feel uneasy, I am far less busy than I was. I could view this time as a rest: a well-deserved rest. The days zoom by quickly, presumably because I enjoy them. I haven’t spent this much time with The Mister since…? We have entire conversations uninterrupted. Really, there’s more sex and snuggles, much more laughter as well – but it’s the talking I love. It’s awfully nice that soldiers don’t blow up his phone with stupid questions 24/7. He never gets called out in the middle of dinner. The US Army hasn’t interfered with our life one iota in the last month.

I miss solitude, as the four of us adults are at home most of the day, every day. The Mister and I go out, even if it’s just to have coffee or to run an errand. At least once a week, we sit down to a quiet meal alone, and that was a virtual impossibility before.

I don’t always feel I have enough time to write or read, and I miss lengthy chats with family and friends.

I feel scattered when I’m trying to perform the simplest of tasks. I’ve mastered the assemblage of my morning coffee (although I am perhaps forbidden to actually make the coffee.) I’ve managed to learn how to roll towels instead of fold them, and how to use the alarm system. I’ve not figured out where all the light switches are, where the secret arsenal of toilet paper is, or where all the dishes go. (I wash them a lot, but I don’t put them away.)
The appliances here are too finicky for Joeys. The washing machine swirls our clothes gently for a fucking hour, but manages to weave them into large laundry ropes. The microwave competes with French chefs, when all I want it to do is make my water hot enough to steep tea. According to MIL, I mustn’t spill bean soup onto the hot electric cooktop, not because it’s messy, but because I will start a fire.
I feel like my household appliances should work for me and not against me?

I hope I never become fully ensconced in the ways of the Palace of Rules. I hope I am gone in June, living in a home instead of a house. Until then, I shall focus on the green grass. But I want you to know, my grass will be greener. *laughs*

Posted in Personally | Tagged anxiety, appliances, coffee, landscape, lifestyle, mental-health, MIL, Moo, nature, The Mister | 6 Comments

Spring Bound

Posted on April 9, 2013 by joey

I’m having a hard time adjusting here in the Palace of Rules. I’m often uncomfortable apart from the sleeping time. It’s always strange how other people live, therefore it’s certainly strange to live with them. But instead of focusing on that, I’d prefer to count my blessings, and this day was definitely one of them.

This morning, while we waited for the bus, I took my coffee to the porch. It was already warm at eight o’clock, but for the sharp, cool wind. While walking around the yard, I spotted a worm. I hadn’t seen a regular ol’ worm in seven years. I watched the worm wriggle and slide through the grass for quite a long time, simply enjoying his company and perhaps delaying his becoming breakfast to an eager robin across the street.

On the way to soccer practice, I said to The Mister, “I just love that farmland is everywhere we go. It’s comforting.” He replied, “Feels like home.” I nodded.
Moo said she likes it, too.

I hope you understand that what I’m talking about isn’t breathtaking photography material, but rather, the simple majesty of familiar surroundings.

I walked the dog all over the wide open spaces of the soccer fields tonight. That sharp, cool wind whipped my hair all over the place as I smiled into the warm setting sun. I saw all the familiar signs that a Midwestern Spring has sprung; Wild Violets, Daffodils, first blooms of the Dogwoood, bunches of Clover, Forsythia…

Soon it will be green and wet here, and I will ~~torture you with~~ post pictures of the many Bradford Pear Trees in this area.

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged dog, happiness, Moo, spring, The Mister | 1 Comment

On Enjoying Life, Despite People

Posted on April 2, 2013 by joey

I have, for my whole life, observed, assessed, weighed, calculated, evaluated, and judged people around me. One of the benefits of being an introvert is that it’s easier to see, hear, and feel from a quiet corner of the room, rather than from the position of center of attention.

What I’ve learned so far about making friends is small, and likely parallels the wisdom of others, but you never know what people know…

Never judge a book by its cover, literally or figuratively.

But oh my gawwwd, please do follow your instincts.

The people who immediately ruffle my feathers are the kind of people who act like they’re my best friends within five minutes of meeting me.
Sometimes they’re the “close-talkers” and I’m never sure if they’re going to kiss me or hit me. Despite my affection for statistics, I don’t deal well with that kinda paradoxical probability. Also, I need my personal space, and maybe a space or two beyond, because I really hafta enjoy you in order to appreciate you being so near my body.

People who tell you too much, too soon, can be a relative concept, as I prefer bold and direct interaction, but within five minutes of meeting someone, I do not want to hear about the mold she’s made of her husband’s penis – just as a rule of thumb.

Beware of people without boundaries. People without boundaries won’t respect yours.

I don’t like most men. I know many good men, but I know many more good women. I’m sorry, I really don’t want to be that way, and we can talk about that another time.

I don’t like women who obviously want my man. I don’t mind a flirt, as I married a flagrant one, myself. I don’t like the women who won’t make eye contact with me, but stare up at The Mister dreamily. I don’t like women who tell me too often how good I’ve got it with regards to my husband, because all I really hear is envy and unhappiness.

Also, I don’t like women who are psycho-possessive with their men. Nothing screams insecurity like a woman who can’t leave a man alone for two seconds.

I don’t like Narcissists.

I don’t like women who say they have a hard time making friends because they’re too pretty. Bitch, please. One of my best girlfriends is a bona fide beauty queen and she’s got plenty of other friends.

Social climbers, name-droppers and status seekers force me into a strange condition wherein my eyes roll back into my head over and over and over? Contempt, maybe?

I don’t like negative people, particularly the soul-sucking social vampire types whose lives resemble black holes; former friends, relatives, pets — are missing? Oh woe, they’re all alone in the world. And there’s a good reason..

One-upping is to be despised, unless you’re actually in a contest. Being a non-competitive person, I seldom participate in contests, and I prefer always to be aware I’m involved in one. I do not have the wherewithal to vie for first place in “Who had the worst case of Sinusitis?”

Also, while we are all proud of our dazzling offspring, it’s poor form to try to one-up people with the achievements of your children. Yes, of course your children are destined for success. I’m sure you’re a supportive parent, nurturing their talents and abilities. I’m just a wee bit wary of adults rigging hockey games and bullying cheerleaders on the internet..

I’m far more impressed by five-year-olds with good manners and zipped flies, personally. Have you gotten an autistic child to wear new shoes and eat broccoli in the same day? Cause that would be a personal achievement, right there!

I don’t like racists, homophobic people, or bigots of any kind. I bought into that whole mutli-cultural educational thing in college, and I think I’ve grown set in my ways: The world really is a more beautiful place because of our differences, not in spite of them.

So you see, I’ve narrowed down the population quite a bit. Then I just be me, which eliminates another hefty chunk of people via my aloof behavior and my offensive nature. Generally, I’m left with those who possess strength of character, thereby increasing my enjoyment in life.

I am here to enjoy my life.

Posted in Personally | Tagged boundaries, envy, flirting, happiness, insecurity, introversion, jealousy, Narcissists, one-uppers, possessive, social vampires, The Mister | 5 Comments

Snowman

Posted on March 26, 2013 by joey

Look what Sassy and I built tonight!

The snow is so wet and heavy now, he had to be sculpted and rubbed instead of rolled and placed. The snow has also become quite sparse, as the temperature reached a scorching 40 degrees today. He’s small, and he’s less than perfect, but I love him.

He is a particularly special snowman since this is how big Sassy was in her last snowfall: