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Archive for December, 2000

|| December 29, 2000 || 3:10 pm || Comments (0) ||

Just a wanton flirtation at present, but I think I like this place.

|| December 29, 2000 || 2:58 pm || Comments (0) ||

There are a couple of blogs that I read regularly. Or journal-type thingys, for those who don’t buy into the whole blog concept. I was recently very flattered by the content of one of them, even though it was just sort of a blurb. I like this person very much and consider the fact that I am on their ‘regular reads’ list a big ego-inflater. *blushy-wush*

Recently the aforementioned person landed a blow of impatience on someone else: “Wake up, dolt!” and I instinctively knew who the other person was…although I don’t really know them, per se. So I went to the site of this other person, to see what had been said to evoke the response from my friend.

Now it behooves me to respond, even though it is damn well none of my fucking business. But is anything, really?

We as women are painfully funny creatures. Men are really even funnier, but I consider women funny in a more manic, caricatured fashion. We ARE, in fact HUGE caricatures of everything that we believe we are supposed to be. Therein lies the dilemma for most females. We weren’t done justice being raised up from little girl-lets, therefore, we don’t do ourselves justice in that space between being girls and becoming women. Hang with me, here…I’m getting to it. Get out your Little Orpan Annie secret decoder ring if you have to.

For years I thought I was a woman. YEARS. Then I became enlightened enough to realize that owning your own set of car keys, having a career and a period and a voter registration and posessing a couple of self-purchased dresses do not a woman make. Nor does having a sexually active (no matter how selective it may be) twat. They camoflage and put out that illusion for the world and even for you yourself. Fool yourself yet again, little chickie. Conform.

BLECK!!! and here we sit, we silly little females, wallowing in perfume and putrescence, not really letting what is meant to fall into place actually fall there. We are giddy and stupid and not really worthy of the gifts given to us by God, those things born into us that truly make us women and worthy of all the things that we are trained up (by and large) to desire.

You know, I was in my late twenties (not so long ago, for I still am a twentysomething) before I grew into myself spiritually and emotionally. This is not to say that I don’t still have things to experience and learn, especially in those arenas, but I became aware. It wasn’t until then that I could rightfully claim the title “woman”.

One of my biggest lessons was in theory the simplest, but the one that was the most liberating and satisfying to learn. Here it is…you ready?:

Your partner should compliment the you that is already complete, NOT complete the you that you have not yet become.

Do you get it? If you don’t (and I know some ladies that are in their fifties that don’t get it yet and may in fact never get it), then you have my sympathy. You are destined for personal discomfort until such time as you do. When and if the time comes that you are enlightened in this manner, it will be the biggest relief ever in your entire existence. I swear it will. And you will marvel at it’s simplicity. You will breath a sigh of comfort and wonder. It is absolutely crisp and amazing.

Here comes another truth that I find innately important, one that we were not told as young women coming up:

Not everyone with whom you would fall in love is the person that you were meant to be with.

Baffling, I know. This one applies to both male and female, but we double-x carriers seem to have the most difficulty with it. We were built largely on an emotional plane, and we tend to cling to things of an emotional nature, even if it is to our detriment. Discernment comes with wisdom. Wisdom comes with experience. Some do not allow themselves the experience to gain wisdom. Please don’t mistake this as a license from me to fling yourselves wantonly about in a physical or emotional sense, but DO step out. You won’t learn otherwise. Just cherish yourself as you would wish someone else to, don’t lay down your standard at the foot of someone who is unworthy. Don’t make excuses for yourself OR anyone else and you should be fine.

When I was a wee thing attending church regularly, we were given the pat advice to date only someone whom we would intend to marry. What a fucking imbecilic and utterly irresponsible thing for any grown person to say to a hormone-laced younger. How do you, sirs and ma’ams, expect me to cull the pool of applicants without first diving in and seeing what my likes and wants and turn-offs and triggers are in another person? That piece of advice is rife with reckless pompousity and fearful ignorance. You people who say things like this are fucking dangerous. Why did anyone appoint you church elders? Give kids some practical info, like how to be honest with themselves and others, in every sense of the word!

Look, I could hold court all day. I could charge phat dollaz for everything I have to say and there are those who would buy a ticket, maybe even twice. If you get it, you get it. I sincerely hope you do. If you are of the mettle of those that don’t, then I wish for you the thickest blinders imaginable, for you shan’t be happy without them.

And oh yeah, if you have never read it, this poem applies.

|| December 29, 2000 || 2:42 am || Comments (0) ||

I am awakened to the sound of wailing. It is growing louder with approach, and my toddler son’s silhouette appears in my doorway. Even from across the room I can see his mass of loose curls, I can see him trembling. Ahhhh, bad dream. And I can hear a train retreating in the distance. That probably did not help the situation.

He is much braver than I ever was. Even at the tender age of two, this shows. I was always bold, but bold and genuinely brave are two entirely separate matters. I would never have left my bed post-nightmare; every inch of my little frame had to be doused in blanky and I would lie coiled tightly, ready for more nightmares to strike.

As a child, I had these horrible lucid dreams. Dreams as a rule are to be grandiose and perplexing, and mine were posessed of a macabre spin as well. Everything had the appearance of normalcy, but with that feeling of being just a little off –just that imperceptible titch– just below the surface. Like one of those “can-you-spot-what’s-odd” drawings (on some level, these have GOT to be BAD for kids, but that is another rant for another time). When I would finally satiate that need for knowing where the rift was by finding the general oddity, things would always take a zinging spin into awfulness of an extremity that just cannot be put into words, exactly.

I was gifted with grossly mutated nightmares most of my life. For the most part, they went away in my early adulthood (taught myself a niftaaaay little trick, HA). They occasionally make a guest reappearance; it’s always sporadic and unforeseen, triggered by nothing in general. I have examined it to the best of my ability and found no set pattern.

I had one such nightmare last night. It focused on the getting-ready ritual. You know, basic “hey-these-are-all-the-steps-I-take-to-go-and-face-da-woild” stuff. As always, there was the nagging, the tug at the back of my brain telling me something or other was not quite meshing. Then I ran my tongue across my teeth and felt something odd. I went to the oversize mirror in the master bath and bared my teeth at it. They were pierced.

*I hesitated to tell you that, as there is likely some idiot out there who will want to run out and try it*

The top two in front each had a little hole drilled neatly to the outside edge of them, and a little hoop was slung neatly through the holes. The bottom companions wore their holes square in the center and sported little diamond studs. Everything went swirling away into chaos at that point.

Snap….back into now. I have been rambling, huh?

Anyway, I say, “I’m right here, son, c’mere.” His footie-pajama clad feet make their way to my bedside and upon arriving he flings himself onto the edge. I heave his little relieved frame upward next to mine and encircle him. “You’re okay”, I coo.

We lie there for a bit, allowing him to recover his baby wits, before I shift him to the middle between mom and dad. Once he is comfortable, he turns to me and asks, “Ahwite?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, are you alright?” I ask back. “Wight.” he says matter-of-factly, and I nuzzle him until I hear his breathing go shallow and regular.

Then I ease my arm from beneath his warm frame, because now I can’t sleep.

|| December 28, 2000 || 3:21 pm || Comments (0) ||

Boy, I thought that I had arrived when I was the proud recipient of the pedophile search.

I have just gotten my first anonymous (a.k.a. cowardly) fan mail. It read as follows:

From: LILZANE333@aol.com
To: amazingjettgrrrl@hotmail.com
Subject: hey
Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000 10:49:29 EST
MIME-Version: 1.0
Received: from [] by hotmail.com (3.2) with ESMTP id MHotMailBC14AC05001140043115CDBC9D22C3E40; Thu Dec 28 07:49:26 2000
Received: from LILZANE333@aol.comby imo-d02.mx.aol.com (mail_out_v28.35.) id i.24.f07b244 (7879) for ; Thu, 28 Dec 2000 10:49:30 -0500 (EST)
From LILZANE333@aol.com Thu Dec 28 07:50:15 2000
Message-ID: <24.f07b244.277cbb09@aol.com>
X-Mailer: AOL 5.0 for Windows sub 129

wuzz up can you please send me alot of pics of girls with dildos in there
pussy and ass and on there sexy feet baby please gtg p.s. i am really horny.

By all means, use the return addy any way you people deem appropriate. Any mode of happy little virii would be suitable. This person doesn’t strike me as the picky type.

And I couldn’t POSSIBLY deprive you of my reply:

wuzz up can you please send me alot of pics of girls with dildos in there
>>pussy and ass and on there sexy feet baby please gtg p.s. i am really horny.

Hmmm…what color should the dildo be?

And I wasn’t aware that there was a strap-on for feet. I’ll look into that.

Don’t call me baby. I hardly know you.

Last, and most important, I feel that I should inform you that you are guilty of improper homonym use. The context of your sentence suggests that you should have used ‘their’ rather than ‘there’. If you are going to bother trying to waste my time, please make a genuine effort to be grammatically correct. Thanks, pal.

“wuzz up…” how absolutely clever. Why not follow it with ‘my niggah’??

|| December 27, 2000 || 3:33 pm || Comments (0) ||

Hi-hihi. How’s you?

I have had so many topics zinging through my head that I’ve wanted to post about this past week, but no time. And less energy than time, to be frank (oh, you wanna be frank? then I’ll be alice. no…alice is a robot. also a really lame television show. I’ll be janice or somebody more or less exciting, depending upon my mood…)

Anyway, I hope the holidays are treating you fairly. Meaning I hope that all the schmucks are getting their just desserts and the non-schmucky folks are enjoying the piss out of themselves, receiving copious amounts of beer and sausages.


My daughter and I discussing video games on the way to the movies this morning:
HER: And did you know that there is a Zelda for Nintendo 64 and Playstation and computer and even one for Tardies too?
ME: Tardies?? (thinking that a new system has come out and I am even FURTHER outta the loop)
HER: Yeah, Tardies, you know, the game system like you and daddy played when you were kids.
HER: Yeah, mom, that’s what I said, Tardies.

Sheesh. I am SO hearing impaired! LOL…

|| December 24, 2000 || 11:27 am || Comments (0) ||

Come over here, sit down; I wanna talk with you about something.

Seems right now that the world is on this furious Christmas build-up and tomorrow morning or tonight at midnight or whenever, it will explode. The climax is the summation of it all for LOTS of people. I would like you all to take pause, however, and ponder the couple of days leading up to Christmas, most especially Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve is sexier than Christmas, to me. Christmas Eve is warm and inviting and relaxing and sentimental and wonderful. Basically, it’s everything that Christmas SHOULD be, but isn’t most generally. Christmas is a frenzied madhouse, an explosion with assloads of shrapnel and debris.


When I was a kid, my sister and I would always sleep in the same room on Christmas Eve and one or the other of us always awoke around 3 a.m. and lie there twitching for an hour or so before finally succumbing and waking the other. Most often this was my sister Cherie. I swear to God, she slept like Denali for 364 nights out of the year, and some days too, but throw the scent of Santa Claus and some tinsel in the air and she came unstrung. She would wake me, and I would be cross at her and shush her for what seemed like ages (but was really only half an hour) before succumbing and we would both put frilly robes and matching slippers on (ick…how very “It’s A Wonderful Life”). We would then pad down the hall and approach our parents’ bedroom reverently, waking them gently.

After fifteen minutes of quiet cajoling, they would pile out with us and we would excitedly go through the gift ritual.

Our gift appetites satiated, we would then all climb back into bed and sleep contentedly for another 3 or 4 hours before getting back up. Then it was time for a luscious Christmas brunch, prepared family-style, and we would lounge and play the rest of the day. We were unencumbered by obligations to anyone and anything else. My parents had the right idea.

*sigh again*

I want those kind of Christmases back.

|| December 20, 2000 || 11:19 pm || Comments (0) ||

This toy scares the living piss out of me. Yet one more reason why that dirty bitch Barbie is heinous and evil and on my “must eliminate forever” list.

Kids are covert enough; they certainly don’t need extra training.

Way to go, Mattel, you assheads!

“Zeig fucking heil, Bahbee Youth! Und be velly zyooah tyou monitohr zese parenz clohzelee.”