Putting the Mental in Self Improvement (al) Day 2

Ok, I'm ok. I don't need a smoke right now. Do I WANT a smoke right now? Yes, yes, very much please, can I rip this stupid fucking patch off my ass and just have a cigarette?!

Wheeeeewwwww....deep brefs....deep brefs...going to go put on a new patch....

I've been trying, when these little cravings knock me upside the head, to visualize and remember why I want/need to quit smoking: so I can breathe, so I can smell nice, so I can quit traumatizing my young daughter who fully expects me to die any day now, to maybe halt the crevasse of wrinkles on my forehead and lips, so I can go to the gym and try to recapture my smokin' hawt (ok, sort-of hawt) bod. Good reasons. Healthy reasons. Being a smoker today is like being a leper a thousand years ago. People look on you, huddled outside pathetically, with a mixture of pity and disgust. They wonder how, with all of the health warnings and the proof that it will kill you and the smell how can a person be stupid enough to smoke?

I'll tell you why.

It's the sweet elixir of brain-calming balm in a convenient wrapper. It's a small rebellion for an invisible boring housewife. It's a ten-minute escape from every hour.

I heart smoking. I will miss it.

Book Snobbery

An abashed book snob.
Current mood: embarrassed
Category: Life


Right now, I should be doing many other things. I should be addressing Christmas cards, wrapping presents from Santa, vacuuming and dusting the house, finishing the shopping that I've procrastinated about like I do every year, blah blah yadda yadda. And yet, I'm not.
I don't even want to be sitting here, writing this, really. But I need to write, as I haven't so much as touched my novel-in-progress in a week, even though I'm at a crucial point (as in: It's almost done, after four friggin' years!!!). But, no, I'm still in my jammies, hair all bed-headed, last night's mascara still smudged under my eyes, teeth mildly fuzzy due to an over-abundance of peppermintinis and a hot tub. And still I sit.

Now, some of you know me and know that I am the queen of procrastination, that me letting the house fall into complete chaos is not so much news. But this is just getting insane. It's worse this time, I promise.
Why the over-abundance of procrastination? Why is this normally laid-back-but-at-least-somewhat-productive housewife completely blowing off all responsibilities?

I'll tell you why. But it ain't gonna be pretty.

Twilight.

You heard me.

As loathe as I am to admit it because I swore I would never read it (I'll detail my book snobbery momentarily), I inhaled the first book in 3 days and am halfway through the second one, which I started yesterday. I can't put the stupid thing down.

So why was I so obstinately hesitant to read it in the first place?
1. It's by a BYU graduate. That right there is repulsive.
2. It's being fawned over by the women around here. The women who have very carefully decided that I am not one of them. The women whose idea of a Mom's Night Out involves squealing over the latest scrapbooking crap, whereas mine involves bottomless martinis and squealing over cute men who are not my husband. It is my personal crusade to rebel against all things Utah Housewife. Even though I am, technically, one.
3. I figured that the things in 1 and 2 immediately indicated that these books would be akin to the likes of Nora Roberts (*gag*) and Mary Higgens Clark (*retch*). I hate those kind of books. Hate them. The phony dialog, the implausibly convenient plot twists, the retarded narrative. They are written by and for mental midgets. (See? Book snob. Yes I am. Sorry if you're a fan.) I don't want to read about throbbing manhoods, windswept hair, smoldering looks, and bursting bodices. I need a good story and some realistically angst-driven conflict. Not formulaic crap.

So, then, why the hell am I enjoying this story so much?
1. It's an easy read, and not unpleasant. She's got a good voice, and absolutely does not sound like she's from BYU. There are actual funny quips, snarky lines, the characterizations are realistic (yes, even the vampires), and even though there are smoldering looks, it's done without much cheese.
2. I'm a secret fantasy believer. Love the Anne Rice books, love all things Harry Potter (written anyway. Don't get me started on the movies). Somewhere inside me, I want to believe that this shit could really happen, and love it when authors can make it plausible.
3. There's a chance that I, the snarky Domestic Goddess, might just be a bit of a romantic.

There. I said it. I'll even go further.

I love falling in love. That whole feeling of finding out you're attracted to someone, of not being able to tell them, of suspecting they want you too, the leaning and the covert glances and the smiling and the yearning. Love the yearning. Ms. Meyer very admirably covers all of this in a lovely literary way, without cheese. Without it being laughable and unrealistic. Even when eyes are smoldering, it's written in way that makes me remember way back when me and the hubby smoldered and leaned and tentatively touched. Sigh. I miss that.

He is my Edward, and even though I've been known to be addicted to the attraction phase of a relationship (or non-relationship, whatever), I still want to have that with him. But it's difficult, right? And I don't think Edward would be an Edward after 12 years. Comfort and happiness and knowing someone's annoying little personality quirks can just....delete the smoldering. I'm pretty sure there isn't much smolder when he thinks of me, either. We love each other, can't imagine life without each other, and there is occasionally some romance.

And we had those first moments with the glancing and the touching and the smoldering. We did. And it lasted longer than with anyone else. But, then, well....life happened.

So, I'm going to go read some more, before I absolutely have to rejoin the real world to get my daughter from school and take her flute shopping.

How about you? Any books that you never thought you'd enjoy and then ended up absorbed in?

Holiday Survey

Everyone else is doing it, so why not I?
Current mood: indescribable
Category: Quiz/Survey

Hey! LOOKIT ME! I finished a chapter!

So, to reward myself and torture you, I'm doing the survey started (in my circle of brilliant bloggers, anyway) by Jo & Honey and completed very nicely by The DirtDiva and uhhhh... .
My brain has been swimming in creative fiction for the last week (for once), so I'm going to chill out with some honest nonfiction. Maybe. If it gets boring I'll try to spruce it up a bit for you.


1. What was your favorite Christmas/seasonal gift this year?

Okay, honestly? I'm not a huge fan of getting Christmas/seasonal gifts. Unless it's brandy balls or peppermint schnapps with a bow. (Sorry Mummy, I really do think the salt and pepper shakers and snack plate and knife are cute. Really. I do appreciate them. I do). I have SO FREAKING MANY Christmas decorations, it's scary. They're stuffed into a giant-size Rubbermaid tub stuffed full of holiday thingamabobs that is stored in the attic of the garage. And that's just the stuff that will fit in it. There's also 3 fake trees of various sizes and a box containing a holiday village. And the kicker is: I've actually purchased or chosen almost none of them. This stuff is taking up serious space in storage, to be taken out and displayed for about three weeks a year. There's a part of me that doesn't get that. Appreciates it, sure, but doesn't get it.
I was quite nostalgic this year, remembering my small apartment and the SHOE BOX that happily and compactly held all of my decor in the back of my closet. Especially as the hubby and I lugged the giant tub from the house across the frozen yard to the garage, where he risked life and limb with it on his shoulder on a ladder to put it away.
So, the short answer is: I love the Snowman and Tree salt and pepper shakers and snack plate my mom gave me.

2. What gift were you the most excited to give and to whom was it given?

(Sylow should skip this answer, I think. CJ too, probably.)
Duh: Santa!
Say what you will, there is nothing like seeing the tangible joyous expression, the awe of magic, the giggly wonder in my child's face every year when she sees the plate now containing cookie and carrot crumbs, the lumpy stockings, the modest pile of gifts where just last night there were none. She's a good kid, and only asked Santa for four things. Thanks to the DirtDiva, Santa was able to provide them exactly as requested. (Except for another rabbit. She got a stuffed one and a note instead). And, Thanks to my personal fairy Kris , Daphne was able to provide a special surprise in a beautiful handmade bracelet for Grace to always remember the magic of fairies.
Her joy made all of the stress, angst, searching, begging and sneaking worth it. Big thanks to the Mimi for sacrificing the pegasus so Santa wouldn't come off short.

3. What is your biggest personal wish for the New Year?

To be done with this book. Done with it. Whether or not it gets published, I just want it out of my head and the story told so it will leave me the hell alone.

4. What did you do New Year's Eve?

Went to "First Night" in downtown Salt Lake City. A rousing gathering of sober people, with tents set up to contain various artsy type people and foodstuffs. Grace ice skated for the first time, which was absolutely a hoot, and was promptly hypothermic when we finally peeled her off the ice. Little budger was so cold we had to go home early.
I must say, waking up New Year's Day without wanting to vomit was a nice change. I didn't know that could even happen.

5. You are on Death Row and being executed at midnight. What do you order for your last meal on earth? (We're going to assume you actually have an appetite.)

Maine lobster.
But more to the point: Why am I on Death Row? Certainly any murder I would commit would be justifiable, right?

6. The Power in Charge of Life and Death is granting you eight hours to spend with a loved one who has passed on. Who, among your loved ones, do you choose and what will you do? (This will take place on Earth, not in some far-flung nebula.)

This is tough. I know I should say my grandfather, because his life was so hard and interesting and he deserved to have a little joy, or my grandmother because I would like to talk to her about me not having to channel all her genetic psychotic energy anymore, please, but...I don't know. I loved them while they were here. And had lots of time with them. They both had good long lives with people who loved them.
So, inexplicably, I'm going to go with a baby that I only saw twice in his short life, and one of those times was when he was already in his teeny coffin. I would like Britain to come back, healthy and whole and happy, and have a few hours of a normal happy babyhood.

7. It has been deemed that you will live a life of abject poverty, but you get to choose where to spend that life - the Amazon Rainforest or Siberia. Which do you choose and why?

I am sick to death of the cold right now. SICK OF IT. So, botflies be damned, I'm going with the Amazon. That's where I was "supposed" to spend my life as a biologist, back in the days of idealistic young optimism. I would like to sit under the canopy and just goggle at the incredibly cacophony of life there, life that is slipping away, being lost and destroyed, and wonder at the miracle of it. And be warm.

8. If you could have one talent at which you excelled, what would it be? (and if you already have a talent at which you excel, unlike many of us, pick another one.)

I'm going to go with writing. Or playing the flute. I'm okay at both of those things, but would like to have one thing that I'm really really good at. I'm tired of being mediocre.

9. You are being forced to share a bed with someone, and you are given a choice between a snorer or a farter. Which do you choose and why?

I already sleep with the world champion of farters. I'm a fairly sound sleeper, I can sleep through snoring. The green clouds though, well, my nose doesn't sleep as soundly as my ears, and I'm tired of it.

10. You just won the gazillion dollar lottery. After all the excitement has died down, what is the first thing you do?

Who says the excitement will ever die down? Travel! Lots! See everything! Go everywhere! Go! Go! Go!
Then probably self-publish. Gotta get it out there somehow.
And then open a Best Friends-type animal sanctuary.

Okey dokey, enough self-gratification for today. I'm off to run errands, fold laundry, vacuum...it's nice to be back to the routine.

Cheers!

Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit

Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit *Updated with comment replies. Thank you!*
Current mood:bunnified
Category: Pets and Animals

Well, I had a right crappy weekend, how about you? After cleaning every pet-related item in my house, which includes but is not limited to: three bunny cages, a frog tank, an aquarium, dog beds and the cats' closet, I was ready to get all pertied up to go on a date with The Hubs. But the headache gods decided they were bored and so smote me with the migraine to end all.

Some of you know I've had just over a year of Lars pounding around in the back of my noggin and have learned to live with my whining about being in semi-constant pain. So, what's a migraine on top of that?

Barfing, hyper-sensitive to all stimuli, full-body muscle aches and a skull full of rusty nails. That's what.

It was a party. For two days. But now I'm better, thanks. I'm drug-free and ready to take on the day!
But first, I'm going to indulge in some bunny talk.

So in case you were counting bunny cages up there, you might have noticed an addition. We got yet another rabbit. No, not the kind that buzzes and keeps Momma happy; an actual Sylvilagus floridanus for the girl. Am I a sucker? Yes. Yes I am.
We had innocently and selflessly stopped at the local Humane Society shelter just to drop off some old dog beds so the pound puppies can be comfy and have something to pee on. Having some extra time before flute lesson, we decided to hold the bunnies. It's something we do; the poor little things are trapped inside plexiglass cages barely big enough for them to stretch their big feet out in, so we feel it our duty to make the slack-jaw attitudinal chick behind the counter come get one out for us to cuddle and pet and talk baby-talk to. Usually I am very firm about not taking one home. We're just holding them. Okay, maybe not so firm; we ended up taking one home the last time we tried this. That's how we got Thumper.
But, no, today we were NOT going to get a rabbit.
But then, here's this ginormous lop. Who not only sits complacently in our laps, but actually snuggles her big head under G's chin.
And the begging and bargaining began.
"But, G, you have two rabbits already!'
"But, Momma, I promise I'll take care of her!"
"But, G, you whine when I ask you to change the bunny boxes now."
"But, Momma, I promise I won't! I'll change their boxes, I promise!"
"But, G, where will we keep her? There's no more room by the other bunny cages."
"But, Momma, she can live in my room. Momma, she needs me. They're going to kill her!"
And she has me there. I'm a sucker for the shelter animals. No-kill shelters, I'm okay, I can walk away. But not from an animal who might be living on borrowed time. And she'd been there for two months. So, we talked to the dad, agreed that it would be her birthday present (to which she says, "That's fine, my friends will get me toys. So will Mimi and Poppa. And Nana too, probably. So it's okay if you don't. I'll have enough. I just want the bunny from you."), and after a day of me running around to various pet stores to procure another set of supplies; Viola! Another bunny in my little, over-run house.

But I must admit, caving in to this bunny acquisition was not just about saving an animal from an untimely death or to further teach my daughter that she can have anything she wants. No, it's a much more neurotically driven one, really.
We're still searching for THAT bunny. That bunny who is happiest when it is being held by a small child. That bunny who bounds joyfully up to the nearest human and begs to be picked up and snuggled. That bunny who will complacently sit in my daughter's arms while she hauls it all over the house, and take a happy ride in a doll's carriage and never kicks when it's picked up and never struggles when it's put down.
See, we had THAT bunny once. And now we are forever frantically searching to replace her: the first bunny we had, the one who made my daughter the happiest little chick in the world. That bunny who was tragically and horrifically taken from us one awful night that none of us will forget, the night that not only ripped a little fluffy soul from our furry family, but earned banishment for my mother-in-law's dog. That and a punch to his head from me.
We got Asia to replace that bunny. Asia is beautiful and clever, but hates to be held.
Where the hell is my cage?
We got Thumper to try to at least have one we could hold. He's a sweetie and fairly tolerant, but still not joyful about the holding and the cuddling.
Thumper taking a turn about the garden
They're pretty tight.
bunny wuv
So, now here's Clover.
Clover
G and the new bunny, Clover
She's so far freaking out about this big new world of dogs, cats, children and other rabbits who want to beat the crap out of her. She's not quite sure about this whole litter-box thing. She doesn't want to be held right now, which is again breaking the child's heart. The child doesn't want to be patient, doesn't want to give Clover some time to settle in. The child wants THAT bunny back.
THAT bunny, Luna. We miss her.


I do too.

But I'm settling for these three sometimes letting me rub their little heads. For now.
We could do four rabbits, right?

I'll put up some videos of bunny cuteness right after I figure out how to do that. Technotard Go!

True or False or Just Crap?

Me too! Me too! Oo! Pick me!
Current mood: devious
Category: Games



I hate being left out of anything. So I’m going to follow (or try; they’re pretty clever) Cog’s, Jo’s and Uhhh…’s leads and see how much you all know about me, or can figure out by using what you know about what a dork I am.

So, five of these statements are true, five are false. Do you know which is which? And just for fun, I’m upping the ante; the winner gets a trophy! Yay!

Ok, without further ado-whacka-do:

1. In my senior year of high school, I won a scholarship to study abroad in the summer. Since I had already graduated, I was sent as a “cultural exchange” student. Essentially, all I learned about Greek culture was that there was no drinking age and that Greek men are yummy little momma’s boys, and that it’s indeed possible to put on 20 pounds in six weeks eating cheese. In exchange, I taught the Greeks that American girls can drink and will make out with just about anyone.
2. Most of you know that I’m a writer, working on her “first” novel. What you might not know is that I’m secretly already a published author. Five years ago I wrote an extremely naughty and graphic adult/erotica novel that was published under a pseudonym and for which I receive a quarterly royalties check. Apparently I have some talent there.
3. A guy once pulled a knife on me in a dark corner of a club, I suppose to either rob me or rape me or both. I started to laugh hysterically and point at him, and he got embarrassed, dropped the knife and ran away.
4. While vacationing in London, I stalked Andy Bell (the lead singer of my all-time favorite band, Erasure) and ended up hanging out with him and a group of British music bigwigs in a gay bar until three in the morning. With the Underground and BlackCabs done running for the night, I had to take an illegal cab back to my hotel, which is exceedingly stupid for an American tourist to ever do. It was also Valentine’s Day, and my husband had stayed at the hotel and gone to bed alone while I partied it up in a club full of gay men.
5. I originally wanted to be a biologist, and interned as a zookeeper’s assistant in college, helping to take care of the chimpanzees and orangutans. While I was working one day, I accidentally left the lock to the chimps’ cage open while I ran to grab the rake I’d left down the hall. Since there were double barred doors and the latches were engaged, I didn’t think the lock would make a difference for five seconds. When I turned back to the cage door, the chimps had figured out how to open the double doors and had escaped. One of the other keepers was there, and he quickly tried to get them to go back into their cage. Instead, they attacked him and bit off his nose and half of an ear. All three of them (the chimps, not the wounded keeper) were shot dead by another keeper right there in the hall, while I stood brandishing my rake and nearly peeing my pants.
6. I was once engaged to two different men at the same time and neither of them knew about the other.
7. My husband was the sole heir to a German fortune, via his great aunt. Her estate was worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and she sent us money every year. He was lax about keeping in touch with her regularly and when she died last year, her will was sent to us. We got really excited until we read the last part, where she had changed the will, disinherited us, and instead passed her fortune on to her husband’s great-nephew, who had been taking care of her for the last few years of her life. Instead of being set for life, we got a gold pocketwatch and a lecture from said nephew.
8. I have been engaged four times, but only married once.
9. When I worked as a personal trainer I once entered a body building contest, even though I had never trained for it and had zero idea how do the whole cheesy posing thing. I won second place.
10. In my adult life, I have had fourteen dogs, twenty cats and eight rabbits. All of them were rescues.

Okey-dokey, folks! Wanna guess?

What would a normal person do? Help please!

I am a social retard.

There. Now all of you who know me can feel better knowing that I do, indeed, know what you've already figured out; and any of you who are new around here, well, it'll all just make more sense now.

As much as I'd like to go into defensive specifics outlining the exact nature of my social ineptitudeNess, I've got something of an emergency or three going on and could really use some advice from those of you in my brilliant audience who are not social troglodytes.

So here's my question:
At what point is it okay to tell someone exactly what you think of them and/or where in their life they are complete fucktards? Not in a mean way; just in the hopes that it might enlighten them and nudge them toward realizing that they might be able to make different choices and improve their own lives and those of the people around them.
Is that ever okay? I mean, I wish someone would sit me down and outline exactly what the hell is wrong with me. From their point of view. Like I said before, I know I'm a social retard, but am not always clear on why, exactly, or what to do to fix it.

Here's the situation. Any and all opinions and feedback are greatly appreciated, if you make it through this. Ahem.

I have this friend. We'll just call him "D". We were best friends in high school, in that "When Harry Met Sally" way, without the romantic ending. Just buddies. Really. He was the archetypal 80's wannabe-yuppie; he bragged that he was going to be a millionaire business/financial genius by the age of 30. He was an only child and his financially-struggling parents nonetheless showered him with the best of everything. He drove 2 Porches and wore designer clothes and was the first person in Pocatello with a cd player. Despite his deeply ingrained sense of entitlement, he was a good friend.
Flash forward 15 years. We lost touch after h.s. and reconnected via Classmates.com and facebook. We've exchanged a few emails detailing our grownup lives. He's accomplished some amazing things. Seriously. He's one of those people who wants something and BAM! does it. He attended West Point, went career military, did 3 tours of Iraq and Afghanistan, has received commendations from Senators and Brigadier Generals, has double Master's degrees and a Ph.D., and is now serving as a second-in-command over the NATO troops in Afghanistan. All of them. He's big time over there.
I know all of this because he sends out "fan letters." To the people he regards as his "fans". He forwards the internal emails between the military bigwigs praising the wonders of MGR D. I shit you not. He has very floridly regaled me with all of his wondrous accomplishments, including how he scored a hot wife and has two perfect kids.
Sounds like someone I'd be proud to call a friend, right?
Here's my problem:
He's a self-centered, arrogant little toe-rag.
In all of our exchanges, he's never, ever, not once remarked upon anything I've told him about my life. Ever. Not even when I told him that my husband trained plebes at West Point when D was a plebe at West Point and maybe they'd had some interaction; wouldn't that be some Six-Degrees-of-Separation? Nor when I told him I'm writing a novel or was a teacher or any of the little lame things I've accomplished. Lame compared to his, anyway. But he could have said something, right?
Our latest exchange was about his failing marriage and about how it's all his wife's fault. Because she's not a "Team player". As in "Team D". I sympathized, I empathized with helpful anecdotes from my own roller coaster of a marriage. To which he did not respond. At all. No "Wow, sounds like you know what I'm going through" or "My Gosh, Nessa, I had no idea of your personal struggles." Nup. Just talked over me on the IM about the shortcomings of his wife. He expressed his disgust at her daring to say that no one else would "put up with his shit". "What shit?" he asks.
Um, maybe the shit where you don't listen to anything anyone says and everything is about you? Maybe the shit where you don't give a shit what other people might need? Maybe the shit where nothing is as important as what you are needing/doing/winning right now? Maybe the shit where all you do is brag and expect everyone to sycophantically swoon at your every word?

Ok, I didn't say those things. But I want to. My question for you is: should I? Should I risk losing his friendship (or whatever this is; aren't friendships actually supposed to be two-way?) by telling him he's an arrogant toe-rag who should thank his lucky stars that this woman has put up with his shit for the last 12 years? Is this something that is normal social interaction: calling bullshit for what it is and hoping the person has an A-ha! moment because of it?
Or do I just keep smiling and deleting the fan letters and trying to have normal conversations with him?

Thank you for your time. You are contributing to an important public service with your response.

Social retard out.