Life as We Make It

New adventures

Hello. I haven’t written in a while for several contributing factors. One, The Needler had my computer for a while, and I am sadly too stupid to understand how to get to my own website unless it is bookmarked on my browser. Also, I have been madly applying for jobs in order to prove to the Unemployment Security Commission that I am indeed looking for work and not just sitting around playing solitaire and watching Louis CK videos. Plus… I have been involved in the delightful adventure of getting to know Someone. Fortunately, I already knew this Someone, for quite some time, so we didn’t have to bother with the awkward dating phase. He has been a quiet question mark in my heart for many years, but is quickly finding his way to being an exclamation mark.

He recently visited, and as I like to give people secret code names, I am happy to report that he actually self-monikered during a card game we played with Pokester. So, introducing Belle and O.T.T. O.T.T. is a Quiet Man, until he is not, and then he is animated and delightful. But being around a Quiet Man makes our household aware of how Not Quiet we are. We are a cartwheeling cacophony of Loud Music, Sarcastic Banter and Inappropriate Humor. Playing games is kind of a crucible around here. We examine people’s style and are frankly ruthless in our approach. Once O.T.T. understood the actual rules of the game we were playing, I had to explain to him that we also Gloat and Smack Talk. I am happy to report that O.T.T. was able to not only completely school us in the game, but represented quite well in Smack Talk. I think he is going to have to work on the Gloating a bit, but that is ok. We will give him many examples to follow.

O.T.T. also introduced me to a game of his own invention in which the players have three cards and whoever wins the most cards has to answer the winner’s question. I was fascinated by this game and wanted to play it A Lot. Posing the questions is a great deal harder than answering them for me, because at this point in life, there are just some things I probably don’t want to know. But a question I asked produced an unexpected answer. I asked “What has surprised you the most about me?” His answer was The Big Red House. See, when I heard that, I kind of glowed a little because of all of my hard work in shining her up for him. I even brought in reinforcements. My ears pricked up, my tail rose like a dog happy to feel the sun on her ass, thinking all about how we was going to say how lovely and shiny it was, when he said “I thought you would be so much more Martha Stewart. But then I look around and see stuff like that…”, pointing to a pile on the floor sort of behind the kitchen buffet. Funnily enough, that pile actually contains most of my important documents, which I had out at one point in doing Important Documenty type things, but they had collapsed and slid to the floor where they remain collecting dog hair and grease stains. Sigh. But still, I was like, “Um, you read my blog. Why would you ever think I was Martha Stewarty?” But here is the thing, and one of the things I like Eversomuch about O.T.T. He sees my Inner Martha. Somehow he knows that I actually want to alphabetize my cans and have all the undies I never wear in neat little nests in my perfectly pristine dresser drawers. When he spoke of his own dream of renting an industrial waste container and throwing out the majority of the contents of his home and starting fresh, my heart skipped 6 beats, as this is a dream I have quietly possessed in my own soul. Order. We could make Beautiful Order together.

So thank you, O.T.T. for seeing past the piles and the dog hair. Thank you for quickly Whipping My Ass in a game I am so good at, thank you for asking me Interesting Questions, thank you for trying to tolerate my Hairy, Drooling Big Gay J, thank you for the Rodenbach, a beer that made you want to absolutely gag on that I so dearly love, even going to the store at 9 am in your town to buy those last dusty bottles, knowing that I cannot get it here, so that you looked like the sour beer slurping alcoholic, sparing me such indignity. As soon as we can teach you to Gloat, we will really be hitting High Gear.

Hey — and meanwhile, please check out the link below. Our State has recently created a crazy, bigoted, damaging new amendment to our constitution. I, know – awesome, right? Below is a link for a petition to repeal it. You do not have to be from this state in order to sign the petition. And you will feel so good about yourself when you sign it. Really. Martini Good.

http://www.change.org/petitions/1-million-against-amendment-1

A Young Boy’s Dilemma

There are certain questions that can trouble a young boy’s mind; questions he needs answered by an older, wiser, experienced man who can ease his mind and help him to make good decisions. That is why I was so glad The Needler was here the other day, doing what he called “responsible collegy things” which clearly could not be accomplished at The Bachelor Pad, where upon my last visit I was met by The Needler at the door waving his hands and physically pressing me backwards so that I could not cross the threshold.

Pokester had carefully laid out the following items:

What you see here is a Pokemon catalogue, and comb masquerading as a switch blade, and a “silver” chain from a grocery store gumball machine.

Looking to his older brother, he posed this Important Question: “In case of a Zombie Apocalypse, which one of these items would you choose to defend yourself with?” Now this is one of those Pokester questions that makes me want to put needles into my veins and gently slip away into a nice heroin haze. I never get the answer right. Never. And he will not let me off the hook but will hound me to provide an answer so that he can scoff at me. But not The Needler. He thoughtfully considered each item, picking them up, gently turning them in his hand, feeling them, popping open the switch blade comb, and then he asked “Can I light the Pokemon catalogue on fire?” Pokes thought about this. “I think you would have to stamp it out pretty quickly” he replied. “No, I would want to tear out each page and light them separately.” The Pokester accepted this condition, and The Needler chose the Pokemon catalogue, because evidently there is a sound theory that Zombies are afraid of fire. There was radiant approval from The Pokester. I did not have to begin my career as a Junkie. The Needler shone in a Great White Light of Wisdom and Bravery. I celebrated by having a(nother) glass of wine. Everybody wins!

Thanks, Needler. And I want to thank you also for stepping in to support me that time I had to “explain” that Pokes could not have one of his spelling word sentences be “I will spread Blood All Over The World.” That was Helpful.

Now, I must return to cleaning, as I have Honored Guests arriving this evening, and Texter was not able to remember to make the dining room table actually visible. And I have to make sure that I have light bulbs in the lamps this time so that my friends are not sitting around in the dark like last time. See – I am making progress! Sadly, none of the outside lights are working, so I may need to hire Pokes to stand out in the back and wave the old gas lantern to welcome our guests. And that way we could also be sure no Zombies slipped in.

It Takes What it Takes

So, I didn’t parse out the details of my breakup with The Man, because, well, I don’t know. It was all so freaking trashy and unbelievable. And still, I am going to spare you all the details, even though it would be tempting to illuminate just how dirty someone can do you. When it all hit the fan, I picked up my toys and left, including several pounds of lamb shanks that I had been planning to cook for his birthday dinner. I went on an epic journey around to my friends’ homes, fuming and saying every bad word available in the English lexicon, murder and revenge in my heart. I was Mad. So I spent 48 hours cursing, drinking and cooking in various households what became known as The Travelling Lamb of Despair.

For about a week I was like Lord Byron: Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to know. I had Bad Thoughts. I was a caged tiger who smelled blood. I Brooded. If that is a word, that is what I did. I plotted Revenge – so much so that my friends felt compelled to “check in” on me, and remind me that maybe I shouldn’t be thinking of things that would cause them to have to visit me in prison. Oddly, though, the storm passed over fast – it was like a tornado, ripping up the landscape to where it becomes unrecognizable, where you are left standing there with everything in your field of vision uprooted, wind whipped, rain soaked. And then the sun comes out. Surveying the scene, I suddenly realized: I didn’t want to live there anymore, anyway. I was Done.

And then…

Well, then came The Great Opportunity. I am kind of sorry that it took a Tornado Shit Storm to finally clear my eyes enough to see that someone was out there, someone who has been on the edges of my landscape for most of my adult life. But it takes what it takes, right? I didn’t have a Thunderbolts and Lightening moment. It was more like a George Harrison “Here Comes the Sun” arrival moment. Like, Oh! And, Duh! And, Ah! Well, there He is. There He Is. Hi there, You. So, I find myself cupping my hands around this sweet igniting flame, tending it slowly and watching it glow, realizing that it has been flickering there for such a long time. And I think I am perhaps now Grown Up enough to take Good Care of it. And Him. And Me.

Erratum

Dear, dear me. I have overlooked something Terribly Important. I forgot to mention VIPs on my world tour with Sergey. Herbert and Mr. Carl would of course be there. Herbert “lovingly” pointed out this dreadful omission while also “helpfully” pointing out a typo. Get On The Bus!

Rebellious Love

I have decided that Sergey Ryabtsev can be my new boyfriend. In Russian, his name is Сергей Рябцев, so obviously I would be calling him Sergey, or in tender moments maybe Serge. Look at this man:

Sexy, talented, energetic, um, rich… Basically, he has it all. And the great thing is, last time we were hanging out he made it pretty clear he thought I was smoking hot. That’s right – I said last time we were hanging out. Because, I did hang out with him. He instantly identified me as a fellow violinist, which strictly speaking is true. I simply saw no reason to enlighten him to the fact that I am an awful violinist. Awful.
I have already proven that I can handle long distance relationships, so when he is travelling the world putting on wild gypsy punk shows, I can keep the home fires burning until he returns to serenade me with his violin and whisper sweet nothings in my ear in Russian, so that even if he were telling me he was a rotten, cheating bastard I would never know and it would sound so sexy. He wouldn’t be around enough to get on my nerves, and maybe sometimes I would go out on tour with him, me and The Pokester and Big Gay J – we could tell everyone he was a Russian Wolfhound, so vodka, not whiskey, please…

So, Sergey, I apologize for being so aloof last time we were hanging. I know that is probably what intrigued you, as I was not one of the clinging chickies circling you. I know you wanted my number, and I wouldn’t give it to you. But I am ready now. Because I have realized I am a Wonderlust King.

Healthcare and Warfare

Please indulge me today. I know I am usually not political, and I am not even sure that this counts as “political” because I am not taking sides or promoting anyone’s agenda – except my own . But as I look around this great country, I see that in certain areas, things are not really going in a direction I like. These areas are Healthcare and Warfare. In my humble opinion, these two issues are pretty black and white, meaning Healthcare = Good and Warfare = Bad. I am watching this whole debate unfold around the Affordable Care Act, and I am thinking, “You know what? I don’t want Another Single Penny of my tax contribution to go to Warfare. I want my money to go to Healthcare.”

I was partially inspired by this video that is making the rounds on The Facebook:

This video shows that “people” feel differently about war than “government” feels, because, a “government” cannot “feel”. That is our job. So I am standing up to say that I do not want our country to fund any more wars. Of course we should be able to defend ourselves. But “Defense” is different from “Aggression”. Here in my beloved home state, Amendment 1 is going to the polls, so that people can say that other people cannot get married. And everybody is Freaking Out about it, making signs and getting the vote out. Because for some reason, some people think that only certain people should be able to get married. But at least we get to vote on that. So I am proposing that we have a new constitutional amendment that states that the United States of America cannot enter into any war without a vote from the citizens – not their representatives, but the citizens themselves. And I think that unless there is at least a 60% turnout of registered voters, we cannot enter a war. Period. We cannot send troops anywhere without the consent of the people. Because we are a “By the People for the People” country, remember? Plus, if we had to vote on it, then we could not bitch about our representatives, because we would be personally accountable for the decision!

Do I think the government should underwrite healthcare? Yes I Do. To replace the excellent insurance I had when I was working would cost me $1000 per month for four people with no health issues who go to the doctor about once every two years. Now all I can afford is “catastrophic” coverage for my kids – that is a $10,000 deductible, and I pay for everything. And I have been turned down because I once took antidepressants, one of the most prescribed drugs in the country. Nothing about that seems ok to me. A 2011 report from The Center for Media and Democracy’s PRWatch notes this
“Our analysis of the financial position of 33 Blue Cross plans suggests that their capital position has reached a level that’s difficult for the nonprofits to justify, and if sustained, will lead to significant tension between the nonprofit Blues, regulators and consumer activists,” McDonald wrote. “According to our data, the nonprofit Blues held a total of $52 billion in capital at the end of 2010, or more than $29 billion above minimum regulatory requirements.”

Um, did that say $52 billion in capital, Scooby? And these guys are supposed to be the nonprofit guys, not even the insurance companies that boldly and shamelessly announce that they are in the business to Make Bank.

Belle says: Healthcare: Yes. Warfare: No

NOOOOOO!

Please go away Barfing Fairy. And you to Explosive Diarrhea Fairy. And Fever Fairy? Really? 103? Leave my son alone! Pokester has enough going on without you Bitches jacking him up. He is supposed to go on a field trip next week. For 4 WHOLE DAYS! 4 WHOLE DAYS. We need this, you wretched, wicked entities. I BANISH THEE(S).

Damn it…

Simple Pleasures

I am such a Freak.  A couple of weeks ago I planted 72 leek seeds and today I noticed that they had sprouted and were about 3 inches tall.  My heart started racing like I had won the freaking lottery.  I immediately called The Man and shouted “THE LEEKS HAVE SPROUTED!” And he said “Oh, Baby.  I love it when you talk like that.” I wanted to call everybody in the Whole Wide World with the big news that MY LEEKS HAVE SPROUTED.  But really, people, it is by far the biggest accomplishment I have going for me in 2012, although my Personal Best time in solitaire is 1:23 – that is minutes and seconds, baby.

So even though I should be cleaning and doing laundry and packing for a long weekend at the Farm to celebrate The Man’s birthday, I am going to go out to the planty shop and get more trays to plant a lot of other stuff.  If I can get the car started.  I am driving Texter’s car today, and it only starts if you perform a rather arduous maneuver involving both hands and gear shifting. So let’s hope I can get both there and back again.

Meanwhile, please enjoy the view.