So does that mean this is common now....

A quote from the House of Commons:

Mr. Jamie Reed (Copeland) (Lab): I crave the indulgence of the House in interrupting such an important and enjoyable debate to deliver my maiden speech. Furthermore, as the first Jedi Member of this place, I look forward to the protection under the law that will be provided to me by the Bill. I pay tribute to the hon. Member for Dewsbury (Mr. Malik) for his convincing and searing testimony in support of the proposed legislation. It will be a privilege to serve alongside him.


Found at The United Kingdom Parliament House of Commons Hansard Debates for 21 June, 2005 Part 23

*gasps for air*

I for one welcome the faith of Jedi into politics - I can't wait till the hover craft podium things are built because that was cool.

No, in all serious, you go boy...more power to ya. Yey Jedi!

Now is the nap-time of our discontent...

I'm very very tired.

I am so exhausted right now that it took me 20 minutes to remember I needed a fork for my fruit salad, another 20 to actually get up and get one and now that I have it I'm too tired to open the box and eat it.

I have a tuna sandwich too...I've had half of a half and just can't drink anymore. I mean eat. Eat anymore. See how tired I am?

Tired Katy does awfully bad things. Like snapping at her husband before he goes to work in the morning. He took my car today to get it checked out at the dealership. Last night I told him multiple times that it needed gas. This morning I reminded him again and he snapped at me:

Him: It does?! Damnit I'm late already!

Me: I told you like five times last night.

Him: I think I heard you tell me once.

Me: I told you tons of times. It's not my fault you can't get anything through your thick skull! (What I was thinking though was "Once ought to have been enough. Not my fault you're thicker than the hamburger grease I asked yo to clean up last night too and it's still sitting on the stove, lazy, bullheaded prick!...grumble grumble grumble.")

I took a shower, locked the door in his face and said "Bye!" instead of "Love you have a good day etc etc."

We talked on the phone a little while ago so it's all smoothed out and there are no grouchy feelings from him. But I feel bad. We don't have really big fights, mostly because I will back down and just let him think he's won. If I don't he gets really mean and I just can't deal with it. I can usually stop them before they start and find a new way to discuss the issue later. We have little snapping matches that die down quickly because we both know now that the snapping is really at the rest of the world...we just happen to be handy targets.

Still I feel awful when I've behaved that way. I still think it's stupid I have to repeat things six or seven times before it registers with him, but he's thick headed and dumb and freaking inconsiderate so I guess it shouldn't surprise me.

Okay, maybe I'm not that tired. Enough energy to fuss at least. And here's the reason why tired is bad. I'm already so tired I'm being snippy and now I will wear myself out feeling guilty that I was snippy. I'll still feel bad tomorrow and the next day. He has already forgotten it. He won't ever remember. It's not just that he ignores me when I'm being nice and helpful, but he ignores me when I'm being a brat too. I'm screaming in the middle of a room and he's oblivious. I'm gonna use up all my energy trying to get his attention and I'll be so tired I'll start trying in all the bad ways.

I don't have the energy for it anymore...and that's why I can't eat my lunch.

I'm too tired.

A little bit of the Divine...

Overheard as I was walking to my car in the parking lot of Safeway:

Woman Opening Car: God hears big prayers and God hears little ones!

Woman In Car: What?

Woman Opening Car: There was only ONE bottle of A&W left...only ONE. And God left it there for you!

Woman In Car: Thank you both.

I think that's kinda sweet. It's a nice thought to imagine that those really little things that make the day nicer might be because someone divine loves you.

It sure makes it feel nice to be living huh?

Penis Envy Part II

Warning: More talk about sex and many, many, many grammatical errors and unfinished thoughts.

There is another reason I think a penis would be handy besides the whole peeing standing up (which is still high on the list of good things about it). I think quite honestly the sex has to be more fun.

Not that sex isn't fun already. I have some misgivings about giving up my clitoris in exchange for a penis. The clitoris has three times as many nerve endings than the head of the penis does...and as that line from "The Vagina Monologues" goes - Why use a hand gun when you have a semi-automatic? (not direct quote)

However, despite how much I love that part of me (and yes, I really do, it's definitely a good part) I can't really say there is anything sexier and more arousing than a good, hard, cock. Oh I still think girls are prettier and definitely more erotic, and definitely much nicer naked. But there is a certain something about a man when he's erect...and there is a certain something about the erection itself.

Yesterday I got home absolutely primed. I think I was so utterly aroused and needy that my vibes were rubbing off onto others who reflected it back. Every conversation I had yesterday was charged with sex. It sparked. People flirted with me, I'm sure I couldn't help but flirt back. I got tons of looks from normally-oblivious people, I got honked at while -in- my car. My skin was literally tingling with electricity, my muscles kept stretching and tightening all on their own. The air was so thick with sex that I kept licking my lips to taste it. I could have set leather on fire I was so hot. And of course I was flushed red, my nipples damn near tore holes through my shirt and I was simply soaked. All I could think of was going home and throwing myself at my husband.

He had other ideas. No matter how close I got, how much I rubbing my breasts into his back, trailed my wet lips along his shoulder - he wasn't buying it. He made me work - and work hard. Damn near naked, pressing my erect nipples into him, whispering horrible dirty things into his ear, all but humping him to lure his ass into the bedroom - he didn't get it. Of course it could have been that he was tired, not in the mood, preoccupied. That's fine, that happens...but even then I thought I could woo him away from all the day-to-day worries and bring him along to the wonderfully sex-crazed place I was in. I was able to turn men on all day just by looking at them...I couldn't turn my husband on and I was using more than my eyes.

And again, I know sometimes two people just can't be in the same place at the same time. But here's the thing...if I had a penis...I think I could definitely had persuaded him to come with me. My proof, after four hours of working my ass off I gave up, sat down with a fruit-rollup (which I've decided are God's gift to men) and watched some documentary on the making of Star Wars. I had exhausted all that pent up, primed, sexual energy and simply had nothing left. I hadn't orgasmed and I felt no need to anymore - I was just tired. After the show I changed into the boring pajamas (you know the kind every girl has and wears when they intend to not brush their hair and only put oatmeal on their face, eat chocolate, complain about men - I went sans oatmeal obviously), curled up under the covers, rolled over and started to drift off to sleep. Then he did it. He put away the books, turned off the lights and spooned up behind me. We fit perfectly, comfortably. One strong arm wrapped around my neck, one sliding up my stomach to my breasts. His broad chest pressed against my shoulder blades, his chest hair scratching at my skin. Our knees interlocked seamlessly and most importantly my ass nestled perfectly into the hollow of his lap where his hard, rounded cock poked straight into me.

I was his, I was awake, I was wet, and I was his. I kept my eyes closed and thrilled at that feeling, enamored by the urgent way it pressed into me. I mean it was just pressing right...but it seemed urgent. It seems like it has a mind of it's own and it's mind is thinking really dirty thoughts. All I had to do was wiggle a little and it twitched. Sway side to side, it grew. My husband didn't have to say anything, his cock invaded my brain...all I could think of was how hard it was, how nice it felt, how much I wanted to touch it - taste it - fuck it. I swear to god it brainwashed me. It was sending out waves that pushed straight into my mind and clouded everything in there except how aroused I was becoming. It wasn't my husband...he was still...it was the cock. It talked to me.

I know it sounds insane, but I can't imagine any part of a woman that can make such an instant impression. How could two small nipples no longer than a few centimeters compare to the insistence and grandeur of a long, hard as granite dick? You know when a man is aroused...it's easy to tell. There are signs for a woman, but honestly you could mistake a sunburn for female arousal. Sure our bodies pulse...but it's little pulses, not the dramatic, intriguing, hand teasing, leg clenching, pussy-pulsating flicks and pumps of a cock.

Even orgasms are more dramatic and amazing. He explodes, he gets tight and long and hotter and he -explodes-. It's like Hiroshima, it's like Mount Vesuvius. It overwhelms you and then floods you. You're covered in sex, in hot, sticky, change the shape of a city sex. It sticks with you, makes you think of it long after. It's amazing. A female orgasm - an earthquake - fun ride, sorta short, generally breaks a few things, easy to pick up the pieces.

God - no wonder men are so fixated on their dicks. They're just a lot of fun.

And they seem to built for so much more than a pussy is. Even when I'm riled, hot and angry, needy and wild, my fucking isn't that impressive. I don't know if a woman really can fuck a man. Sure I can push and pull, wrap the guy up in me, pump him dry - but it doesn't have the overpowering essence that a good hard fucking from a man has. It's like he's wielding a weapon. It spears straight into me, tears me open. It's that delicious, tangy, violence. Even when it's soft, it's violent. It's a struggle and a fight. A cock invades, conquers, forces thoughts out of my head. It's insistent and overwhelming. I can't form words, I can't register pain or not. My pussy feels it cleave it's way in and the rest of my body answers, no matter what. It drives that idea of sex and orgasm and skin and god and space and time right home. It makes itself bigger than it is just by pushing itself in. And it can push it's way into anything. A cock is perfectly shaped to fit into a woman, or a hand, or a mouth. A woman doesn't fit into anything...sure a tongue can touch a pussy...but you can't slid it in, overwhelm someone, get into their body, get into their soul. A cock can...it just pushes and pushes till it invades everything and leaves it's essence behind. It can slide into a mouth easily, stealing away breath, becoming a kind of sustenance, it can replace essentials for a minute - and it always leaves you begging for more.

A woman can't do that. All our tricks and moves are psychological to physical. We can take a man in hand, pull him, surround him, invade his mind till we can find his body. But a man...a man can invade a body and the mind can do nothing but follow along.

I want that. I want that violence sometimes. I want to be able to force and invade. I want to drive my point home, figuratively and literally. I want to fuck him. Not just pumping onto him, but into him. I want that power. To leave my essence with him so he knows how much I want him, love him, need him. I want him to know instantly, without mixed signals and interpretation, that I am ready for him. I want to feel what that's like...to carry that kind of control with me all day long.

I can imagine now why men are so concerned with their dicks. Imagine what they command, what they can do in a moment, and how few of them know how amazing it is to a girl like me. How infatuated I am with the idea of it, how my mouth waters at the thought. How much I want that. Yeah...I envy it.

Penis Envy Part I

I have had quite a few phases where I wished I was a man. Don't get me wrong I adore being female. I like being pretty and soft and nice. I like not having to prove how strong I am all the time or how tough I can be by slamming pins into my chest. I like my long hair, I like lipstick, I like pretty flowery skirts, I love heels. I love going backwards in heels - and I am very good at it.

Nevertheless, I often wish I was a man. Sometimes I wish it for silly things, like I'd rather be male so I could do the "staring at breasts" thing instead of someone doing it too me. Sometimes it's because I'd like to be able to walk through my neighborhood at night and not feel so vulnerable. Sometimes it's because I'd like to be able to talk like I'm intelligent and shoot the bull without being viewed as less of a girl.

But lately it's been for a whole different reason. I think a penis would be awfully handy. I came to this conclusion on our roadtrip to Montreal a few weeks ago. After the third rest stop, where it only took Craig a few minutes to go in and out - leaving him plenty of time to stretch his legs and relax outside of the car, I realized how much easier it would be if I could pee standing up. There is a rumor that women's restrooms are somehow cleaner than men's. I don't believe it. For some reason women have this need to attempt to pee without touching anything in the stall - the wall, the seat, the door, none of it. Of course I get a little squicked about germs and thousands of hands rubbing against the same handle too - but I carry disinfectant soap and I wash my hands, and take a shower everyday. I don't feel I need to worry that much. Other women do though. I can't tell you how many times I've heard a mother screaming at her kid in a public restroom because she had touched the toilet paper dispenser.

Because women are so freaked about touching anything they attempt to squat over the seat while still in the standing position. This is an impossible proposition. Women are not built for this and there is absolutely no way to aim. None. Sorry, it can't be done. So inevitably there is either pee on the seat, on the floor, or down the poor gals leg. It is no where near the actual commode.

I've been in Men's rooms. I'm of the mind that, unless the restroom is in a bar or other establishment serving massive amounts of alcohol, the liquid on the floor in there is probably water. Mostly water at least. In a womens room, you can bet most of it is urine. And because women attempt cleanliness (but lack the guts to actually clean gross stuff) they compound the floor problem by throwing toilet paper on the puddle to soak it up. So not only is the floor covered in pee, it's covered in dirty toilet paper too. (And people wonder why cleaning ladies are so belligerent.)

The other problem with the "squatting" method is the seat itself. Even when women are provided with those seat cover things...they'll still try and squat. Which as I said gets pee all over the seat. And the seat is something a women will -not- attempt, even halfheartedly, to clean. She'll leave it. Women also do this with the flush, I have no idea why someone wouldn't flush in the first place, but if they don't other women will simply leave it and move to the next stall before doing it for them. Both create a horrible cycle for the rest of us normal people who just want to get in and get out. If the girl had just sat down in the first place to pee, there would not be pee on the seat. But because she didn't, there is pee on the seat and therefore no one else will sit down to pee, getting more pee on the seat. Over and over and over.

So I went off on a little rant there, but it all comes down to this. If I had a penis, I could pee standing up. I wouldn't have to look for the non-mucked up seat, I wouldn't have to deal with cleaning it off before I sat down, I could aim, I could keep my distance. And it'd be faster, thus getting me out of the icky bathroom, away from the crazy people, and allow me more "stretching legs time." These benefits carry over from public restrooms to port-a-potties as well (where speed is essential, particularly when it's 95 degrees outside and you're at an event housing 150,000 people). In those peeing standing up is doubly great because you don't have to try and turn around in that small thing and you can finish before you have to take another held breath.

I haven't even touched on the fact that the penis also allows men to -not- remove their pants during the whole ideal, which has to shave off tons of time and hassle.

I'll leave this first portion of my fascination with the male anatomy by pointing out that I am not the first woman to think of this. In the book "Mr. Darcy takes a Wife" there is a paragraph where Elizabeth marvels at the way Darcy can relieve himself into the chamber pot while still perched on the bed...and never have to walk over the cold floor with his bare feet. Amazing! Indeed!

A good use of money

For awhile now I've been bickering with my husband (good naturedly) about what would be a good use of money. Since I keep the books and the house he usually needs to ask before any huge purchases (in order to escape what he calls me "look of supreme irritation). He pointed out the other day that whenever he asks if he can buy something I ask "Why?" I don't think that's so bad of a question. Why does he need two more sets of tires? Why does he need a cleaning robot when we have a broom? Etc. Etc.

Today he told me about this:

The Penguin Classics Library Complete Collection

And I want it. Why? So...er...I can read it. So I will have 11,000 books at my disposal all the time? So when I wake up at two o'clock in the morning I won't stare at my bookcases and go "I've read all these!!" (Which brings on my husbands own look of "supreme irritation"). I don't know why. I just want it.

Oh well, guess my green library card will have to take precedence over my blue visa.

Hi Fish, Bye Fish

We bought three new fish today to round out our family.

Persimmon the orange cichlid, Mango the other orange cichlid and George the sucker fish. They joined the three previous fish Lemon the yellow cichlid, Guava the other yellow cichlid and Pumpkin the huge orange cichlid.

Persimmon and Mango are a tad smaller than the other guys but the fish guy said they'd be okay and they were plucky little fish anyway.

I say 'were' because we've already had an incident. We have a filter in our tank that has a little grate on the hose so fish and big things won't get sucked up into it. My husband didn't like the grate because it would get clogged with yucky fish food remains and have to be cleaned regularly or slow the filtration down. Today we had an arguement (before the two new fish were released into the tank) whether the grate should be taken off or not. I was worried the new fish would be too small and get vacuumed up into the tube, he was certain they were too big for that.

Of course when I released the fish they started exploring and I watched for about ten minutes later before going to fix dinner. No sooner do I turn around but Mango get sucked up into the tube. I turned from the stove and saw him just hanging there swishing his tail for all he was worth and his head halfway up the tube. I panicked. I tried turning off the filter but couldn't get the plugs unplugged from the outlets because they were pushed in too tight. I tried shaking the tube to let him go. Finally I ran outside and knocked my husbands cigarette out of his hand.

"Timmy is stuck in a well!"

Actually it was "Help help the fish is stuck...help!!!"

He took his sweet time getting there and tried to use the butt end of a long knife to knock him lose. (Instead of using his braun to unplug the filter like I was asking him too.) He either knocked too hard or the filter is damn strong because Mango swam out of it bent in half. He kicked around for a little before sinking to the floor and laying down.

Lemon kept him company for a few hours, I'm sure uttering "Come on little fish, you can do it." to him in fishy-language. While I did the same in katy-language.

Ten minutes ago I noticed Mango is lying at the floor under the bubble tube...he's not breathing anymore. The fish is dead.

I said that too and my husband snapped "Well just wait till morning...christ!"

Of course he blames me. I was lectured that the next time that happens I should just unplug the filter right away. (Gee, never would have thought of that.) Also that it was stupid I didn't do something right away when I noticed he was stuck and why didn't I put the grate back on. (Only because he said in no uncertain terms that I better not because it slowed the filter down too much.)

Am I allowed to say "I told you so"? I have been very careful not to mention our conversation. I have not given him any back looks or given a "cold shoulder". I'm trying not to feel resentful. But my fish is dead! And I really liked him. He had sass.

Although I'm making a concious effort not to blame anyone...I know I'm mope-ing and I can't help it. It seems the death of our fish are precursors to more bad news.

Today my mother revealed the latests results from her ultrasound. They found a lump awhile back, the mammogram showed nothing but after the ultrasound they found a mass right in front of her chestplate behind all the brest tissue. She finds out what they want to do next week. This on top of the mystery bleeding, years and years after menopause.

If this is...that...then every woman in my family on my mother's side will have had breast cancer except for myself, my sister and my cousin. And last year after my mother's problems with other forms of lesser cancer (if there's such a thing) I thought we'd be done. I knew we wouldn't, but I thought we would.

I had Macaroni and Cheese tonight. We didn't have any grape juice, but it was as close to a comfort meal as I can get.

Yesterday was a good day though. I'll have to write about it later.

Things I've Learned from the Navy

1) Sailors like beer.
2) Sailors like to spend money.
3) The sailorette that has a crush on your husband will use his drunken state as a good excuse to convince him you (the wife) are fat, boring, and undesirable while making her seem like the saint who shops for clothes with him and spends afternoon tending to his alcohol induced headache.
4) The Navy needs to stop having drunken luncheons.
5) I am far prettier and far thinner than any of the stupid sailorettes out there.

I don't care if that sounds arrogant. I am not a size 14...I am far far far from a size 14 and way less that her stupid size 20!

Bitch.

/end female induced jealousy and estrogen-high, low self-esteem driven rage

*edit for one more thought:

It is a fact that when I am truly pissed at a woman I will go straight for the appearance. My mine goes from "that bitch" directly to "that fat bitch" or "that ugly bitch" or if I'm really angry "that fat, ugly bitch". This is the arrogant and narcissistic side of me that I do not particularly like. Not being an incredibly gorgeous woman I have been on the wrong side of "ugly bitch" before - and it didn't feel good. However, it felt better than someone maligning my character. At least I can shake off a bad appearance insult. Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder.

However, it still remains that when I get pissed I instantly get off at "fat-land" and start hiking. Not that being fat is a bad thing, and more often than not no reflection whatsoever on the persons worth as a human being. Nonetheless - it's easy. I do see it as a gross form of prejudice. I'm not proud of it. I let myself be conditioned into it and I make little effort to shy away from it when I am truly incensed.

Take this as a look into the female psyche. If I had an outlet other than a blog to show how upset I am at this woman right now it would involve hair pulling and cat-scratching.

Just goes to show - women ain't that pretty.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven...

I read a cool article today about how the color of ones eyes is supposed to match ones personality.

It goes like so:

Hazel - Hazel is a color combination of brown, green,
and golden-yellow which matches the flexible personality
of people with this color eye. These people go with the
flow and can adapt to any situation.

Blue - People with blue eyes can remain calm under the most
stressful circumstances. Emotionally, however, mood swings
can take place at any time.

Green - People with green eyes project independence and
mystery. Affectionate with people they are close, but keep
their distance with new acquaintances until they have proven
themselves trustworthy.

Brown/black - People with brown eyes are thought of as trustworthy
and responsible. People seem to seek advice more from people
with brown eyes. Loving and passionate to a fault.

Gray - People with gray eyes are strong in nature and leaders.
They are able to see both sides of an argument and settle
disputes. Directness is their strong suit.


Of course I wonder about people whose eyes change color as they grow. And what about colored contact lenses?

Although I do definitely see similarities with my personality and my eye color - Brown.

Definitely gives you an excuse to look people directly in the eyes now to try and glean something about their personality.

Books Books Books

Someday I am going to die by being crushed in a book avalanche and people won't find my body for years and then they'll only discover it because someone decided they wanted to read Anis Nin.

I'll die happy.

I had to go to Borders today. I try and avoid that place, me in Borders is like cokehead in a crack den...things will only get worse. I have an audition this weekend for "All My Sons" and since I don't have a copy of that one in my collection anymore I figured I pick up a paperback and re-read it to prepare.

I started at Waldens, where they do not actually have a section reserved for plays or scripts but rather three rows of shelves labeled "Fiction" filed alphabetically by first name. By first name except of course Arthur Miller who I found between the O's and P's. In fact I barely found him, they had one Arthur Miller book - Death of a Salesman - one copy. I asked around but if the cover didn't have Justin Timberlake on it I'm sure the register girls there wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about.

So off I went to the mega-book deathmart that is Borders.

I used to be in awe of Borders. I would walk from my little retail job everyday, forgo the needed food, and wile away my hours in the shelves of Borders, blissfully lost in the labyrinth of obscure books that no one really wants to read. I used to spend every spare penny there. I lived for two months on energy bars and red bull that was 50% off to us GNC employees just because I spent all my food money on books. Oh books how I love you.

There was another store that was like that too when I was growing up. "Friends of the Library" where they sold old books Libraries were trying to discard and then giving the money back to system. Books there were ten cents a piece. My Parents would spend hundreds of dollars there everytime we visited. I'm not kidding. $50 for me, $100 for dad, $50 for mom. Books books books.

So I went into Borders with a mission...I would get my script and leave. I would not be distracted, I would not go any further that the Drama section, I would not be lured by the pretty sig...ooooh Sylvia Plath's letters...

I was screwed. I came away with the big bag, but I did get my script.

And I feel justified. I make money too. My husband spends large sums of money on tires and knick-knacks for the cars. I can spend a few dollars on my little growing library.

Now I just need to buy a few more shelves...

Mmm, someday I'll die under an avalanche of books and no one will ever find me.

Ummm...Oops

Amusing article today (well earlier this week but I read it today):

ROVER SELLS TF 'BY MISTAKE'

Chinese carmaker owns it but doesn't want it

News emerged Friday that MG Rover has sold the rights to the MG TF sports car -- almost by accident -- to the Chinese car company SAIC. This can only reduce its value to potential buyers, who have until Wednesday to submit final bids and pay a 10 per cent deposit, as the TF was seen as one of MG Rover's most valuable assets.

I see London, I see France...

I'm often surprised at the things I find myself doing during the course of my job. One of the reasons why I like being an assistant is because I get to do a multitude of things in one day - true they're only the things other people don't want to do - but I'm okay with that.

Yesterday for instance I found myself walking throughout the entire building carrying a hefty and scary knife in search of a large cake that had gone missing.

Today I packed up a bunch of clothes, cd's, and a half a bag of "Bugles" for some guy out in Phoenix. I didn't actually pack the "Bugles" I don't know how old they are, but I left them in the breakroom that services "The Pit" and the "Pit Vultures" ate it. I get a little satisfaction out of that - "Pit Vultures" are horrible - I know - I used to work there.

It was an odd assortment of clothes today. Some nice shirts, pressed suits, etc. And a bag of gym clothes, as well as some random socks and underwear. I'm not that perturbed by this, living with two sailors who don't know how to do their own laundry I often find myself elbows deep in gross PT gear and unmentionables. It's not a big deal, except that it is. I am still shy about leaving my clothes out around my roommate. In fact I make sure that even if I don't take all the clothes to the dresser the second the dryer is done I still remove my bras and underwear...just so he won't see them. My husband used to play that pirate game with my thongs...and I have nightmares I'll come home and my roommate will be doing the same thing.

But guys don't seem to be that shy about it - case in point the box of clothes today. I'd never met this man before and he had no problem calling and telling me to pack up all his junk and send it on it's way. Why aren't guys worried about this stuff? Is it something girls are taught as we grow up? And why do we only teach girls. I mean sure I remember the whole "You can't climb trees in dresses" lecture...do boys ever get that lecture?

I don't think they do since I see boys walking around with their pants hanging around their knees and their underwear hanging out plain as day. What was it that made the "underwear covering" stick with me? Why are guys so open about their stuff? Why do they find the idea of thongs on their head so compelling?

I suppose it's another mystery of life.

Which Witch is Witchy-er...

The other day I was confronted by a teenage witch who lectured me on "the old religion" and the "burning times" as well as her encyclopedic knowledge of "Silver Ravenwolf" and how proscecuted she is for being a "wiccan". Of course if you've studied modern day paganism and wicca you know that the religion is actually fairly young and new and the only "burning times" I really know about is that big party out in the desert. Furthermore, having studied and practiced magick and paganism for a few years now - I've yet to really run into any persecution. I once had a friend who was worried my soul would burn if I didn't accept Christ and she wrote lots of poems for me about it - but she would have done that if I told her I was Catholic too (go figure) - and really she only did it because she cared...it wasn't persecution.

Anyway, in one of those freaky cosmic timing things I got read this article today:


-------- Modern druids partying 6 months too early ---------

SHEFFIELD, England - Some 20,000 robe-wearing hippies,
would-be Druids and science buffs who greeted summer's
arrival at Stonehenge early Tuesday were six months too
early. The scientific background to the claim is found in
Neolithic piglets' teeth that indicate the ancient Druids
gathered only to celebrate winter's vernal equinox, and not
the summer solstice, The Telegraph reported. Dr. Umburto
Albarella, an animal bone expert at the University of
Sheffield's archaeology department said pigs in that period
were born in spring and were slaughtered in December or
January, which supports the view the celestial revelry
happened only once a year, and not in the summer. The news
didn't dampen this year's turnout, however. The newspaper
said the overnight celebrants were all told to be away from
Stonehenge by 9 a.m. to allow a day-long massive clean-up
of modern garbage left by the crowds.


Quite honestly I'd rather be in England in the summer rather than winter too...better a warm Druid than a cold one. But I found it interesting that I've run into two examples of ill-informed "witches" in two days. Must be that time.

Oooooh Goddess!

By the way if you want to read a few simplified explanations about the true age of Wicca and some essays by very well-informed Pagans go to The Celtic Connection and specifically their Message Boards even more especially their Newbie Haven. Also look at the essays they have, and their book suggestions. Very good ideas.

The article came from Bizarre News.

I'm just happy.

I'm prone to being depressed. It's partly genetic (thanks mom, grandma, great grandma) and partly a side effect from the dreaded "pill" and part of it is probably my need to analyze everything and really get into the nitty-gritty of everyday life.

With the loss of the sun this winter and a rather bad year last year followed by another really bad spring I was in a pretty awful depression.

Today I realized...it's gone.

For the past year and a half I have been discontent, something always felt wrong I just wanted to curl up and cry or sleep - or preferably die. I kept running around looking for something to help it. Perhaps more exercise, more sex, more food, more sleep. Then I got mad at myself for going the "more" route and tried the less food, less sleep, less sex path. Of course neither worked. Depression isn't about what you do or don't have...it's about losing yourself in the mess that is an overly complicated brain. I resigned myself that I would forever be depressed and because of that went looking for things that would keep me that way (subconsciously of course.)

Today though I realized that I only felt bad because I was doing things that were stupid. Of course I know it's natural to crave stress and drama - put any group of people together and they will create conflict just because. However, last night - this morning, I realized that the only reason why I was depressed anymore was because I was making myself so. While I was truly depressed I was looking at all the wrong places to find some solace. And when I searched in the right place I felt guilty that I had to search and would berate myself for not just feeling happy with my horrible lot. Vicious cycle that.

Today I realized I don't need any of it. I'm happy. I'm really happy. I wake up in the morning excited to go to work. I like the things I do there. I like my apartment, I like the people there. I have something most people never have, a good husband who loves me and compliments me perfectly. I have a cat who makes me happy just by being cat-like. I have a nice very small family that I come home to everyday and I like being part of. It couldn't be better.

I know it's bad form to be so content with my life. I should want more, a better job, a nicer home, the perfect relationship, more money. I should want all these things, but I don't. Sure I'll work towards more goals, but I don't need anything else right now to be content. I have it all...and it's nice to know that life really can be this good.

It's also nice to know that the only thing that can make me sad right now is me. It's very...freeing.

Nerd Nerd

Hehe...I am in such a good mood today. I'm ready to go-go-go. I could dance...in fact once I get away from my computer I will dance. In the meantime I'll do funny quizes like this which is pretty good...I am a nerdy girl.

You scored as Nerdy Girl. Nerdy Girl 75% Slut 44% Goth 38% Popular Bitch 38% Athletic Tomboy 31% Loser 25% Hippy 13% Preppy Girl 6% What type of girl are you?!! created with QuizFarm.com

Ashamed

I got a comment:

Katy, may we assume that you failed to nail Schumacher? Englishman


I know I haven't written about my trip in it's entirety yet. It was not very noteworthy besides the amazing seats we had at the Grand Prix (and the after parties where - no - I didn't "nail Schumacher" obviously).

The seats were great though, you could see the guys waving as they passed and shaking fists in fury. We were so close we could have thrown a rock at the car...but unlike my other American counterparts I don't throw things at sporting events.

I've just finished watching the USGP and honestly I'm appalled and ashamed at the behavior of the fans there. We're all disappointed that the Michelin teams didn't race. But you don't throw things. Morons! You're lucky you didn't kill someone.

I'm ashamed at the classless, appalling, gross conduct of the fans at Indianapolis. I hope none of them were celebrating Father's Day there...I'd hate to know inconsiderate idiots like that actually reproduced.

Horrible.

Ew Ew Ew

My regular gym is closed for renovations. I'm upset.

In my little community there are three gyms. They are all owned by the community's company and other gyms (like chains) are kept from opening shop. It's astronomically expensive to join, but when you got no competition you can do stupid stuff like ask $900 every six months in order to allow one to use the treadmill.

I do not have that package...I use the weights and run outside.

In anycase, since there are three gyms to choose from you wouldn't think that one gym being closed would be that much of a deal. Just go to another. Well yeah...that's what I thought too.

Then I went. The first one is the 24 hour big huge sport center. It looks like a lot of fun...if you want to walk around getting hit in the head by little kids who need to have their endless supply of candy confiscated. Honestly when I have to go to the suburban house wife gym I often fantasize that they give the little no-neckers "Mommy's Little Helper" and the their moms the freaking candy so they'll be awake enough to hit the brakes before they ram my car a third time. (Long past story...)

Anyway after a few minutes of walking the maze of kids rooms and women's gyms (which I can't go into because I didn't buy that package...) I left.

Gym choice number two. The Athletic Club. I used to call this my regular gym. It's very close to home (walking distance) and has all the stuff I want where it is easy to find. The only problem...it's sweaty.

Yes, I know...gyms are suppose to be sweaty. That's what you go to gyms for. To sweat. But that's not the kind of sweaty I mean. It's gross. It's dirty. And honestly it freaks me out. My biggest problem was when I would have to watch the men who rode the bikes. You know those guys...remind you of members of the Russian mafia only in tight bike shorts with their ass hanging over one side and there stomach oozing out the other. And then they get on a bike for 30 minutes and sweat. They sweat a lot. In puddles on the floor. And they don't shower so they smell bad when they start, smell really bad when they end, and then go and use the weight benches afterward. Call me a wimp...but I can't take it. I walk around with disinfectant wipes incessantly. And because I am such a anti-sweat freak I noticed that this gym does not clean their equipment daily. I'm not sure they ever do. I suppose they think that their customers will clean up after themselves. But I've yet to see anyone but me even carry a towel. I finally got fed up and decided to go to the gym further away but much cleaner.

And am I glad I did. I walked in today grabbed a fresh towel, grabbed a handful of wipes and stealed myself for the trials ahead when a little, tiny, notice caught my eye at the scanning table. "We have had an out break of a skin rash that is caused by a staph infection. Please remember to wipe down your equipment after you've finished using it."

EWWWWW! I think I knocked a couple of kids over in my haste to run out of there. I could already feel my skin crawling, my whole body felt hot, it was on me get it off get it off!!!!

Okay so I might have overreacted. But the last time I used a gym that had a mysterious "outbreak" it turned out to be flesh-eating bacteria and killed a young Marine recruit in San Diego. I never went back to that gym again (except for when they made us so we could get screen and inoculated) and I will never ever go back to the Athletic Club again. As it was I skipped the work out for a 30 minute shower and I still feel creepy crawly. Eww ewww eww.

Over 12 hours later I can't shake the feeling I'll wake up and my arm will be sizzling off. My regular gym better open up real soon.

Click your heels three times...

Repeat "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

And you'll be there.

Provided you drive for a really really long time.

I'm home - my apartment is trashed, really trashed, but my bed remains and I'm going to crash into it.

The trip was very nice. The Grand Prix was exciting. I missed my cat a lot and seh won't come out till I crawl under the covers and pretend to sleep. So I'm gonna go cuddle with my cat.

There is no place like home.

(and vacation continues for two more days...)

Packing thoughts

We leave for Montreal tomorrow morning.

We're packing tonight.

As we're packing I'm struck by a few thoughts.

1) I have a really awesome wardrobe and most of it is stuff my husband bought for me.
2) My husband has A LOT of clothes.
3) I have more jewelry than I thought.
4) I have a lot of lingerie that my husband isn't into...which is strange because it was bought for him or by him.
5) Feminine products should not have to resort to full length videos to instruct women how to insert the damn things.
6) If above product doesn't work I am going to be one very angry and slightly sexually frustrated woman when I get home.
7) Despite impending sexual doom and the fear we will not be able to get back home without passports...I'm really excited about this trip.
8) Staying up really late without having had ANY caffeine for 72 hours makes for weird katy-thoughts.
9) Our newly bought fancy soap is beginning to bother me it smells so much. Soap should not have cake-like icing on it.

Okay, that's all for the posts for the next two weeks because I will be in Canada seducing my husband (and maybe Michael Schumacher) in french.

She's this kind of girl...

Global Personality Test Results

Stability (28%) low which suggests you are very worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious. Orderliness (60%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly organized, reliable, neat, and hard working at the expense of flexibility, efficiency, spontaneity, and fun. Extraversion (35%) moderately low which suggests you are reclusive, quiet, unassertive, and secretive.

Take Free Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

trait snapshot:
depressed, introverted, neat, needs things to be extremely clean, observer, perfectionist, not self revealing, does not make friends easily, suspicious, irritable, hates large parties, follows the rules, worrying, does not like to stand out, fragile, phobic, submissive, dislikes leadership, cautious, takes precautions, focuses on hidden motives, good at saving money, solitary, familiar with the dark side of life, hard working, emotionally sensitive, prudent, altruistic, heart over mind, unadventurous

Boy I sound like a lot of fun...???

She's that kind of girl...

I've mentioned before how when I learn new words or phrases I will hear them used in excess shortly afterward. Well in addition to my growing vocabulary I seem to fall into similar patterns of topics with people, through very little prompting from myself. I'm not sure if this phenomenon is normal and simply part of good 'ole Murphy's Law or if it's unique to me. In either case it's happening right now...and when it rains it pours.

My blog's description is "a lost member of the Y generation" for good reason. I am rather lost. It might be the random and frequent moving, the crazy mix of military and college life, the fact that I spent 12 years of my life preparing and planning on a completely different kind of life which I walked away from. It might just be that I'm crazy and wishy-washy. In either case I find myself often confused by my own changing views and convictions and the normal status quo surrounding me.

Yeah I know...join the club...everyone my age feels this way. And that's the problem, the very people who can relate at this moment are going through the same thing, which renders them useless in helping me figure it out and vice versa.

I'm not entirely worried about this, though I have my moments of panic. I bring it on myself though, I'll let my whole lack of definition sit for awhile then think, hey, I should ask some questions, which lead to more questions, then more, then unanswerable ponders, then I'm starring at the stars screaming "Argh! It's too big - get me out of here." Then the cycle starts again and I blissfully run around not being introspective or philosophical. Tra-la-la.

But even when I am not attempting to define myself or my place in the world other people are. I've have a few people tell me I'm the kind of person who would "cut off my nose to spite my face" in reference to how undefinable I am. I'm too eclectic which I think makes people even more determined to define me.

This week in particular people have been making large general comments on who I am, and I'm even more confused by it. They've hinted through conversations with me and with others that:

I'm full of "piss and vinegar"
I'm too graceful and beautiful to be attainable.
I'm too plain to have a league.
I'm very organized.
I'm a good negotiator.
I'm far too shy.
I'm the "marrying kind"
I'm the girl next door.
I'm exotic.
I'm straightforward.
I'm coy.
I'm a tease.
I'm an openbook.
I'm very "together"
I seem sad.
I'm funny.
I'm too reserved.
I'm a brat.

So what the heck am I?

Of course these things could just be passing comments about how I am behaving in a certain situation or a particular moment. At any given time any person could be any one or two of these things. But people have been using these very definitive statements to define me as a whole. It's much like saying someone is a bitch. They're a bitch no matter how unbitchy they may be acting on Easter day.

Thankfully no one has said I'm a bitch to my face or behind my back, that I know of, yet.

I think perhaps I'm not so much confused by how people are defining me but more that I want to live up to their expectations when they do define me. It's that whole "tell someone they are something enough and they'll be it" thing. Tell a kid their bad at math and they will be bad at math, tell me I'm a take charge kind of gal, and I'll try and take charge. And of course that's a contradiction right there.

An independent, take-charge person in control of all the situations would not hop too when told what they should be. They'd tell people what they are...they wouldn't let others do it for them. Someone says "jump" and they say "do it yourself."

Someone tells me "jump" - I say...usually nothing...I just jump.

And I think that makes me happy. I know doing things for other people makes me happy. I know that I get a great satisfaction from my job when I can take the burden from my boss and my fellow admins and make their job easier. I enjoy completing tasks - it makes me feel accomplished and content. Even though I complain about the ironing and the cooking and the cleaning and all the other chores I do for my husband - it makes me feel warm knowing that he looks good and sharp in his pressed utilities. I positively glow when he says "thank you" after I've cooked for him or run a bunch of silly errands. I feel more proud of the fact that my husband and my bosses don't have to worry about things because I take care of them without being asked or told. I actually prefer it that way...just slip in finish this report here, send out this notice there, pay a bill, handle the household chores before Craig notices they need to be done. I like it that way.

It makes me feel like a brownie. When I was a little girl all I wanted was to be a girl scout...more importantly a brownie girl scout. It took forever for me to be old enough - and when we were initiated I was fascinated with the brownie story. The two little kids who would sneak into their grandmothers house at night to clean and cook. I loved that story. I was disappointed when I turned Junior, then Cadette and Senior, to find out they don't have stories like that. I guess we're too old...but I still like it.

I suppose I'm contradicting myself again. I started saying I don't know how to define myself, but I do. I define myself through others...and I don't think you're supposed to do that. In fact I'm pretty sure (because I did pay attention in school and at my Girl Scout meetings) that as modern day women our "selves" should never be defined by someone else. We're all individuals and we can never connect with others before we connect with ourselves.

And then we all sit in a circle and sing.

Actually it makes sense. Sense of self is so important, and if you don't know exactly who you are then how can you relate to other people with honesty? I often wonder if my desire and willingness to be in the shadows and do for others is my personality or my umbrella to hide the fact that I don't have a personality.

Well of course I have one...I just am to shy to let others know what it is.

So am I hiding or am I being who I was meant to be?

I know none of my rambling really makes sense to anyone else. There used to be a time when I could communicate well with words, but lately I've been writing more for myself than others. The irony is that the writing is posted for others to read...not just myself. I suppose I need to start focusing on this new format and stop journalizing in the old fashion. Irregardless these questions and random thoughts all came from a semi-conversation (meaning a chat-based one) that I had this morning...that I'm still a little confused on so I'm not going to write about it. Too many thoughts...have to get a few out of my head.

I hope that if someone actually does read this they'll find some solace in the fact they are no where near as crazy or messed up as I am.

Apathy

They revealed who Deep Throat is...

Drumroll...

Mark Felt.

And I am filled with...well...not much. Actually I did have a bagel for breakfast this morning so I am full - but I don't care about Mark Felt.

The fact he keeps being called the "Number 2" man for the FBI makes this all seem rather anti-climatic. It's much like pulling the mask off Batman and finding Alfred.

Well no, that might be slightly cooler.

Mark Felt, Mark Felt, that's a craft corner not a Notorious Snitch.

Or I guess a hero. Or at least a good man.

Maybe I should care more about this, but I'm too young to remember and the most I really know about is are the snippets I learned from my Father. And that really bad Robert Redford movie.

My dad used to have (might still have but I haven't seen him wear it) a shirt that said "Don't buy books from crooks" with a thumbs down hand in the shape of Nixon's profile. I particularly remember this shirt because there are numerous pictures of him holding me as a baby with it on. I guess he either really liked it, or really hated it so didn't mind a little baby drool.

He also had a plastic Nixon mask that he would wear on Halloween. He had a good time telling everyone he knew he was the adults creepy nightmare. When I asked why he said it was because he did things "You're not supposed to."

I didn't think it was near as scary as Freddy.

But no matter how much I read about the "scandal" or hear about it...all I really associate it with is that "Crook" t-shirt and the weird mask.

And now a bunch of felt.

And markers.

Poor guys...even when they make history they really don't make history.

But I do still make it a point never to buy books from crooks. Which is why no one will get "Martha Stewart Living" for Christmas this year.