welcome to the danger zone

The Satellite Dish Has Snow On It, So You Know What That Means…

Blog Entry!

Lucky lucky you!

What thrilling experiences have I had since yesterday? Well, you know it’s all about perspective. We had an early quit at work today. This aligned with the need to get a few gallons of oil to prevent lack of heat and keep the pipes from freezing on the one night of winter so far where we have single digits and negative wind chills on the horizon. Naturally, we would be below E on the tank when oil won’t be delivered until tomorrow. Why should this giant grasshopper plan ahead? It’s more fun to live on the edge of freezing.

Fun fact I forgot to share with you all yesterday: Spiders can live up to three years.

Back to my story – well, as I mentioned, I am doing this daily blogging exercise for the next 30 days. The first assignment is to explain who I am, and why I am doing this blog thing. This is also the 2 year anniversary of receiving my diagnosis of the big C. And tomorrow is the 3 year anniversary of this blog. So if you thought I started to write this blog just because I had a c-monster lurking inside, that would be wrong. That just happened after I started this blog. Why do I have a blog? I like to write. I like to be funny. Sometimes I get pissed off and need to vent. Sometimes I’m scared. Sometimes I am lonely. Sometimes I am sad. Sometimes I just need something to do. I like that people read it. I like that people think I am funny and hell, I like attention. I believe my life is supposed to mean something, so maybe just blogging and making someone’s day a little better after reading my pointless and inane little stories is all I am meant to do. I’m okay with that. I wish it paid better, or even paid at all, but hey, whatever.

I like words. I have favorites: llama, paradigm, milquetoast, porcine, twitterpated. I have other favorites too, I just don’t remember them. I also like to make up words. I believe the english language has too many rules, and rules, my friends, are meant to be tested. So my blog helps me keep my vocabulary fresh, and my writing skills sharp. You will note that on occasion I spell things wrong, and my grammar sucks. I do not do this intentionally. I abhor it. But when I read, my brain corrects all that stuff as I proof read so I don’t usually see it until days later. After I have visually shamed myself.

I think the who am I question is funny. It requires the use of labels. I don’t particularly like labels. I once had this assignment in one of my women’s studies courses where I was given a packet of labels that described women and was supposed to go out photograph women who represented them. Being the non-conformist that I am, I refused to do it, sort of. I still took pictures. But not of people, but of images that I thought was typical of that type. Pictures of shadows, or skateboards or barbies. I got an A. I just struggle with labels because they never give you a full picture of what that means to the person who takes on the label. Like feminist. I used to hate that label. I wouldn’t call myself a feminist because that meant I hate bras (and find me a woman who doesn’t, oh sure they are all pretty and sexy and whatever, but NO WOMAN, and I mean NO WOMAN wakes up in the morning and says, can’t wait to put that torture device on – I cannot remember a day after I started wearing the little beasts that I did not come home and be grateful to take that sucker off. Really, I mean at one time I had a whole collection of very pretty and very sexy bras – but what was their purpose? My pleasure? Uh no, it was to try to get someone to take it off for me! Duh! Because the reality is this, the prettier and sexier they are, the more likely they are to be uncomfortable. And here’s another one of my beliefs: though most women will say “they are really comfortable” I also believe that no woman enjoys wearing a thong) But we are not here to talk about bras. No, the theme is labels, and as a feminist, the belief is also that I should hate men. Again, wrong. Don’t hate them. Like them. Lots. Even have a few favorites. My future husband Johnny Depp for example. I don’t hate men. I hate certain behaviors some men have, but I also hate some behaviors women have. I’ve come to terms with feminist because I believe in equality for everyone, and unfortunately, women don’t have real equality yet. We’re much closer than we have ever been, but we aren’t there yet. I just wished we looked at people as people. But in order for many people to make sense of the world, they have to label things, or there’s confusion. They need a label to place someone or something into their worldview.

I’m liberal. I don’t know what that word means anymore, because it is so misused and maligned. I assume it’s the opposite of conservative. I don’t know what that means either to be honest. I know I believe that everyone walks their own path, and that good people are good people regardless of their skin color, or sexual orientation, or gender identity, or politics, or whether or not they own guns. I can disagree with the values or politics of a person and still think they are awesome. What I can’t tolerate is when a person can’t defend their position and simply parrots what other people tell them to think. I can accept any well argued position. I don’t have to agree with it, but if someone can say, here’s how I came to this conclusion, and here’s my supporting facts, I can be tolerant of it. When you come at me with an argument based in sound bites and an unwavering insistence that there is no other way or validity to someone else’s stance, then I just stop listening. I can be civil, but I give no credibility to anything you say, because I can train a bird to mimic me. I can’t train a bird to think on their own. It all goes back to having the courage of your convictions. But don’t give me faulty baseless logic. And for dog’s sake, don’t quote Michelle Bachman.

Well, the satellite is still snow covered, so you are stuck with me.

So who am I? I can be your best ally. I don’t hate anyone. I do dislike people, but I can honestly say I don’t hate anyone. That’s too much work, and too great a burden for me to carry. I can be mean, and viciously so, but I generally don’t mean to hurt anyone, just have a good laugh. I don’t like cats. I will not intentionally run one over or kick one, but if the beast crawls on me with its claws, I will remove it with vigor. I like board games but don’t usually have anyone to play them with especially if they involve words or trivia, because I usually win. I don’t like country music, or most rap, especially if it misogynistic. I like to read, and learn unusual things. I like things that are genuinely funny, not slapstick humor or humor that relies solely on bodily functions. I don’t like romantic comedies; I like black comedies and humor, British TV, horror, suspense and psychological thrillers. I hate every movie M. Night Shamalamamalalal ever made. Because they are stupid. I hated the Twilight books because they were poorly written. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s writing reminds me of velvet for the eyes. I like vampires. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a masterpiece of television. It’s like an oracle. Buffy can answer all of life’s mysteries. I hate singing and dancing and talent TV shows. I love the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, especially Jiggy. I like period novels and films, and like black and white movies and good foreign films with subtitles. Every Japanese horror movie that was ever remade into an American version was 100 times better in Japanese. I’m fat. I’ve been fat since I had Andy, and never really lost any of that baby weight, and I’m unhappy in this body and would like to be more motivated to do something about it, like eat better, but I’m not committed to that yet. I have had major depressive disorder for just about 19 years, because of a little over-zealous relationship with drugs that make you go fast. I don’t have “a significant other” or a “fur baby” – both terms I hate. I sometimes feel very lost and alone. Other times, I am perfectly happy being with myself. I waste too much time on the internet. The pig is my favorite animal to eat, particularly ribs. I love cherries in season, and peaches that drip down your chin. I think I am a complex person. I feel pretty dowdy these days because fat clothes are meant for the circus. I like my nails short. I believe everyone has a right to food, clothing and shelters, and I guess that makes me a socialist. I think a lot, especially in the shower and car. And I think that is enough about me. Oh wait, and two years ago I was diagnosed with a stage 3b endometrial cancer after having a ten pound tumor removed along with all of my reproductive organs. And I’m deathly afraid every time I have a CAT scan that the results will say – uh-oh. You see, the 5 yr survival rate for that stage is 50%. Having a positive attitude is great, and I believe I will be in the “survived” 50%, not the “dead” 50%, but I would be a huge liar if I said that I don’t spend the 30 days prior to my next appointment analyzing every change in my body and random pain in the context that this time they are going to tell me I’m not so lucky. But I am not going to dwell on that until Jan 24, because my appointment isn’t until February.

I could go one. I can safely say that no one knows everything about me, and even those who have known me a long time can be surprised every now and again. But I like that sense of mystery. I’m very open about who I am, but there’s plenty that just doesn’t tumble out of my mouth. But here’s a few other tidbits to chew on…most people know I love Sylvia Plath, but I also love e.e.cummings and Pablo Neruda; one of my favorite movies will always be The Big Blue because I don’t think I would mind death by drowning, but I have a weakness for Point Break, and White Christmas. I love salads but I hate making them. I’d like to be reincarnated as a squirrel. My favorite part of the Wizard of Oz is when the Wicked Witch sets free the flying monkeys. I wanted to set the baby dolphin free at Marine World when I was pregnant with Andy and cried for hours because it would never see the ocean.

And that’s just about it. Except this, because last night I had a revelation. When I was a little, I had SEVERE ear infections and lost hearing in one ear. I used to be given that deliciously nasty elixir of cough syrup with codeine for pain during those brutal episodes. That’s right, I was an opiate addict in first through third grade – and I used to have this HORRIBLE nightmare about cowboys, indians and dinosaurs attacking our town from side of the little mountain that borders one end of our town. You have no idea how many nights I awoke in a sweat in terror about that dream. Well, last night on Turner Classic Movies, there was a film about cowboys and gypsies finding a hidden valley of dinosaurs and battling them on a hillside. It was made right around the same time I was that age. I must have seen it or a preview and it  stuck in my brain. And when I watched it last night, it was pretty much exactly like my nightmare. Stupid poppies.

Nighty night my friends, there’s still no TV, but I’m gonna read. A book. In bed. Or I will once I find a pair of glasses. Keep warm, and hope for a work snow day!

Here’s some pictures… the massive snow storm that I am hoping cripples my ability to get to work, and the brave little tree on the porch.



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