Woulda Coulda Shoulda

At first I was going to say that this post was NSFW, but upon reflection, that’s TRUE, but an incomplete caution. This post is not safe for work, home, in your car, with a fox, in a box, or with any breakfast product, rhyming or not. Honestly it’s not safe anyone at all.

If there are small children in the room, do not read this post. If you are of delicate sensibility, please do not read this post. If you are not in the mood to be completely horrified, for the love of God: I’m trying to explain to you that you should not read this post.

If you—like me—believe that the only redeeming value of being completely traumatized is in then sharing that trauma with others, and relishing in their anguished squirming and scream-whispers of, “No! NO! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN!!” then you might like to read this post. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you, because I did. REPEATEDLY.

Dare to read on? Alrighty, then. HAVE I GOT A STORY FOR YOU! (more…)

As soon as we started having full-cast rehearsals for The Vagina Monologues, most of us noticed something weird: We had a disproportionately high number of redheads in the cast. Now, I’m guessing not all of them were natural redheads, but still. Only something like 1% of the world’s population has red hair, and according to Wikipedia (“they can’t put anything on the Internet that isn’t true”), here in the U.S. only between 2-6% of the population is red-headed. In a cast of 28 women, we had 8 redheads. That’s almost a third. Apparently when it comes to talking about their lady-bits, redheads are much more likely to do so. You know, based upon my completely unscientific, anecdotal observation.

I am currently somewhat obsessed with hair. I have made my peace with my own hair color; since giving up dye and cutting it all off last spring, I have come to love my silver streaks. I feel more ME, again, somehow. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I’m ENTIRELY gray, but right now I’m digging it. (Though I am maybe a wee bit jealous of all those beautiful redheads….)

So on the color front, huzzah! It’s all good! The problem is that I’ve reached the PLEASE KILL ME portion of our growing-out-my-hair program. (more…)

So I think I mentioned that I’m doing The Vagina Monologues again, this year. (Do you live in northeast Georgia? You should totally come see it next week!) I love everything about being in this show. EVERYTHING. I love being in a show, period. I love being surrounded by a group of kick-ass women. I love raising money for a worthy cause. I love knowing we’re raising awareness. I love the way Monkey’s face contorts when he references, “That… SHOW… you’re in.” (One day I started reciting my lines in the car and he said, “What the HECK, Mom? YOU ARE INAPPROPRIATE.”)

Basically, it’s all good. I think Otto particularly enjoys that for a couple of months I am leaving the house and interacting with other people on a regular basis. I’m not saying that I’m not completely adorable just as I am when I interact with just my computer and my child’s school for weeks on end, I’m just saying that he has an easier time peeling me off his leg when he gets home when I have to leave for rehearsal.

And of course I consider myself a feminist year-round, but it’s OH SO EASY to forget about all of the things out there that are Not Okay when you kind of don’t spent a lot of time out in the world. Then I start with the play and get all GRRRR! RESPECT THE VAGINA! all over again while these issues are front and center in my brain. (more…)

I do my best stressing-out in bed. It’s my gift. Also, it makes me pretty much the greatest spouse ever, because what is sexier than a person who gets into bed at night and immediately begins crying and/or agonizing over a variety of unfixable and unhappy life circumstances? Nothing! ROAWR! Otto is a lucky, lucky man.

Fortunately for me, Otto is also a patient, patient man. Why, in the last year or so of… uh, challenges… Otto has even relented somewhat on his position about bedtime snuggling, now pretty much reflexively pulling me into a cuddle the moment I start fretting after the lights are out. (I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, before, but if you don’t have yourself an Otto, you should get one. They are SWELL.)

So last night it was kind of par for the course: We got into bed, I called the dog up (she was hiding underneath, as she does), and as Licorice settled between us and Otto took my hand, two things happened. First, my brain began to race, because YAY FOR BEDTIME ANXIETY. Second, we heard a bizarre noise in the distance. (more…)

By all accounts, 2013 is so far turning out a lot better than 2012. Of course, the bar was set pretty low, but still. I know January 1st is arbitrary as Markers Of Life is concerned. That didn’t stop Otto and me from looking forward to that flip of the calendar page as if our lives depended on it. And with nearly 1/12 of this year behind us, we remain hopeful that this year is Better.

And it is. We are all trucking along in our various paths towards some kind of normalcy. The days of Constant High Alert, Holy Shit The Sky Continues To Fall are over. Maybe.

What I am learning about myself is that I have mastered the art of faking it until I make it, and also that time is helping me learn the fine art of compartmentalization. I used to be a perpetual waterfall of emotions, unable to separate out the current moment from the hundred (thousand) that came before, forever trying to suss out the appropriate emotional state for THIS moment without the baggage of the rest. (more…)