Friday, March 4, 2011


Hello readers!

I'm moving the blog over to tumblr.  If you're interested in following my ramblings to their full potential then follow

Thank you for the support.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Befriending His Mistress

Over the years I've tried to avoid them when they get together.  You can hear the passion in my husband's voice as he yells when things are going badly.  You can see the sullenness fall upon him when the relationship starts dwindling to a close.  You can see the joy in his face when he finds an old love and you he he's taking them home.  Over the years I resented them for the time I wanted with my husband which they occupied.  Now, I figure it's easier to indulge my curiosities about this aspect of our marriage and have a little fun myself.

I knew what I was getting into when I married him.  I never expected him to change and never tried to initiate any.  If you want to make him someone he isn't already then you have absolutely no right marrying him.  First, it was the Playstation 2.  That obsession lasted a few years until we found a working old Nintendo Entertainment System wit Duck Hunt gun at a second hand shop.  Days, weeks when added together, were spent seeking cartridges that didn't require a good blow.  That was just the beginning.

In an effort to be considered awesome I did what I believed was sealing my fate as a desperate wife.  For one birthday I bought him an XBox 360.  It surpassed all expectations in terms of quality and I saw his face only in profile for many months.  After the warranty expired there was some minor freezing.  We would wrap her in blankets until the symptoms were gone.  As he wrapped her you could see the despair in my husband's eyes and hear the anger in his voice.  The red ring of death was on its way and there was little we could do to stop it.

Her last day she was playing an Aziz Ansari dvd when she just could not go on.  We still have her body in the hopes of a free cure.  Someone even suggested freezing the body with the hard drive removed.  All I could think of is how many times he's watched "Demolition Man", so he probably thinks this will work.  My husband was hurt and annoyed when she didn't come back to life.  It was like he lost a true friend.

Soon after, like an addict, he saved every gift card received over quite some time until he could afford his newest lady.  As I type this, just after 1am CST, I am watching him with her now. The Playstation 3 has brought him more joy than I can describe.  I hope he can feign this much excitement when I finally become pregnant with our first child.  After over 5 years of marriage I've decided that it's time to play along.  I downloaded an old computer game to it.  I won't play anything else because I'm afraid my short term memory can't handle that many buttons.  It's nice to have a BluRay player as well.

I've talked to a lot of women over the years who criticize me for letting him game as much as he does.  First, I don't "let" my husband do anything.  Second, why shouldn't I let him be a cowboy or Michael Jordan in a virtual world?  I far prefer that to alternative vices that men fall victim to.

I can truthfully say that my husband has not ventured into a strip joint even with my blessing and offer to come along.  He doesn't visit a bar daily.  He does he brush me off when I need to be heard.  Yes, he's a smoker of cigarettes but nothing else.  He's never brought an illegal drug into our home.  I have never caught him looking at another woman.  I don't kid myself, he's human.  Hell, even I notice a giant pair of breasts in a low enough cut shirt.

All I did was marry a nerd.  I married a loving, funny, hot fan boy.  While I don't care about resolution, levels and superstar modes I do care for him.  I love him fully which is why now, as he conducts a press conference as a rookie NBA player, I channel the time waiting for him to be ready for bed into writing.

Besides, by occupying his time my husband's newest mistress may just do something unexpected.  She may give me the guilt free time I need to get my voice heard by someone other than him.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Please Stop Hatin' on Bubble Cat

Call me a horrible person but I'll call myself honest.  I am one of the few who will admit that I laughed aloud and quite hard at the Super Bowl ads.  Were they in poor taste?  As someone who's lived in the comedy world like those at Groupon do/have it's hard to tell.  I think the ads did more good for those causes than actual harm.  The reason it was considered poor taste is, at the heart, because of the very people crying foul.

No one wants to admit it but the popularity of causes is part of pop culture.  It has been for many years.  My personal opinion is that the causes represented in the commercials are now cliche.  No one would ever say that aloud but it's true.  Don't think that I'm jaded or cold hearted as I actively donate to various charities when I have the financial means to.  It's just a fact that issues fall out of vogue along with hairstyles and child actors.

The first ad aired recalled the plight of Tibetan citizens.  Now, I'm not sure about those of you reading this but the last time I heard anything about Tibet was along with the release of the last Beastie Boys album.  Even with the recent rise in Che Guevara t-shirt sales this cause hasn't been able to make a comeback.

The rainforest was featured in the second ad.  The last time I thought of it was when people complained that "Avatar" was just a live action "Ferngully" (yes, with "Pocahontas" mixed in).  I remember seeing posters of colorful toads everywhere I went as a child.  Now I only see it being used as the backdrop for B-movies about mutated creatures who have a taste for human flesh.  

Does anyone ever question where the Aids Ribbon went?  Where are the yellow ribbons to support our troops outside of small towns?  They've been replaced by blue puzzle pins for autism and red dresses for heart disease in women since everything else we've talked about has been resolved.  The only cause that's winning the endurance race is breast cancer.  Probably because everything pink is so damn adorable.  

I am in no way making light of any of these issues.  I have supported these causes in my lifetime and known people directly affected by them.  Their battles are long and hard.  My point is that it's hard to fault Groupon for trying to bring light to causes who have long been in the dark.  How can something be taboo when society has forgotten about it the way we have Doc Maarten boots and Richard Greico?

If anything, Groupon helped these causes by bringing them out from the recesses of our brains and exposing them again to over 100 million people.  Is that poor taste?  I have a hard time believing that.  Great comedy will make you laugh and think at the same time.  Feel free to laugh because next week we'll get caught up in Lindsay Lohan's next trial and completely forget about some simple ads.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010


I sometimes wish I was more physically powerful.  I sometimes wish I wasn't afraid of consequences. I sometimes wish I could punch someone in the face. 

My tolerence of stupidity is waning the older I get.  It sounds like, from reports I've received,  that I'm getting worse at hiding it as well.  Let me start by saying that I do have some patience.  Not being exposed to something before or just learning something is nothing to be ashamed of.  What absolutely drives me to pound on my own hollow skull is the voluntary ignorance that is becomming so commonplace. 

No one is the ultimate expert on anything.  We are all growing physically, intellectually and emotionally.  At least that's the hope.  Pick up any glossy weekly at the grocery checkout, though, for photos of the stunted. 

Breast implants at 16 should equal a punch in the face.
Making a sex tape to get famous should equal a punch in the face.
Having your crotch in plain view and then complaining when photos turn up should equal a punch in the face.

But this honor is not only for the pretend famous.  I'm sure there are examples in our everyday lives where you feel the same way.

A person whining they're terrified they'll never get married because they're 24 and alone should equal a punch in the face.
A single, childless person criticizing your parenting catching you only at your weakest moment should equal a punch in the face.
Texting or emailing a naughty picture of yourself and being shocked the person who requested it showed people should equal a punch in the face.

Now, I'd never actually go through with punching someone.  According to my husband there's no power in my forearm.  I do realize what that sounds like and I'm keeping it in here as a gift to you.  Violence doesn't solve anything but I also fear it may knock out what little common sense is left.  My guess is that with the punch there would be a release. An undeniable statement that will linger. A plea to keep people from becomming far too self involved (types the blogger).

Instead I'm searching for inner strength and thankful for the realization that I have room to grow.  The written word is a wonderful outlet so I encourage anyone who's reading to write their own release.  Your own figurative punch in the face.  Do so anonymously or not, but do not actually name someone.  Naming someone would actually be painful.

**When I referred to those mags at the checkout I want to clarify one thing.  Chelsea Clinton is on the cover of some of them due to her wedding.   I do not want to punch her in the face.  I think she's a lovely, intelligent girl who keeps her panties on.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Cracked the Combonation

After almost a year of being locked out of my own blog I finally make my return to the masses.  It's as daunting a prospect as it is a relief that I'm back in.  Between this and a new twitter account I have to step back and take a long, hard look at myself.

The typical insecurities creep in as they would with most.  What if what I say is misconstrued?  Does my real voice come through on a cold page versus speaking with me in person?  Is what I'm saying funny, insightful or informative?  Do you get a true picture of who I am or what I believe?

There is one question that weighs on my heart and mind more than all the others.  Is mine a voice worth hearing?  In an age where the mediums of self expression are so abundant one has to wonder if what's being shared even should be.  I'm at odds with whether to continue on this path I've started.  I'm afraid of what these gifts in communication will make of me if I use them with reckless abandon.

My fear is that these outlets will actually make me lose my voice.  Writing so often about my own thoughts and views with such frequency has the potential to change who I am.  I have a hard time believing that what I put on the page is as entertaining as some say.  Self loathing is a common characteristic among aspiring writers and I guess I'm no different.  Part of me honestly believes that not reaching out is akin to suffocation. 

Now, blogs and twitters are not the only thing I write.  There are characters living within my consciousness fighting for their freedom.  They battle within, keeping me up night, plotting their own escape.  The challenge there is completing their stories rather than just staring at a blinking cursor. I worry I'll become so self involved that I push them away with my own arrogance and narcissism.  The unique characteristics of both my writing and self could be buried deep within my psyche along side the trauma of being a chubby child.

There is the possibility that as I continue down the paths that lead me to this grand audience, pieces of me will be left behind.  Still, have to teach myself to become fearless.  If I do lose myself then, through these records, I can also find my way back home.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The Bitch is Back

Today was a day where the pain was more than a full work day can handle.  I mention that first not for sympathy but just so you don't think I was too lazy to get out of bed after the previous "I feel fat" post.  While I was laying on my back staring at the ceiling something amazing happened.  Usually this time is spent worrying about family, bills and work.  Today was different.  Somehow the clouds of crap that usually fog my mind cleared.   

I started writing again.  Aside from the blog is what I mean.  They say you should write everyday which is why I started this whole daily expression.  Finally the floogdates have opened and I began working on a new screenplay.  I asked hubby to bring me a notebook and pen before he left for work this morning.  As the heat pad under me caused me to driftinto the joyful depths of sleep I did so with a pen in my hand. 

Such a flow of creativity has only happened a handful of times in the last 4 years.  The whole experience was a relief.  I almost feared I had lost the touch.  That these characters who live in my mind rambling about aimlessly would be there forever.  This morning their marathon was reaching a finale.  Their story will finally be told.

Most of all it has put my mind at ease.  I am finally getting back to my old self.  Starting on the road to the woman I wanted to be page by page.  I'll be letting you know how it all progresses.  Thanks to you all for the inspiration and for coming along for the ride.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Eye of the Beholden

I've always prided myself on stepping aside from my personal hang ups long enough to admit when another woman is beautiful.  If she's had a tight ass or nice rack I may make mention of it.  Partly out of the appreaceation of the human form as art.  Partly out of wishing those thighs were on my body and not hers.  The envy doesn't stem from malice.  I have come to terms with my sturdy western european form and am thankful my hips are in a state where they can support a future fetus appropriately.   

That's not to say I've always felt comfortable with my figure.  I sure as hell am not now.  Various medications and (mostly) the comfort of marriage has led to my heaviest weight ever.  Any mourning I do in the dark while clutching the the muffin top that's become a daily fixture is not for my old body.  What I miss is the former confidence I once fought so hard for.  Years of personal struggle and growth slipped away as the Big Mac meals made their way down my throat. 

It's easy to overcome your hang ups when you're at your thinnest.  After marriage, while now at my heaviest, that old familiar voice has picked up a bullhorn.  Rather than fearing no man finds me attractive I have the nagging question of whether the one man I want to still does.  Not that he's caused that.  He seems to have responded well to the inevitable growth in breast size that come with weight gain.  Actually, hubby has been incredibly supportive.  The problem is not if he finds me sexy but that I no longer feel that way about myself. 

The proposal of going out with friends goes one of two ways.  If it's just the boys I am far more inclined to say yes.  If the women folk will be accompanying them it's a different story.  No one wants to be the fat wife.  It's hard enough feeling comfortable in clothing that doesn't fit.  The possibility of being compared to their ultra thin and gorgeous lady friends is not how I want to spend my Saturday night.  Now, no comparisons are probably being made but as long as I believe they would be then I won't be going.

I'm not here to whine about this all.  This has sadly become a large part of my life. The fault is my own for allowing it to have that power over me. I will over come the feelings of inadequacy as I have before.  I've started exercising slowly since on the new meds to assist with my back problems.  It's something I plan to work hard at overcoming.  This is just a post to let the ladies out there know you are not alone.  That famous road to having it all is filled with hang ups like this one.  

It's just one more thing to overcome.  I know that I have the strength to do it as every woman who reads this does.  I will do it for myself, to inspire you and to give my husband back the woman he married inside if not out.  I'm making it a point to give any children I may one day have an example of a truly self assured woman.