There's a smallish black cat behind the sofa, and two boys are sitting on the sofa discussing possible names.
Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.
The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.
But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.
The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.
So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
shouldn't oughta ate it
Liverwurst! Let's just get that out of the way. I hate it.
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
look at the hour
There's no good reason for me to still be up. I'm tired, and while I work an hour later than usual tomorrow it's still early enough for my night owl ass.
I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay. Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.
But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?
Is it the night owl thing? Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard? Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.
I'm not really a morning person, but once the hangover wears off and I get into the swing of my work day I'm usually okay. Or maybe once the vapors clear and the caffeine kicks in enough I'm usually okay.
But I've also learned that getting a decent night of sleep helps the most, so why don't I do it any more often than I do?
Is it the night owl thing? Am I just a dumb ass? or drunkard? Maybe I subconsciously hate my job and am sabotaging myself by being a dumb ass, drunkard night owl.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
owning up and not reviewing
Not so long ago I began a post, but for whatever reason I didn't finish or post it. In that post I discussed that Momma had a Dr. Phil book that I'd sorta been reading. And though I've ignored it for a couple of days, I've apparently started sorta reading it again.
I'm sure we're all familiar with Dr. Phil. He's Oprah's lovable oaf that got his own show drawling at people to tell them how they should live. Many people dislike him, and with good reason, while many people find his folksy, aw shucks sort of, get-in-the-game mentality to be exactly what they need.
I don't hate the guy, and I think I'm able to hear him and decide for myself whether the things he's saying at the moment has any actual value. And I think I'm able to weed out all the generalities that work for everyone if we'd all just somehow be exactly as we should and thought right thoughts and always acted in a way that made sense and was healthy.
The problem is that none of us ever always do those things we should, so hearing someone tell us to always do it as we should just isn't that big a help to most of us. If a calendar with daily affirmations and quirky advice about smiling and enjoying the rain gets you through the day then good for you.
But some of us just swallow the hearburn most of the time because the Tums don't work, and forcing a smile gives us a headache rather than makes our inner sunshine sparkle for all the world to see. And chances are there's something within eyesight that makes me feel hatred, and that's just how I am. I kinda hate to say but my daily affirmation calendar would involve pictures of people that I can feel better than.
I suppose my real issue with the book is that I approach it from my gay point of view, though it's a book about hetero women connecting with hetero men to form hetero relationships. I never figured any of that out in my years of research(aka being in the closet), and now that I'm finally out I can admit to all that. Before I would have had to defend the honor of men and damn him for comparing us all to fish. He actually suggests to some extent that getting a man is like catching a fish in that you have to know how he acts and where he feeds so that you can use the right lure to snag him out of the river.
And I'm really doing Dr. Phil a disservice. I'm measuring his book as a gay man, and really it's just not for me. It's kinda like reading a map for a city I'm not going to be visiting, or maybe it's like when Google maps gives you shitty directions.
For all that I'd really hate to imagine the gay version of this book. While straight men do fit a bunch of stereotypes, whether or not I said they do or don't earlier, it doesn't matter, because we gay men have and fit all of those and then some. We're everything from mind numbingly normal to glitter clad. I can swoon over Rufus and still squee when I touch something gross while rocking out to Motorhead. It's how it is.
Maybe my problem was in thinking that a Dr. Phil book would not eventually piss me off. I kinda want to watch his show now just so I can yell insults at the tv. But if you happen upon his book and find help in it then good for you. I haven't, though I have gotten depressed by the whole thing.
I'll never find a man, and if I did I wouldn't be able to marry him. Maybe I'll go drown my tears in a drunken cheezy poof and ramen orgy. Woe! woe is me!
I'm sure we're all familiar with Dr. Phil. He's Oprah's lovable oaf that got his own show drawling at people to tell them how they should live. Many people dislike him, and with good reason, while many people find his folksy, aw shucks sort of, get-in-the-game mentality to be exactly what they need.
I don't hate the guy, and I think I'm able to hear him and decide for myself whether the things he's saying at the moment has any actual value. And I think I'm able to weed out all the generalities that work for everyone if we'd all just somehow be exactly as we should and thought right thoughts and always acted in a way that made sense and was healthy.
The problem is that none of us ever always do those things we should, so hearing someone tell us to always do it as we should just isn't that big a help to most of us. If a calendar with daily affirmations and quirky advice about smiling and enjoying the rain gets you through the day then good for you.
But some of us just swallow the hearburn most of the time because the Tums don't work, and forcing a smile gives us a headache rather than makes our inner sunshine sparkle for all the world to see. And chances are there's something within eyesight that makes me feel hatred, and that's just how I am. I kinda hate to say but my daily affirmation calendar would involve pictures of people that I can feel better than.
I suppose my real issue with the book is that I approach it from my gay point of view, though it's a book about hetero women connecting with hetero men to form hetero relationships. I never figured any of that out in my years of research(aka being in the closet), and now that I'm finally out I can admit to all that. Before I would have had to defend the honor of men and damn him for comparing us all to fish. He actually suggests to some extent that getting a man is like catching a fish in that you have to know how he acts and where he feeds so that you can use the right lure to snag him out of the river.
And I'm really doing Dr. Phil a disservice. I'm measuring his book as a gay man, and really it's just not for me. It's kinda like reading a map for a city I'm not going to be visiting, or maybe it's like when Google maps gives you shitty directions.
For all that I'd really hate to imagine the gay version of this book. While straight men do fit a bunch of stereotypes, whether or not I said they do or don't earlier, it doesn't matter, because we gay men have and fit all of those and then some. We're everything from mind numbingly normal to glitter clad. I can swoon over Rufus and still squee when I touch something gross while rocking out to Motorhead. It's how it is.
Maybe my problem was in thinking that a Dr. Phil book would not eventually piss me off. I kinda want to watch his show now just so I can yell insults at the tv. But if you happen upon his book and find help in it then good for you. I haven't, though I have gotten depressed by the whole thing.
I'll never find a man, and if I did I wouldn't be able to marry him. Maybe I'll go drown my tears in a drunken cheezy poof and ramen orgy. Woe! woe is me!
Friday, July 23, 2010
did publicly admit
Go to Matt Algren's blog to read about Dan Choi being fired from the military for being gay, and HERE is a pdf of the actual discharge papers. There's something fucked up about actually seeing in writing that someone was relieved of duty for the sole fact that they told someone that they are gay.
Is surreal the right word? Or is it just fucked?
Is surreal the right word? Or is it just fucked?
it belongs in the pool
During the US team's attempt to make their way through the World Cup I thought I might have developed a new appreciation for Landon Donovan, striker for both the US mens national team and MLS team LA Galaxy.
I should point out that I've hated him for years. He has his moments, but so often his moments seem only to happen during those MLS games. I should also admit that I don't watch nearly as many MLS games as I would if I had more t.v. in my life to enrich my moments, so I'm sure I've missed whatever the hell else people see in him.
I should also admit that I don't want to imagine my US team as unable to win more games because we just aren't that good. I get that we don't have the history so much of the world has, and that lack of history means that we don't have the ingrown traditions of soccer. Our kids, till recently, didn't really grow up playing soccer, though for whatever reasons it does seem to be growing more popular.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing more popular because so many kids that would love to play something don't play football or baseball for whatever reasons. Perhaps the kids are finally realizing that football is kinda stupid, and baseball is soooo boooooring. Or maybe in the fall the kids' mommies don't want them hurting themselves playing football, and baseball is soooooo boooooring.
Either way, it's growing, and as it does we'll begin to produce more of those players that would be good at any sport along with those kids that are only good at soccer or will only ever be good at soccer, and eventually we'll have a system that can overpay spoiled assholes to the point where the dual sport kid sees basketball as the sport to help him keep in shape for soccer while he awaits that lucrative pro deal. Then we'll win the World Cup.
But watching part of the game tonight reminded me that I used to hate Landon Donovan, and now it's back. Within twenty minutes of beginning to watch the game all the old animus rolled right back around. And I should now admit that I didn't even watch the first half. I only started watching somewhere in the vicinity of the fifty fifth minute.
I watched him dive twice and intentionally handle the ball once. And the moral purist in me that loves the beauty of the beautiful game just hates seeing that shit. Seriously? Diving? And this from the guy that's supposed to be our best hope? our best player?
A hand I can almost get. At least then it's . . . NO! Fuck that guy. It's part of the game that you don't touch the fucking ball with your hand. It's not even that it's against the rules so much as it's just fucking wrong, and fuck it being strategic and a good move, and there's nothing noble about taking the yellow to help your team. It's just not how it goes. I'd almost rather see a good dive.
But fuck a dive too! I get when you're running full speed that sometimes it really doesn't take a hard blow to send you spinning. I get a hard shot that just totally knocks you stupid that really was a fair tackle but you got the foul because maybe you rolled a tiny bit more than inertia might have really caused. And I don't even like those, because it's still kinda like a dive, and I hate diving. The thing is, you got beat, and instead of just dealing you're going to try and get a foul called by pretending you didn't get beat? Man up, motherfucker.
Maybe I still just want too much to be valiant and pure of heart and actually earn my wins. It's so infuriating to know that you didn't get beaten but lost to some bullshit. And when it happens you just have to suck it up or be the sour grapes guy bitching about what he knows happened.
Sometimes you get beat, and sometimes you beat yourselves, and sometimes you don't start fast enough and have to clean up your mess. But that should never mean that you handle the ball and fake fouls. Sometimes you just have to deal, to climb back on the horse, to pull yourself by your boot straps, to refuse to keep getting beaten. And maybe sometimes you just don't get to do those things. Sometimes you just aren't going to win, and sometimes the other team is going to be better.
But for fuck sake, we're Americans. We wear the white hats and save the day. We wipe the blood out of our eyes and rescue the maiden. And we don't go for the nut punch unless we're actually fighting some sort of demon creature that eats babies.
I should point out that I've hated him for years. He has his moments, but so often his moments seem only to happen during those MLS games. I should also admit that I don't watch nearly as many MLS games as I would if I had more t.v. in my life to enrich my moments, so I'm sure I've missed whatever the hell else people see in him.
I should also admit that I don't want to imagine my US team as unable to win more games because we just aren't that good. I get that we don't have the history so much of the world has, and that lack of history means that we don't have the ingrown traditions of soccer. Our kids, till recently, didn't really grow up playing soccer, though for whatever reasons it does seem to be growing more popular.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing more popular because so many kids that would love to play something don't play football or baseball for whatever reasons. Perhaps the kids are finally realizing that football is kinda stupid, and baseball is soooo boooooring. Or maybe in the fall the kids' mommies don't want them hurting themselves playing football, and baseball is soooooo boooooring.
Either way, it's growing, and as it does we'll begin to produce more of those players that would be good at any sport along with those kids that are only good at soccer or will only ever be good at soccer, and eventually we'll have a system that can overpay spoiled assholes to the point where the dual sport kid sees basketball as the sport to help him keep in shape for soccer while he awaits that lucrative pro deal. Then we'll win the World Cup.
But watching part of the game tonight reminded me that I used to hate Landon Donovan, and now it's back. Within twenty minutes of beginning to watch the game all the old animus rolled right back around. And I should now admit that I didn't even watch the first half. I only started watching somewhere in the vicinity of the fifty fifth minute.
I watched him dive twice and intentionally handle the ball once. And the moral purist in me that loves the beauty of the beautiful game just hates seeing that shit. Seriously? Diving? And this from the guy that's supposed to be our best hope? our best player?
A hand I can almost get. At least then it's . . . NO! Fuck that guy. It's part of the game that you don't touch the fucking ball with your hand. It's not even that it's against the rules so much as it's just fucking wrong, and fuck it being strategic and a good move, and there's nothing noble about taking the yellow to help your team. It's just not how it goes. I'd almost rather see a good dive.
But fuck a dive too! I get when you're running full speed that sometimes it really doesn't take a hard blow to send you spinning. I get a hard shot that just totally knocks you stupid that really was a fair tackle but you got the foul because maybe you rolled a tiny bit more than inertia might have really caused. And I don't even like those, because it's still kinda like a dive, and I hate diving. The thing is, you got beat, and instead of just dealing you're going to try and get a foul called by pretending you didn't get beat? Man up, motherfucker.
Maybe I still just want too much to be valiant and pure of heart and actually earn my wins. It's so infuriating to know that you didn't get beaten but lost to some bullshit. And when it happens you just have to suck it up or be the sour grapes guy bitching about what he knows happened.
Sometimes you get beat, and sometimes you beat yourselves, and sometimes you don't start fast enough and have to clean up your mess. But that should never mean that you handle the ball and fake fouls. Sometimes you just have to deal, to climb back on the horse, to pull yourself by your boot straps, to refuse to keep getting beaten. And maybe sometimes you just don't get to do those things. Sometimes you just aren't going to win, and sometimes the other team is going to be better.
But for fuck sake, we're Americans. We wear the white hats and save the day. We wipe the blood out of our eyes and rescue the maiden. And we don't go for the nut punch unless we're actually fighting some sort of demon creature that eats babies.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
he's talking about his . . .
It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments. It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else. Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure. But she is somewhat astute. She catches stuff sometimes.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
we'll see bout this
a) I can give every single child the same chances, choices, options
b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games
There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles. I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring.
And I'm loving it! This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden. Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.
While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again. So it's been on my mind a bit. You might even say that I've been thinking about it.
I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring. I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.
That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well. I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other. And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads. They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.
But I'm not here to bitch about that. I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.
I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old. My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions. I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement.
The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey. I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy. Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts. Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind.
And that's fine.
I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys. I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.
And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.
I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach. I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.
See, we live in a football town. I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team. Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.
They just don't get soccer . . . yet. I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work. I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v. I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.
I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still. And then suddenly it'll be time. I'm excited.
b) I can put your kid where I want them and train them to do that job so that we can win games
There's been a lot of soccer in my life lately, and currently the t.v. behind me is showing what I'm assuming is this year's ACC women's championship between the Tarheels and the Seminoles. I'm kind of assuming the game is being played in the spring.
And I'm loving it! This week I watched part of the men's version of the same ACC championship, UNC vs. UNV, and I watched the US women's national team tie at one with Sweden. Earlier tonight I watched Manchester United beat Celtic three to nothing, and last night was MLS action, DC United versus Seattle Sounders with Seattle getting that win.
While the kids' soccer sign ups usually sneak up on me I got an email this time around to confirm whether I planned to coach at the U12 level again. So it's been on my mind a bit. You might even say that I've been thinking about it.
I may not have shared anything about last season, and I hate to have to say it, but we had an entirely losing season in the spring. I had a great group of kids that I'd love to coach again, and I think that we could have a totally different season this time around, partly because they'd go in knowing each other.
That was one of my complaints, and it's a complaint I had with my U8's as well. I was given teams of kids that didn't even know each other for the most part, though a couple kids did know each other, and there were a couple of pairs of kids that were friends with each other. And I recognized larger groups of kids on other teams as having been those same large groups before. I feel that left my kids at a bit of a disadvantage going into the season, and due to that and other random nonsense toward the end of the season really messed with their heads. They never got the chance to see themselves as the team that I saw, and I remain proud of what they were able to do.
But I'm not here to bitch about that. I think that having heard from the coach coordinator is an attempt to address a problem that's been recognized by more people than me.
I do want a winning team, but more than that I recognize that these kids are ten and eleven years old. My goal has always been to help them develop a love for and understanding of the game, to help them learn skills that will make them better players and to give them access to different positions. I don't want for a kid to think he belongs in a position without his agreement.
The key is to find the balance between a and b from the beginning of this literary journey. I doubt I'll be coaching U8 as we're going to find something else for The Boy. Soccer is so not his thing, and the only time he really wants to play is before the season actually starts. Once he's out having to actually run and play soccer he changes his mind.
And that's fine.
I'm curious to attend the preseason coach meeting, to find what players I have from last season and to see them again at our first practice as well as to meet the new guys. I'm excited to start working with them, to try this thing about balance where I push them to greatness.
And now for something sort of along the same lines and not entirely something different, and I get that it's a pipe dream, but I love the idea. Read on.
I may have another trick up my sleeve in addition to balancing the whole things I said, and it gets to my goals as a coach, and it gets to a concern I have always had with how I think I assume the parents see me as a coach. I could totally be wrong about their opinions I assume for them.
See, we live in a football town. I know already that, come fall, our soccer Saturdays will be a sea of orange in support of the local college team. Some of the families only watch soccer when it's their kids, but they sure as hell are going to watch the sports they grew up with and know and understand.
They just don't get soccer . . . yet. I'm going to attempt to give the families homework, though I'm not sure it will work. I'm going to give them watching soccer homework, and I'm going to request that the parents and kids watch as many game as is reasonable for them, assuming we can still get some soccer on the t.v. I want them to get it, to know what's happening, to understand why it's beautiful and why people love it.
I have a few weeks before I really have to worry about any of this, but those weeks are going to go by quickly while I'm not really paying attention because it seems so far away still. And then suddenly it'll be time. I'm excited.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
example of thing I said
Did you read my last post? Go HERE and read the comments to see what I was talking about. It's at Advocate.com which is less like a news site and more like a typical newspaper. They cover all sorts of stuff and tend for the most part to feature news that has an obvious gay angle, but sometimes it's just not that way.
And it's gay enough news for me. Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did. I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise. Like I said, gay enough for me.
And it's gay enough news for me. Enrique Iglesias promised to water ski naked in Biscayne Bay if his Spanish team won the World Cup, which they did. I'm gay and a soccer fan and willing to be a fan of Spain, though it's not a deep fandom as much as they have some pretty players, and the hot singer has agreed to keep his promise. Like I said, gay enough for me.
torn
I don't know what to think in this story and have almost cried over it too many times since it first began.
A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.
He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.
Eventually he fought back the only way he could.
And then he got shot in the head.
It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.
Is it right to try him as an adult?
And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.
Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.
And I don't know what to think or where to even start.
go HERE as a start
A young boy who knew he was gay from a young age tried to just be.
He had to go to school and was mistreated from such an early age.
Eventually he fought back the only way he could.
And then he got shot in the head.
It was apparently a hate crime, but a fourteen year old boy shot a fifteen year old boy.
Is it right to try him as an adult?
And I'm going to cry over this story even more before it comes to an end, and I may never know how I feel.
Larry will never get another chance to anything, and Brandon, so young, may never anything worthwhile ever too.
And I don't know what to think or where to even start.
go HERE as a start
they eat their own
It's a popular question found often in the comments at the three main gay news blogs that I read and likely any site that is mainly gay news oriented, and though it's basically the same question, it's often worded in one of two different ways. The commenter often will ask, "What is this doing on where-ever-it-is.com?" or they'll ask, "How is this gay news?"
Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there. It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back. So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.
But then there's that other time. The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine. The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.
I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to. The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?" And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.
The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people. She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name.
She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with. I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.
Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one. This site has news but adds commentary along with the news. And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle. They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to. They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.
Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article. If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't. It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.
And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people. We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it. So we then turn around and give it back out. None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.
I hate the question when I see it. It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it. I always want to yell at the person. I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking. I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.
I want my gay to stay gay. I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such. At the same time I get how I'm different.
Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead? Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche? Have I . . . ?
Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about. That's a conundrum I suppose.
Sometimes it's sort of understandable, especially when it's some sort of celebrity fluff bullshit. But that's usually at only one of the sites, and they tend toward just throwing anything out there. It's like a typical local news show where anything is considered news because it fills space and shows up in your reader and keeps you coming back. So while I understand the question and also don't really care about the celebrity fluff bullshit I also want to yell into the computer that gay boys tend to give a shit, and so this particular news outlet should be expected to sometimes include some things that aren't entirely gay specific.
But then there's that other time. The story was basically a link magazine site and a photo spread done for that magazine. The spread included top soccer players from various national teams wearing nothing but underwear based on their country's flag. This was all before the World Cup began and was leading up to the tournament and was in a magazine that has absolutely nothing to do with sports.
I usually don't comment on this site as I seldom have anything to add, but this time I had to. The person asked about the photo spread, "How is this gay news?" And while I wanted to point out the half naked hot dudes angle, I knew that this wasn't the right answer this time.
The photographer that had taken the pictures is a fairly well known person, but more than that, her pictures and images are popular to an unknowable number of people. She's one of those photographers that, no matter who you are, you've seen and are very familiar with any number of her pictures, and you may not even know her name.
She's also a lesbian, so that alone makes it gay news, which is the answer I went with. I even tried to be a bit snarky about it without being an asshole.
Of the other two sites that provide me with news about gay news I only make a point of reading the comments at one. This site has news but adds commentary along with the news. And no matter what the story is, there really always is a gay angle. They don't add the celebrity fluff bullshit and don't need to. They cover stories that have bearing on the community, and they add commentary that is actually well thought out, whether or not you agree with their opinion.
Here more than ever I have to wonder why commenters ask these questions as you often have to wonder if they really read the article. If you've read the article you should generally be able to keep up, but sometimes you need the back story, and too often people just don't. It's like they only read the headlines and have to fire off a comment.
And in the end it's just all about how the gays seem to be more judgmental of each other than straight people. We constantly have to worry about our own feelings based on all the outside noise that treats us like shit, but we then internalize it and feed on it. So we then turn around and give it back out. None of us are ever quite good enough, don't represent well or whatever.
I hate the question when I see it. It's so unnecessary, but I'm never surprised when I read it. I always want to yell at the person. I want to ask them how they have time to bother asking. I want to figure why it's so important to them that they only get news that is specifically and entirely gay when they visit these sites.
I want my gay to stay gay. I understand the need and desire to have a separation between gay and not gay, and this could easily be a whole other post, because at the same time I know that I'm normal and just like anyone and want to be treated as such. At the same time I get how I'm different.
Have I mentioned that I'm the only gay I know that loves Motorhead? Have I mentioned that I can check out girls without being a douche? Have I . . . ?
Maybe I'm currently at fault, doing the thing I'm bitching about. That's a conundrum I suppose.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
neither here or where
Remember back when I would post links to interesting things and would sometimes provide comentary? Yeah? I barely do, but let's see if we can do it again.
The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer. Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?
Basically we are in the future. In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states. I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point. In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.
I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited. I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such. I'm not sure if that's true. Perhaps they were humoring the honky.
Either way the article is worth reading.
The article HERE at the soccer blog No Short Corners is about nationalism and soccer. Or is it about national identity and the fact that here in the Oh Ten nations are slowly beginning to look more and more like each other and even to act more and more like each other till eventually there isn't really that much that you can say makes the nations different?
Basically we are in the future. In the past there may or may not have been actual differences in different nations/states. I can see that, and I don't necessarily think we're necessarily past that point. In the battle between nature and nurture I see both of them having their own place, and I see the place you're from having some effect as well.
I have to admit to having never been outside the US, and what discussion I've had with non Americans is very limited. I did once ask a Scottish guy and and English guy who were in town for business about the drink we know as an Irish car bomb, and they said that they too have that drink, but they certainly don't refer to it as such. I'm not sure if that's true. Perhaps they were humoring the honky.
Either way the article is worth reading.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
thing I'm trying to think I might do
I read a line recently that may have been about food, but I feel it contains a truth that I'd like to incorporate more fully into my life in general. It just seems like a great way to go about living.
The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz. If you don't read his blog you should. He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France. Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view. Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.
I was astouonded. I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved. Others are books I will read at some point. I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy. I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.
You don't need to own it, just enjoy it. Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully. I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.
I do enjoy books, by the way. I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell. Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.
The line is near the end of the following paragraph which I borrowed from a blog post by David Lebovitz. If you don't read his blog you should. He talks about cooking and eating and traveling, and he's an American living in France. Some of his more amusing posts are about dealing with the French mentality from an American point of view. Read the post HERE and the excerpt below.
One thing I've learned about traveling is that you should just enjoy what you have right then and there, and not worry about buying more, stocking up, bringing some home, or whatever. Just eat it there. As my friend Susan Loomis says, "You don't need to own it, just enjoy it." And I agree.We often want to own, and I'm reminded of a story I heard on NPR recently that included an interview of a book collecter. He was discussing a book he wanted and was asked about his collection at which point he mentioned that he wasn't much of a reader but loved to own books.
I was astouonded. I too love to own books, and many of the ones I own are books I've read and loved. Others are books I will read at some point. I don't understand owning a book that I haven't read, don't plan to read or read and didn't enjoy. I'm sure I actually have books that fall into any one or all of those categories, so maybe I shouldn't talk, but then that's what I do.
You don't need to own it, just enjoy it. Of the many things I've heard/read, that's one I want to embrace and to implement more fully. I'm not against owning, but maybe sometimes just to not care and to let myself enjoy is more important.
I do enjoy books, by the way. I love old books, and one of my pleasures is to bury my nose in an old book and breathe in that old book smell. Hell, I might just go and smell some books right now.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
and another thing
At some point I stopped commenting on blogs as much as I had. I'm going to fix that as well. My ridiculously rapier sharp wit has been missing from the internets for far too long. I'd like to say I'm back, but I'll probably forget by sometime tomorrow.
Vive la sarcasm!
Vive la sarcasm!
should just deal
Was I more outspoken a blogger about gay issues when I was in the closet? I sometimes think so. I'm not sure why, but I have some possible reasons.
Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere. I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally. And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.
But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me. Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.
So I began to censor myself a bit. Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet. I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care. I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it. I just don't care that much.
And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit. I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal. I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.
That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not. But I am going to try harder.
Admittedly one can never know who is reading when they throw things out into the blogosphere. I certainly never meant to open myself to family reading, but I did accidentally. And at first that wasn't a problem because I was still hiding.
But soon after that I wasn't in the closet anymore, and the whatever I said about teh gay was somewhat about me. Even if what I said wasn't about me, if it was gay, it was just because.
So I began to censor myself a bit. Of course I've said some outrageous things in the past both pre and post closet. I thought about those things, but I was likely at least a little bit tipsy, so at the moment my fingers told you those things I didn't care. I don't often go back and reread what I've posted, though I have a couple of times, and one post in particular stands out, though I'm not revisiting or searching to link to it. I just don't care that much.
And now I really want to pull that censor back out of the mix, but I've let him have his say so often that it's become a habit. I'm bad about developing bad habits that I stick with out of not wanting to deal. I do or don't do too many things out of a desire to not have to deal, and that's a habit I should really work on breaking, smashing into tiny little pieces that I can sweep up and toss aside.
That doesn't mean I'm going to write something crazy right now, because I'm not. But I am going to try harder.
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