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Just in...
Vern of Blog Fame messages Stella to say:
Word on the street is Brangelina is naming one of her twins AMELIE.
Oh how freaking convenient. I can't win. Whatever...I said it first!
First PITT(s), and now, OUR BABY NAME?? This is getting too personal. I've about had it. With the Max's and the Jack's and the freaking AMELIE's now.
Everyone needs to just QUIT GETTING PREGNANT (hello ashlee simpson) and taking all the cool names. It's pissing me off.
I figure since BOSSY is always talking about her boyfriend John Cusack (and the Saturn Guy..and Obama...and the Starbucks Guy....) and since Mrs. G is always raving about her boyfriend Johnny Depp (and the Pitt/Damon/Clooney Clan), that I would tell you about mines. Yes that's plural - as in more than one of mine.
First up and in particular order - is Jack Johnson. Oh you mean...you already knew? If you have ever called me you have been forced to listen to "Holes to Heaven" - and you can't tell me it didn't just make you feel good. Unless you happen to be Vern's husband Mr. Buck, my 70 year old father-in-law who looks like Robert Redford and runs 8 miles a day I shit-you-not, who leaves me messages that go a little something like this:
"Turtle (because thats what they call me), I really can't stand to listen to this new age music. I would appreciate it if you could look into something more pleasant for me to be greeted with, like The Weavers."
And I find it in my heart to forgive him. Jack Johnson is a pure joy to me. I have been a loyal fan of his music since I first heard him sing with G Love and Special Sauce (that second part has always scared me)on Rodeo Clowns. This must have been sometime in 1999? I was hooked. Shortly after, he came out with his first album, and has since consistently released incredible music. Jack Johnson makes albums that you want to buy because you know it will ALL BE GOOD. Not just one or two songs. Shortly after I moved to Atlanta (2003?) he came to play at one of the coolest, most intimate venues in town - The Tabernacle. I purchased two tickets and had no idea who the second was for - I didn't know anyone. I tried to convince my buddy Brian from work to go and he was all "Johnson schmonson. i'd rather go fly fishing and listen to van morrison...". 2 years later he would be calling me from an amphitheater in THE GORGE or some shit bragging about how COOL Jack Johnson was, and did I have the new album??? Dumbass. I went to the concert alone and stood close enough that night to smell the sweat dripping off his body. And let me tell you, I ain't gonna lie - it was hot.
Do you have certain bands or artists...even actors or athletes that you have loved from the beginning? That you have rooted for and followed and solicited to all your friends, your dog, and anyone else who would listen? That you always believed from the moment you laid eyes or ears on - that they had that...Je ne sais quoi!? You knew that they would make it, you knew that everyone would love them. You knew you were on to something BIG! And you are sure you are some super elite member of a VERY SMALL group of priveledged people who actually know anything about their greatness? And then...lo and behold...it happened. They got big. And suddenly, LIKE EVERYONE, is walking around in Technical T's from Urban Outfitters with your GUYS face on it, talking about that one album with that one song thats getting played on the radio every five minutes? And you feel the urge whenever someone mentions them, to inform them that YOU WERE THERE FIRST. That you know and have every album - including all the rare and obscure live recordings. You can list them off in chronological order. And you find yourself saying things like "Well wayyyyy BACK IN 1999...." as you scratch your head searching the extensive archives of your history with this person. Kind of like I just did up there. Like it was at all relevant - like I needed you to be sure that I wasn't one of those bangwagon people with a Technical T from Urban Outfitters. And just for the record - if there was a Technical T from Urban Outfitters with Jack Johnson's face on it, and there isn't - I WOULD SO HAVE ALREADY HAD IT. Do you know how stupid this is? I do.
Thats how I feel about Jack. I loved him first. Dammit.
I also happened to love Jason Mraz first. Only he didn't quite make it the same way Jack did. But that doesn't matter - because in a scrawny, like the rocker-punk-guy in high school that wasn't in to me kind of way - he's just lovely. And has a new album out. So I just wanted to be sure that you all know - that I wrote about him like YEARS AGO. When he was playing FREE concerts. SEE HERE? We've even met. And I dragged that guy Brian to the show and he was all "Jason Schmason...I'd rather bee fly fishing and listening to Martin Sexton...", until a few years later when he calls me up from some perfect venue like THE GORGE and says "Dude, I'm at ANOTHER JACK JOHNSON a Dave Matthews show and you are NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE who the opener is???". Bastard.
I'm a bit ADD, a bit OCD, and a lot Anxious. Go ahead and yawn. Who cares. Boring. Next. No one wants to read about someone else's issues. And thats fine. Let's just say I'm writing for me today. And lets just say I'm giving you a 'bye' on my vagina monologues.
The thing about being a bit ADD, a bit OCD and a lot Anxious...is that there is never a dull moment when I'm around. This can be a good thing, or not. Conversely, I have many dull moments. It is my perception of 'dullness' that makes me 'act out'. The anxiety of stillness, or silence, or resting in any one place, physical or emotional, long enough to enjoy what it has to offer without the impulse to run wildly with anticipation into the next. It is this quality, albeit sometimes flawed, that makes me unique. The thing(s) about me that people love - or hate. Either way, I'll be the first to admit when or where, or how - that 'quality' has turned me into an asshole. And not only can I acknowledge my shortcomings - I'm quite good at beating myself up about them. I am my fathers daughter. Only - he didn't give a shit about that being an asshole part. But, he was a damn good Journalist. So I embrace the ADD/OCD/Anxious'ness in me, because I just wouldn't be me without them.
I am flippant, and self-deprecating, I don't care if I sound stupid or naive about things I am genuinely struggling with, I don't pretend to be anything I'm not. I trip over my own feet often, I am sometimes gullible - I am typically not embarrassed by my own confusion or misguidance. I use big words out of context with authority and sometimes can't even say or spell them right - but at least I try. I say GOOD when it should be WELL - and guess what? I don't even care what the Blue Book says. I'm sure there's a Red and a White book out there...and odds are, I'm fucking them up too. I get the gist across pretty good. I like to minimize heavy/convoluted/emotional topics not because I'm trying to avoid the experience of struggle or intimacy, but simply because laughing about it makes it all less painful. I enjoy finding the humor in things that feel too big to digest - I love being able to relate to others on that level. It makes me feel more connected and thats why I blog.
I generally don't care about a lot of things - in the sense that I don't take most things too seriously. I do however, care what my friends and family think of me. I care about being 'real'. I care about helping others feel confident about themselves. I care about being open to new ideas and differences of opinion. I care about being able to learn and listen, and knowing that those people will forgive me for being that asshole from time to time. That they trust that every asshole moment I have was immediately followed by an obscene amount of self-reflection and criticism and analysis with every intention of having progressed in even the slightest positive, more enlightened direction.
That said. Ever read the Mystery of the Enneagram? I am a 7 like nobody's business - The Enthusiast. Shocking - I know. More specifically, I border between a Level 4 and Level 5 - 7.
"As restlessness increases, want to have more options and choices available to them. Become adventurous and "worldly wise," but less focused, constantly seeking new things and experiences: the sophisticate, connoisseur, and consumer. Money, variety, keeping up with the latest trends important."
"Unable to discriminate what they really need, become hyperactive, unable to say "no" to themselves, throwing self into constant activity. Uninhibited, doing and saying whatever comes to mind: storytelling, flamboyant exaggerations, witty wise-cracking, performing. Fear being bored: in perpetual motion, but do too many things—many ideas but little follow through."
I like labels. And yes, I am okay with the notion that I can be summed up in a few sentences. Zack thinks its total crock - I just like to play along. Cuz I'm a 7 - and we like to have a good time. And he's a Level 4 Type 5:
"Begin conceptualizing and fine-tuning everything before acting—working things out in their minds: model building, preparing, practicing, and gathering more resources. Studious, acquiring technique. Become specialized, and often "intellectual," often challenging accepted ways of doing things." READ - Personality tests are for JOKERS!
I had a point when this all began, but the chickens...they're everywhere. And in case you don't know about the chickens - they are the ADD. So I guess I just wanted to say today - that if you have chickens too, thats just great. Maybe you have cows and pigs too. Love your inner farm animal. Its good stuff.
Oh come on...You know you want to find your type too!
Or is it Case IN point? Whatever they call it, a case and a point are to be made here.
Belated Dude Disclaimer: Dude - This post is light years away from your Happy Place. Just go away, and be thankful you will never have to root around into your inner galaxy to find your penis.
The following is something I have read on a website that feels about as foreign to me as - well...as curry. Not only are these newly discovered "TTC" sites (that would be "Trying To Conceive" for those of you who only know of sex simply for pleasure and not the kind with the added intent of purpose!), foreign to me...many of them are quite FRILLY. And in case you hadn't noticed - I'm not. Bells and whistles, and curly cues. Blinkys, buttons and FLOWERS! They all remind me of my sticker collection album when I was 6 and I oddly feel as though I am standing outside the door to a members-only-club I'm not sure I want to be in. AND... can a girl send and recieve information these days without knowing WTF WTF means? I don't text. STFU! I learned the little I do know from the 12 year old TISNF girl on TV - and I have no desire to spend 20 minutes of my life decoding a sentence that I could have typed faster than it took to look it up!
But WAIT! There's more. So all these boards and sites and all things mommy and preggers - they talk about things I'm not good with through the use of words like FLUID and INSERT. Which arent among my favorites.
Take the following for example. For the record. I wasn't looking for this particular information. It was jumbled all in between some other shit. I didn't ask to see this. I didn't need to see this. But there it was. All up in my face. This would be that case and point.
Checking your cervical fluid internally
If you check your cervical fluid by internal observation (Already, I don't like where this is going) only the method for gathering the fluid is different. Otherwise, follow the same steps and observations as for external observation (I'll take External for $500 Alex!). To collect cervical fluid internally follow these steps:
Insert two fingers (2 WHOLE fingers? Where is the APPLICATOR?) in your vagina (not in MY VAGINA - and I really don't appreciate that word) until you can feel your cervix (my WHAT? I'm feeling a bit tingly).
One finger should be on each side of the cervix. (You mean to tell me there is enough room for this? Pull up a chair for the Puppet Show!).
Press gently against your cervix. (I WILL NOT, Mess with Texas)
Collect the fluid by moving your fingers to the opening of the cervix. (Are we still up in there? I'm having a hot flash. The only fluid collecting is the saliva in the back of my THROAT.)
Remove your fingers and pull them apart slowly. (Hallelujah! Praise be to the Lord!)
Make your observations as outlined for external fluid observation. (I observe that I won't be using the INTERNAL FLUID OBSERVATION method.)
Something tells me - Me and My Vagina will be COMING TO JESUS soon and it will not be pretty.
Last night I had a dream. I had a dream that I was in labor with my pretend baby. I sat there sweating and screaming at Vern that I just...
CANT DO THIS.
She looked at me and said...
OH YES YOU CAN. In that kind of tone your mother gives you that means YOU CAN and YOU WILL or I'll beat you. Only no one ever beat me. HOWEVER. In 4th grade I threw my retainers in the trash in a brown paper bag along with the Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie I never ate and that no one would trade for. What I really wanted was a Nutty Butty or a Zebra Cake. Or those chocolate covered peanut butter logs. I informed the Principals office that if we didn't find them my mother was GOING TO KILL ME. I must have been fairly convincing because I got a lecture after school from my mother that one doesn't go around talking like that. That was a good year for me in the Drama Club.
So Vern is saying YES YOU CAN (and you will or I'll beat you) and I'm thinking to myself. You are smoking crack lady. She stares me down and says "There is a woman behind every single person in this room who did this, and so can you." And then I was like...OKAY FINE! but I'm not gonna like it...
Mind you. Last night before I went to bed I spent a few minutes trying to figure something, that just wasn't getting figured.
I sat on the floor in my bathroom in front of our floor-length mirror just like I did when I was 13 after my very exhausted and older girlfriend had just explained that there was a hole I had been missing. That NO SILLY, tampons don't go up your urethra! I had been struggling with this idea and finally admitted it to someone. I had never actually attempted this logistical nightmare, I just decided I'd be one of those MAXI Girls. The OB Girls were like superstars in my mind. I just couldn't wrap my head around that one. Can you imagine the look on my face as THE MYSTERY THIRD HOLE magically appeared in that mirror - staring at me all like...DUH BECKY GET WITH THE PICTURE!! Now here comes the real shocker. It would take me 7 more years to work up the nerve to actually put something IN IT. That crazy third hole.
So anyway. I'm revisiting my nether regions (I only do this for educational purposes). And just long enough to deduce, that I'm a pretty tiny gal. And there are these BONES. They are like maybe within 4 inches of each other. I call my dear sweet husband in (with his background in Engineering) and point and say "DO YOU SEE THIS? I don't GET IT?". He replies, "It softens up babe." And I'm all, IT SOFTENS UP. BABE? That makes two of them - crack smokers. And I want none of their wisdom around when I'm doing this impossible business. ESPECIALLY the one without a vagina.
Mothers of the universe. HOW THE FECK IS A BIG OL PUNKIN HEAD coming out of that shit?
TELL ME. TELL ME PEOPLE!!!
Or maybe you shouldn't...
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