Seeing Red

When Zube Boy and I first met, I was a redhead. Not a real one. A fake one. I started dying my hair after yucky stuff happened and I think I was trying to, unsuccessfully I might add, be a different person from the one who experienced the yucky stuff.


Anyway, I was looking through some old photos that I had online today, and I kind of miss my redhead self. Don't get me wrong, having reverted back to my natural dirty blonde is SO MUCH FUCKING EASIER than buying a box of Chocolate Cherry and dying my hair red every two months just so that my bowling name of 'ChoChe' could be more than a random moniker, but still. And, no, the semblance of 'ChoChe' to 'Chocha' does not escape me. I'm damn smart like that.


Red suited me, I think. AND I heard a hell of a lot less blonde jokes. My Mom HATED the red hair because my brother and sisters and I are sort of a biological anomaly in that what should have only happened 25% of the time, happened, well, 100% of four times.

Mom and Dad have brown hair. Mom has blue eyes and Dad has brown. All four of us kids have blonde hair and blue eyes. And our faces all bear an astounding resemblance to one another. I was at a bar one night and the bartender, after staring at me for a while, finally said at the end of the evening, "You have GOT to be Hoot Zube's sister! I don't even know if she HAS a sister other than the one I've met, but you have to be related." I informed him that I was, indeed, Hoot's sister, and then convinced my bruised ego that he still probably thought I was cute, and not just staring at me to ascertain my relationship to Hoot.


I think Mom kind of dug that about us. She loved the fact that we all looked VERY MUCH the part of brother and sisters. Hence her disdain of my oh-so-not-natural red hair. Eventually, while visiting home, Mom paid for me to have my hair stripped and dyed back to its natural color for my birthday. And Zube Boy happened to not be with me during this visit. And I didn't tell him my plans. And he picked me up from the airport. And didn't recognize me.

Honestly, by his lukewarm reception, I don't think he was too pleased with it. It didn't matter that blond was my natural color. What mattered was that it wasn't natural TO HIM. And I kind of get that. Doesn't mean that I'm willing to go back to dying my hair red every two months, but I get it.

Sometimes, though, I wonder if he's all bitter about the fact that he fell in love with an Irish redhead and ended up marrying a blonde German...

Supposedly, he loves me no matter the hair color. I'd like to believe that...

And he seems pretty happy to me. Wouldn't you agree?

The Long and the Short of It

Hoot: I have a theory.

Z-Girl: What's that?

Hoot: Well, it seems like girls who can pull off having short hair mostly have big boobs. You know? Like, they can get away with it.

Z-Girl: Huh. Interesting.

Note - Hoot? Has pretty short hair. Mine? Is really long. And she SO obviously inherited her chestal genes from our, uh, Dad's Mom. While I? So obviously inherited mine? From my, uh, Dad.

And we're both hot. In our own hairy way.

Interesting.

Six Things That Nobody Knows About Me

I was tagged forever and ever ago by PaintingChef with this meme. It's going to be difficult to think of SIX things nobody knows about me because I suffer from a severe case of Overshareitis, but I'll give it a go.

1. I fiddle with my earrings when I'm nervous. And really, Zube Boy knows this, but no one else. It's kind of sweet that he picked up on it, too. I'll be playing with my earlobes and he'll say, "What's the matter, honey?" It's one of those things I never even knew about myself until he pointed it out.

2. I have OCD when it comes to change being left around the house. The other day, Zube Boy sauntered in after work and emptied his pockets of loose change on the counter. Minutes later he said, "Honey, I see that you've put my change in a neat little pile."

"I did?"

"Yup. In order, too. Quarters, nickels, pennies, then dimes."

"You know what really pisses me off, though?"

"What's that?"

"That dimes are the smallest. They really should be sized in between quarters and nickels, don't you think?"

"Really, I never put that much thought into it."

3. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, or you might, or you might not care one way or the other, but I'll tell you anyway. My thyroid is fine. Dammit. Okay, well, I guess I'm kind of happy that my thyroid and chooch are all healthy and shit, but it would've been nice to have an explanation for the miscarriage bizness. Oh well. More tests to come. Lucky me! I'm looking forward to having my uterus dyed and examined by ultrasound to look for fibroids or other such nonsense that might be screwing up the reproduction thang. Actually, I'm not looking forward to it at all. But, it'll be nice to get a full clean bill of health, I suppose.

4. When I was little my parents only let us kids have one glass of milk with our dinner. After that it was water. For some reason I was an anti-water kind of rugrat so I always made sure to save my milk for last. So I wouldn't run out during the meal. To this day, I still do that. I eat all of my dinner before drinking the beverage that goes with it.

5. Sometimes when I'm home alone, I'll gather up all of my journals from years past and read them in one sitting. I'll laugh and cry and roll my eyes. Truthfully, though, I never, ever want to forget who I was all those many and not so many years ago. You know? And reading things I've written in the past keeps me and who I used to be and am from slipping out of my memory.

6. I have a little straw angel that I bought after the abortion at a dollar store. I felt like I needed something to sort of signify and honor what was lost. The road I didn't go down. A lot of times, I'm afraid to tell people that because they'll use it as evidence that ABORTION IS WRONG otherwise why would I be buying a little angel to comfort me. But the truth is, it makes me feel better, so fuck what other people have to say about it.

One day, while my sister, Hoot, was staying with Zube Boy and I for the summer, I enlisted her help in throwing away a bunch of useless crap. She picked up the little straw angel and said, "What is this thing?" "Just an angel I bought." "Is it junk? Should I toss it?" From the next room, my fabulous husband whom I didn't even know was listening, yelled, "YOU CAN'T THROW THAT AWAY! IT'S SPECIAL TO HER!"

I'd only ever told him about it once. Years before. And he remembered. I fucking love that guy.

I'm not going to tag anyone, unless you ask me to.

Stuff

-Hoot is visiting and we've been whooping it up. I kind of forgot to mention her visit to you because I kind of forgot she was coming. Well, okay, I didn't really FORGET. It's just that her arrival sort of snuck up on my ass the way, well, my thongs have been sneaking up on it. Anyway, we're having a blast and I'm beside myself having her here.

-I find out on Wednesday if I have a thyroid problem. And the fucked up thing is that I really hope I do. My Mom has a thyroid problem, which she acquired in her thirties. It would be resolvable with medication AND I would have SUCH a simple explanation for all these miscarriages I've been having. Plus? It might explain why I've gained, like, twenty pounds in the past year. Which would be REALLY, FUCKING NICE.

-This conversation between Zube Boy and I STILL gets him in trouble. Eh, okay, not so much in TROUBLE but it does guilt him into getting me a glass of milk every once in a while when I'm lounging on the couch and can't be bothered to get up and get my own.

-Junebee had asked what I'll major in should I return to school. I'd like to, if possible, stick to somewhere near my original major. Education of the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Only if that makes the whole graduation thing easier. But likely, I'll do something along the lines of education. During one of my student teaching practicums, my cooperating teacher told me I had a natural gift for teaching. A gift that took her some twenty years to acquire. I think it's mean to the world to keep that gift to myself. And I think there are a lot more assholic teachers than gifted ones out there right now.

-I really want another tattoo. I'd like to get ZUBE on the small of my back in kind of open gothic letters so there can be a depiction of the mountains showing through them. Does that make sense? That would be tattoo #4. But, Zube Boy HATES tattoos, so I don't know. I mean, I can do what I want, for sure, but if he doesn't think they're sexy like I do, then, is there a point? I think yes. Sometimes. But others, I'm not so sure.

-I collect lint from the dryer and keep it in a little wastebasket. Sometimes I stare at it and think what an ASTOUNDING amount of lint my hairy family produces.

-Whenever I get coffee at a restaurant, for some reason I leave the spoon in the mug while I'm drinking it. I prop it on my nose so it doesn't fall out. People make fun of me for this. But I do it anyway.

A Winner and A Loser...Or at Least Feeling Like One...Or Both

Okay, let’s just skip over the bit where I tell you all how much I suck. You're familiar with that song and dance, I'm sure. I have been shitting out business contracts at work with alarming regularity and with all that going on, I don’t even want to glance in the direction of my computer at home. Maybe I'm getting too much fiber.

The other day, I cried a little bit. See, I have this wild hair growing, well, you can imagine where, and it’s giving me the urge to go back to college. I dropped out because a lot of shit had happened and was happeing and showering daily was a feat in and of itself, rendering me paralyzed at the mere thought of attending class and studying. So, I stopped going. But now, ten years down the road, I've come to realize it is the one way in which I haven't healed from said horrid shit. Academically. And though consider myself pretty dang smart, apparently that piece of paper from an accredited institution means more.

Anyway, I get this weird palpitation in my heart when I’m calling my old college trying to figure out how to tie up loose ends and all. It’s reminiscent of a panic attack. Dealing with them makes me feel like “That Girl” all over again. It’s fucking weird, and I don’t like it. But I'm suffering through because I think it's important.

Long story short, and the reason for the waterworks, I was misunderstanding one of the ladies I was talking to and she fucking laughed at me. And I nearly crumbled. I know I pretend to be all big and bad and bitchy, but every once in a while, I'm a sensitive shit.

But, I’m over it now. Mostly because a woman named Linda called me back and was VERY, VERY sweet and now I kind of want to hump her leg.

Last order of business: WE HAVE A WINNER!

Thank you ALL for participating! Each and every entry rocked.

All that said, the Winner is: Beer Boy and Philthy Dog.


The prize will be announced shortly…

Congratulations Phil!

Minions and a Super Contest

It's the moment you've ALL been waiting for!

Drumroll please...

Ahem...Just a minute...

Z-Girl: What in the fuck do you call that??? That's not a drumroll!

Minion: I know. All I could find is a trombone. I was trying to improvise.

Z-Girl: You idiot! There is no improvising in minionism. You're demoted. Go put on a loincloth!

Minion: OH NO! PLEASE! Not the nubile young attendant position!!!

Z-Girl: Mmm-hmmm.

Minion: You are a tyrant.

Z-Girl: Yeah, yeah. Now go fetch me a beer.

Okay, forget the drumroll. I'll be taking applications for the position of Minion, if you're interested. But FIRST! We have a contest to begin. Remember that whole Superhero thing from last week? Yes? Very good. No? When then go read the link dumbass.

Anyway, it's voting time. Here are the entries (I think I got everyone, but if I've somehow missed you PLEASE let me know!):

Click on each picture to make it all biggy-like.

1. Happy Villain drew yours truly! I totally dig the armor. I think that when I'm not busy being a stick figure superhero, I'll go with this one...


2. Psychobabble - A Momma and Baby duo! CUTE COLORS! It's all about the colors.


3. Phil, or rather, Beer Boy and Philthy Dog, to the rescue! Hee. You MUST make this one biggy-like, 'cause you've gotta read the fine print.


4. Ginamonster - I LOVE the banana! A woman after my own heart with the Paint Shop superhero.



A few folks have the details of their superheros and superpowers posted on their blogs. I've linked to them below.

5. Bonanza Jellybean - SuperTramp The Avenger of Sluts everywhere!


6. JustDawn by day and this hot little number by night...She'll strip you of your dignity if you cross her!


7. RisibleGirl Patayto, Pototo. Either way, she rocks.



Okay, it's voting time. Just step on over to these Diebold voting machines here and...or...eh. Nevermind. You all know where I was going with that one.

Vote now. Vote often. But really? Only your first one will count.

And after Midnight tomorrow, not a damn one of your votes will count. So hurry up!

Happy Easter!

Zube Boy and I are Godparents. WHEE!

I just ADORE little Alexandria, and not only 'cause she's all cute and baby-like, but because Miss I and The Englishman are like family to us. I couldn't be more honored that they want us to be Alex's special Aunt and Uncle.

Here's a question to all y'all. We're not exactly the religous sort, in fact I'm fairly certain that Miss I and The Englishman are agnostic, if not atheist, and I know that Zube Boy is an atheist. I'm an agnostic, and I generally avoid the word God, though sometimes I replace it with Goddess. All of this makes the moniker 'Godparents' seem silly. Any ideas for other titles? Not that we need one, but it'd be kind of nice. I mean, The Godfatha is pretty cool just, well, BECAUSE! But we're looking for something else that fits better. I mean, Godmutha never had a damn movie written about it, eh? Anyway, suggestions?

Oh yeah, gratuitous photos...




Happy Easter you crazy motherfuckers!!!

Love ya,

Zube

Fucking Feline

Dear The Dumbest Fucking Cat I've Ever Met (AKA Zinnia, AKA Baby Kitty, AKA Lard-Ass),

I have a suggestion for you. Not that I can tell you what it is persay, because at the moment you are indisposed. But, when you decide you'd like to eat SO much that you are willing to, of your own volition, come out from under the house, I'm going to forcefeed you this note in the hopes that SOME of the information herein will manage to, by osmosis, find a place to stick in that sieve-like little peanut of a brain you have.

Twice this week you've abandoned the security of four walls for the freedom of the outdoors. I suppose you want to be like your big brothers and sister, but really, I think you're an indoor cat through and through, and it's time you accept that. Running outside and then cowering under the house only makes you look stupider than if you were to act too good for the outside altogether. I'm hoping that from now on, you'll go the snobby route because helpless little shit is TOTALLY unbecoming.

The first time I heard you meowing from under our abode, I freaked out and crawled under there to rescue you. Which, might I add, wasn't very easy what with you running away from me every time I was about to clutch you in the safety of my arms. But, I figured somehow you had slipped outside, realized it scared you stupid, and I was willing to go the extra mile to help you out. See, I've done things once that I didn't like, so I felt your pain. I kind of figured it was a one time thing.

Then you did it again. The very next day. And I have to tell you, not only am I not feeling the sympathy, but I'm pretty well certain that you are seriously stupid. Because see, there's this excellent thing that, for the most part, I allow our four-legged roommates to exercise. FREE WILL. Free will means that if you don't like being outside and it scares you, then you have EVERY right not to RUN RIGHT THE FUCK OUT THERE AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY! Mmmmkay?

Anyway, we're going on fifteen hours now and Zander, Zack, Zoey and I are getting kind of hungry, so I think we're all going to feast on some treats. I'll open the windows because it's a pretty nice day and I figure you're loneliness will be eased by the sound of us chowing down on goodies.

Happy Easter ya fucking dumb-ass.

Love,

Zube Girl

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Dear Zube Girl,

Meow! Mrrrrrrrrrrrow-meow-mow-mrrrrrrrrrr! MEOW!!!!

Zinnia

What I...

...Didn't really want to hear my coochie doctor say:

"We have a medical student working with us today. Do you mind if he observes?"

...Kind of wish I hadn't said:

"Sure! No problem."

...Kind of wish I had said:

"Eh, what the hell? Can we pass out popcorn and 3-D glasses? I'd be more than happy to accommodate God and everybody's viewing of my nether regions."

I mean, at least then I'd have been a witty bare naked lady, right?

...Thought to myself:

"Well hell, how else is the guy going to learn how to be a good OB/GYN?"

...Couldn't have been more pissed to find in an e-mail from Planned Parenthood this morning:

"Yesterday, Gov. Bill Owens vetoed Colorado’s Emergency Contraception Bill (HB 1212). For the second consecutive year, Owens vetoed a bill that would have provided women with greater access to emergency contraception. "

Linky Goodness:

His drivel on the matter...

Information about the bill and a list of various organizations that supported it...

...Think people don't understand about Emergency Contraception...

It's fucking CONTRACEPTION!!! It PREVENTS pregnancy and ABORTION!!! If a woman is already pregnant? Odds are she will remain so. IT IS NOT AN ABORTIFICANT!!! It helps with the whole NOT GETTING PREGNANT THING! Much like, you know, the BIRTH CONTROL PILL! But hell, some pharmacists are trying to refuse that to women, so I don't know what I was thinking, expecting Pro-Life people to desire to REDUCE the number of abortions. Apparently that's not what this whole fucking dispute is about for some of them. They just want everybody to be pregnant because having kids is WHAT YOU GET for having sex. Or, in my case, getting raped. DUH!

...Think would look just FABULOUS on my foot...

I Vunt to Suck Your...

You guys, I've been KIDNAPPED! Don't worry, I'm executing swift ninja kicks and spy rolls and I think any day now I should be back at my humble home, fully recovered.

My kidnappers are these fucked up little monkeys that thrive on, of all things, BLOG MOJO! It's totally weird, they bite my fingertips and suck the Blog Mojo out. And then they giggle endlessly while chanting, "WE LOVE BM! WE LOVE BM!" Kicky little fuckers. They're all about the potty humor. Which is probably why I'm in the very predicament I find myself.

Wish my monkey-butt-kicking luck! Even first class spies need luck you know!

Oh yeah, KEEP THE ENTRIES COMING! They're FUCKING AWESOME!

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's...the Lamest Fucking Title That Ever Was!

Last night I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning and shaking the blankets to release Zube Boy's flatulent airy deposits. I had a little farting contest with him, but it wasn't all that fun because he was sleeping the whole time. And he still kept winning. Without even paying attention! I felt kind of loserish, so I seceded.

After I dropped out of the contest, I started fretting because it TOTALLY felt like there was something in the corner staring at me. It was weird. I HATE that. So, I wrapped my blanket around my head, squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore the fact that I'm pretty sure a ghost lives in the corner of our bedroom. Fucker.

I got to thinking about Superhero School and how I should go and get my degree and stuff. I was REAL excited, mostly about my outfit. I'm leaning towards a purple, leather body-suit with pink cape and a silver tiara. I feel sexier just thinking about it. Zube Boy would SO dig it.

Anyway, I'm not too sure what I'll specialize in yet. Maybe I'll try my hand at fighting ghosts. Though, poetic justice would most likely have it that, while I can kick OTHER people's ghosts' asses, my own ghosts would always elude me. And that would kind of suck. But that's the life of a superhero, I guess.

After careful thought, I drew my superhero self...

Don't I look cute? My pig-tail on the one side looks a little limp. I think I'll need a new hair-do upon graduation, which shouldn't be a problem because I bet Superheros make an assload of money. I hope so anyway.

I considered having a contest wherein I ask all of you fine folks to share with me a rendition of YOUR superhero outfit. I'd post them here and readers would vote on the best and the winner would get a PRIZE! An undetermined prize as of yet.

But then I realized that despite evidence to the contrary, I'm really fucking sensitive and if no one participated I'd feel like a ginormous ass and cry into my pillow every night. So, I decided not to have a contest. Unless, uh, there is an overwhelming DEMAND for a contest or if I happen to find numerous, or even, ONE entry in my inbox at tzubemcmahon@yahoo.com. Then, you know, I might just be compelled to have a contest.

*****************************************************

HOLY SHIT! Ya'll actually WANT to play! Whee!

Okay, here are a couple of rules:

1. I've set a deadline tentatively for this Sunday at midnight (Mountain Standard Time because if I have to watch the fucking ball drop at 10:00PM and feel like New Year's is over every damn year then all you East Coasters can go by my watch. Besides, it's cool 'cause you'll have an extra two hours. Sorry West Coast. You lose one.)

2. As far as the image, well, there really aren't any rules. Feel free to use ANY medium you feel will unleash your inner ARTEEST. Whether it be a crayon drawing you take a picture of and e-mail me or an actual photo of you in an outfit YOU made or something you draw on Paint Shop Pro or, or, WHATEVER! Really. I don't care if you want to be the fucking Super-Cheerio Heerio and glue cereal on a piece of construction paper. Or, uh, all over yourself. Just, you know, have fun. That's what it's all about.

3. If you'd like your entry to link back to your blog, please let me know in the e-mail!

This? Is fucking exciting. I can't wait to see my superhero friends.

Oh yeah, feel free to have a little profile. Like, what are your superpowers and shit like that.

Fuck Pants

I'm SO FUCKING OVER IT with the pants. Seriously. Here's my problem. I have a sweet ass. A sweet, big 'ole booty. And I'm not eensy weensy at the waist or anything, but it definitely pales in comparison to it's counterpart.

And the geniuses who fucking make the Pants Factories don't seem to understand that SOME OF US are oddly shaped. And it would be nice if we didn't have to choose between squeezing our ample bottoms into pants that fit our waist but not our hineys or setting up camp in pants that comfortably house our bottoms but FALL TO THE FLOOR because they're too big for our waists.

From now on, I'm not wearing pants. It'll be my silent little protest. More like a visual protest. Like, if you can't stand the sight of me in my bloomers and my white-ass legs then MAKE ME SOME BIG ASS, LITTLE WAIST JEANS MOTHERFUCKER!

Oh yeah. I've been thinking about becoming a Scientologist. At first, I was like, "NO FUCKING WAY! They're whack-jobs!" But then I thought about it a little and I figured is it SO far-fetched to believe that aliens are the reason for all of our negative feelings? It sounds weird, but then again, so do Pant Shrinking Gnomes and Butt Biting Spiders with Ass Swelling Venom, and I believe in those. So maybe I'll give the Scientology thing a whirl.

Besides, then I could befriend Katie Holmes and ask her if the Church of Scientology Celebrity Centre is infested with Lip Stinging Bees that carry Collagen Venom. Because FOR REAL. With the lips? Jesus H, Katie. I could set my beer on those.

B Flat...I Mean, the Tire Be Flat...

Z-Boy: Honey, you HAVE to learn.

Z-Girl: Yeah, I know. But NOW?

Z-Boy: Yes, now. Better now than never.

Z-Girl: But all of these truckers are going to think you're mean making a girl do it.

Z-Boy: Nope. They'll all know that I don't want my wife kidnapped or some other crazy shit because she didn't know how to change a tire.

Z-Girl: But can't you just teach me at home in the driveway.

Z-Boy: Nope. Now's perfect.

***************************************************

Z-Girl: WAAAAAAAH! It's HEAVY!

Z-Boy: I know.

Z-Girl: My hands are FILTHY!

Z-Boy: *silence*

Z-Girl: Oh shoot! Honey! There go your eyeballs! I think they might've just rolled right out of your head. Let me go get them while, uh, you change this tire over here.

****************************************************



The whinng? It worked.

In my defense, it was a LONG day. And it was my turn to drive and driving I'd been. For about five hours. And, um...uh...hm...

Shit. Well, his intentions were noble, but I was a whiney bitch.

We're home. Thank fucking GODDESS! I feel, well, a HELL of a lot better. Sincerely. But then again, I haven't been to work yet.

And, as far as the Anonymous commenter, more on that when I don't have Been in a Car for Sixteen Hours Brain. I want to thank you ALL for your comments. I also want to assure you that I am NOT upset about it whatsoever. I'm more in a tizzy about the pimple on my cheek that no amount of toothpaste liberally plastered on my face will get rid of. Actually, that's not a fair comparison, because I TOTALLY upset about that stupid pimple. SO fucking upset that I'm forgetting important verbs. Like AM. Does I TOTALLY upset not sum it up for you?

Anyway. Stupid anonymous people? I don't so much care about.

Ah yes, and Phil? The Wendover suggestion? Perfect! Thank you! I only wish we weren't too tired to play a few hands of Black Jack!

I Don't Know Everything, But I Know How Not to Be a Dick...

Because sometimes I think it's important to let yourself be defended...It helps negate the "One Girl Versus the World" Feeling...And you guys, at least those of you I know about, aren't on vacation. So, I don't mind making you work.

Your assignment today is to respond to this comment which can be found on this post:

For someone with no guilt, you sure threw into a tirade about how not guilty you feel really quick. I didn't think you felt guilty, but now I'm starting to wonder.

I am sorry for your losses. Because I recognize that what you lost were human beings with worth. You just lost something that you wanted. You call them 'pregnancies' and not babies. You aborted one 'pregnancy' and lost others. I know you didn't lose or abort 'pregnancies', but babies. That's just a euphemism.

I am not sorry for the focus of your "pity party post". The "Why me? I had to go through the trouble of killing my first kid and now that I want kids, I can't have any." How sad and selfish is that? You only want kids on your terms. It's all about you. Maybe you'll have some empathy for the infertile couples that would have gratefully adopted your baby that you instead aborted.

Maybe your killing your first baby has nothing to do with you losing the subsequent ones, but I don't pity you.

I am sorry for your losses. I wish your children would have lived. ALL of them.

--
Posted by Anonymous to The Adventures of Zube Girl at 4/06/2006 02:29:12 PM

And don't you worry, I haven't lost my edge or anything. I'm simply about to embark on a vacation nap with the man I WANT to have children with and presently have NO interest in confronting ANONYMOUS dipshits.

Your turn. Even, and I know you're out there, Pro-Life folks who read me and understand me. I've never, ever, ever, ever insulted you. EVER! I've been careful to insult only the most assholey people. And there are assholey people everywhere. Among the Pro-Choice camp, too, I'm sure. So, can we build a bridge or something that makes us both appear a little more human? Please? Thanks.

A Crazy Lady Filling in for Another Crazy Lady

I am happy to present to you a guest post by Crazy Lady in Vegas whilst I sun myself on the deck of our oh-so-fabulous room and scan our view of the ski area for Zube Boy on his board wearing his oh-so-sexy new boarding digs. RRRRROWR!

***********************************************

I am very happy to be filling in for Zube while she is off frolicking in Tahoe. I am jealous that she is getting some quiet time all to herself, even if she is “working” wink, wink, nod, nod* Yeah, working. So let me share with you a day in the life of a crazy lady in Vegas; a full time accountant with 3 kids, 3 dogs, and a husband. And you wonder why I call myself crazy?

Darwinism? Or a tall tale?

Sometime the other night, after I tucked my Little Man into bed, and the morning, when he woke up (after he slept the ENTIRE night without waking up EVEN ONCE) the fish in his room somehow managed to sprout legs, and develop lungs. How in the world could this happened is all very mysterious, you understand. What did they do with this new found power? Take over the world? Global Domination? Enslave all mankind? *insert evil fish laugh here* NO! They formed a fish chain; escaped out of the tank; took the entire bottle of fish food; and managed to dump the entire contents into their tank.

Thus spent, their arms, legs, and lungs *poof* evaporated into thin air. They feasted the night away, gorging on all those yummy, yummy flakes. Now, if you are wondering what happens when you empty an entire container of fish food into a tank, I can tell you. The water becomes very much like the swamps of the Florida Everglades. Green. Slimy. Thick. One of those fish, I suspect the ring leader, was looking pale and peaked; gasping for air (or would that be water?) on his side, when I scooped him out and dumped him into a mixing bowl filled with fresh water. A mixing bowl, because - where else do you put a dying fish in need of fresh water: while trying to save the fish, feed 3 kids breakfast, pack lunches, get 3 kids dressed, and get ready for work, all at the same time? All, except for the bottom feeder, were delivered to the mixing bowl, with the help of a pasta scoop, because, one of the tasks those devious fish accomplished on their night mission was to tear the net beyond all use, and then to shove it haphazardly into the small trash beside the dresser.

Oh yes, I forgot to tell you of the stench that creating a mini eco-swamp causes in the bedroom of an innocent 5 year old bystander. I spent the day at work with my lungs coated in primordial ooze, and my eyes smarted with held back tears because the foulness has followed me to work and hung over my desk in a vaguely threatening green cloud that made me feel like retching.

I can only count my blessing that my sweet, angelic little boy managed to sleep thru the entire nocturnal wanderings of his amphibious friends. Or who knows what could have happened then.

Greetings From Tahoe!

I hadn't mentioned to you all that we had a last minute change of plans as far as the Tahoe trip. Zube Boy was able to take time off of work and go with me. Which is AWESOME! As much as I was looking forward to hanging out with MY brain, the opportunity to hang out with his was even better. We needed to get away. Seriously needed to.

Plus, it was nice to have another driver. Because FOR REAL sixteen hours is a LONG ASS drive!

I'm happy to announce that we only got into three fights. Well...

Z-Girl: Honey, we're almost here, and we only got in three fights.

Z-Boy: Nuh-uh. Four.

Z-Girl: Shut up! It was NOT four! It was three! I know what the hell I'm talking about.

Z-Boy: Heh.

What a butthead. Anyway, I'm busy working (well, okay, maybe just a little busy working) and dodging RAIN because it's been RAINING since we got here and...um...actually, I just plain old am enjoying my vacation away from the computer.

Tomorrow you'll be showered with the musings of Crazy Lady in Vegas with some nomadic fish tails! Love y'all. Take it sleazy, bitches!

Who Goes There?

Do you ever feel like you live in a fortress with big, huge walls that no one could EVER scale in a million years and that, just so’s you won’t get lonely in there and start feeling all hermity, you have a megaphone with which to keep people outside of your fortress in the know on what the hell you’re up to in there?

Only it’s weird because, even though you’re sharing most of the daily happenings in your impenetrable fortress, even some of the really ugly shit, you still keep a bit of it to yourself because, well, it's yours after all?

That's what blogging feels like to me sometimes. I have my walls and my Stuff That Nobody Else Knows About, but I have my megaphone, too. And that, somehow, makes it easier to be holed up in here.

I'm just sayin'.

And? I really suck at April Fool's Day jokes. I'm terrible. So terrible, in fact, that it's CRUSHING my ego. I think I'll go jump off a bridge now.

Heh.

Ass-capades and Thanks...

Guess what! I'm special. Wanna know why? Do you have the feeling I'm going to tell you? Yes? Jesus, what are you people? Psychic? Or am I really just that predictable?

Anyway. I'm special because of my butt. "Yeah, yeah, who isn't?" you might be asking yourself. And you're right, in a way. Everyone's butt is special. But, mine? Is REALLY, REALLY special and I'll tell you why. Because it travels. It travels far and wide. It never seems to stop. In fact, it is venturing further and further from the command center as we speak and to be honest, I'm a little proud of it. It's like a space shuttle exploring the furthest recesses of space! Daring to go where NO BUTT HAS EVER GONE BEFORE! Whee!

What's your butt up to? Oops. I guess that's kind of a personal question, huh? Oh well. Screw it! Is your butt a traveler, too? You should be PROUD! Seriously! We should CELEBRATE our nomadic asses!

In fact, I think this is just the kind of thing that CLUBS were invented for. Instead of Hair Club for Men, we'll be Butt Club for Ass-Capaders! Our slogan would go something like, "Our Asses Are GOING PLACES! NYAH!"

Who's with me???

Also, I'm feeling even MORE special today because PaintingChef nominated this post for March's Perfect Post over at Petroville. How fucking cool is that?

Thanks, girlfriend. Really and truly.

Wherein I Can't Shut My Pie-Hole

Oh my GOD! How could I have been so STUPID as to overlook the OBVIOUS? I'm ashamed of myself, really. You see, even after having three miscarriages, it never ONCE occurred to me to explore the possibility that having surgery on my cooch ten years ago, namely an abortion, might affect the current shortcomings of my uterus. I mean, one would think that I, having proclaimed time and again how fucking smart I am and all, would have at least looked into it. Fortunately, for my sake, the Know-It-All Fairy descended upon this blog of mine and thwomped me upside the noggin with her/his Thirty-Year-Old-Studies-Decree-That-the-Miscarriages-Are-YOUR-Fault! Wand. Well, DAMN! Does that mean that if I hadn't ever HAD an abortion, I wouldn't be having these problems? Hmmm...

Pfbt. Whatever. Before any Pro-Lifers out there go parlaying for an all out victorious conversion of the Zube Girl, it's not gonna happen. I've been there, done that. I WAS Pro-Life. I argued until I was red in the face that having a BAYBEE would be HEEEEEALING for a rape survivor. Then I got raped. And found myself pregnant. And I wasn't really finding that healing crap to be very true for myself so I opted to have an abortion. Exercising my right to choose kind of made me think that maybe it wasn't my place to go around denying others that right. So don't go convincing yourself I'm on the edge of conversion or anything.

Without further ado, here is what the Know-It-All Fairy, cloaked in anonymity because I imagine that Fairy's of ALL sorts must protect themselves from crazy-ass magic wand seeking stalkers, had to say:

Anonymous commented on this post:

I'm sorry for your losses. This might explain more...

Women who had one induced abortion had a 17.5% miscarriage rate in subsequent pregnancies, as compared to a 7.5% rate in a non-aborted group. Richardson & Dickson, "Effects of Legal Termination on Subsequent Pregnancy," British Med. Jour., vol. 1, 1976, pp. 1303-4

Women who had delivered their first pregnancy had (in the second pregnancy) the "best reproductive performance." Those who had a spontaneous miscarriage on the first had "the highest frequency of an early loss." Those with induced abortion on their first had "the highest frequency of late spontaneous abortion and premature delivery." Koller & Eikham, "Late Sequelae of Induced Abortion in Primagravida" Acta OB-GYN Scand, 56 (1977) p. 311.

(Bolding mine)

First off, I find it difficult to believe that you are sorry for my losses. Given that the thirty year old research you've quoted can be found on every Pro-Life website from here to kingdom come, I get the impression that you're anti-abortion. And that's fine. Good for you. I'll fight ya tooth and nail if your goal is to outlaw abortion, but I support your right to feel how you feel about it. Though it seems like, rather than feeling any sort of sympathy for my losses, you're rubbing them in my face and you could say that I don't fancy that so much. Let's not keep up with the facade that you've got any sympathy for me, allrighty?

I do find it interesting that these studies are so damn old. Really. So old that they took place not long after the legalization of abortion in Britain and the US. Which, at least to me, means that the subjects involved in the studies just might have had illegal abortions. And illegal abortions are often not done properly and CAN lead to damage to the reproductive organs. Just for fun, here is a link to a site where the findings of those studies are disputed.

To make you feel a little better about my current state of affairs, after my second miscarriage, one of the first questions I asked my doctor was whether or not he believed my previous abortion could have anything to do with it. He said, "Absolutely not. There is a possibility that ONE miscarriage might be the result of the embryo trying to implant in scar tissue, but if you had a legal first-trimester abortion with no complications and follow-up care, scar tissue would be minimal, and the odds of an embryo attempting to implant in that same exact spot are very, very slim. In fact, it's promising that you have carried a pregnancy further in the past. At least we know that you can." Are ya all warm and fuzzy now? Good.

Lastly, what in the HELL were you thinking making a comment like that on such an emotional post? I mean, come on! Fortunately, I'm far too self-assured to let it bother me, but I have to believe you were trying to induce guilt where none existed. What if I weren't so comfy-cozy with the choice I made? What kind of FUCKED UP ASSHOLE would you be telling an obviously grieving woman that she was responsible for the loss of her pregnancies? A CUNT-LIKE ASSHOLE, comes to mind. And not only because CUNT is one of my most favorite words, either.

And, you know what else kills me? How some Pro-Life people will go around lamenting the badness of abortion, and how they want better for women and blah blah blah and they give hugs and love and support with reckless abandon to women who regret and feel guilty and pray to God for forgiveness for their abortions and any women that create memorial websites in honor of their aborted BAYBEES get coddled and forgiven and paraded about as a reason that abortion is bad because JUST LOOK AT HOW GUILTY AND HORRIBLE THEY ALL FEEL! But show them a woman who is comfortable with the choice she made and doesn't feel guilty, a woman like me, and these same Pro-Lifers POUNCE at the opportunity to create guilt where none exists! I've seen it and experienced it a million times and I have to ask: If abortion is SO HORRIBLE because it makes some women feel guilty, well then, what does that say about you? Huh?

Need Work - Will Travel...Or rather...Need to Travel and Will Be Working...

California, HERE I COME!

Do you hear that? It's rather faint. I can't tell exactly what it is, er, cheering? Screaming? Old ladies dropping their miniature size poodles and running for cover?

Maybe. Fortunately for California, I think the state's large enough to diffuse a Zube infection. And I'll be working, so my antics will be kept to a minimum.

I'm driving there. I leave Saturday. Here's my route. Most importantly, I have a question: any of you fine folks live out that way who might be able to suggest the perfect place for an overnight stay? Hopefully with a really cool, laid back, hole-in-the-wall bar where, like, retired bikers hang out? Or something? I'd like to try to get to Nevada the first day. I know I promised no more alcohol, but I've decided follow my HCG to zero first, and since that hasn't happened, well, I'd like to have an adult beverage when I reach my overnight refuge. I prefer to steer clear of a night in Utah, what with the mess of having to be sponsored by a member of boozing establishments and all. I mean, I KNOW it's not too hard to get sponsored, especially being a single gal (meaning solo, Zube Boy hasn't run away frantically waving his hands in the air just yet) whooping it up on her own, but I really don't feel like messing with it. So, Nevada it is. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Also, if ANYONE is interested in guest posting, please e-mail me. I know it's really fucking short notice, and my updates have been abysmal lately anyway, but I hate to leave my little on-screen home all empty and lonely for nine days. That's like a cobweb collecting amount of time, and fucking hate cleaning up when I don't have to. Anyone care to keep the windows open and the breezes flowing around these parts?

I'll probably be able to sneak in an entry or two, but there will only be like ten computers at this conference, and people always stand behind you huffing and puffing and shit if you take too long, and I HATE that. And lately, I'm not much in the mood for it either.

I really, truly can't wait for the drive. That's the part I'm looking forward to most. Just me and my brain and my car. I get to pee when I want and hold it when I want and listen to Rush Limbaugh just to get myself all fired up if I want. I can flip the channel to Christian radio if I feel like it. I always like to keep myself abreast to their goings-on. I can do all of the stuff I cannot do when Zube Boy and I take a long trip, because a pissy Zube Boy does not a good travel partner make.

I'm quite excited to get to hang out with my brain again. You know, get the kind of thinking done that only gets done when there is SHIT on the radio and you have no one to tell stupid jokes to. It'll be a reunion of sorts.