Mama, However, Did Not Paint My Nails

So I talked about dad. Probably for the first time in a while in some detail. I think we get now that despite his best, yeah he was abusive.

So, perhaps you've wondered...why I hardly talk about my mother at all? Is it because she's a saint? Because we get along so well? Er, no. You see, ladies and gents, my mother abused me as well, physically and emotionally. Almost indirectly. I'll explain.

I will say first that I think it's actually taken me longer to fully forgive & come to terms with what SHE did...forgive is probably the wrong term actually...perhaps merely get past.

You see, I suppose the great thing is I can fully rationalize both my parents' behaviors. Dad was a drug addict and an alcoholic. Mom, I'm pretty sure I mentioned, has her own history of abuse with her first husband. Also I think it's good to keep in mind that both my parents came from, I guess you'd say...more rural, maybe traditional black homes. Big families out in the country side. Both of them have a history of what you and I may call child abuse--I say "may" because I know not everyone thinks of spankings as abuse, but I'm willing to bet you'd agree with me on out 'n out beat downs--and they were just raised that way. Rationalize, explain, but justify? Maybe.

See, dad had no qualms about spanking me much, and I was a hyperactive little kid until I got severely subdued in first grade for various reasons--thanks society. Mom scoffed at the idea. But, uh, she beat me twice when I was older. I'll get to that.

But before I get any further, I do want to warn the viewing audience at home that I'm going to say some harsh shit and bitter words. If you thought my piece on dad was ugly and revealing, that's just the shit I semi-regularly even talk about. Me and Mom's relationship has been addressed ONE TIME like...6 years ago. But don't worry, I won't air too much dirty laundry on you.

So! All that good stuff out of the way, I'll start by explaining what I mean by "indirectly". Mama has been a working person all her life--from Mickey D's to USA Today (not a journalist or writer mind you)--and that's something for me to happy about because it gives me hope. Mama also had my brother when she was 18. I'm not totally sure about the nature of their relationship other than it seems like they're not very close and it's rather sad. Then again he's not that close to his father either--actually he kinda hates him.

With me though, mom and I are pretty close I'd say. I'm her only daughter, second kid, last.

Mama is also very submissive it seems, very...feminine. She used to be a tomboy she says until she fell out of a tree. I also need to tell you why I think this is--and why issues surrounding rape and violence against women are so close to me--she was sexually assaulted as a child.

You can imagine that would traumatize anyone greatly, add to the fact that when she was in her twenties she married an abusive man who was handicapped--and this handicap lead to people basically blaming her for the abuse, even friends, hell even me at some point. How do you let someone with one functioning arm hit you? we'd say. It seemed my dad was the only one more sympathetic to her--sick innit? Well she "let" her husband abuse her until one day she finally found the strength to up and leave.

So...we all get lonely but it seems like mama is on a quest to constantly fill some void within her that she thinks will be filled by a man. I don't think since she's gotten married she's had a stable relationship. They all usually end in tragedy or stupidness. She also dates interracially--she preferred white men for a long time figuring they would treat her better than white men. Um, me, my bro, and dad usually tried to point out the flaw in that thinking considering the men she dated usually only considered her a living breathing sex toy. I kid you not.

So that's indirectly. How? She would bring these men over at night while I was sleeping and fuck them, therefore I had to learn about sex at quite the early age. Which distorted my views considering that all in all sex was something considered bad and taboo. So I was conflicted quite often. And seeing so many white men use my mother like, as I said, a sex toy, IN FRONT OF ME, not so good.

She would abandon me for these men. She'd leave me alone with my dad for these men. She'd push me away for these men, wouldn't let me near her for these men. She doesn't anymore, but she did. Even worse, when she didn't feel up to fucking these men she'd suddenly use me as an excuse not to see them. They would ask if I could be sent away.

I felt neglected a lot by my mom considering the 12 hour shifts she worked and the only time we could be together--the weekends--she usually devoted to going to clubs and hooking up with these men. When I expressed this fact to my father, he just said that my mom deserved to have a life too. I'd have to concede that he was right...mom being happy just meant that I wouldn't get to see her.

I often felt like neither of my folks wanted me there. Like I was an obstacle despite fervent reassurances...I just didn't see it.

The physical abuse. Well, one Halloween I had a big, big bag of candy. I would never eat it all and my older cousins came over while she had went out somewhere, so I said sure they could have it. When mom came home and found out, she threw me on the bed and beat me. Open hand slaps on the bed yelling at me. Over candy. We drove over and got the bag back. I still have no idea to this day why she beat me over that and neither does she.

The second time, I'm actually not sure about. I just remember her hitting me...a lot. For no reason again I'm guessing.

I hardly ever discuss this with mom. She feels guilty, like dad--but unlike dad, mother feels quite guilty it seems and usually our conversations end up getting nowhere--as in, the focus is no longer on me feeling horrible but how I'm "punishing her" because I feel getting beat up by her is sort of fucked. She's depressed, she cries, she yells at me, but it's usually not about me. I don't feel pity so much as I just get annoyed at that shit so we avoid it. The only time that happened is when she made me attend counseling where I didn't have a choice--and of course all the above happened. The counseling was because no one could figure out why I was cutting myself at 12. I had to scoff at that. I continued until some point last year, for some reason I was rarely angry/upset enough. See, I quit on my own. I know what the fuck's wrong with me, it's you two (and the rest of my family you know).

And that's pretty much it. Why does it take so long to forgive? I wonder if it's more taboo to talk about mothers abusing children (unless it's something drastic like, say, murder) because they are seen as the "caregivers". I guess in a sick way it's easier to explain fathers abusing children because men are more aggressive no? I think that's why it's so hard to excuse anything's she done. I seem to be a great deal annoyed with mom's actions that I am with dad, not because I love either one of them any less or more than the other, but because...mothers don't fucking do that, do they? I may not ever...

Fear of Dying.

Warning: Talk of death and suicide, and the futility of life. Actually...that's what the whole damn post is about. It's the weekend!



I am tired and this is the weekend, ergo this is bound not to be pleasant.

But.

I will tell you something I need to get off my chest.

I cannot wait to get out of my teen angst stage. I refuse to believe I will be a depressed individual for the rest of my life. I've changed and I will change again.

And yet the more things change the more they stay the same.

I'm not sure how to put this other than I'm tired of being fed up with the world around me and myself. I'm tired of seeing others as untrustworthy. I don't want to hate. I don't want to drown in self pity. I don't want to die.

Let me tell you about death. I had a kooky dream Thursday night/morning no doubt brought on by the fact that I had voraciously consumed not one, not two, but FIVE PACKS OF M&Ms.

The dream was this. I was the Angel of Death. Aaand I killed Mark Sandman. In his sleep. Umm.

I helped him write a song, a couple that appeared on Morphine's final album, the Night (I remember one being "The Way We Met", dunno the other). It was a fairly lucid dream because at the end I remember telling myself, "wait, he didn't die in his sleep, he died on stage!"

Anyway, the dream, I was helping Mark write awesome tunes and while we were talking at some point he asked me if I was tired. I don't remember my response, but then he began taking on a little sickly and I ordered him to bed. I tucked him in (coz I like doing that) and we spoke again...I ended the dream by saying, "The next time I see you it'll be for that final sleep."

"...Damn," I thought upon waking. "The fuck was that."

That was a dream. I don't put much stock in chocolate-induced dreams pretty much for that reason, because I am neither the Angel of Death and nor do I wish any harm on musicians that are already dead.

But like all good Morbid Folks (which is going to be the name of my shoe line I swear) death enters my mind a deal. Being an atheist...or better yet, just being me for some reason I often encounter the question of just what happens after death, I'm so smart. My usual answer is "Just that" or "What the fuck you think happens?!"

I think about it. It's a useless question really, I don't care what happens after death, I'll be fucking dead. I used to be awful determined to find out just that though, either that or prove my immortality to the world, being a former teenage Weekend Para Suicider. That is to say, I used to cut. A lot. First in attempt to kill myself (then there was that one time I drank rubbing alcohol, pills, etc...) then, honestly, for the hell of it. It felt nice compared to everything else.

/soul baring

I stopped suicide after I realized, I was deathly afraid of dying. I didn't want to really leave the earth because I didn't know what would happen next, atheism or not. Not because I might be wrong and end up in that ol' Lake of Fire with the Old Man, not even worrying about my family and...uh, acquaintances, but just because I wouldn't be LIVING anymore. I'd be dead. Deceased. No more. I'd be an ex-Xands. But overtime I lost my fear of death and haven't really regained it.

What drove me nuts about our little shooting incident in January is just how close I had seriously come to dying. If I'd gone and taken a nap I'd have a bullet lodged somewhere in my abdomen. I thought perhaps it was just adrenaline taking over and I was in Co-Ops Mode or something, but days after the fact I realized...I didn't care at all. Perhaps it's just my fatalistic outlook that tells me, well if I had died that would have been it, but I didn't so oh well. Then I had to laugh at the irony that I'd nearly got what I wanted about 5 years ago, and all I had to do was go on the couch for that final sleep. Death is beautiful in it's simplicity, isn't it? Murder. Those men will never get caught you know, fact.

So yes, I am tired, Mr Sandman, I get tired a lot. I am the Angel of Death and sometimes I wish I could crawl into my own tomb.

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Masturbation: it's not a big deal...

...or is it?

So, my dear mama reminded me of why we can't talk about shit with each other. Earlier in the year I told you we tried to have the dreaded sex talk and it went...alright. For a minute she seemed okay talking to me about sex. For a MINUTE. Then I went back to school and she must have been so relieved that we didn't have to press the issue anymore. I guess.

So tonight I tried to talk about masturbation. And she FREAAAKED OOOOUT.

Now, I don't take much pleasure in making my mother cry over the phone. I wasn't even EXPECTING that. She can handle my jokes about masturbation, hell, she has quite a few toys of her own and it's sort of an open secret. She was even alright breaking her comfort zone to talk to me about sex if only briefly. But for some reason the subject of me touching my "naughty places" blew her miiind, maaaaan.

Let me explain the scenario and tell you why I don't really feel bad about it.

So we're talking on the phone, calling Danz a punk bitch and going generally well. Then she mentions going to Nashville's only Hustler Hollywood store outlet and how slammed the parking lot was with couples for Valentine's Day. It's around here that I make the joke of wanting a rabbit. She thinks I mean the animal, then Labbits, then finally she realizes I mean THOSE RABBITS. Ohhh nooo.

So she yells at me about it. I'm...taken aback. I didn't say anything about my own habits, just would she buy me a rabbit. Make note that I actually DO NOT want a rabbit vibe, I just used it as a generic term for a vibrator. I was completely joking about her buying me one but I didn't expect her to yell. Because I can't let shit go, I asked well what if I bought me own.

Well...yeah, that's about the time that I apparently upset her so much (because I "don't need anything like that") that she starts crying. Then sobbing. At this point I'm just blinking over the phone, flabbergasted. I had no idea why she was crying about it. Again, nothing about her or my own masturbation habits, just talking about apparatus. For some reason this is...distressing? I wasn't feeling it...

...But don't forget, I'm inexplicably pissed at the world this week, so I ask why it's okay for her to masturbate but not me. She doesn't give an answer. I press it gently as I can then she insists that I don't need anything like that.

Fine. No, it's true, I don't need a rabbit, or any "device" to masturbate with but my own hands and maybe the shower when I'm feeling fearless *shudder* _{oh god} But I still don't get it. I looked back over that "dreaded talk" and remembered that she was the one telling me to "save myself" for marriage, despite the fact that she didn't. She had me AND my brother out of wedlock so I suppose I'm supposed to get a "do as I say not as I do" vibe but I DON'T GO FOR THAT SHIT, and I've expressed this. Why is it so hard? I really don't get it. Masturbation's not a big deal to me. I don't think it should be to ANYONE. It used to be when I felt so guilty about it, to the point where I couldn't even enjoy an orgasm because I would freak out about not being "normal" (this is long after I went agnostic/atheist too) but seriously, who the hell am I hurting when I touch myself? It's natural and it makes you feel good.

I still don't get why she freaked out. Is it that her daughter might finally be interested in sex? (shock and horror) Is it the phallic nature of the rabbit vibe? (which is actually why I don't want one but I didn't tell her that *cough my fault*) What? I can't ask her any of this because our views on sex are so fundamentally different, and I wish they weren't. I want her to talk to me and it makes me sad that her bravery only comes in spurts. It's also silly.

I wouldn't call myself all that liberal on sex, but it seems that my mom holds such a strange, twisted "traditional" view on it that I'm honestly kind of confused on what I'm supposed to be doing. How can one acknowledge having multiple partners (not really poly) but still spin me some outdated shite on masturbation & sex? Seriously. Again I can't discuss any of this with her because, like this phone call, she will freak the hell out.

And this is why I really don't get in to it and just keep my views to myself. If she wants to do the "do as I say not as I do" thing, whatever. I try to be as honest and open as I can with my mom because she's like my best friend and she doesn't even have to hear about me having sex or masturbating--even I wouldn't go that far, to describe my habits to her. I just wish we could be more open about the possibilities that are so plainly there, ALL THE TIME, just not once every blue damn moon. Shit, living is damn difficult these days.

Take me to the river, drop me in the water

Warning: Angsting. Angsting hard.

Holla at ya person. You all know I have to go super hard with everything, including emotions.

I've been feeling homesick lately. I think it's homesickness. I really hope so because there's no excuse for random suicidal thoughts. I mean, I have these sometimes, but recently it's been sort of intense. I'm assuming it's homesickness because it's always connected to home...

I hate myself for bringing it up to my mother that I'll be home in May. It sounded more like I was trying to convince myself that I'll be home soon, not her. Sure May isn't all that far off and I'm already pretty well acclimated to dorm living as it were. Other than Housing coming after me (and I ignore them pretty well) I've been okay.

But...I dunno. I guess suddenly I want to be home right now. It's so empty & lonely here on the weekends, walking through the halls of this dorm & on the street is kind of creepy and well, depressing. Everyone's at home or out with friends, I can't go home OR go out with friends.

I've had to start sleeping with my TV on to drown out my own thoughts. My mind goes overactive usually just before I go to sleep, I think that's a normal occurrence. "What did I do today, why didn't I go to that class, wow that sushi was really awesome, did I get more than 400 calories today (no, that's why I'm hungry now)". You know, shit like that. But then you'd usually go to sleep, whereas I...well, I stay awake and think about incidents from eight, ten years ago. The memories won't let me sleep. I turn the TV on and screw my eyes shut and pretty much do the "LALALALALA~" routine. Lately I've started hitting my headboard and that rather hurts, but the pain takes me mind off...me mind.

So that's actually where the suicidal thoughts come from believe it or not. And...well, I think it was Tuesday night, as I hovered there between sleep and sort-of-sleep (I sleep like a cat), I thought of my dad. I thought of one particular incident where we got into an argument and later I ended up hugging him. I could...feel it so vividly and realized that over Christmas break I didn't get to see him much, let alone hug his tall, squishy self.

I thought my tear ducts were going to go into overload, and for about 5 minutes I wanted to die like that would have done any good. I wanted to die with that feeling of hugging his tummy. I come up to his chest, but I always end up hugging his tummy because it's all soft and familiar and secure. I wanted to DIE. I started thinking about all the stuff I'd read up until that point and wanted to die. I thought about cutting (I don't think I've ever mentioned I'm a former mutilator) and wanted to absolutely die. Then I just wanted to be at home.

And that, ladies and gents, is how hard I do with homesickness. And why I avoid it at all costs. This is actually only the second time I've felt that intensely about going home, and the first I've ever connected it with dying *blink* very weird...but this too shall pass.

What's so wrong with forgiveness?

The other side of the coin...or perhaps a different section of the same side...yeah I don't have a song for this post. I looked for about 15 minutes. I have no forgiveness songs...if I pull any random song lyrics it's from "Laid So Low" by Tears for Fears.

It's actually kind of telling that I looked for a song to fit with this post on "forgiveness" and didn't find one. For one thing my music collection is mostly rage/angsty rock and...some more.

The other thing is, well, I talk about anger and awful lot. I talk about anger, cynicism, being a skeptic, and just generally hating everything and everyone. And to be fair I'm a vindictive bastard. I like baiting folks into saying shit to me just so I can cuss them out sometimes. Yes, anger is good, but you know what's also nice? Forgiving.

Chewed the bone down too low...got fed on tea & sympathy

With all my rage you may guess that I'm not a very forgiving person. Not at ALL. I seem damn near incapable of the act. I can only be less mad at someone than I was before, but my policy has been, all my life, fuck up once and we're done. I can tell you people I've been pissed at since elementary school. I can not forgive & forget. I can do NEITHER.

I have a very hard time with this. As I say, I'm honestly pretty calm & chill. I consider myself pretty compassionate if a little aloof sometimes. I can't deny that I'm a bit of a fucked up individual, not to be all kewl and trendy but it's just the truth. Some shit happened in my life and it's clearly affected the person I am today. I'm rather assuming this is why I have a hard time with that whole "forgiveness" thing, even though I wish I didn't because it can take a toll on you, holding all these grievances in your heart like a stuffed piggy bank.

I don't think the world hates me. The world doesn't care, it's rather non-sentient. But thanks to my funny childhood and just the general nature of people as I've come to understand it, I simply can't seem to forgive ANYTHING. No matter how many times you say you're sorry or how much either of us have moved on. I get pissed then I can't get unpissed.

I was humble for you...what a fool I've been to have laid so low, for so long, so long

Again about my forgiveness. I have more of an issue with my inability to forgive minor acts & myself for things, but that's more of a psychological thing, I think, for a different post. Now, big things I don't really care if I forgive you or not. Like my favorite issues of racism & sexism and all that, offend me on those and you can expect to be on my shitlist for...ever. I don't care how many times you apologize and for what. Know why? I don't believe you. For me, forgiveness is a lot like "sorry"--if you were sorry you wouldn't have done it. I got tricked a lot when I was kid where people would tell me they were sorry for pulling my hair or tripping me in the hallway or calling me fat, as they laughed behind their hands. I came not to believe them, because if they were "sorry", why do it?

For me forgiveness works the same way. If you want someone to forgive you, you should have thought about that act before you did it. Now you want to be forgiven, assuaged of any wrong doing. It doesn't work that way for me, I dunno about you. Like I said, I'm a rather vindictive biotch and my worldview is a bit skewed.

Made a mess I guess I...should have known, that life was lust & liberty

So. That's all just me by the way, I'm not trying to get into anyone else's head. I have a hard time with my own. I have trust issues and I simply don't believe people when they want to apologize, sincere as they want to be. Perhaps I've taken my mother's lessons too much to heart, or perhaps I'm so damn tired of being a doormat I literally just hate everyone. Or perhaps it's a lot of things. Who knows, I do not.

Why did I bother with a post on how insanely well I hold grudges? It just dawned on me last night how I talk so much about rage and spite but never about the flipside of being nice and compassionate. I put myself off as a nice if loopy individual but never show it. Now you know why. Also, I totally lied, I'm not nice at all, as Danz. Whom I don't hate by the way.

"The Talk" and What I Found There

This week has been decidedly...strange. Pretty much from New Year's on, and it's all revolved around that fabled of subjects: sex. In places you'd never expect, from playing Monopoly (fucking Monopoly dude) to helping mom with her socks (she has a back problem and can't bend far). And, you know, I'm still juvenile enough that I can giggle like a 4 year old at the "birds & the bees" talk but frankly, I'm really disturbed at some shit that came up.

Ooh, subheadings!

I. The Talk

So mom just comes up one day and, after hearing Michael Baisden on the radio, decides she wants to have a go at giving me "the talk" again. She's tried this every odd year since I was a child, with varying degrees of success. This year went fairly well but I think it was more because I didn't let up once she started. No embarrassment, no giggling, no hiding--if you're going to start something, don't bring it up and get shy.

...And okay, maybe I was laughing my ass off at the awkwardness, but I was actually very happy. It's not that I know everything there is to know about sex, but I was so happy to be able to engage in conversation with her. I reminded her about the Female Orgasm seminar I went to a few months back (well, technically last year ain't it?) and I got her to stop vilifying sex.

Now, my mother's had some pretty awful experiences with sex that I'm not going to get into because she'd psychically kick my ass. I'll just say that after some of the shit she's gone through, I can understand her perspective on trying to explain sex to me her way. But I had to tell her that if she wanted to try this again next year she was going to have to:

1) Stop trying to give me that "abstinence is best" bollocks after having 2 kids (me and my bro) out of wedlock herself *side eye* Come on mom
2) Sex isn't bad. It isn't. There's bad consequences if you don't protect yourself and/or find yourself doing it for the wrong reasons, but on a whole I believe sex & having sex isn't really a bad thing

After those "ground rules" so to speak, things went pretty well. We essentially had a 2 day conversation and I just kinda forced her to be frank with me. I may have been a little harsh but...really that's just how I roll when it comes to my mom sometimes :P

Unfortunately what DID come up is my extreme aversion to people touching me. There's two reasons for this, actually

1) Previous abuse
2) I'm extremely ticklish everywhere. I am not even kidding

II. Would you, Could you, Should you...

I don't mind hugs, kisses, being affectionate, handshakes & shit like that. But frankly I don't like being touched by strangers--strange doctors, strange people, strange family members. If I don't know you/like you, you may not get so much as a handshake. I've never really thought there was something wrong with that, am I to just throw myself at every person I meet? Noooo.

The second reason is easy. I am ticklish as hell and I'd really rather not ever be tickled. I got tickled an awful lot as a child but no one really seemed to get that IT FUCKING HURTS for me to be tickled.

I remember feeling the most extreme alarm when I got tickled by my mom or her boyfriend (not my dad, he didn't hurt me or anything he just tickled me because he figured it was funny). I still don't know if that's really normal, but I never had the giggly reaction to tickling, I usually screamed and ran. My dad's never tickled me because he's more or less the same way--super sensitive I guess we are. Tickling is not fun for either of us and I really don't know what's so hard about respecting my fucking boundaries and not running up for a tickle because that's what you do to kids--not this kid.

Oh, the first reason. Previous abuse. And by that, I suppose, I mean sexual.

What to say about that. That actually happened a little later on in my life and it's difficult to explain. It my brain it's a bit Hitchcockian--jumbled up, confused, tied in psychology and over analysis. Some days I can remember it quite fine and other days I wonder if it happened at all. For years I wondered, "Was that really abuse?"

I don't really want to say much about it other than it was a female & male member of my non-blood family (as in, not related to me by blood) that I actually get along with pretty well now. I mean, it's come up between us once before and it's usually just waved off--hell, I don't know if I'd even consider it actual "sexual abuse", the only reason I can say that is because she's a few years older (he is a quite a few years older) than me and at the time I was too young to have any clue what I was doing and I didn't want to say "no". That kinda throws it in the grey area of "experimentation" and "abuse" I think.

I've only brought this up to my mother once before and, uh, it seems she conveniently doesn't remember which kinda throws me in that dream-like state once again of "did that really just happen?" Who the fuck dreams that vividly? Or maybe...I don't know...

I didn't mention it this time though, I just gave the reason that I'm tired of repeating over and over, I. Am. Ticklish. I think the scary part of that is, the ticklish is actually the bigger reason that I don't much like to be touched than the abuse. You know, the emotional & verbal abuse I've suffered over the years, that's tangible. Everyone knows that happened and I don't need to do much to prove it. The sexual aspect? Not so much. It's strangely intangible, just floating in the memory of my mind like something loose. In a way it is a little frightening that such a damaging experience (or experiences) could just be set aside for a moment like that. I don't know why...

I hope one day soon I'll be able to talk about that in detail again--make someone remember, make it more tangible to myself. Hopefully around our next "talk"...

If you're still wondering about how one talk about sex over Monopoly, I'll try to get into that tomorrow. That is even more disturbing and truly deserves its own post.

Damn this childhood obesity! and other things.

Childhood obesity "set before age of five"

Childhood obesity is set before the age of five, ministers will hear from researchers later.

Compared to children in the 1980s, today's youngsters are fatter and most of their excess weight gain happens before school age, they will say.

This suggests initiatives to prevent childhood obesity should be started before school, suggest the authors.

Me and my latest headlines tab on Firefox...we have us some fun.

Sigh. I picked up that story because it sort of ties into something I've been trying to talk about since yesterday, not childhood obesity but infant death. Yes, infant death, it is SUCH a happy subject to look at. More on that later, for now check this article on childhood obesity. Honestly, because this is something I keep a look out for, this article isn't exactly telling me anything new. Especially diet-blaming.

Let me tell you all a story about me and my dad though. First thing though, both sides of my family are rather large. There's a couple of skin-ty people but on a whole we're all big folk. I can't tell if it's genes or we're just...big.

In any case, I was actually a little stick when I was a kid. My dad--and I'm about to do some wild speculation here so bear with me--has some body issues of his own; he's about 5'9", average height, and has always claimed that he doesn't feel comfortable when he's under 200 pounds.

Yes, while most of us are trying to get skinnier, my dad wants to get fatter. I know. When I was a kid he would basically just feed, feed, feed me. Make me eat when I didn't want to, make me eat WHAT I didn't want to. He'd actually wake me up at weird times of the morning and have me eat, just so he could make sure I'd gotten enough food. Eat, eat, eat.

Naturally I began gaining weight. Being a kid, I didn't really notice much, I was still pretty active (well until first grade then that was another set of issues we'll go into). Anyway, I didn't pay it much nevermind until...I'd gained a lot of weight. And it started fucking around with me health. It's not entirely my dad's fault (mom had a hand in it too with fast food being considered dinner every night), especially since as it turns out I lose weight about as easily as I gain it *blink* but in any case, next thing you know I'm about 8 years old, just under 5 feet and over 180 lbs. Then I'm 13 and over 200 lbs. The eating habits I'd picked up when I was a kid, I didn't think any about it and we just ignored my doctor when he told me to diet. Then I had sleep apnea (well, I still do) and my period decided to stop for a year and aaaaall these health issues popped, most of which I think could be tied to my ballooning weight.

Now, at this stage you're probably wondering when I'm going to get to the point...let's just say this has a happy ending and I gradually just started losing weight by A) realizing I needed to lose weight and B) Uh, yoga. I know! Yoga. Oh and eating healthier and all that jazz. Next!

My point is that my little story isn't as uncommon as you'd think and I think it's really important to start talking about and DOING something about childhood obesity. I don't want to engage in any self-hate and fat shaming--I think body acceptance is important too. But honestly the news and stats on childhood obesity really freak me out. I wish we could encourage more helpful discussion on health--I mean, kids shows today try to sneak in the importance of exercise and eating right and that's fine, but I also think its really important for parents to address why kids should eat their fruits & veggies and be active as well, and not in a "omg fat is teh evil" way but with a more positive approach that will help kids understand. I've always advocated that children aren't as naive as adults would like to believe and having a damn conversation with your child isn't going to kill you or them.

Sigh. Y'all know I don't have kids nor do I want any, but that doesn't mean I just outright don't care. Now I'll wrap this up...hopefully later on in the day I can talk about this series the Tennessean is doing on infant mortality rates in the grand ol' state of TN and you'll get to see the gran, gran, gran list of potential reasons why, the top one being that TN health is crap. So stay tuned and we'll do some wild speculating and gesticulating together and this mess.

Am I the only one fucked up about this?

This is something I haven't talked about in a while...or ever I don't think. It's actually kind of depressing, but I hate it when people act like I don't understand abuse. Um, I was abused as a kid.

Mostly emotionally and verbally...that, I actually do talk about because it was by my dad. I can talk all day about his abuse for some reason. But who I don't talk about is my uncle L. That I can't talk about. It's so surreal because for a long time no one ever talked to me about it. I tried to tell my dad but he was on his own trip (literally) at the time and my mother was ineffective. And I damn sure couldn't talk to his family about it because they were getting abused also.

My mother worked nights so my dad would stay at home with me. But my dad worked out of town doing odd jobs to get money and he was also an alcoholic/drug addict at this time, so one way or another I'd usually end up being left alone with my cousins, my aunt R and my uncle L. L was, I realize, way more hardcore than my dad was. He was out of control and extremely violent. His kids were about teenaged at the time and I was about 9 to 11. He would hit them, beat them, beat his own wife, he almost made her miscarry his own damn child. Then my aunt would abuse her own children as well.

And then, you know, because I was in the house some of it would just get layered over to me. I wasn't actually hit but I saw things that still fuck with me to this day and I was so verbally and emotionally abused, between my uncle and my father I don't know why I'm just not committed somewhere.

I can't even tell you in words how horrible this was, and despite what I said (and my uncle ending up on the news one day), my parents would still have me spend the night at this man's house and even PAY them to babysit me on occasion. Over and over until one day I finally put my foot down to my mother when I was 11 and told her I wasn't spending another goddamned night at that man's house (not in so many words, I wish I would cuss my mother out). And while I learned how to fend for myself at home the cycle of abuse continued over at my cousin's until all his kids left and eventually uncle L was thrown out his house.

It's not that my parents didn't believe me. Mom still acknowledges what my uncle did, but she was just afraid to leave me at home alone in our neighborhood, which I understood. But I still don't understand why no one ever talked to me about this--it's so surreal I still question whether any of that shit ever happened. It couldn't have, could it? Even my cousins won't acknowledge it to me and just act like everything is all good and wonder why I don't speak to them.

So that's one of the many things in my life I haven't worked over and I wonder if I ever will. It still really disturbs me that everyone just acts like my uncle's abuse was normal. Comes with the territory of drug habit right? Right. So let's not talk about it at all and hide our scars, and move on. Easier said than done.

My Dad, the Angriest Black Man

I love my dad. He's not perfect and he'll admit he's not Dad of the Century, but I love my daddy. He tries very hard and I know he loves me too.

My dad is also probably going to be sent to an early grave from stress, high blood pressure, and other shit he blames on me.

You see, my dad...is an Angry Black Man. A really, really angry one.

He called today and I was really happy because I haven't heard from him in a while! My dad tends to go on looong, looooooooong diatribes about nothing, just like his daughter. We both also have a shameless habit of rambling and getting all kinds of off-topic.

Anyway, my dad has that...that voice that just makes everything he says sound like he's incredibly pissed. He yells and gets excited & his blood pressure can literally sky rocket at the drop of a dime. He blames this on me because he gets mad at me a lot. I like to play head games with him (I'm a heel for that by the way). He also gets mad at these niggas down the street, these niggas over here, the White Man, these hoogies, those ying-yangs and anyone else.

So I tell him my legs hurt from all the walking I do on campus. My dad, overly concerned, goes on this long rant about how I need tennis shoes. He thinks the ones I have now don't fit right (he's kinda correct on that) and I need to go shopping--he asks if I know where the shopping malls are here. I say I don't just yet.

An hour of incoherence later he starts talking about how I need to learn my shoe size (wtf dad?) and how to measure my feet. We both have small feet but we're from the Flat Foot Tribe so we wear wide shoes.

All this later he gets back to asking me how I'm doing and he goes into Mother Hen mode. He's so cute when he's worried. Apparently I sent his blood pressure up again because he hasn't called me in some weeks (I told his ass to get a phone). When he doesn't see me/hear from me he literally assumes I'm dead and panics. Then he gets into fights and snaps on these fools for no reason. I've seen it happen and it's kinda...special. Uhh.

I could go on and on about how my dad is probably the angriest black man I know. This dude is like in his 50s so he's been through the injustices & the riots, lived them. Discharged from the Navy for health reasons (schizophrenia--I believe it). He's super-racist, unpredictable, a recovering addict, and nutty as an acorn. But he also cares for his kids and wants his family together, and taught his daughter that she didn't have to take shit from nobody--especially his crazy ass. He wants me to handle my BIZ-NASS properly and won't even call if he thinks he's interfering (even though he never is).

In all, hearing him made me really homesick :/ and I love him.

What's wrong with the kids?

We have a family friend I'll call Bill. He has a crackhead live-in girlfriend (no joke) and a little girl we'll call K right now. K, growing up in an environment where her mother just sits there and smokes pot all day, has always been a...bad child.

Like...evil pretty much. She cussed, got into fights...this was all in kindergarten...

So I can't really ever establish enough how bad a setting this girl lives in.

So cue to when she's about 6, she nearly gets raped by some older boys (think 3rd or 4th grade). As far as I know, the boys get caught and dealt with but K never really receives any help. Despite her being, you know, a victim.

Like you would expect, she starts acting out. Like worse than before, and she's always getting into fights with boys. She does thing "like a boy", so I guess you could call her a...tomboy? But what I want to know is why everyone (adults) are like "She's so baaaaad!" without trying to figure out WHY.

Am I the only one who thinks, maybe, just maybe, she's a little pissed about almost being raped? At SIX? And not really receiving any counseling for it, well goddamn that would mess anyone up, especially a girl who's already got it rough anyway.

Christ, I just wondered yesterday, do we ever really ask what's wrong with the children instead of just punishing them and being done with it? You can suspend the girl as much as you want, she's just going to come back rougher until you sit her down and just talk to her like she's a PERSON. Not necessarily like an adult, but for goodness sake, you can only slap her hands so much.

It just makes me wonder how she's going to be as an adult, if this is her childhood now.

No, Fuck YOU Universe

I'm sorry for the harsh language but it's been that kind of day.

Er, yesterday was anyway. I've lost my voice and gone through a pack of Halls and my eyes are dry, did you know that?

It's also...40 degrees out...and last week it was in the 70s. Again, fuck YOU Universe.

So here's a quick story of disaster, copy pasted from my LJ:

So, instead of my usual colorful ramblings (aren't they colorful?) I'll just skip to the point with this story.

We're going to Rivergate, AKA Sorta-Richland Where That Mall Be At, to pay some bills. Momo and I riding in the Death Wagon.

Momo has desperately been needing tires for...er, forever. And EVER. But, us being po'folks, cannot afford them, so we've been driving on janky (yes, JANKY) tires for god knows how long.We get on the interstate. The car starts vibrating.

I shout to Momo over the radio, "We need to get off this road! The car's vibratin and I ain't got no panties!"

We discuss the pros and cons of freeballing. The car continues vibrating, jittering all of my anatomy harshly. We get on a particularly ugly stretch of road and I just get a thought in my head, Shit, these tires gon' blow out and I say to Momo again, we should get off this road since it sucks and has like a jillion more potholes than these crappy highways usually do.

So, a few miles down, I pop in a CD of songs I saved from friends AGES ago (did Daniel ever send me some songs by Cake? I forget now) and I'm skimming through the songs, trying to remember what's on the CD. Then, in a sort of blurry surreal moment, I hear "BAM!" from the back of the car.

Momo is perfectly cool while I'm going "AAHAHHHH!" which is a total switch. I calm down after I realized, FUCK NO, the tire in the back blew out. I exclaim, "Are you effing SERIOUS?!" as we pull over to the side of the road.

We sit there and take it in. I glare as hard as humanly possible and am just PISSED.

Longer story short, we dial Triple A, they're useless and take 20 minutes to understand the directions and even longer to arrive, Highway Patrol sees us and I shout "THE FUZZ!", TDOT hooks us up with the spare tire in the backseat, and we go to Firestone to get ALL the tires replaced and traipse around in Petsmart.

Now the second part of this entry as indicated by the title, which doesn't have anything to do with the accident besides a few jokes. I've taken to wearing a cute pink sleeping mask on my head like a headband because...it's...cute? And I call myself Gay Zorro (like Zorro the Gay Blade!) and that's it. It also doubles as my eyepatch. I'm a pretty pirate!

I'm messing with the Blogger Draft features. I don't know what I'm going to do. I watched an interesting arty-horror film called Bruiser and I thought I'd do a reviewlette sometime...stuff sticks in my memory for a while. Also, it's foliocrunch time again right now. MONDAY is the day before I can finally REST goddamnit.

I don't really know how this "Scheduled Publishing" thing is going to work...but...I'll try it!

Three time aunt & celeb fornification

Gah, I just became an aunt again. Wtf am I going to do?!

*breathes into paper bag*

I actually really hate kids except my own (and by my own, I mean my nieces & nephews, I don't have kids). I mean, I can handle them when they turn 5 and such (that's the age you can slap the hell out of them right?) but sometimes about babies just makes me uncomfortable. I can oogle at them and go "aww how cute!" but when I have to INTERACT with them I literally just break into a cold sweat and start panicking.

I don't...fear children, I've just never liked them :/

But now I've got 1 nephew and 2 nieces. I haven't seen the second one yet as, duh, she was just born last night about. She's 9 pounds! Dad doesn't even know yet so I gotta tell him :O oh the joy. We've gotta see the child too!

Today was a really nice day, I got to hang out a bit with my head librarian (aka my Boss) and we took a bit of a walk trip downtown. She and I are a bit a like, we're really curious and just stalk into places if the door is open (and even if it's not). Although I think I'm more grabby and hands on than she is. She has a really nice car too! I do get to ride in the best cars (except when I'm at home).

So anyway, Easter is coming up and I'm thinking about making some easter eggs...and sneaking them into my art portfolio >.> those count as sculpture right? Please say they do. I'm in a bind!

Huh, I just heard Lindsay Lohan has a sex tape now. Ew! Stop it, celebs. Everyone and their mildly famous grandmother has a sex tape now. That's meant to be at home damnit. I think I hate more the morbid curiosity that follows these sex tapes more than I hate the tapes themselves...that stuff is so sad and disgusting.

Speaking of Lindsay and her hilarious antics, I was ever so fortunate to view her Marilyn Monroe dress up pics a while back. Well, I can officially say I never want to see Lindsay naked. I mean, she's got a nice body and the freckles are cute, but there is something weird about a girl dressing up like a dead woman and looking DEADER than the dead actress herself. Also, where the hell are her hips? She looks a little barrel-waisted and I really prefer red!Lohan.

Anyway, here are some edited photos if anyone's still curious and hasn't gotten around to seeing them. Mags made a big fuss when the photos were first published but I think now it just counts as a half-decent fotoshoot.