For two seconds I though James J Lee had a good point. Over population, save the planet, etc. Then I actually READ some of his ...manifesto?... and I have to say. I got a little nervous about my blog. You know, given the addition of my two filthy breeder begotten spawn.
***************
I don't think obsetity is a disease. Nor alcoholism. I think food and alcohol are addictions though. Having said that, I hate when people post on FB what they ate for dinner. Yum or not yum. Not if they go out to a restaurant but just, you know, in general. "Veal piccata tonight!" or "Lamb on the Barbie" My issue? Usually, they are fat. I'm not a fat hater, I just think it's asking for judgment.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Jacob Have I Loved...
Cain & Abel, Jacob and Esau. The bible is not very kind to twins.
I abhor my child's name. At first I worried that I wasn't bonding with him. That perhaps I didn't love him the same. That I was playing favorites, choosing sides. I just didn't feel any surge of... affection... when I said his name. No feeling of homecoming. Just blank. And angry. And finally, I guess weeks ago but given his very short time on the planet, it must have been soon after his birth, I realized. I don't hate HIM at all. I simply hate his name. Phew.
We named him under duress. The militant Asian woman from last time, demanding a signature, demanding a name. My husband grabbed the last two we discussed, one I had chosen as my son's "inside" name but not one I expected him to bear outside. He filled out the documents while I was in a morphine induced haze, then had my sign them shakily while under sedation. And now I hate the name. I.HATE.THE.NAME. And I mean really. And everyone keeps saying to keep it. It's too late, it's what I named him, it's on his social security card, it's confusing, and day after day I really REALLY fucking hate the name. And the more time that passes, the less affectionately I view my son. I mean, not inapplication , but in gentle words Because I simply cannot call him by his name. I resent being forced into a name I hate. I FUCKING HATE. I talked to Doug, I asked him if he would be willing to switch the name and he said no. So now I'm thinking about refusing to hold him at night. During the day that little sweet baggage will be held, swaddled cuddled and rocked till the cow, ok, bull, dare I say Stud comes home. But because my husband refuses to take my point (ie You named him without me while I was still under the influence of drugs... and then I was coerced into naming him a name neither of us liked but you thought i loved...) Meh. I can't explain. It just feels...symptomatic of our relationship. If I say something bothers me, my husband negates it over and over until we have a huge blowout fight - because it's only then that he sees that it bothers me.
So maybe if I refuse to hold my son for once my husband will LISTEN to me?
That's just fucked up.
To be honest though, I feel like my husband should understand that using a name I hate is coming between us.
All of us.
I abhor my child's name. At first I worried that I wasn't bonding with him. That perhaps I didn't love him the same. That I was playing favorites, choosing sides. I just didn't feel any surge of... affection... when I said his name. No feeling of homecoming. Just blank. And angry. And finally, I guess weeks ago but given his very short time on the planet, it must have been soon after his birth, I realized. I don't hate HIM at all. I simply hate his name. Phew.
We named him under duress. The militant Asian woman from last time, demanding a signature, demanding a name. My husband grabbed the last two we discussed, one I had chosen as my son's "inside" name but not one I expected him to bear outside. He filled out the documents while I was in a morphine induced haze, then had my sign them shakily while under sedation. And now I hate the name. I.HATE.THE.NAME. And I mean really. And everyone keeps saying to keep it. It's too late, it's what I named him, it's on his social security card, it's confusing, and day after day I really REALLY fucking hate the name. And the more time that passes, the less affectionately I view my son. I mean, not inapplication , but in gentle words Because I simply cannot call him by his name. I resent being forced into a name I hate. I FUCKING HATE. I talked to Doug, I asked him if he would be willing to switch the name and he said no. So now I'm thinking about refusing to hold him at night. During the day that little sweet baggage will be held, swaddled cuddled and rocked till the cow, ok, bull, dare I say Stud comes home. But because my husband refuses to take my point (ie You named him without me while I was still under the influence of drugs... and then I was coerced into naming him a name neither of us liked but you thought i loved...) Meh. I can't explain. It just feels...symptomatic of our relationship. If I say something bothers me, my husband negates it over and over until we have a huge blowout fight - because it's only then that he sees that it bothers me.
So maybe if I refuse to hold my son for once my husband will LISTEN to me?
That's just fucked up.
To be honest though, I feel like my husband should understand that using a name I hate is coming between us.
All of us.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Heavy Breathing
My husband has an issue with his breath. He's that guy at work that has the onion bagel for breakfast, Indian for lunch - and thinks I'm hyper sensitive. I tell him - FREQUENTLY - "Good christ man, your breath is disgusting." Now I know that sounds harsh but I've tried subtle. Not so much. So at this point I'm like "Dude. Y.O.U.R. - B.R.E.A.T.H. - I.S. - R.A.N.C.I.D. And still, he does nothing. If you knew the story of how we met, you'd know that the breath issue is long loooonnnnnnggggg standing.
So the other day we were having one of those ridiculous fights that couples have. I started it - annoyed at his eye-rolling. I was on my way to the supermarket and he made some stupid ass remark about us not doing anything and my going to the store on a Saturday night. My feeling was we weren't doing crap anyway so why not at least be productive? It launched a heated "discussion" on our (mutual) lack of motivation, how we live and finally, that him being on paternity leave is not code for "vacation" and why the $%^ are we putting off today things to tomorrow and dragging out minute tasks over a week plus period? Ultimately, he is going to go back to work and I'm stuck shoveling metaphorical shit.
Suffice to say names were called. I think I said something along the lines of "Stop being a f"n jerk" to which he replied "Well don't be such a bitch" and then, my friends, the shit HIT the fan. Because I'm not at all about the bitch label. At all. No need for it. I think I then threw down the mom gauntlet. That I had gained 60 pounds, lost 8 months of my life, and had children CUT out of my stomach for him and that HE was the one that was pissing and moaning about his 4 squares a day anyway. What IS it with men and "needing" to eat anyway? Do they have different blood sugar levels?? And that the only reason we even needed groceries was that he was such a big fucking baby about food and for god's sake man, eat anything and just be done with it.
Within about 4 minutes we mutually realized the futility and the insanity of fighting and by the time my shoes were on, bag in hand, my husband had beckoned me over as if to perch on his lap but really for a hug and kiss.
As I leaned onto him, affectionately for sure, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Your breath smells disgusting"
and with that he gently pushed me off his lap and simply replied
"and you're still heavy."
And so our marriage goes on.
So the other day we were having one of those ridiculous fights that couples have. I started it - annoyed at his eye-rolling. I was on my way to the supermarket and he made some stupid ass remark about us not doing anything and my going to the store on a Saturday night. My feeling was we weren't doing crap anyway so why not at least be productive? It launched a heated "discussion" on our (mutual) lack of motivation, how we live and finally, that him being on paternity leave is not code for "vacation" and why the $%^ are we putting off today things to tomorrow and dragging out minute tasks over a week plus period? Ultimately, he is going to go back to work and I'm stuck shoveling metaphorical shit.
Suffice to say names were called. I think I said something along the lines of "Stop being a f"n jerk" to which he replied "Well don't be such a bitch" and then, my friends, the shit HIT the fan. Because I'm not at all about the bitch label. At all. No need for it. I think I then threw down the mom gauntlet. That I had gained 60 pounds, lost 8 months of my life, and had children CUT out of my stomach for him and that HE was the one that was pissing and moaning about his 4 squares a day anyway. What IS it with men and "needing" to eat anyway? Do they have different blood sugar levels?? And that the only reason we even needed groceries was that he was such a big fucking baby about food and for god's sake man, eat anything and just be done with it.
Within about 4 minutes we mutually realized the futility and the insanity of fighting and by the time my shoes were on, bag in hand, my husband had beckoned me over as if to perch on his lap but really for a hug and kiss.
As I leaned onto him, affectionately for sure, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Your breath smells disgusting"
and with that he gently pushed me off his lap and simply replied
"and you're still heavy."
And so our marriage goes on.
Monday, August 30, 2010
QUALITY ASSURANCE
I looked closely at a business card today. The tagline said 'Service Beyond Your Expectations". Which got me thinking. I generally expect excellent service. Excellent service. So service beyond my expectations? Allrightly then. Have at.
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