i inadvertently showed my big, white, pimply bum to a group of cruel and unforgiving teenagers recently. it was supposed to be a bonding thing between me and my mum -- jumping off this cliff into the water -- it's just that i had been swimming in a dress (because i left my suit in san diego), without underwear (because it was really hot out), and because the swimming-in-the-dress had gone so well, and it was now so heavy and clingy and long, i didn't think twice about climbing the cliff and jumping off.
so mum and i jumped, and as i was falling and shrieking, i was also forgetting about wind pressure, and my dress, that i had been swimming in, that had felt so securely heavy and long, flew up around my ears and i lost my mystery, as they say.
it makes me laugh to think about it even today, although i can only imagine what the 15 year old boys who were swimming there must have thought about a giant, cellulite-y, 31 year old bum descending on them from on high.
ha!
but this brings me to my topic. i'm getting old and mushy and... strangely 'detachable'. (and no, this doesn't mean that i'm finally realising my dream of becoming a Transformer, or of having removable breasts.)
it isn't enough that i can feel the fat on my lower arms wobble when i wave, or that my neck creases when i turn it, no. each morning i suffer the indignity of rolling up my boobs and folding them neatly into my bra, and you'd think it would stop there, but it doesn't: recently i've become aware that if i sit in a chair and twist around to look behind me, my skeletal frame twists, but my hip fat stays where it is, forming this attractive vertical crease up my side. my fat is no longer willing to perform even the most basic courtesy of following the rest of my body.
it's taking over, and it has a mind of its own.
Friday, September 17, 2004
I know you are, but what am I?
there's nothing quite like being backed into a corner by some one 1/3 your age.
j has, whether he knows it or not, stumbled upon all of my issues, and happily pushes all buttons he encounters, presumably just to see what'll happen.
or, at least, that's what it feels like.
it took him a while to find them (these issues of mine), i am pretty easy-going after all, and so there was a brief honeymoon period where i actually harboured illusions that i could masterfully handle this ten-year-old who has, in the past, reduced every single one of my sweetheart's exes to tears.
see, this is the thing: i'm a bright, feminist, young woman with a great sense of humour who can cook really well.
that's just who i am, dammit.
i'm serious, i am!
i am so!
i am!
in confined quarters, there's only so much criticism of her cooking and her (and all women's) mental acuity, that such a gal can stand before she loses all dignity and is reduced to the level of some petulant ten year old herself. it's enough to make one wonder why we ever stopped beating our children.
ha ha.
(ahem.)
*sigh*
but i mean, really -- what recourse do i actually have? there is no other position or career that is more thankless, or more disempowering, than being a relentlessly hassled (step)parent. none of the normal avenues for dealing (avoidance, passive-aggressive backstabbing, fist-fighting, public humiliation, lodging a complaint with the manager, sabotage etc.) are viable options. so, what does a person, who wants to model conscientious, considerate, broadminded behaviour, *do* in the face of the opposite? have frank, open-hearted, compassionate confrontation every second of every freakin' day?? jeeze.
j has, whether he knows it or not, stumbled upon all of my issues, and happily pushes all buttons he encounters, presumably just to see what'll happen.
or, at least, that's what it feels like.
it took him a while to find them (these issues of mine), i am pretty easy-going after all, and so there was a brief honeymoon period where i actually harboured illusions that i could masterfully handle this ten-year-old who has, in the past, reduced every single one of my sweetheart's exes to tears.
see, this is the thing: i'm a bright, feminist, young woman with a great sense of humour who can cook really well.
that's just who i am, dammit.
i'm serious, i am!
i am so!
i am!
in confined quarters, there's only so much criticism of her cooking and her (and all women's) mental acuity, that such a gal can stand before she loses all dignity and is reduced to the level of some petulant ten year old herself. it's enough to make one wonder why we ever stopped beating our children.
ha ha.
(ahem.)
*sigh*
but i mean, really -- what recourse do i actually have? there is no other position or career that is more thankless, or more disempowering, than being a relentlessly hassled (step)parent. none of the normal avenues for dealing (avoidance, passive-aggressive backstabbing, fist-fighting, public humiliation, lodging a complaint with the manager, sabotage etc.) are viable options. so, what does a person, who wants to model conscientious, considerate, broadminded behaviour, *do* in the face of the opposite? have frank, open-hearted, compassionate confrontation every second of every freakin' day?? jeeze.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Bug Girl and her Step-Buglett
i'm still playing mum -- it's interesting. i just came back from taking j to his new school (it's the first day!!) and man, nothing has changed. the new kids had to meet in the library so that they could be individually taken to their classrooms (a special form of torture, as far as i'm concerned: taking the new kid in separately after the bell has rung) and the library smells like all libraries and the halls look and feel and smell like all halls. i only went to public school for three years, but it must have been traumatic because as i entered the school this nameless horror crept over me. a wave of insecurity, fear and alienation. nervousness. can i do it? will i have a nice teacher? will i make friends? which kid is going to hate me this time, and how will i deal with it?
i'm happy to report that these feelings diminish only slightly with time and (pseudo)parenthood -- i actually thought about what i was wearing this morning (you know: it has to be yummy, but not sexy, appropriately rumpled to allude to frantic mornings getting kids out of bed on time, but not sloppy. i think my shirt was too tight. it's my big boobs, man: my saving grace and bane all at once). none of the other parents even said, 'hi', but there they all were, in their rumpled banana republic clothes, blond highlights hastily blow-dried to look presentable, but not too finished. woe betide the mum who arrives looking done-up. she appears selfish and bitchy and stupid, and that's all there is to it. there was one there, preternaturally yellow hair ironed perfectly straight, wearing way too much make-up carefully applied, tall and slim in perfect pants and a tight designer denim jacket, clinging to her notions of herself as a head-turner. i could see other mums slide hasty sideways glances at her, and even found myself, i'm sorry to say, imagining her staring at herself in the mirror in the morning, beautifying, while her ignored, unlicked, unfed, cubs bonked into each other in the hallway.
it's good to see that petty third-grade school-yard politics never really disappear.
public school sucks. it's either sink or swim, but i've always been too stubborn (scared?) to be pushed into obvious choices. i'd rather avoid the pool altogether.
i'm happy to report that these feelings diminish only slightly with time and (pseudo)parenthood -- i actually thought about what i was wearing this morning (you know: it has to be yummy, but not sexy, appropriately rumpled to allude to frantic mornings getting kids out of bed on time, but not sloppy. i think my shirt was too tight. it's my big boobs, man: my saving grace and bane all at once). none of the other parents even said, 'hi', but there they all were, in their rumpled banana republic clothes, blond highlights hastily blow-dried to look presentable, but not too finished. woe betide the mum who arrives looking done-up. she appears selfish and bitchy and stupid, and that's all there is to it. there was one there, preternaturally yellow hair ironed perfectly straight, wearing way too much make-up carefully applied, tall and slim in perfect pants and a tight designer denim jacket, clinging to her notions of herself as a head-turner. i could see other mums slide hasty sideways glances at her, and even found myself, i'm sorry to say, imagining her staring at herself in the mirror in the morning, beautifying, while her ignored, unlicked, unfed, cubs bonked into each other in the hallway.
it's good to see that petty third-grade school-yard politics never really disappear.
public school sucks. it's either sink or swim, but i've always been too stubborn (scared?) to be pushed into obvious choices. i'd rather avoid the pool altogether.
Monday, September 06, 2004
Anna and the Insects
once there was a girl named anna who attracted lots of bugs. she wished she attracted other things, because she really liked bunnies and money, for instance, but no, when ever she sat outside for more than a minute all the bugs in the world would begin their slow crawl (or hop or buzz or slither) over to where she was.
the people who liked her said that it must be because she was so sweet, while the people who didn't like her said it was because she probably smelled like garbage. either way, the bugs came.
anna didn't mind visits from the ones that didn't bite or sting, but the mosquitos and wasps made her nervous. shooing them away didn't help.
one day she met a boy she liked and they went for a walk and sat under a tree to talk and look at eachother. anna saw, with sad resignation, that the bugs were starting to arrive. the boy hadn't noticed yet.
'great.' she thought, 'what boy is going to love a girl covered in bugs?' she tried to discreetly flick an ant off her shoulder.
more and more bugs came, especially tiny little black ones. they were beginning to cover her pretty blue top. she pretended she was smoothing her top down while she was really squishing and displacing hundreds of little bugs.
she had to do this often.
she started to wonder if it looked like she was just constantly feeling herself up.
the boy looked at her curiously. she looked back at him and sheepishly told him about the bugs. he squinted and peered down at her shirt and saw that she was indeed covered with the smeared carcasses of hundreds of tiny bugs. he looked around at her back and started to brush the ones off that she couldn't reach. it was the first time he had touched her. soon, he was brushing her back lightly with his hand even though there weren't any bugs left. he rested his forehead on her shoulder. and then she knew: he liked her even though she was covered with bugs.
the end.
the people who liked her said that it must be because she was so sweet, while the people who didn't like her said it was because she probably smelled like garbage. either way, the bugs came.
anna didn't mind visits from the ones that didn't bite or sting, but the mosquitos and wasps made her nervous. shooing them away didn't help.
one day she met a boy she liked and they went for a walk and sat under a tree to talk and look at eachother. anna saw, with sad resignation, that the bugs were starting to arrive. the boy hadn't noticed yet.
'great.' she thought, 'what boy is going to love a girl covered in bugs?' she tried to discreetly flick an ant off her shoulder.
more and more bugs came, especially tiny little black ones. they were beginning to cover her pretty blue top. she pretended she was smoothing her top down while she was really squishing and displacing hundreds of little bugs.
she had to do this often.
she started to wonder if it looked like she was just constantly feeling herself up.
the boy looked at her curiously. she looked back at him and sheepishly told him about the bugs. he squinted and peered down at her shirt and saw that she was indeed covered with the smeared carcasses of hundreds of tiny bugs. he looked around at her back and started to brush the ones off that she couldn't reach. it was the first time he had touched her. soon, he was brushing her back lightly with his hand even though there weren't any bugs left. he rested his forehead on her shoulder. and then she knew: he liked her even though she was covered with bugs.
the end.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Face Raisins
the other day, while sitting at this very computer, i scratched my upper lip, only to wake up that all-too-familiar tingling feeling. within minutes i had a gargantuan cold sore.
"what?!" i said, "but i've been taking vitamins!!"
who understands the mysterious workings of the herpes simplex 1 virus. certainly not i. the next day i went to work and watched people struggle with the idea of buying a candle from some one they perceived as DISEASED.
then, the very next morning, i was happy to find, i had started yet another cold sore on the other side of my lip, and i thought, "you know, isn't that just like my virus: ever accommodating, ever mindful of the human eye's need for symmetry. now i look like i have a clark gable moustache made of raisins!"
i'm feeling very pretty.
the older one is a standard raisin, but the newer one is one of those beguiling 'california gold' type raisins. you know, yellow on the outside and soft on the inside?
if i look down, i can actually see them.
but it's kind of good, you know, because jay's away for the week, and it's nice to have the company.
they're so large i'm expecting evolutionary leaps any day now. with luck, they'll discover flight and go somewhere else. i *know* i heard voices coming from my upper lip last night. (mind you, that was after i read up on my virus online, which is always a mistake for me. i get so phobic. did you Know that because the virus lives in a cranial nerve it can also cause encephalitis and meningitis during flare-ups?? is my neck just stiff from watching tv the wrong way, or is that my brain-stem swelling?? ack!! ).
i feel like breakfast now, but my coldsores want to go to the bank.
"what?!" i said, "but i've been taking vitamins!!"
who understands the mysterious workings of the herpes simplex 1 virus. certainly not i. the next day i went to work and watched people struggle with the idea of buying a candle from some one they perceived as DISEASED.
then, the very next morning, i was happy to find, i had started yet another cold sore on the other side of my lip, and i thought, "you know, isn't that just like my virus: ever accommodating, ever mindful of the human eye's need for symmetry. now i look like i have a clark gable moustache made of raisins!"
i'm feeling very pretty.
the older one is a standard raisin, but the newer one is one of those beguiling 'california gold' type raisins. you know, yellow on the outside and soft on the inside?
if i look down, i can actually see them.
but it's kind of good, you know, because jay's away for the week, and it's nice to have the company.
they're so large i'm expecting evolutionary leaps any day now. with luck, they'll discover flight and go somewhere else. i *know* i heard voices coming from my upper lip last night. (mind you, that was after i read up on my virus online, which is always a mistake for me. i get so phobic. did you Know that because the virus lives in a cranial nerve it can also cause encephalitis and meningitis during flare-ups?? is my neck just stiff from watching tv the wrong way, or is that my brain-stem swelling?? ack!! ).
i feel like breakfast now, but my coldsores want to go to the bank.
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