Well, shit.

Sick.  I’ve got a damn cold, and I’m not happy about it AT ALL.

So, I’m at home, slurping sugary drinks and making a moderate-sized used-tissue mountain next to my bed.  I suppose its the price to pay for hanging around a bunch of liberals in NYC all day.

I just got back from making a pharmacy run to collect some OTC cold chemicals.  While there I bought a pair of pajama jeans.

THATS RIGHT HATERS, I BOUGHT PAJAMA JEANS.  I don’t care what y’all bitches say, these things are fucking awesome.  THEY LOOK LIKE JEANS!! BUT THEY FEEL LIKE PAJAMAS!!  You can bet I will be wearing these bad britches to work, yo.

If I survive this cold, that is.  DID YOU EVER SEE CONTAGION?

Gwyneth Paltrow Croaks

What I Marched For

Its really hard to make protest posters. You have such a finite space into which to condense complex ideas with the added constraint of making your text visible from a distance.  I think I did a pretty decent job, considering.  I wanted to point out that much of the talk of “shared sacrifice” we hear so often is directed towards the middle and lower classes.  The upper classes haven’t been asked to sacrifice anything.  If I had more room on that poster I would have listed just what it is I think the upper class needs to sacrifice so that our national “austerity” plan is truly shared:

• Reinstate the Glass-Steagal act.
• Reverse Citizens United
• Close tax loopholes
• End tax havens
• End Bush tax cuts
• Return top marginal tax rates to pre-Reagan years
• Raise estate and inheritance taxes to pre-GWBush years
• Hold bankers and Wall Street accountable for crimes committed leading to the 2008 market crash; accountability includes fines, prosecution, and imprisonment.

And on a more policy-related tangent;

• End the War on Drugs and/or legalize Marijuana, and channel money invested in the drug war into developing a single-payer, medicare-for-all Nationalized Health Care program.

Occupy Washington Square

Hey all! I am in New York, with the Occupation, milling around in Washington Square.  I am tweeting somewhat, which you can see in that sidebar, over there.  My protest sign is getting a lot of attention.  I will post a pic of it when I get home. In the meantime have some phone pics.

Quick Post

First, I want to thank everyone who helped replace my stolen computer by chipping in and/or spreading the word. You are all good friends, great people, and I am so glad you are in my life, no matter how distant you might be. I’m typing this post on my new computer, and I bought renter’s insurance, so I won’t ever have to beg for money on the internet again. As a bonus, when Apple heard my story, they took off 15% and threw in a three-year warranty program for free! It is quite awesome, and I have so much to be thankful for!

Secondly, I am planning a trip into New York City tomorrow. On my agenda is a visit to the World Trade Center Memorial and Occupy Wall Street. I am currently brainstorming poster slogans and/or pictures. Earlier today, I even drew a cartoon.  I rarely draw editorial cartoons, but this one came out well:

 

Tomorrow, I might live blog my trip to NYC and OccupyWallStreet, either here or on twitter.  Now, back to poster making!

I was robbed.

This is not the post I wanted to write. This is not how I wanted to get back into blogging. I wanted to talk about my summer; the things I had done and not yet done, the art I have begun to create again, the flight to see my parents after five years, the dates I’ve had and the men I’ve met. The things I’ve been thinking about, politcally and personally, esp. in regards to my professional future.  But today I cannot write about any of those things. Today I come to do what I never thought I would do on the internet. Today I come to ask for help.

Yesterday, I arrived home after a long Monday at work to find the window in my door busted, the frame broken and littering my kitchen floor. Soon enough I found that my computer, my hard-won Macbook Pro, was missing. 

Stolen.

Stolen, along with a cheap camera, my old blackberry, a game dvd, and my blender (the blender, but not the attchable food processor! QUE? ) The burgler also left signs of rummaging in my various drawers, tearing up my HTC Evo box, undoubtedly hoping it would be in there. That much, at least, I still have.

The loss of my computer is what gets to me most, more than any of the other stuff, more even than the violation of my personal space.  This is just the space I live in, but my computer contains everything that is me. It is–was–the only thing of value that I ever owned, and I paid for it with my own hard earned money.

You know how it is these days; everything is digital now. All my photos, from when I was a child to a few weeks ago, are in that computer.  Everything I have ever written in the last fifteen years, is on that computer.  All my notes, my drafts, my half-conceived blog posts, now gone into the ether.  My laboriously collected internet library, years in the making, gone. 

But it is not just that. That computer is my main hub for all my communication needs.  As a deaf woman, I need it to connect with and access busineses and people who have no other way besides telephones to communicate. My computer WAS my telephone. I used the relay service and even occaisonally the built in webcam to connect with people.  This touch screen HTC phone is limited. It can only do so much, yanno? Not to mention how many damn typos I make on this damn thing.

That brings me to the point of this post. If you have any money to spare, please consider helping me buy a new computer. I have created a ChipIn.com page here. Whatever you wish to give me will be tremendously appreciated.

Its been up a day now, and at the time of this writing, so many people have donated an unbeleiveable amount. I will forever be indebted to them for their generousity.  Everytime somebody donates something, no matter how little or how much, I cry a little.  I cry because it reminds me of how helpless I feel, of how dependant I am on the goodwill of others.  I cry because it reminds me that most people are good people, and that goodwill is abundant.  I cry because people I have never met except in these electronic spaces of the web, somehow feel enough for me to want to share whatever they can spare.  I cry that they do it for me, when I feel unworthy of such generousity. What have I done for any of you to be so blessed? 

But I am blessed, and I’m very greatful to all of you, those have been reading this page all these years, and those who only know me through Facebook.  Without you, my life would be a whole lot dimmer.

Thank you! And again, if you’d like to help out, even if only a few bucks, I will be very greatful.

A Tuscan Experiment

Hot, spicy, and yummy.

I love soup.  I love everything about it, from the brothy, vegetable-laden bowls of flavor, to the thick, hearty meatiness of stews and chilis, and to the bowls of comfort in chowders.  I eat soup in any weather, even the hot.

One of my local grocery store chains, Stop n Shop, makes a delicious soup made with chicken, greens, white beans, and tuscan spices, called logically enough, Tuscan Chicken Soup.  I eat it almost every week, but a container of it is pretty expensive. So, therefore, it inspired me to make my own rendition, as you see above.

Here then, is the recipe.

• 1 tablespoon oil
• 1.5 pounds of chicken breasts
• 1 cup each of minced onion and carrot
• 1 green bell pepper
• 3 cloves minced garlic
• 1 tablespoon dried parsley
• 2 tablespoons of dried Tuscan spice blend (I used Penzey’s Tuscan Sunset blend, composed of sweet basil, turkish oregano, red bell pepper, garlic, thyme, fennel, black pepper, and anise seed)
• 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• Pinch salt and pepper to season chicken.
• 28 ounce can diced tomatoes
• 12 ounce can northern white beans
• 1 carton chicken broth
• one smallish bunch of cooking greens such as spinach, kale, or chard (I used rainbow chard)
• optional garnish of finely grated Romano peccorino cheese

In large pot or dutch oven, saute garlic and onions until translucent.  Add carrots, bell pepper, herbs and spices. Cook 3-5 minutes, til veggies start to soften. Add chopped chicken, season with salt and pepper. Cook chicken til no pink remains.  Add tomatoes, beans, and chicken broth. Bring to a light boil. Toss in shredded greens. Simmer one hour. Add cheese and cook a little longer, or serve cheese as a garnish instead.  Serve hot, and if you can eat bread, have a hot buttery crusty chewy roll.

Simple,  nutritious, spicy, and full of delicious Italian flavors!

Why I am still single.

Ok, wow.  I just got back from a VERY short first meet/date with a dude I met on match.com.  WHAT A DICK.  Beforehand, he was asking me about what I’m wearing, talking about how he likes to dress sexy and that he “wants his woman to do the same” (I replied that we shall soon see if our ideas of sexy match up–and yes I found his comment VERY annoying). For the record, he did not dress sexy at all. Bro-shorts and a plaid button-down shirt? No.

We met at Dunkin Donuts (a coffee and donuts chain) and start with the small talk. He had shifty eyes, and didn’t really look as if he cared what I said at all.

At one point, he says “wow, you have big tits!  Good for making babies.”

To which I replied, “yeah, well…also, I don’t really want kids, so.”

“Oh really?  That is a problem. I want one. I’m 35, getting old.”

He asks me the standard questions about why I don’t want kids, and I give him the standard responses.

At the end of the date, less than 20 minutes after it started, and less than 10 after that exchange, he comes out blazing blunt: “I’m not interested, sorry. I’m gonna go.”

I’m all smiles. “Okay!”

And he jumps out of his chair and bails.

My thoughts?  Simultaneously “THANK GOD!” and “HOW RUDE!”

Right now, even though I continue to be a bit miffed at the rudeness, I think the whole thing is a bit hilarious, and I’m glad I dodged that bullet.

***

This has been a very hard post to write.  In fact this is probably the 5th time in less than a month I’ve sat here and tried to write it. The first time, I was just finishing closing my eharmony account.  Eharmony has a really nice filtering system, but the problem with it was that the people on eharmony were the types who want conventionally “perfect” mates: thin and athletic, outgoing and normal.  None of which apply to me.  I was not finding ANYONE who approved of me enough to chat with, much less meet.  I stuck around for 3 weeks, and then quit.

Now I am on match.com, as well as maintaining my free okcupid account that I’ve had for 2 years now (because why not?).  Things are much better than on eharmony, since I’ve met three men so far.  The two before the one I met tonight were both good prospects, but unfortunately, even though I liked them both, I kept feeling like something was missing, that a relationship with either just didn’t seem likely.

Which fucking pisses me off, because damn it, I’m sick of this shit, yanno?

My disappointment with okcupid and eharmony and these past few weeks on match.com got me thinking introspectively about dating, and wondering why after 2 years I can’t seem to get anything good going. Thoughts like; was I being too picky?  Were my match logarithms screwy?  Was I perhaps doing things wrong, since I’m not good at normal dating things like flirting, for example?  Or was my luck really that bad?

And the answer is probably both complicated and simple.  Simple in that yes, my luck really is that bad.  Simple in that it is in fact both me as well as them.  But what it REALLY comes down to is that I’ve not yet met anyone that I was “into” or anyone who was also “into” me.  Simple enough, but the reasons for that are many and not so simple.

I have been single now for over two years,  used 3 different dating sites, and have seen 17 men.  All of which, obviously, went nowhere. Only three went for a second date, and only one went for a third.  Which of course would lead one inclined to introspection, such as myself, to wonder what I am doing wrong.  Yes I know it is not entirely me–I have been rejected, just as I have rejected–yet I cannot help but look for patterns of behavior that may be sabotaging my own efforts to get into a relationship.  I may have realized something, but I don’t know how to change it.

But I don’t want to get into that quite yet.

So why am I still single?  I honestly don’t know.  I’ve been going in and out of the dating pool since the ex and I split, and while it hasn’t been all bad (I have had plenty of nice dates), its been on the whole, unsatisfying.  As I’ve said, I’ve had my share of rejections, but I’ve rejected more men than men have rejected me.  Which makes me think that I’m missing something, or am doing something wrong,  that I’m being too picky, etc. but the thing is,  I don’t feel like I’m being too picky.  I’m not rejecting men on the basis of some arbitrary checklist, but because something is missing or doesn’t feel right.  Most rejections were unique, though there were some guys who made the same mistakes.  Two dudes just stared at me while I struggled to make conversation, and just made me feel terribly uncomfortable–boy, did I ditch those dates as fast as I could, hating having to do so, but relieved to be doing it.  There were another couple dudes who were self-absorbed, like the one who, after talking about himself and his hobbies for 40 minutes asked “Do you have any questions for me?”–DUDE, its not a job interview and instead of asking whether I have questions for you, why don’t you try asking ME some questions? (There were several guys who took this approach online–they never got a date.)  One was a “mansplainer” going off on some book he had read, explaining it to me, not seeming to have heard or cared when I told him I had already read it.  One had the effrontery to grab my boob without my permission. That is one rejection I feel no guilt for.

But the vast majority of my rejections were simply because I just wasn’t that into him.  Most of the time the feeling–or lack thereof–was mutual, but sometimes it wasn’t. I hate those more than anything else, because then I have to come up with a way to let someone down easy, to give a gentle and honest reason why it just isn’t going to happen. I try to be as honest as I can be, but a lot of the time I just don’t know why, not until after all is said and done.

I don’t think that knowing what I need in a relationship makes me picky. Neither does having turn-ons or turn-offs. I’m open to all kinds of variation within those characteristics as well as without. I don’t even think my list is all that extensive. Honestly, are these too much to ask?

1. What I need: I’m looking for Communication, Chemistry, Compatibility. Someone playful and fun to be with, different enough to be exciting, similar enough to trust. Just someone who feels right.
2. Turn-offs: Right of center, smoker, narcissistic, abusive, religiously devout, indigent, or stupid.
3. Turn-ons: Someone who has a boyish, playful outlook on life.  Someone who likes to explore and have fun, but isn’t a “thrill-seeker.”  An intelligent guy who has a lot of interests in different things; a polymath.  Kinda geeky without being a total geek. Kinda active without being a total jock.  Someone who finds meaning in being creative, however he expresses that.

In every single one of my 17 dates, what I’ve lacked is chemistry and/or communication.  I may have been compatible with some of them, but with out one or both of the other C’s, it just isn’t going to work.  And without that boyish spark I am attracted to–a characteristic that I need to see fairly quickly–I’m just not going to feel any chemistry. And I’m done.  The same goes for communication.  If our conversational styles are off, or if it seems that understanding via lipreading is much too difficult, or if he seems completely uninterested in considering learning sign language, then I am done.

I don’t think I’m being too picky; I’m being practical and honest with myself.
If I am doing anything wrong, it is in meeting the wrong men.  I’m wasting my time and theirs.  Right now I am not sure how to go about finding or meeting the men I want, since what I’ve got isn’t working.  I’m afraid that if I want to meet boyish, playful men who are intelligent and well-spoken, I’m not going to find him online.  The only other way I know of to meet people is in BARS, and I HATE the nightlife scene. Feels like a meat market. I can’t dance (well), and those joints are so bloody NOISY I can’t even begin to understand anyone’s jabbering.  I don’t even know how to flirt, for chrissake. No one has ever approached me in the times I have gone, usually with friends.  I feel INSECURE. I don’t trust the people who go trolling for dates in bars.

And that’s what I don’t know what to do about:  So far, I’ve been unattracted to the men I feel I can trust, but don’t have the courage to trust the men I am attracted to.

And that’s a pretty big, and frustrating, deal.

Thinking.

Still working on content.  Im stuck on a post that I am having trouble composing, and I cant seem to make myself get past it enough to think about something easier.

So lets see what stumbleupon has for us today…

 

How appropriate….

 

Easy come, easy go.

Lets see now, where to start, where to start…

Ok, lets start with the present and work backwards, shall we?

MONEY: 

My stupid effing car is acting up yet again. This time around its the mass air flow sensor for the fuel injector.  It shorted out, apparently.  Stalled out just as I was getting off the exit on my way to work Monday morning, and sputtered and groaned the rest of the way.  $612.00.  AND since I was in the shop anyway, I bumped up my month-old appointment to get my rear brakes done as well, so the total is going to be $912.00. Plus tax. Maybe its time to buy a newer or better car.

I bought a bike and some video games over the weekend.  I bought the bike to satisfy a long-time longing to be on wheels again.  I used to love riding, but when I graduated college and moved here, my bike did not move with me.  Now, I have a simple, one-speed cruiser with straight handlebars, in a blue 50′s retro style.  Schwinn legacy cruiser for the Googlers.  I also bought the necessary accessories and saftey crap.  $220.00 (Pics forthcoming)

Video games were an impulse buy: Diablo 2 and WOW battlechests.  Oh, and a wireless router. I got sick of all those damned vinyl-covered cords all over the damn place. $150.00

Mid-may, my car’s driver side window fell through the door. Apparently the bolt holding it up broke.  I also replaced windshield wipers and a brake light. $300.00 ($200 for labor).

First weekend of May, I went up to Northampton MA for a gay pride parade and barbeque with a bunch of friends. My GPS got lost at the last intersection and I had to be fetched, and then, my key got stuck in the ignition, which in turn was stuck in the ON position.  Had to disconnect the battery from the starter in order to shut down the car.  My friends helped out with AAA and rides. The ignition cylinder had to be replaced and new keys made.  $500.00.  Towing was free, because I have awesome friends.  I still stayed and enjoyed the parade and my friend’s  company.

 

My hard-won savings is quite rapidly diminishing. I hate that the money I put aside for the car is actually being used for the car, and I also hate that its being used up so fucking fast.  Stupid american-made piece of shit.

 

Lets move on to HEALTH:

A lot has been going on on the health front.  No, I’m not sick, as far as I know. I was just finally getting around to seeing specialists for a bunch of chronic discomforts that have been afflicting me for quite some time.  Most recently, I went and saw a dermatologist to get my crap skin looked at.  I’ve had problems with painful infections in certain sensitive areas since my early teens, as well as sensitive skin and run-of-the-mill acne.  So now I am on mild oral and topical antibiotics.

Unanticipated bonus?  These antibiotics seemed to have cleared up my sinuses, which have been congested and drippy since 2006.  I had actually forgotten what it is like not have post-nasal drip.  Last week, I woke up, sprawled on my belly, and felt the strange sensation of cool morning air FILL my nose.   Can I smell better?  I don’t know, I hope so!  Despite that, this season’s wet and humid weather is still aggravating my asthma, alas.  But life without postnasal drip is awesome.

It’s true, what they say, that (for any value of “IT”) you never know how good you had it until it is gone, but I think you also can’t know how good it IS until it comes back.

Beginning of May, I had a physical done. Bloodwork, third degree, pokes and prods, the works.  Even though I’m a fatty mcfatterson with “horrible” BMI, the only blip in my health metrics is my cholesterol. Slightly elevated, which considering my family history and lack of exercize, doesn’t suprise me at all.

Mid-April, I had my thyroid looked at.  It felt firm and lumpy to me, so the doc sent me to get an ultrasound, and they found several nodes, two of which were suspicious-looking.  So a biopsy was done, which sucked balls, I tell you, BALLS. I had the strangest reaction after the procedure was done.  Emotionally I felt fine, relieved that it was over. Then I started getting the shakes, deep tremors in my hands and knees. Then, for no reason at all, tears started spilling out of my eyes.  Even though the only emotion I felt was embarrassment. What the hell was I crying for, yanno? The procedure didn’t even hurt all THAT much. (They injected the area with local anesthetic, lidocaine.  All I felt was pressure and a slight achey discomfort, as if they were prodding a new bruise.)  The only explanation I could come up for it was my lizard brain hijacking my limbic system to express the pain at the violation my body knew it felt. Either that or it was a tension-releasing catharsis response to denied fight-or-flight instincts.  Personally I like the former explanation better.

The results from the biopsy showed everything is fine. My body isnt trying to kill me yet. So that’s the good news.

Up next: dating updates and a bike ride/tour!

 

 

 

 

 

“Victor” part two.

Part One is here.

The buzzing bees in his head, how could he think?

He could just burn the place down. That would be easier.  This house was filled with her taint. Lingering memories.  How long had she been lying to him, pretending she was one thing while being another, destroying every stone in the foundation of their marriage? Twisting the evidence to show what she wanted him to see. Misdirection, lies, destruction…The bees dropped away into the hives of his imagination as inspiration struck him. “Ah, Carolyn…you always were my muse.”  He lifted her body and placed her on the bed. “I will make them see what I want them to see, what they want to see.”  He kissed her one last time. “Goodbye, Linnie.”

He tore down the lace curtains and ripped them into shreds.  Wrapped them around her arms and tied her hands to the bed.  Misdirection.

He went downstairs and found whiskey and scotch in the great room.  He considered a tumbler or a shot glass, but really, what’s the point of that?  He took a drink, straight from the bottle, then another, and another, and another, stopping only after the eighth chug. His sinuses burned and his eyes fogged up inside his retinas. One stiff swallow for every year they were married.   It would make hurting himself easier.

He climbed back up the stairs and turned around, staring down the steps to the tiled foyer below. 
Fuck, he had to be insane to do this.  He walked backwards until his back hit the wall. He didn’t feel as drunk as he had hoped.  He wished he could remember how to pray. Fuck it, after all this, he had to belong to the Devil now.  He dashed to the top of the stairs and dived.

He felt every single step on the way down.  His breath broke in pieces when he crashed onto his elbow somewhere around the sixth stair.  He tumbled to a stop, legs splayed above him, and every ragged breath he drew burned like fire. Excellent, a couple broken ribs…that should add verisimilitude. He wheezed a short laugh.  He gathered up his legs beneath him and carefully stood.  A slight sprain in one ankle, hopefully many bruises.  No blood. He thought there would be blood, splatters and splatters. Like Alfred Hitchhock had tossed him down the stairs. Or something.

He staggered to the kitchen and found a kitchen lighter, one of those stupid-looking gun-like things made for grilling.  He tucked it into the waist of his pants. He also dug out one of Carolyn’s prized damascene carving knives. Prized for extra sharpness. He grimaced.  “Its like shaving, Just think it as shaving.”  He sliced his eyebrow in half.  It was a bare pinprick of pain compared to the rest of him.  Hot blood rushed down his face. Verisimilitude. That should do it.  Blood in the eyes stings like a bitch.  He groped around for a rag and held it to his face. He didn’t know what else he could do to himself.   Binding would require markings and evidence he had neither the time nor energy to make.  He had to go with what he was able to do, and hope it would be enough to make it believable.

Fabrication.  Misdirection.  Now it was time for destruction.

He limped back up the stairs, every hop eliciting a sharp breath, every breath a gasp of pain.  He held the rag to his eye. It wouldn’t do to get blood on the carpet up here.  He stood next to the bed, looking down.  He poured the remains of the whiskey and scotch on her face, her body, her clothes, her hair.  The bedding turned brown.

He pulled on Carolyn’s ancient tweed coat. It was warmer than any coat he had ever owned.  And it was her’s; he would like to keep something that was her’s with him.

“Well, Linnie. This is it; the descent into hell.” He struck the lighter and flame flared up, dancing in anticipation of the immolation yet to come.  He set it to Carolyn’s alcohol-drenched brown hair. Flames rose up in an instant, consuming her face.

He watched the flames grow to engulf the bed that was once theirs.  He breathed in the smoke deeply, welcoming the black cough.  Soon enough he would “escape” to his neighbor’s house. What was his name—Joe? John? Jack—yes, Jack.

Jack, robbers are burning down my house. My wife—my wife!

Lies, lies, all of it lies, and every bit of it seeded with truth.  Thieves broke in, cut him and tossed him down the stairs, and while he was unconscious, raped and killed his wife. And finding nothing to steal, burned the house down.

Lies and misdirection, lies and destruction.  He closed the tweed coat around him and staggered back down the stairs, leaving the inferno behind.

He hoped it would work.  And if it didn’t, well at least he had taken the chance.  He would never have won and married Carolyn, if he hadn’t taken that chance.