Chronicles Of A Wasted Life

Being Pregnant

2012-05-30T23:50:00.001-07:00

Oh, how I wish I could follow the title with "This has been a test of the Emergency Blogcast System. Had this been an actual pregnancy..."

Oops. I'm not supposed to say that, am I? I guess I don't mean it (not now, since I'm not puking, anyway). I was going to tell you not to worry, it's too late for an abortion. But since you can have one up until about 6 months (Wow. That's grim!), never mind. I do support a woman's choice, even if I can't imagine doing it myself. But 6 months? You've almost got a baby on your hands. And now that's making me sad and I want to cry. Let's get out of this depressing quagmire and move on to the parts where I wax philosophical and bitch. A lot.

This whole thing wasn't exactly planned. Don't know if you could already infer that. Kudos, if you could. My husband and I just happened to forgo our usual of method "protection" (withdrawal) one time and blammo! I'm not a woman anymore, I'm an incubator.

I had allowed myself a few daydreams of finding out/pretending I was pregnant before we got the 2nd line on the test (then the third 2nd line, and the next, and definitive YES). It was scary in a thrilling, roller-coaster-riding way, then. The fantasies were much like what you have as a child, dreaming of what you wanted to be. Highly romanticized, and unutterably naive. Don't ask me for specifics, as I've locked them in a dusty, cobwebbed basement unit in my mind, so as not to be further depressed. As it turned out, gazing at that test and seeing the unexpected (even if it wasn't TOTALLY unexpected, not really) 2nd line - gave me the feeling I imagine is akin to seeing the freakish arch of a funnel cloud bearing down on you from the sky. I was awash in a sickening and overwhelming panic. My mind quelled, "What the fuck do I do now? There were no drills for this!"

Thankfully, shock took over and I imagined only good things for a few days. Teaching the kid to be cool like me, holding and singing the baby some Pearl Jam song, getting kick-ass baby accessories. Inevitably, reality kicks in and I realize that I'm going to be pregnant for a very, very long time and eventually I'm going to have to expel this parasite.

But before I could get bored and impatient with pregnancy, I got morning sickness. I guess in my imaginings I always assumed that I would be an exception to this rule, because it was never a part of the fantasy (actually, the pregnancy part was never in there at all). As it turns out, most of being pregnant kind of sucks. I am almost over the nausea, which is really almost all I had. After years of practiced drinking, I was smart enough to avoid having a hangover (mostly), and well-versed in avoiding puking. Thus, the only times I barfed (barring a few exceptions) was when I brushed my teeth. So...I kind of didn't really do that for a while. Gross, yes. But barfing really, really, really sucks (ad infinitum). Now, being 17 weeks along (for you people who haven't been pregnant, that's 4 months and 1 week), I get along without much nausea. That's been replaced by world-record holding indigestion. Yay!

Okay, I'm annoying myself with all the usual pregnant-lady whining. Suffice it to say that I was also super-duper tired until a week or two ago, and I get weepy. Well, the weepy part does deserve a little bitching.

I'm not a natural crier. I'll cry sometimes, but it's almost always grudgingly. Now that I feel like crying at least once a day for no discernible cause, I get extra grudging about it and make it that much worse. Perhaps it's a control thing, I don't know.

Getting back to the bored and impatient part of being pregnant. Ya know, sometimes I actually forget I'm with child. Yeah, I'm fat and moody, but there are 86,400 seconds in a day (24 hours), and other shit happens in life. So, every once in a while I'll stop in mid-sentence and be like, "Hey. I got a thing growing inside me. WTF?" STILL. I keep wondering when it'll stop being surreal and cease to be a wonder. Is there a time period I will reach where it'll just be: "Yep. The things moving now. Working on taking more of my precious nutrients away from me. Get me another bagel bite, honey" ?

I waited so long on this blog post because it's always annoyed the pre-pregnant Jennifer when other people went on and on about being pregnant or having kids. I mean, if it wasn't happening to me, why should I give a leaping shit? And, honestly? I don't have the energy to try to think up some bullshit reason why you should care, either. I just have to get used to the fact that I'm probably one of those bitches now. (Probably the most depressing thing about pregnancy.) The only thing I can do is try to minimize the annoyance factor.

Let's talk about having a natural birth! (Just kidding. I'll wait a month or two until I go into that.) But speaking of, I did finally decide to visit a dark (very dark) corner of Youtube for educational purposes: women having babies. I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, I'm not going to have a mirror and watch the little fucker come out. That's just morbid and groady! But, I did it anyway. Curiosity killed that cat and all that... Now I can't wash the scenes from my mind. I just keep thinking, "My pussy's going to do that?" And I want to cry. Cry, and cry, and cry. I'm such an idiot.

I literally can't think of a way to help myself now. Some things once seen cannot be unseen. Unless I could have a partial lobotomy? Does Medicaid cover that?

Yep. I'm going to go get on the bed, spin around three times (that's how you make the best, most cozy nest) and lie down. Then I'm going to cry and try to forget I'm "creating a miracle" for a little while.

The Problem of Our Masturbating Men

2012-01-24T21:53:00.001-08:00

In our modern society no subject is taboo: NAMBLA, 4chan, innumerable porn sites (often credited for getting the internet off the ground in the first place). If it exists, and especially if it's subversive, it's got a home on the interwebz. Or so one would think. As the previous blog points out, however, there are some subjects that haven't received the appropriate attention on our worldwide web.

The subject I want to explore, mainly because I haven't seen any credible online articles addressing it, is the problem that women have with their men masturbating (without them). And if you are a woman and deny that you care or take issue with your dude spanking it behind your back, you're either a fucking liar or the exception to the rule. Either way, go be smug and superior at another site. We don't take kindly to your type around here.

Let's jump right in, shall we?

I am a woman. I got a dude. Sometimes he takes care of his own business. And, no matter how enlightened I try to be about it, it bothers me.

Yesterday, I "surprised" him by walking in on him pregame. It was a sticky situation. (obligatory rim shot)

Thankfully (for us both), I've gained some perspective on this and had a mild reaction compared to the ones I've had in the past, which involved flying objects and intense self-doubting. I was only a bit annoyed and...let's dispense with the camouflaged truth and say it: threatened.

Ridiculous? Yes. Arguable? No.

This led me to a train of thought, I know I shouldn't feel threatened by my husband's hand. It's not logical. So, why then, am I? There was only one conclusion left to draw: this must have some primal ties. And so, off to Google I went. My hypothesis, at the time, was to try to find some scientific data that explored this topic and explained the basis for my feelings (in the vain hope of trying to defuse them).

Of course, I had no such luck. The best site I found (in other words, the first one I found that related to the subject matter - because I'm a lazy-ass) was this:

My Boyfriend Masturbates and it Bothers Me

The original question and answer are white bread, but the responses...whoa, Nelly! While, there are a few reasonable posts on the thread, the others are a showcase of just how crazy women can be. Also, there are many suspect women claiming that they have sex way more often than they do, which is just pathetic. Lying to justify their insanity is just one of the horrifying tactics used in this full-on assault of both men and reason.

Because I'm impatient and ready to move on to a more passive activity (and I assume you probably are too) I'm going to copy-paste my own post from this site. You can take your judgements and shove 'em. This is only a blog, after all.

Only about 3 posts to this original thread had rational, insightful things to say on the subject [frightening]. I was actually reading some of the other ones aloud to my husband because they were so ridiculous.

I think it's important to point out what a lot of women are doing here (except for obviously problematic situations, i.e.: masturbating to a picture of a person you know, masturbating so much that you are unable to perform with your partner, foregoing sex for masturbation on a constant basis. These are situations that aren't applicable to what I'm about to say.). They have a negative reaction about their guy masturbating. I've found this to be quite common with women. However, instead of choosing a rational reaction, they choose to soothe their own hurt ego at their mate's expense. This, inevitably, deteriorates the relationship. Doesn't fix a thing, no matter how "right" you think you might be.

I'm also married (12 years). We have a great relationship and a healthy sex life. Here's the thing with us and the whole masturbation "issue". When I was young and this came up with my husband, I responded similarly to some of the other females on this thread. I felt hurt and somehow betrayed at the time. I shared this with my husband. His response to this? He felt so guilty about masturbating without me that he practically stopped it altogether. (He still has issues with it because of my immature reaction and the fact that he really cares about my feelings.) Now that I've somewhat reconciled myself with it, when I tell him to go do it ("give him permission," in crazy-lady talk) he has issues with it. So, now - ironically - the full sexual burden is on me.

Here's how I see it now, the bigger picture: Women, in general, have this issue. It's probably been naturally selected for over many, many generations because it seems to be a primal kind of response. It makes sense to me that women probably saw it as a waste of baby-making material. There's certainly a sense of possession imbedded in my own feelings that seems to point to this. It doesn't have to be rational or relevant to how we feel NOW.

But, it does. Because we're human. We've got to rationalize our emotions.

I think the real key here is to reconcile our primal urges/reactions with our hard-earned logic. Don't displace your feelings and dehumanize the men you care about just because they masturbate! And, do NOT use the fact that you don't do it as a weapon against them. It's normal and healthy to do it. Whether you choose to is your bailiwick.

I see it like this: when my husband and I met, we were already in a relationship with ourselves. Think of it like bigamy, if you like - with the relationship with our "selves" predating our current one by decades in some cases. You got to accept it going in.

Does all of this mean that I like my husband masturbating? No. But, that's okay. I accept that it's healthy and continue to work on my own reaction to it. After all, I masturbate just like him and somehow he isn't upset by it in the least.

Get some perspective, gals. Sometimes it's us that need to adjust.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Broke

2011-12-27T21:58:00.000-08:00

"Broke may refer to being currently (but not necessarily permanently) out of money." According to the oracle - Wikipedia. [By the way, have you noticed their new ad message? It practically says, "If everyone gave us $5, this obnoxious ad would go away. Okay?" Extortion if you ask me.] BUT, if you want to find out how broke got associated with being temporarily poor, you have to dig a little. After abandoning this post and deciding it was really, really important to locate the origins of "being broke" instead, all I was able to come up with was an unsubstantiated source saying a convoluted version of this:

In the 18th century, it was commonplace for banks to give their customers a porcelain "borrower's tile" that had their name, credit limit, etc.written on it. Sound familiar? Well, do you remember in the 80's when store clerks would cut up credit cards when they were declined? (That's pretty fucked up now that I think about it. Kind of humiliating and unnecessary. Is it just me?) As it happened, the bankers, when presented with a tile and having found that customer's credit maxed out, broke their tile.

Way Lamer

Yes. Cracked.com is a fantastic site.

So, all of my borrower's tiles are broken. That's the point. I wanted to bitch, rant, rave, whine, and prattle on about it to a vague audience - instead of wallowing in self-pity internally, playing Final Fantasy X all day (or God forbid - the worst of all) journal about it. [Shudder] But, before I got back to all that, I decided to totally let loose of my pride, much the way the sphincter "decides" to let loose after a night (or day) of poison-imbibing, and cyber-beg.

Before I get to that, however, let me make it clear that I'm not just needing some money to get booze - even though I'd really like that, too. No, no. I've left that dream miles back in the dust. We're at a whole new level here:

I've made an appointment to try to get food stamps for tomorrow.
I'm out of change.
Out of books, CDs, and DVDs to sell.
Out of things to pawn (in fact, on the 29th, I'm going to lose a guitar & typewriter to the Pawn God).
My husband's unemployment might be coming in a few days, but it'll barely cover utilities and cell phone/internet.
Last, but not least, we're out of family charity.

So, yeah. Not having any presents to give/get on Christmas wasn't a big deal because my husband and I are agnostic - or so we tell ourselves. I'm even going to survive a presentless birthday on the 30th. But, not having food to eat except for beans, expired eggnog, and questionable meat from the back of the freezer - justifies such depravity.

After an unprecedented Google search time of 15 minutes (except for finding those badass pictures of "borrower's tiles" I planned to use to make into coasters to make umpteen zillion dollars - that took at least an hour and I still came up empty), I was actually able to find a reputable site for begging for money. All of the other ones...get this: COST MONEY. Fuck me.

This is what I found: http://www.beggingmoney.com/ It's not fancy, but it's legitimate.

Before I could decide whether this site was for realz or not, I had to peruse it. There were some typical "Woe is me. I've got kids and medical problems and shit" people. Most stories/pleas were grammatically treacherous, which meant they lost my empathy immediately. And, there was one that was downright ridiculous: "My birthday's coming up. I never do anything for it. Can you lend me $750 for rental for a room for a party? I'll pay you back." But, hey - that's the beauty of the site. Someone might want to. Fuck it.

In contrast, there was a post that made me really want to donate some funds. Not because the guy was the most pathetic or neediest, but ...well, you read this excerpt:

Honestly, I know that I'm probably not as needy as most of the folks here but with jobs being sparse and no car to take me further than walking distance I don't foresee my savings lasting me
til I am able to find something. I'm making bits and pieces from an online job but its roughly 100 dollars per 2 weeks. Not enough to pay bills just groceries. I'm not asking for anything ridiculous, but anything that will help me minimize getting behind would be great. Again if you are looking to give a lot find someone who is in more need than me, but if you can only spare a little I would be very thankful, and hopefully in time I can pass it forward.

http://www.beggingmoney.com/search?updated-max=2011-12-23T13:34:00-08:00&max-results=5

In case you want to give that guy money, he's the last post on the link above or somewhere close to it (my posting could change the order once/if it's posted). Look for him if you really want to give - it'll take a few extra clicks if you can't first find him. No big deal.)

On the other hand, you could give to me. Hell, if you're made of money you could donate to both of us. (But...my donate button is right here. Less effort. Right?)

Now that I've shit the bed, what the hell was I saying? I don't know. Maybe that was the whole point. But it just don't feel right leaving things that way. So, let me spout out some general nonsense that's pinballing around in the ol' skull.

What I really should be doing (but can't/won't) is finishing my book (Chronicles of a Wasted Life). I know the idea of a person being a writer (especially one writing a memoir, planning on publishing it, and expecting it to do okay) has a tendency to turn the stomach, give goosebumps, elicit an eye roll. Believe me, I know. It takes a certain arrogance of mind (or ignorance) to even consider it. Maybe that's why I do it so seldom. After all, you kind of have to create a home inside yourself - a place where it's safe; a place where you can tell yourself that the shit you write, or are thinking about writing, is somehow valuable. Or maybe the key is to set aside all that diarrhea mind-speak altogether. Either way, the human torch was denied a bank loan.

Also, I'm pathetic and need automatic feedback. Or at least the potential for it. Thankfully, I'm not unique in that way, which lends some comfort. Hence the innumerable blogs. (You have to hear in your mind the word "blog" spoken the same way so many people in my area say "Obama". Like a dog regurgitating the cat(?) diarrhea he ate earlier.) -An aside here, I just want to personally thank Werner Herzog, the director of Grizzly Man, for both encouraging the idea that wild animal lovers are all outrageous morons and ruining part of my favorite movie, Anchorman - "I read somewhere their periods attract bears." It will never be the same.

I'm just going to wrap up this train-wreck of a blog with this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLq2-uZd5LY

Which I can't embed (thanks Blogger or old-ass laptop for being lame-o!)

And this further debasement.

Seriously, if you could give even $1 to help me achieve the dream:

Happy Holidays!

Apothecarial Antics

2010-11-29T17:26:00.000-08:00

I've had this thing with sleep, going back to the womb, maybe. I fight it, just like an infant does. I don't have kids, but I've seen them before. They do this.

Even when I'm sleepy, which happens normally only in the midpoint of my day, I just have this childlike tendency to be abhorrent of getting into the bed. Even now only a good book will entice me back there. I'm sure it's got some psychological roots: perhaps I haven't produced enough to surrender the day; or maybe I haven't hit some peek--as in with drinking one might have a tendency to drink until drunk or else the entire enterprise was a waste.

Whatever it is, it sucks. I get this fucked up sleeping schedule that doesn't align with what I'd prefer. It's probably my natural circadian rhythm, but I'm human so I have an intrinsic need to manipulate myself and my surrounding until all the natural is blotted out.

I've tried a few things to fix this sleep schedule: sleep therapy (wherein a jobless/work-at-home person tries various techniques of fucking with the sleep schedule, such as going to sleep 2 hours later each day until you've get the clock back round to where you want it and you're too exhausted to fight it), over-the-counter sleep aids, teas, valerian root extract, holy basil extract, you name it.

Luckily for me, I've found out about ethnobotanicals in a more profound sense. There's something so exciting and alluring about them. Actually, a few things:

1 They're legal
2 They're natural
3 They're mysterious
4 They're fun to fuck around with; like being a dime-store pharmacist.

So that's what I'm going to do tonight: blend valerian, kava kava, and holy basil.

It could be that it has no effect. Another issue I face is that I have an extraordinarily high tolerance to almost all things except caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol. So I have to take a lot of whatever to achieve...whatever...effect. I'll try this and up the ante each night until I find the right amount and right combo and then--well, I'll probably have to up it again considering the fact that my body will impose a whole other set of tolerances in response.

I plan on updating this blog with the results. So until then, good night and sweet dreams and all the rest of that shit.