Today has been, to put it simply, a rather stupid day. I am choosing to write about it because I think often my particular brand of anxiety and other insanity can often be comical…at least when I think about it later.  It’s terrible when it’s happening, but I think I would be dead by now if I couldn’t laugh at myself.

I have recently become hyper aware of how often I get depressed or anxious for no particular reason.  In the past there has been little lag between “bad feeling in the pit of my chest” (somewhere behind my xiphoid process…Not to be mixed up with Zaphod Beeblebrox.  It’s the greatest term I ever learned in CPR training.  It’s the point at the end of your sternum! The thing that will stab the patient if you screw up! Which you totally will! If you are me! Most likely! Also, I wouldn’t really describe any other terms as great from training, so I’ll just say it’s a great term.  Not the greatest.  How do I always digress this fast?) to jumping to conclusions about what it is inherently depressing me.  When there’s no space between those two things, it becomes impossible to see the good things in your life.  You just either project on everyone and everything around you all the fears you have and see evidence of their validity or you remember shitty things from the past and get upset about them all over again.  This is a terrible habit to get into and part of my healing process lately has been to extend that gap and to try and accept more easily that I am feeling lousy for no real reason (although, I would venture to guess that it is purely physical, like a hormonal imbalance or dehydration or blood sugar levels).  My goal as of late has been to accept that sometimes I’m a mess.  It’s been worse lately.  Who knows why?  I stressed myself out a lot last month and maybe I’m still balancing out from that.  Anyway, I tell you all this because last night I really noticed it and I also noticed that my swings back to laughing a lot are also harder to predict.  Once I allow myself to just say, “You’re a mess right now, Gina”, it’s easier to laugh at stupid crap.

Scene One: This morning I did Jessie a favor by dropping something off for her at her doctor in the Northeast.  I figured this made a lot of sense.  Wes didn’t feel comfortable driving with his pirate patch worthy eye and my office is actually oddly close to that part of Philadelphia.  I gave myself an hour to get there and then to work.  This seemed completely reasonable, but I didn’t calculate for the oddness of Northeaster streets and the surprise attacks of the GPS. “Keep going…keep going…NOW TURN RIGHT! NOW NOW NOW! Oh…you missed it.  What a dumbass.  RECALCULATING.  RECALCULATING AGAIN. Dumbass.”  Perhaps I’m projecting how much my GPS berates me when I fail to follow it, but I figure this is how Skynet really prevails.  The machines won’t kill us with laser blasters.  They’ll just be passive aggressive and make us feel bad about ourselves.

Perhaps I just think that because I’m insecure and anything can make me feel that way.  Whatever.  STOP JUDGING ME, CELLPHONE.

Anyway, after taking yet another wrong turn, I lost it in the most functional way possible at the time.  I was fully capable of driving, but I could only do so for a second if I did a death metal drum solo on the steering wheel and screamed at the top of my lungs.  Nothing coherent, just the kind of primal scream that Tears for Fears is always going on about.  Then I had “Shout” stuck in my head and yelled, “Fuck you, Roosevelt Boulevard!”  Finally I managed my errand and was on the road to New Jersey.  And as I crossed the treacherous arch that is the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge, Bruce Springsteen lulled me down from assuming that any minute my car would spiral off into the Delaware (not from a suicidal sense.  Don’t worry.  I just envisioned a scene where my car was plummeting towards the murky depths of the river and I would think, “Well, isn’t this just fucking great.  How am I supposed to get to work NOW? Fuck you, Bridge! Why won’t you send your water trolls to save me? Hmm???” or, more realistically, I would think, “SHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIiiiiiiitttttt…” kersplash!), and I was simply a little bit crazed.  OK, I was not actually listening to the Boss, but it’s just sort of in the air, OK?  For all I know, Nickelback was playing and I simply repressed the memory.

I get to work and find my email inbox full of bullshit and my voicemail in a similar state.  I started freaking out again.  I tried to extend that gap between the physical emotion and the justification.  It was hard.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was sobbing at my desk and talking to Wes and Shaun on gchat, saying that I really think there’ something wrong with me.  Then Shaun said, “otters”.  I decided that cute animal pictures were probably my best bet at achieving functionality again.  Wes agreed that this was a very good plan…and it was.  It was an instant fix! What the hell?  Why has no one written their dissertation on this?  And so, due to this photo, I was again able to work:

Scene Two: The other day I wrote an email asking for help from someone.  I spent a long time on the email.  I chose my words and punctuation very carefully, so as to avoid any misinterpretations of tone.  I did not use any emoticons.  Clearly this was my mistake.

I was then informed  that the person I wrote the email to is being vindictive because my email accused him of being inept.

This was so far from the truth that, if I were in a more stable state of mind, I would have had to laugh and say all kinds of snarky things.  But by then the great healing powers of otters had worn off and I was unable to keep calm about it.  There is a historic reason in this particular case.  Namely, the culture of my life before seemed to encourage people to not express their issues directly with the people causing the issues, but rather to gossip to others and allow it to trickle back to the “guilty” party.  By then, it has festered and doing anything about it probably means a big, stupid confrontation.

Upon hearing this, I hit my desk, stood up fiercely and yelled, “Fuck no! This is NOT how we do things, god damn it!”  I stormed out to find the person who had a passive aggressive beef with me, making sure to calm the hell down before talking to them, and then talked to them directly about the situation.

Yes, yes, that whole direct communication thing again.  Gets me in trouble every time…apparently.  Yeah, fuck you.

After having a polite (meaning not laden with curse words and personal insults) conversation with the person, I left and stormed back.  I wandered around aimlessly, unable to focus through my extreme aggravation.  Then someone asked me about it and oh how the curse words flew.

I then looked at otters again and all was eventually well.

Scene Three: I went to the snack machine and purchased a bag of Fritos and a pack of TastyKake Butterscotch Krimpets, convincing myself that this passes as a lunch.  I had some Excedrin as an appetizer.

Scene Four: By 3:30pm, it was clear that the day was a wash.  I decided to clean up my desk and figure out how I was going to be productive next week.  Sometimes you just have to throw in the towel.  After doing this, I was chatting with Kelly who sent me this amazing rant against an anti-gay politician from Minnesota Viking Chris Kluwe.  I was so entertained by it and Kelly said that she might have a crush on him based on the usage of the words “lustful cock-monster” alone.   We had the following conversation:

me:  This is pretty fabulous.  He wrote “holy fucking shitballs” to a politician!

Kelly:  I KNOW!  Amazeballs!  haha

me:  “the Russian judge gives you a 10 for ‘beautiful oppressionism”

Kelly:  I know!  He’s intelligent, brazen, pretty funny, and on the right side of this debate!  I’ve never even seen him, and I think I have a crush.  lol

me:  Hahahaha

Kelly:  Oh, he’s from Philly! And one day older than me.

me:  He’s pretty hot. I don’t know if I would think that without the impressive letter, but whatever

Kelly:  haha. I wouldn’t. I think he is rather average looking

me:  Ha, he reminds me of Christian Bale

So there’s that

Kelly:  But he certainly is hotter after the letter! He reminds me of someone I know, but I can’t put my finger on it

me:  He might be Christian Bale in this photo.

Kelly:  hahaha. If there is anything I NEVER thought would happen is you and I discussing the hotness of an NFL player.  Lol!

me:  Ha! Agreed. But it was because he wrote a sweet letter about an anti-gay fucktard.

Kelly:  which was overtly condescending and used an awesome array of curse word delicacies.

me:  Also, I like how much it talks about civil rights and is written by a privileged white guy.

Kelly:  Yes, absolutely.  The swearing wouldn’t have had any effect if there wasn’t intelligence behind it.

I should reiterate that the Christian Bale look alike aspect is powerful, but sure, it’s because of the letter.  And the Christian Bale part.

Christian Bale is Batman.

Shut up.

STOP JUDGING ME, CELLPHONE!

Anyway, there’s my nutso day in four acts.  I don’t really have a grand point to make here except to say that this is what most of my days are like.  I can’t imagine what it’s like for people with completely unmanageable problems.  There are days when I barely function at work.  My brain just craps out after too much stress and I have the ability to calm down on my own (most of the time).  How do other people do this?

My therapy appointment is about a week away and I keep oscillating between being terrified that this just won’t help me and thinking it’s the best decision I’ve made in a long time.  But most of my days are pretty sinusoidal, so this should come of no surprise to me.

Well, at least it’s Friday, ey?

My day at work started off fabulously, but as yet another rain storm billowed in, my energy level was zapped.  I went to an uninspiring meeting, came back and dealt with a bit of an emotional episode, ate a bunch of pretzel Goldfish and then…well, then I was spent.

I had a choice to make: Be unproductive or look at cute animal pictures on the internet.

No, no, no…this wasn’t just an exercise in not getting work done.  A while back I signed up for this goal achieving game thing that gave you points for doing little things everyday to make your life better.  As always, my goal was to be happier which for me means stressing a lot less.  One of the tips was to look at a picture of a cute animal everyday because you get a happiness boost from that.

Now, you all know that I cold, black heart, right?

OK, that might be a bit of a stretch.  By cold, black, heart I mean I have a sarcastic sense of humor and can get pretty cynical about certain things pretty easily.  That said, I didn’t think that looking at kittens would really help me.

But then I remembered that there are other animals out there other than kittens!  There are otters! And elephants! And ferrets! And, well, so many more.  Before I knew it, this became an actual useful trick for getting me out of a funk.  Take for instance this link to The Happiest Animals in the World.  How freaking effective is that in boosting your mood, hmm?  The second you see that smiling, strutting elephant, you can’t help but want to do the same.

I’m sure there are people out there more cynical than me who are saying, “Those animals aren’t smiling.  They have gas or…are having a seizure.”  Well, be that as it may…it’s the cutest case of gas and/or seizures I’ve ever seen.  And seriously, why do you want to steal this moment from me, hmm?  Why don’t you just click on the link and be happy for once.  JEEZ.

As you may recall, I talk a lot about otters and Shaun counters with talk of pygmy marmosets.  Today while I was searching for happiness boosting animal pictures on the internet (so difficult, I know), I found this:

This isn’t just an otter, but an otter nuzzling a goat.  I have asked Wes multiple times if we can have a goat in our backyard.  “It’ll mow the lawn…naturally!” I say.  “It will eat everything.” he says.  I make a case for making cheese or something, but it never ends with a definite, “Yes, Gina, you can get a goat.”  Plus, then I remember that we’d have to bring the goat inside in the winter and that indoor menagerie makes me laugh and cry at the same time.  Anyway, this picture is awesome and was the perfect “pill” for my shitty mood.

Then I found this:

OK, fine, Shaun.  I concede this point to you at the moment.  That’s a Pygmy Marmoset hanging out ON a banana.  It doesn’t get much cuter than that.

The entire point of this post was to put pictures of cute animals up on the internet.  I am continuing the cycle of destruction…or something.  Destructive cuteness!  I’ll take it.

I hope these brighten your day just a little bit too.

And so it was that I became the complete and utter fluff writer for Polyskeptic.com.

No, that does not make me the fluffer.

Right?

Right.

I just put up a long diatribe about Six Flags Great Adventure on my other blog and thought that y’all might be amused by it.  Here’s a little to “wet your whistle”:

On Thursday, Wes, Jessie, and I went to Six Flags Great Adventure.  It had been years since Wes and I had been there.  The previous time was about 9 years ago when Wes managed to steal me away from my boyfriend at the time by wowing me with his Whack-a-Mole prowess (that’s another hilarious story for another day).  I had remembered that Six Flags is kind of awful for various reasons. The only reasons I really remembered were things like “lousy food”.  But I thought it would be fun to go because I do, in fact, like roller coasters and Six Flags is certainly the place to go for roller coasters.  I am partial to the wooden ones and Nitro myself.

After spending the day at Six Flags I can say that if someone wanted proof of Satan’s existence, Six Flags Great Adventure is it.

I remember seeing the movie “Bedazzled” for the first time (the one from the 60’s starring Dudley Moore).  I thought that the depiction of Satan was the most realistic.  The concept was that Satan just ran around annoying people and slowly driving them mad by doing things like committing random acts of mischief and fulfilling gross misinterpretations of people’s wishes.  It was perfect.  He wasn’t evil really…just an asshole.  This is Six Flags in a nutshell.

My sense of community has never been strong.  It’s just not the way I was raised.  Growing up, I liked just off of South Street in Philadelphia.  It’s a business district with a lot of bars.  Sure, I lived on a little side street and seemingly other people lived there too, but it wasn’t particularly common to socialize with the people who lived there.  We didn’t have a typical neighborhood experience.  Maybe it’s because we lived in a tourist area…maybe it’s a symptom of living in a big city, but we just didn’t have a desire to particularly know our neighbors.  It wouldn’t be until I was in my teens that we even knew the names of people living near us (before that we only knew the names of their dogs…).  My family was very social with each other (my parents were my best friends and I rarely liked spending time with my peers more than spending time with them).  We were loners.  We didn’t have close family friends.  My parents were part of the New Age movement when I was very young and they had a couple friends from that, but as their attachment to EST faded, so did the friendships.  We weren’t religious in any other way so there was no expectation of a church/synagogue community either.

I have been thinking a lot about this lately.  It is seemingly something that many atheists think about because many people were not raised in an atheist environment and came to it over time.  Before becoming atheists, many of them went to church and I have often heard that this community is the thing that is most missed about leaving religion.

I understand this logically.  It is calming to be amongst like-minded thinkers.  Institutions make easy places to meet people.  It was hard to remember how to make friends when I wasn’t in any kind of school anymore.  You make friends at the places you have to go.  I imagine church is like this for kids.  Your parents make you go.  Everyone is there for the same thing.  You make friends with people in the same situation.

But I have never been comfortable in “communities”.  When I was in school, I had friends and such (I was quite social, actually) but I never particularly felt like I belonged anywhere.  This has not particularly changed now.

I have spoken about my general feeling of being an “other” lately.  Now that my home is filled to capacity with people who I love, 4 cats, a dog, and considerably more Star Trek merchandise than I ever expected to have, I feel a general sense that this is my community…but really, this is my family and I see that nothing has changed since I was a kid.  The people with whom I share my home are the people I feel most “normal” around and it is easy to get comfortable with that and not want to seek out more people in the world when there are so many people who will disappoint.

There are frequent atheist meetups and polyamory meetups and I have had a very difficult time being remotely interested in attending either one.  Granted I’ve had very limited experience with either one, but my experiences up to this point have not particularly inspiring.

I have been to two local atheist meetups (the same one).  The first time I was subjected to the social awkwardness of having the audacity to be female and show up at one of these things.  I was a new person at a pretty small meetup and most people couldn’t even bring themselves to make eye contact with me, let alone introduce themselves or say “Hi”.  I was ignored until I decided to be assertive.  Before that I had to listen to one dude’s tales of hitting on chicks at the bar.  The second time I went, I talked to people more, but there was a lot of Christian bashing…which I find counter productive when you’re out in a public space that is pleasant enough to host you…especially when the jokes aren’t even funny.  I think about going back here and again, but my motivation is mostly to be a female presence, an ambassador of sorts, and sometimes it just doesn’t feel worth it to expend the energy to be that person.

I’ve only been to a couple of polyamory meetups (other than a BBQ with several friends where everyone was polyamorous so we didn’t have to explain it or particularly talk about it) and my feeling about them is similar in that I feel the need to be some kind of ambassador.  Often the people that come to them are new to it and are looking for information.  We talk about jealousy and time management and rules.  I get worn out quickly because, well, I blog about this stuff too.  There have been days where it feels like it’s all I talk about.  I want to be approachable about it.  I want people to ask questions and all that, but I also just want to live my life.  Sometimes I want to just give people a copy of The Ethical Slut and a business card with Polyskeptic.com on it and tell them to do their research.  Also, I rarely feel like I belong at these things because not only is “the way I do polyamory” or the “way I communicate and have relationships friend or otherwise” seemingly difficult for many to grasp, but I also don’t see anything spiritual or cosmic about it in the least.  I am not a member of the New Age.  I am just challenging social convention because this is the way I want to live my life.

But why does all this make me so angry?  Why is my instinct to just pull away and give up on being out in the world?  Why is telling people about life and being a person others can reach out to so terrifying?  Why does thinking about it bring me to tears sometimes?  My answer to all of this has always been that other people aren’t worth it and that being more alone is easier and better.

Well, here’s the thing: I can cite all kinds of reasons why I feel uncomfortable in communities that define themselves by a Granfalloon, but ultimately the underlying issue is my insecurity and my anxiety.  I still feel the need to be two different people: The Great Ambassador (who is perfect, always happy and rational, and is a pristine example of the “movement”) and, well, me (who is pretty good but far from perfect, unhappy often, full of anxiety that is difficult to control).  I don’t go to meetups if I feel incapable of people The Great Ambassador.  I don’t want people to meet me any other way because I fear that seeing all the cracks will make people question my choices.  I’m afraid that if I’m not at my best strangers will think poorly of me.  It’s all the same as it ever was.  Granted, I have met a few people who have given me some moments of regret for going to a meetup and have made me want to give up on meeting new people, but I also had to remember that the last time I was feeling like this was right around when we met Shaun and Ginny and that turned out pretty fucking good.

I have been crazy for weeks, and only after a brief reprieve of a few weeks here and there.  I struggle with anxiety and low level depression daily.  In the last several weeks each day has been a struggle to keep it together.  I can do it.  I can control myself.  Circumstance certainly can be stressful and there has been a lot going on (what with people moving in, me going through the entire house in an effort to get it organized, and trying to change the slob part of me for good).  I have been trying to pay attention to my diet (I have been caffeine-free for a month!) and my water intake and sleep to try and keep myself in the best condition possible.  But, well, I finally have given into the fact that I need professional help.

So, I made an appointment to go see a therapist and probably a psychiatrist after that because  I am starting to think that this is more chemical than circumstantial. I need someone outside to help me figure out what’s going on.  I have made wonderful changes and am miles ahead of where I was years ago, but I am expending a ridiculous amount of energy to remain stable and I’m tired.  I get enough sleep but I’m tired all the time and I think it might be because I’m trying too hard to be OK on my own.  I have been scared of therapy because, while I don’t judge other people badly at all for doing the same, I have convinced myself that I am strong enough to do this alone and that giving in to this is failure.  And maybe I can do this on my own, but is it worth it if I’m just crazed all the time trying to be strong?  I have to ask for help and I have to do it without shame.  It’s time to reach out.  I have been afraid of potential medication because I’m afraid of losing the parts of me that I like, but I have to remind myself that if this is the path required that this medication will be like anything else.  You have to find the one that works for you and trust that the people that love you will be patient and help you through the searching process.  I did it for birth control.  I can do it for this.

Since I can’t apparently stay quiet in the blogosphere about everything going on with me, I will likely be chronicling this process here, because like polyamory and atheism, mental illness is a real thing in the world that needs multiple voices and I realize that at this point I really don’t care who knows about it.  I wrote an email to someone close to me last year asking them to seek out therapy and I was responded to with scorn and the declaration that they would never ever go to therapy or try antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication.  Well, that’s fine, I guess, but I am not special in seeking out help like this and I am not better than anyone for having avoided the option for this long.  And sure, I might be weak sometimes but that’s why we ask for help.  Why do I ask for help lifting a 200 lb weight but expect myself to be some kind of emotional juggernaut?  I’m tired of being tired.

Yesterday I had to leave a supermarket because I had a minor meltdown about money AND the general idiocy of people in markets on a Sunday.  There was a point where I almost picked up a cantaloupe and threw it.  There was another point where I nearly started screaming at people in an aisle.  I can control myself, but it’s time to figure out how to really get a handle on this.  And then maybe I can get excited about being out in the world again, about being public in real non-internet places.

This morning I got in the car, plugged my phone into the speakers and blasted Mama Cass singing “Make Your Own Kind of Music”.  Mama Cass is one of my female vocal role models.  Granted, she’s nowhere near Grace Slick, Janis or Heart, but she’s there.  I heard “Make Your Own Kind of Music” for the first time on “Lost” when Desmond was introduced.

Shut up about spoilers.  I’m not even going to talk about how that show ended.  Bullshit.  Listen, if you must watch it, watch the first couple of seasons and then stop.  OK?  I warned you.

Anyway, I love “Make Your Own Kind of Music” because it has that classic late 60’s pop sound that I love and it has a message I can get behind as your friendly neighborhood weirdo.

Make your own kind of music.
Sing your own special song.
Make your own kind of music,
Even if nobody else sings along.

My dad always thought that my theme song should be Linda Ronstadt’s “Different Drum”.  It has its moments, but “Make Your Own Kind of Music” applies to every part of my life thus far.  Plus, it’s really fun to belt out in the car.

So, picture the scene of this morning if you will: I get in the car, I crank the volume up to 30 and as the opening piano and guitar comes in, I sway.  Yes, I sway and put a stupid look on my face…like this stupid look:

Then I start singing at the top of my lungs (while paying careful attention to vocal support, of course.  I don’t need Peter throwing things at my when I show up for overdubbing on Wednesday and say, “Oh, sorry…I can’t sing…Mama Cass.”).  I would assume anyone looking in the car would have assumed I was taking my final ascent into Muppetdom.  Perhaps they are right.

The other day, a coworker changed the picture he had on his desktop to this photo of him in Jamaica.  He was smashed in between two huge drag queens.  He asked everyone if they found it offensive.  I walked over and said, “Eh, that just looks like what my life outside of the lab looks like.”  Everyone laughed and probably believed that there was some truth to it, but I always wonder how much truth they think there is.  I wander around at work with everyone thinking that I’m “original” and a little bit strange, but they never really know how strange.

When I talk about Shaun, Ginny, or Jessie, I call them simply my friends.  This, of course, is not a false statement but by cutting it off there I am lying by omission.  I can’t seem to bring myself to be open about it, mainly because I don’t really think it’s any of their business, and possibly because I don’t want to have to talk about it everyday.  There are times when I have come very close to telling people everything because I think it’s a stupid burden to carry.  But this is my job, not my family, not anything except where I contribute intelligence and skill in exchange for money and benefits.  It is enough that they know that I have a husband.  That they can understand and we don’t have to talk about it.

I suppose it might be silly to say on a blog devoted to subjects such as polyamory and atheism, but I get burned out on these topics often.  I don’t talk about atheism much because I am rather uneducated about it.  I know that I do not believe in gods or any kind of spirituality.  This is the rational conclusion we must reach with the evidence at hand. I don’t really have a lot to say about it other than that most of the time.  I talk a lot about polyamory because my relationships are pretty much the biggest thing in my life.  Because I am living this way and building up experience points, I feel like I can speak intelligently about the subject.  I like to present myself as a person living this way successfully and happily.  I want to be inspiring and informative.

But it is still my life and I find that explaining why this works for us for the umpteenth time begins to take its toll.  Sure, it’s easier when people are being accepting.  For instance, the five of us were at a wedding the other day where after a while we mentioned the fact that we were polyamorous to the strangers we were sitting with and one of them said, “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious!”  It was refreshing to not have to explain what it is.  He didn’t even follow it up with any qualifiers like “Well, that’s cool if it works for you…but I could never do it” or anything.  So yes, that’s easier.  It’s harder when you find yourself still having to explain yourself to loved ones or to strangers and dealing with all the confusion and sometimes venom it causes.  It is not fun to be the cultural liason for lifestyle all the time.  It is exhausting and there’s only so many ways I can explain why jealousy sucks and how you shouldn’t think it’s a requisite of a committed relationship or any of the other things that people don’t want to understand because it might say something is imperfect in their views of relationships.  Being adversarial is hard for me.  It takes a lot of energy and resilience.  I run out periodically.  It takes such a toll on me that I have been waiting forever to write this particular post because how much can I wax poetic about poly before someone throws something at my face?  But whatever.  This is my life.  It is amazing.  Hate it if you want to, but it is amazing nonetheless.

Shaun and Ginny moved their office desks and computers to the house this past weekend and both of them consider home to be wherever their computers are…so my home is their home.  This is something I have hoped would happen for a while and I am still in a general state of shock about it.  Yesterday morning, Wes and I went to a diner and got home around 9:30am to find Shaun and Ginny both up and clicking away at their computers.  I was surprised by it, and then realized that it was one of the best things I’ve gotten to see in my own house recently.  It has been an interesting and sometimes tumultuous year.  The fact that this is happening will seem like a dream for quite a while I think, but it’s a good dream that stays with me throughout the day.

The main concern people have expressed to Wes and me is “Is the house big enough for 5 adults???”  Well, seemingly the answer is yes, especially if I gut the place for clutter.  I have been driving myself batty for the last several weeks going through things and getting rid of everything except what I really want, which as it turns out is not nearly as much as I thought it was.  The house is transforming into something rather impressive.  Shaun inspires me to do these things, to be neater, to take care of the house more responsibly (mainly because if I don’t, he will first and I can’t let him take all the credit now can I?).  Also, I’d like him to stick around for a while so I don’t want to push him out with piles of useless crap.  I’ve been working ridiculously hard on these things and there’s more to do, and though it is stressful and exhausting for me, it is worth every amount of effort to make the house so much more comfortable for everyone.

My house has gotten bigger.  I didn’t really think it was possible, but it is completely filled with amazing people almost all of the time.  As I have mentioned often when I speak of having Jessie as part of our home, there have been moments of profound perfection in our house since she arrived.  I thought of all the years before that I have been doing it so wrong.  I used to want everyone to go away.  I used to be terrified to share my space and not know when people were leaving because when there were people around I couldn’t be myself.  But now I am the same person alone as I am with people, but even stranger, I am better with these people around.  And now I feel like I actually have it all because I have all the people around me who make me so much better than I am on my own.  And yes, I am still insecure and flawed and all those nasty things that I fight constantly, and I wonder what I did to deserve all of this…

And then I tell myself to shut the hell up and enjoy it, dagnabbit.

Soon, the epic house cleaning/organizing will be over and we will just have to maintain it and fall into a sublime sense of comfort and normalcy in an existence that many would deem bizarre and undesirable.  I suppose it might be bizarre, but it doesn’t seem that way when I’m at home.  It feels like this is exactly how my life should be and how lucky am I to be living exactly the life that I should be living.  I suppose it seems undesirable to some, but I couldn’t ask for anything more than this.  Despite the fact that none of us has decided to procreate as of yet, we have ourselves a delightful family, a family of our choosing and I hope that this is the beginning of a life time of awesomeness and calm.

I sat down with Wes this morning for a cup of decaf and then finished up some dishes before I left for work.  Shaun came downstairs and I nearly passed out to see him out of bed before 8am but there he was.  I kissed them both goodbye, grabbed my grown-up sippy cup full of water and went out to the car to drive to work and listen to some Mama Cass and think about how wonderful it is to be weird.

Then, when the song was over…I put on some Journey.  Whatever, shut up.  Everyone secretly likes at least one Journey song.

It’s true!

I remember sitting in a movie theater years and years ago watching Star Wars: The Phantom Menace and being wildly amused by all the racial stereotyping being used as “character development”.  Clearly Lucas thought he could get away with it because they were aliens, people…but you can’t really get away with it when it’s so freaking obvious.  Just ask Michael Bay about his ridiculous ice cream truck Transformers.

It started with the Trade Federation representatives who were clearly Asian.  I mean, they looked like fish, but they didn’t look like Admiral Ackbar…instead, they were oddly reminiscent of catfish or coy.  And then they spoke with a bad Asian accent.

Then there were the Jamaicans…I mean, whatever the fuck Jar Jar was.

And then there was the hook nosed blue flying trader/slave owning alien Jew.  Obviously.

I admit fully that I laughed a lot about this, as I generally do when anyone says anything or does anything anti-Semitic these days.  It’s generally how I feel when anyone says anything against Russians or Communists.  I find it absurd that anyone still has anything to say about Jews or Communists.  It seems out of place in the world today, so I can’t help but assume that people are saying these things ironically/sarcastically as an homage to shit-tacular times past.  So when the Blue Jew appeared on screen and bartered for Ani’s freedom I said, “Holy crap…they made the shady business monster Jewish…FOR REAL? AMAZING.”

Obviously, racism and other -isms never go away.  People are raised with idiocy and it prevails through generations.  So, of course there is still rampant antisemitism.  And even when it’s not necessarily antisemitism, the stereotypes prevail.

Take Mitt Romney.  Please.

Rim shot.

Anyway, take Mitt Romney.  He goes to Palestine and pisses off all the Palestinians (like only a great Presidential hopeful should do) by saying,

“And as I come here and I look out over this city and consider the accomplishments of the people of this nation, I recognize the power of at least culture and a few other things,” Romney said, citing an innovative business climate, the Jewish history of thriving in difficult circumstances and the “hand of providence.”

The Palestinians were outraged because these were thinly shrouded racist remarks about them.  I would agree with that assessment, but what struck me so much about this story was how Mitt got up in front of a bunch of Jews and said, “You’re successful because you’re good with money” and that they were God’s chosen people or something.

I admit that laughed out loud at this whole thing.  I got this image of Mitt preparing for his trip and choosing to read “How to be a Jewish Mother” as his primary source of research.  I will always find this hilarious because I can’t believe that these stereotypes are still relevant.

Several years ago the owners of a company I was working for were Jewish.  It was a father and son duo and I suppose I would characterize the father as someone who would have fit right in with my Jewish relatives.  I will point out that Wes’ Uncle Bob also would have fit right in and he was quite Catholic.  I think the stereotype is more generational rather than religiously cultural.  Anyway, this guy I worked with came into my office and said the following to my office mate, “Did you hear what the Jew did?”  Neither of us knew he was talking about.  “Who?” my office mate asked.  “The Jew…” We both looked puzzled.  Then he clarified that he was talking about our president and I looked at him, cracked up for a second and then said, “The Jew? Really?  What is this, 1945?  You’re kidding, right?  Are you about to make a penny pincher joke?  Because that would be classic.”  He left without another word.  I still find this funnier than I find it offensive because it just seemed so archaic!

Anyway, back to Romney.  After he insulted Palestine by saying that they were culturally inferior to Jews, he then went on to say something about Jerusalem being the capital of Israel, which is true according to Isrealis, but not according to the rest of the world…especially not to the Palestinians.  No matter what you think about this particular conflict, it should be obvious that a dude trying to become President of the United States should probably know things about international affairs.

I think this is going to be a hysterical election…during the times in between when it’s terrifying I guess.  Romney is a jackass, but I haven’t repressed the memory of Bush yet.

A friend of mine has recently gotten herself into a bit of an internet kerfuffle by stating that when you eat Chick-Fil-A, not because of their delicious fried goodness, but because they hate the gays and you support that and then subsequently post on your favorite social networking site that you feel this way, you are being hurtful to those who do not adhere to Chick-Fil-A’s vision of proper family values.  She asked not that people stop eating their chicken.  She didn’t even ask them to stop spewing bigoted shit on their page.  She just asked that she be blocked from seeing such messages because it makes her want to puke and cleaning that up several times a day is just too much of a burden (paraphrase).

Because it’s the internet and people love to miss the point and subsequently get pissed off and (unfortunately) vocal about their misplaced pissed-offedness, a bunch of people read her statements as “You are an asshole for eating Chick-Fil-A, you bigoted sons of beetches.”

She’s being pretty nice about it, repeating over and over again that this is not what she’s saying.  She has repeated over and over that these people can feel free to go gorge themselves on  all the chicken they want, but that if you support their politics and blab about it online where she can see it (and you KNOW she can see it), that’s hurtful.  The response has generally been, “So what if I like chicken?  You can’t tell me what to eat! What am I supposed to do, not eat Chick-Fil-A just because they’re a bunch of douchebags?”  Her response has been to repeat herself and likely bang her head against a wall.

I have a different answer to all of this though.  Look, people, you are being assholes if you say that you support gay marriage and equal rights for the LGBTQ community but don’t support it enough to stop giving money to a company that is openly working against these things.  Sure, you can eat whatever you want.  No one is saying that you’re not allowed to eat Chick-Fil-A.  But, as with all controversial decisions and actions, you don’t get to eat it guilt-free.  I mean, you can not feel guilty about it, but if you DO feel guilt about it because someone points out what giving money to a particular company means, that’s not really the pointer-outer’s fault.  It is because you have a conscience and it is at odds with the deliciousness of the fried chicken.

This is a central theme to life on Planet Earth.

No, not being at odds with fried chicken.  Having to negotiate between getting what you want and the effects on everything else when you get it.

I am an omnivore.  I eat meat.  I eat meat because I really like it.  Chicken and beef are delicious to me.  I am also too cheap/often too broke to buy cage-free chicken or grass-fed beef.  Do I feel superior because I eat animals?  No, not particularly.  I just acknowledge that I am prioritizing my love of meat over the politics/moral realities of eating it.  Yes, by purchasing and consuming standard animal products, I am supporting factory farming. I am part of the demand.  It all comes down to how important this is to me.  Like I said, priorities.  At present the guilt over the plight that these animals have does not outweigh my desire to eat them.  And yeah, that pushes me a little more towards the asshole side of the spectrum.

Every day we prioritize our “wants” and “shoulds”.  When we reward ourselves with the food we want, with saving money, with taking part in all the conveniences of modern American life, you make choices.  Some people deny themselves these things to take the “moral high ground”.  They are also often full of shit, so just because they do something that appears to be “good” doesn’t necessarily mean that their motivations are “good” or “well informed”.  Other people don’t deny themselves any of these things because the issues connected to these choices don’t really matter to them.  Not every cause is important to every person.  The rest of us are somewhere in between.  A lot of people, I think, are aware of the social/political/moral effect that their choices may have and they weigh their desires against those implications and decide which is more important to them.

What strikes me as kind of hilarious about this entire Chick-Fil-A debacle is that it’s a bunch of people screaming that they will NOT BE DETERRED FROM THEIR CHICKEN, DAGNABBIT!  I guess we should add “Denial of Delicious Chicken to the General Public” to the “Gay Agenda”, right?  I just don’t understand why it has to be Chick-Fil-A.  There are lots of places to get fried chicken that have not (yet) made their anti-gay stance plain.  Then again, none of them are paragons of Moral Awesomeness either.  I mean, look at KFC.  The rumors about that place alone are hilarious.  “They changed their name to KFC because it would be a lie to have ‘Chicken’ in the name…because they’re not selling chicken ZOMG!” or “They genetically engineer chickens to be beakless”.  But their advertising campaigns often seem a little racist to me (that might be white guilt saying that, I don’t know…but the advertisements always seemed off to me).  As for Crown, who knows.  Maybe they have a sordid origin story where the first things fried at Crown were a pair of royal testicles or something. (Note: There is no evidence to support this outlandish claim, though as an American I am forced to assume its founders are terrorists).  Clearly the answer is that we should all invest in our own deep fryers.  That’s American independence right there.

*Shudder* This just reminds me of how I used to visit friends at their apartment and one of the housemates was frying something every time I went over there.  The kitchen seemed to be bathed in a thin film of grease and the dude was always shirtless, standing in front of the fryer.  “Do you want some wings?” “No, thanks…”

In the end, this is all fast food.  None of it is good for you and it would probably make the most sense to cut it all out of your diet for health reasons before political ones, but again, these are choices we make.  This is how vices work.  Indulging one here and there isn’t inherently terrible, but recall that we are not isolated.  Our actions have consequences, both positive and negative.  When you eat a Chick-Fil-A sandwich you are satisfying a vice (fatty, bad for you food) and it also has political batshittery attached to it too.  You’re consuming something that’s not only bad for your body but something that helps support a company with ideas that are bad for society as a whole.

So, yes, eat it if you really want to, but don’t be surprised if someone thinks that this pushes you more to the asshole side of the spectrum, especially if your response is something like, “I just want to eat my chicken in peace.  I don’t want to care about what it MEANS!”  No one is telling you that you MUST CARE, but if you care enough to get mad about being called out on it, then that’s on you.

As for the reading comprehension failure here and on the internet in general, well, that’s a whole other post. Oy.

I know there was some pretty intense debate on this post as to which was cuter, otters or pygmy marmosets.  I think I have found a photo to end the debate:

That otter in the middle is so happy!  Also, just so this is somehow relevant to the general subjects of this blog…um…something something polyamory is awesome, clearly…something something.  Oh, who cares.  Can you even stand the cute?  It’s almost too much for me to handle!

I found this picture here.  You should really look through all the pictures.  I was in a low mood and now I’m definitely not!

I remember years ago when the book, The Rules, came out.  For those of you who don’t remember, The Rules was a book about how to get a husband.  It was based on the idea that men pursue women, so you have to present yourself as someone worthy of pursuance…by, apparently, playing hard to get and being manipulative.  I never read it and just remember hearing some of the advice and a lot of it sounded quite dishonest and counterproductive to a fun, healthy relationship.  Some examples include never, ever being sexual within the first three dates, not visiting the man in the long distance relationship until he has visited the woman three times, and breaking up if he hasn’t proposed before the two year mark.  Basically, The Rules turn finding a long term relationship (and finding one that necessarily results in marriage because marriage is the only way to legitimize a relationship) into a stressful, dishonest, manipulative game that you win by being vague with communication and, as the woman, denying yourself what you actually want to do.

A lot of people have scoffed at The Rules because they generally sound pretty ridiculous to anyone who has been lucky enough to find satisfying relationships or to women who don’t want to play into the gatekeeper model of being female.  At least amongst the people that I have generally spoken to about such things, it is generally accepted that hemming and hawing about whether or not to call someone or if you should wait to be called is dumb.  If you want to talk to someone, call them.  Then it’s on them if they want to refuse you.  I’m not saying that it’s easy all the time to be an asker and not a guesser, to be the one to put yourself out there, but ultimately taking that step will either allow things to progress further or end before things get too difficult.

The thing is that people behave this way in non-romantic relationships, too.  I spent a lot of time when I was younger trying to guess what people were thinking and wanting.  I would wait for them to tell me…but most people won’t say what they’re really thinking or what they want either.  So the result was that no one would be saying anything and no one would have any idea what was going on.  Then one day, a big fight breaks out because you were too dense to read their minds or something.  This is basically what highschool and college were like for me.  I spent a lot of time not saying what I thought about anything and then by the time I left I was so angry and bitter that most of my relationships from then were beyond repair (not that this is necessarily a bad thing…my life seems fine without those relationships, but perhaps my teen years would have been more enjoyable if I said difficult things more often to people who reported to care about me).  I also spent a lot of time observing how much people worried about every choice that they made when it came to social/romantic interaction.  Looking back, and comparing things with the reactions I see now, all I can seem to gather is that it is generally considered desperate or rude to actually say how you feel and what you think.  It is seemingly an accepted part of our society to sit there and worry constantly about everything and even when you are good at worrying and considering every possible ramification of your choice, you can still screw up and rudeness is close to unforgiveable.

Because the price of being “wrong” is so high, people just wait for everyone else to make a move, turning the entirety of social life into that same stupid, boring game.  How often has a person been angry at another person for something they perceived as a slight and instead of confronting the “offender” about it, the slighted person waits for the “offender” to own up to what they did?  If the “offender” has no idea they did anything “wrong”, why are they going to address it?  Yet when it finally gets brought up after time has allowed the “wound” to fester, tensions and emotions run high and an argument breaks out.  “You didn’t address this!!!” “I didn’t know it needed to be addressed…” “You should have!  It was obviously RUDE!”

No.  No, it’s not obvious.  It is only obvious if you say something and say something clearly.  Some people are not good at guessing.  In other cases, it is very difficult to guess because a lot of people are really good at hiding how they feel about something.  If you insist on waiting until someone notices that you’re having a problem, you will be often disappointed in people’s perception.  This waiting combined with mounting disappointment can lead to awful insecurity or passive aggression on your part and both of those things are toxic.  Saying how you feel or expressing worries can be very hard because the ultimate fear is that the worry is founded…but even if the result of the conversation is that your insecurity about a situation is based on reality, at least the conversation is happening.  By not initiating conversation when you feel uneasy about something, your mind has a way of making things worse.  For instance, I tend to project things onto people and I think many people do the same.  You see what you want to see.  You will find evidence to support your fears.  The only cure for this is to find out the truth from the subject of your uneasiness.  Finding out the truth may not necessarily make you feel better, but at least the bad feelings will be based on actual knowledge and not simply what you have assumed and cultivated.

To me the point of communication is not to reach consensus but to exchange information (factual, emotional, or both).  This is not to say that often when communication occurs consensus does not occur…quite the contrary.  When I bring up an issue, I generally hope that it can be worked out.  But the goal is to let the information be known by concerned parties (or parties who I think should be concerned).   If people commit to honesty once the conversation has begun, then the conversation will lead to a useful ending.  Please note that “useful” does not necessarily mean “happy”.  I simply mean that if people are saying what they really mean and how they really feel then decisions can be made based on reality.  No guesses.  This might mean the reconciliation is not possible.  So be it.  Sometimes things suck.  Sometimes you don’t get what you want.  Sometimes things go poorly.  But why is it better to not talk about it at all?

Over the past few years my disbelief in a higher power or an afterlife has really affected the way that I view the world and my place in it.  When I say that I only have one life to live, I’m not just throwing that comment away.  This is important.  This life that I have right now and for (hopefully) the next several decades is all that I get.  What good is it to waste it not speaking the truth when I have issues with people that I care about?  Because it might offend someone?  So what?  Then we can talk about the offense.  I have worked too hard to open up and start speaking my mind to close up again.  There is no use in it.  If you care about me then you will be open, honest and unambiguous with me.  If you do not wish me to be that way with you, then why are we communicating?

I am finally coming into my own.  It is not easy.  I think I’m experiencing some growing pains or something.  For the first time in a very long time I feel like I am right about some things and am willing to fight for those things.  And I might be proven wrong.  But I do plenty of dancing on the dance floor.  I don’t need to do it around subjects.  I won’t be successful every time I try.  But I’m going to try every time.