Grandma's Secrets

When I was a teen and my Grandmother came to visit us, she used to like to slip me a folded up five or ten dollar bill and say "Don't tell your mother." Of course I wouldn't tell-- I wanted to keep the little present to myself, and in those days, most money had to go to the communal family "pot" or else the pot got tossed out on its ass from lack of bill payment. I always have looked forward to doing this one day to my own grandchildren, sort of undermining my children's parenting in a way that grandparents can get away with. The things you would never let your own children get away with you let your grandkids get away with.

The other day my Grandma called me and asked me if I wanted a present she wanted to send my way. I am not one to turn down presents (never seen a gift horse's mouth). But also, since my Grandma is 97 years old and the presents are for the babies, I am happy because they'll have something from their great-grandma, even if she's not around when they're old enough to know her. (Which is fairly likely, given that at 97, she's finally starting to get a little on the crazy side). After talking to Grandma for a few minutes about the little blankets she wanted to send for the twins, she said she was going to order them. "But don't tell your mother" she said.

God I love that woman. And one day, can't wait to utter those naughty words to little grandkids of my own.

Baby Land 2

Okay, pictures. :)

A Jenny Lind crib is the style/model, like a Corvette, or an Escort. It's by Delta, and my Baby Bargains book recommended them as a great crib for a really low price. They said they'd be easy to assemble and they weren't kidding. I expected at least a little effort, like putting together bookshelves. But it was all "snap this here and that there and you're done." Which was really sweet. It's also a very inexpensive crib, although away from all the fancy cribs in the Babies R Us store, you wouldn't think it was cheap. (Standing next to the 400 dollar cribs in the store, my little cribs looked a little sad, but they really are very nice, and I'm quite happy with them cause they're neither girly nor too boyish.) Another nice thing about my little Jennys is that they are really lightweight, and I think I'll be able to save a little money not buying the portable crib for our bedroom for while they're too tiny to sleep away from us and eating on the 2 hour schedule... I can just roll one of the regular cribs into our bedroom. They'll get used to it that way, I think, and it'll be better.

The cribs:



The "glider chair"



the bookshelves:



The little blanket that's kind of dark blue and gold you can see thrown over one crib is the Pooh blanket that will be a wall-hanging, behind the two cribs. I need a gadget to hang it with, and couldn't find one yesterday. And there are still things missing, but they are things I won't buy till after the baby shower cause other people might want to get them for me. For the most part, it's pretty close to being ready. And before you ask, yes, you can get to the crib on the one side; there's plenty of room between it and the wall; it's just cut off in the picture. In the picture of the glider chair, those little white dots on the curtain are stars, embroidered into the fabric. You can't really tell in this shot, though. I should have opened the blinds for better light, but it's just too late now. :)

Anyway. You can see that I'm obsessed, at least temporarily. I'm sure it will wear off a little bit. At least I'll try to not subject ya'll to too much of it.

Baby Land

My sister helped me decorate the nursery today. The cribs, two simple old-fashioned Jenny Lind style cribs, were ridiculously easy to put together. We hung a cool border and made the beds. I know I'll have to wash the sheets before the babies come, but for now, the room is all cozy and cute and you could just die from cuteness in there. I'll see if I can't get a good picture of it.

A few more minor touches are needed-- a rug, the blanket I'm using as a wall hanging needs hanging. But I'm tired, and we have socializing to do.

But really. You could just die from cuteness.

Trust, Strip Clubs, and Donut Shops

Oh, I really do trust my husband. The jealousy of yesterday's post-- just a tiny moment in a lot of days of not being jealous. I think Robotnik got it-- it was definitely meant as a flash of a moment of the kind of thinking that sometimes goes on "in yer head". But the reason so many women have these thoughts, myself included, is that there is a past there-- my first boyfriend, the evil ex, was completely untrustworthy, and sometimes that memory surfaces and tells me no man is trustworthy. I know better, but it's an old wound, an old scar, and it tingles now and then. (That's last sentence is a really funny moment, by the way, if you know who the evil ex is-- a bit of a pun. I won't share, but I know if J reads this, she'll laugh.) :)

There aren't interrogations, I'm not pouting and demanding an accounting of his days. If you have ever been a Navy wife, which I have, you can't live that way because the sailors go out, and they're gone for more than 6 months, and they're seeing pretty women on warm beaches in bikinis with no tops. If you don't trust your husband (or wife for that matter) to look but not touch, you're in for a wild, terrible time of it. One of the women in the "wives club" (which they don't call the knives club for nuthin') once went through the roof because someone had a picture that showed six or seven guys standing posed in Germany with one woman at the front of the picture. She was their tour guide, of sorts. And yes, she was a local girl who they met and she offered to "guide" them around town because she was interested in one of the guys-- but not the guy that was married, or mine, but one of the single guys in the picture. But the wife who went nuts of course assumed that chippy was there to steal all six of those guys. Cause that's what chippies do, ya know. Especially those foreign chippies.

Anyway, as for trust, there are a couple of funny stories I could tell. These are just silly things that happen that in themselves wouldn't prove trust. What proves trust is the day to day living of a happily married couple. But this is still funny (to me, at least.)

Once, when we were married about 3 years and I was working as a waitress (for about 4 months before grad school started, in the summer, cause there was nuthin' to do....thank the goddess those days are gone!) I came home and the hubby was going out with "the boys" for a bachelor party. Well, when you're a waitress, you always have about thirty or forty one dollar bills in your pocket, cause that's what most people tip with, and you also have to hold on to that cash in as singles for your "bank" the next day. So, after getting Andrew & "the boys" all a beer, which they were standing in the living room drinking, I asked him (quite unthinkingly) if he wanted some singles for the "gentlemen's club" I assumed they were going to head off to for the bachelor party. I mean, that's what a bachelor party is, right? (My bachelorette party involved a "Men are Pigs" night, a sign on a napkin that said "will dance for drinks" and later, an unfortunate amount of puking. Thanks to a clever little invention called the kamikaze. But I digress).

The other men almost swooned. They would have fallen on their knees and worshipped him as a god if they hadn't been so shocked. One of the guys later said "Dude, I had to lie to my wife about where I was going, and your wife first brings you a beer and then offers you money to tip with?" Andrew, as usual, just laughed and counted his personal blessings. I would hate to be the wife that had to be lied to, for whatever reason.

Well, the thing is, I know my hubby. I also know that the only thing women at a strip club like that (for the most part) are interested in is his money*. And he is a cheapskate (on some things). Yes, he'll tip a couple of bucks to get her to dance in front of them for a little while.** But he won't spend all that much money, and that's just it. So I don't have a problem with him looking at sexy chicks-- Hell, I like to look at a good set of knockers as much as that next guy. (Don't want to do anything with them, but I like to look! I'm pretty secure (especially nowadays) in my own knockers stacking up pretty nicely, so I don't need to worry whether he likes those other ones better than mine.)

Now, on telling the story, I don't know how you'll take it. Some people laugh uproariously-- because it's so funny to picture some wife giving her hubby cash for the stripper's g-string. But some people think it's horrible for me to not mind... one guy, one time, asked Andrew "how does Kim feel about you going to a place like that?"*** So many women have problems with strip clubs-- but mostly, it's a trust problem. They just don't trust their husbands. I do.

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*or, in this case, my money. :)

**lapdances, on the other hand, are verboten. He knows that, too, based on my horrified reaction to him telling me about another married guy we know getting one.... If she's touching, it's not allowed. I don't care if there IS a hairy bouncer named Julio over in the corner making sure he doesn't "touch back."

***never ask my smartass hubby a question like that.... he said "she likes being married to a real man." Just to be a wanker. While the other guys sat all night at a donut shop. Hell, there's more danger at a donut shop, in the long run, than at the strip club....have you seen how many calories is in a Krispy Kreme?!?! (Just going to look at that link makes me drooly).

Poetry for Other People

I've written poetry since I was probably around 13; teenage angst drives a lot of us there. Lots of them were in the style of ee cummings back then and I really identified with his rebellious rare use of capital letters & punctuation. I hope I've improved since then, although old ee creeps in there now and then still. :)

My poems nowadays tend to be about (or rather, I try for them to be about) things other than my concerns at 13. But obviously in all that time, I've written a few poems inspired by men other than my husband. A few of them have been published in small college chapbooks. Those are pretty good, actually, and the sentiment behind them is way gone, although the poem helps me remember something about that moment. Mostly it helps me remember the pain, since back then my poetry was mostly about betrayal and sadness (thanks a lot evil ex). At least he was good for something.

In preparing the nursery for the babies, I've had to CLEAN THE GUEST ROOM CLOSET out. ::cue ominous screeching violin music:: If you've ever had a guest room closet, you probably know what ends up in there. A huge pile of things that you at one time didn't think should be thrown out, but didn't really need daily: old snorkels and fins from that trip to Hawaii, a string of decorative lights for St. Patrick's Day-- green shamrocks over white blinky Christmas lights. An old scarf for skiing (really ugly... but sort of soft). Lots of old uniforms from Andrew's days in the Navy-- a few formal dresses I doubt I'll ever fit into again. Some Halloween costumes. My yellowing wedding dress (which wasn't "preserved" and spent two years in my mom's closet, so is a bit nicotine stained and probably irreparable. I don't care; it goes in a box in the attic now. That's not going in the trash, even if there's no chance anyone will ever want to wear it again.)

Buried at the bottom of the closet, there was this box of old videotapes-- bootleg recordings of movies that I don't particularly know why we recorded them. I don't think any of them were porn, although a few don't have titles on them so you never know-- they might be left over from Andrew's single days. The rest, with some of the titles written in my handwriting so I must have recorded them, are not particularly good movies, actually. But man, we've got a nice VCR recording of them in case we ever want to watch it again! (Those, incidentally, are going to visit Mr. Trashman).

But in that box was this book, a journal that Andrew was given by his ex girlfriend back way before we met. Waaaaay. When I was just out of high school, and still writing sad poetry about painful hurtful things.

There are about four short prose-like poems written by my boy in there. (He's a good, if unstructured poet, although he doesn't do it very often. My dreamer boy). There are very good elements to a couple of these short poems. They were written way before he met me, so there's absolutely no reason why I should be jealous.

But of course you know I am. Jealous that is. A little. I tell myself it's unreasonable, and silly, and all those grown-up things that one should tell oneself about your lover's past. But there's also a childish part of me kicking, yelling, pounding on the floor and screaming "NO!!! MINE!!!!!!"

I know that my poems to ex-lovers do not mean anything anymore to me, that those emotions are so far gone as to be as ancient as an old skeleton of a tiny animal-- a mouse, perhaps-- caught in the corner, gone to dust in parts, brittle white bone with a bit of old sinew and a little dried hair. Smiling bone lips. Dead, gone, just an archeological record of something that was once alive, but is small and empty now.

But. But. But. MINE!

I can be the distant poet, holding on to old poems and knowing that they mean nothing. I've read his poems before, in fact, way back when we first met. They impressed me then; I'd never dated a guy who was a poet before that. But for some reason, those poems for another woman written by my boy bug me. Even though I don't want them to. Even though I want to be a grown-up about it. (Maybe it's because he hardly ever writes poems, and I am more jealous of her ability to get him to write for her? Incidentally, he swears that they aren't about her, but about a "dream woman." Implying of course that I'm that dream woman, with a kiss and a smile. Cause he's a wise man.)

I place the small brown leather book on the "keep" pile. Most of the pages are empty, dusty, smelling of those little silverfish that eat the glue out of book bindings. He wouldn't notice, most likely, if it ended up in the box of useless videotapes out at the curb. He'll probably take my word for what is junk & what he would need to sort through. I suppose that small kicking screaming part of me wants him to voluntarily throw that book out, but then, the poet, the one who sees the beauty in those few small lines written over 13 years ago and never really even looked at by him again wants them to be saved.

I guess really what part of me wants is poems written for me, to replace those written for a woman who he has a shared history with, but who is gone from his life forever* now. But I guess there are other real, living poems that I have, that won't be stuck in a box in a guest room closet. Ever.

So get over it spoiled rotten inner brat.

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*And I never really had a grudge against this woman from his past until years later, when she reappeared briefly, using an illness as an excuse to look up my hubby, and then tried to weasel her way back into his life. His short and sweet "goodbye" was enough to save him a world of shit, but her, well, she doesn't get a pass anymore.

Spring

It's a fabulous day here in Texas. It started out this morning a little drizzly-- that soft misty rain that makes everything damp but not really rain. It's gotten nice and sunny, now, and it's a perfect 75 degrees, with puffy white clouds and a coolness in the air from that early rain.

I went this afternoon and bought my babies' cribs-- white "Jenny Lind" style spindle cribs; the old fashioned kind. And bumper pads, and sheets, and a cute set of curtains, and this really cool border that has a purple background with soft butter yellow stars on it. It's ridiculous how happy this purchase has made me. Saturday we plan to put the cribs together and assemble the various accoutrements. My sister will be in town and it will be cool.

And it's silliness. Really. :)

No Wonder they Like Ice Cream so Much

Yesterday I took a day off from blogging because I just don't have anything to say that I think would be interesting to others. As you can tell from previous entries, I'm trying to really focus on getting my dissertation writing done, so all I think about are ways to say things about Buffy. And I've pretty much covered that here. And the other thing I think about all the time is the babies. Two nights ago, Andrew felt a kick, finally. I've been feeling them move and squirm since late December, but they just weren't big enough for anyone else to feel. The baby website says they're "about the size of a big banana now." Those are some wiggly bananas. But Maia (I know it was her cause it was low) was kicking, hard, and I put my hand on it and felt it. So I told Andrew to try, and lo! There was impact. It was cool. Last night, while reading my "for fun" book, Sean was moving right under where I was resting the book and made it move, twice, with his head butts, or butt butts, or whatever body part was currently pressing outward.

It's fun, and funny, but probably not to all ya'll. (that's Southern for you guys. But it's gender neutral. See, and they think the South is backwards. We've had gender neutral pronouns for years. Very sophisticated.

Today: more of the same. Me and the bananas have writing to do. :)

My Power: Your Power

Speaking of power, I wrote about it for hours today in my discussion of Buffy for chapter 1 of my dissertation. (Yes I know I was working on Chapter 3 before. You don't do it in order! Duh!) The writing went really well today, and I now have 43 pages of this chapter composed. It still needs some work, but it's gettin' good, man. I may even be able to be done with this chapter before my chair even gets back with comments on the last chapter. THAT would be sweet.

“I’ve had a lot of people lining up to tell me how unimportant I am. And I’ve finally figured out why. Power. I have it. They don’t.” Buffy– "Checkpoint" (5.12)

Now my back hurts, my tummy is a little woozy (I hope I'm not getting your bug, Nissa) and I need something chocolate-y. No more for today. But man, did I kick some major academic ass today. :)

Did you ever want to read transscripts of BtVS? You can find them here and here. It's cool. You can also buy them, the official versions put out by the muckety mucks. But they're a little bit behind, with them apparently only up to season two or three. Bah! People, how can we discuss something intelligently without a little help, hmmmm??

The Power of Turning It All Off

I got to thinking about this after posting a comment to Robotnik's blog earlier today. He had a power outage, and was commenting on what he & his family did after the power went out. Granted, my situation isn't quite the same because I did have power, but not having the constant "white noise" of an AC unit was almost as big of a change for me.

A while back, as I posted to his comments, our air conditioner went on the fritz while Andrew was out of town and contact. The AC repair guy I spoke to said I needed an all new AC-- and, at something like 1000 bucks it was not a decision I was prepared to make all by myself. So I went AC-less for about two weeks.*

It wasn't the hottest part of the year in Texas-- I opened all the windows in the house, turned on some oscillating fans, and sweated a little. But in the meantime, I also noticed the birds. This was when one night I discovered we have an owl that sometimes nests in one of our trees. And that mockingbirds, the state bird of Texas, also sing at night.

The greens of the yard seemed greener. I could hear the buzz of neighbor's AC units click on, but mostly I heard other things. Dogs barking. People walking by and talking.

I saw more lizards in the yard because while I was sitting on my couch reading, the silence would often distract me and I'd gaze out at the yard. We had, then, a horned lizard living in our front yard, and I saw him on the tree with the hummingbird feeder.

It definitely was a bit on the hot side. When I had to study (this was when I was taking my Spanish class) I went down to the Starbuck's down the street to borrow their AC cause it was too hard to concentrate with no AC.

I did a remodeling project in the living room that I still love, complete with a big lovely bookshelf that I finished in a natural glaze finish.

It was, in all, a really interesting, learning experience. In early spring, I always try to repeat it by spending some time with the AC still off, and all the windows open. It makes me a little nervous at night because with the windows wide open, any old ax murderer could get in the front and be to my room without me hearing anything, but really, if an ax murderer makes it to my block in my little quiet suburban neighborhood, odds are a broken window won't make nearly as much difference as one would like to think.

We aren't really big TV watchers, so often when it's quiet like this, time is spent in conversation, or reading, or just quiet still watching out the window. I recommend this if you can do it. There's a lot of hidden power in not having any power.

*and, incidentally, we did NOT need a new AC. When Andrew got back and called our regular AC guy, it just needed the coils cleaned and stuff. Damned crooked sales people taking advantage of the whole "it's a woman" thing.

Etiquette

I did very well on the "Don't Gross Out the World" quiz. I got a "7" out of "11" which says I'm "ready to travel." Mostly, I think it's a matter of really reading the questions and thinking about it. A few are a bit tricky, and the ones I missed had answers that sounded much ruder to me than the actual rude answer. So that's a cultural place I missed. But not too bad. I imagine if I did the things I did "wrong" on the quiz, there wouldn't be an international incident. via Orangezen

The Tack

It's lurking, waiting for me to drop my guard. I searched for it this morning, and it is clearly not in the middle of the floor. It came off of a calendar that had been tacked to the wall, which fell sometime during the night (probably knocked down by roving fairies). Right now I know the tack is there, most likely pointy side up, just waiting in its camouflaged natural environment for me to forget that it is somewhere ready to pierce my bare foot with its pointy sharpness. It was only biding its time on the wall there for ages, pretending to hold the calendar securely in place anyway when all along it just wanted to dig itself into my sensitive toes, or most likely the dead center of my heel.

I can already feel how much it's going to hurt, and how it will hurt even more because I know it is waiting, and because I can't find it, I will be mad that I fell for its trapdoor spider routine.

Damn thumbtack.

Not Much, You?

Another rainy day, another blah blog entry. I figure I could just not post anything since there's no big news (well, there is, but it's not my news) and all I've done today is watch about five hours worth of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, in preparation for trying to finish that chapter of the dissertation later this week. I really loved that silly show. For a while, when the show was still running, people would say to me "you've gotta watch this show-- it's so up your alley." And I'd humor them, yeah yeah. Whatever. But when I finally did start watching, I was an addict from early on. We used to watch two hours of it almost every night-- FX ran it from 5 to 7, right at dinner prep & eating time. So we caught up on it fairly quickly once I started watching. Of course, now I have all 7 seasons on DVD. I can sit and watch it and it actually is work-- preparing to write about it means you have to be really familiar with the episodes.

The chapter is about 3/4 ready already. I thought I was going to have to go in and gut it, get rid of a lot of the writing that I did last summer, but it's actually not too bad. I need some more fine tuned thesis statements, and the conclusion is totally not there yet. But it's really not as bad as I thought it was. So that's good news.

Andrew's working, so I've got puttering about the house to do. I hate weekends the most because he ought to be here. But he will be later. And we're having company so I have to clear the bar of the daily debris that catches there. And make the bed. (See? Mundane.)

The news that I do have is that one of my nieces is pregnant. Due in November. She's a bit on the young side but she swears (and I WILL hold her to this) that she won't let this stop her from finishing her college and doing something with her life. She'd better not. Fine, I said. You kids just can't let me do anything by myself.

The funny thing is that just this morning, as part of the cleaning the room that will be known as nursery (RTWBKAN), I stumbled on the scrap book I made about six years ago for the whole family. I was looking through it at the kids, who were kids then still. Looking at pictures of them, sighing over the way things change in a few years. Thinking of how much different our family looks already (with two new spouses on the part of the older ones, and more to come as far as new family members both by marriage and this baby).

So. That's my day. How's your weekend shaping up?

Catty Quickies

I'm really, really (did I already say really?) tired today. Maybe it's the gloomy weather after a couple of balmy spring-like days. Probably it's just the babies exuding some kind of "hibernate like a cat" hormone. So that's what I'm gonna go do in a moment.

Nothing big to update on really. Picked the babies' cribs out, they're simple "Jenny Lind" style ones with the old-fashioned spindles. White. Andrew approved them and we'll get them later next week. Next weekend (26th ish) we're decorating the nursery, since my lovely sister will be here to help. She gets to put the cribs together cause I hate those stupid instruction sheets. :)

We watched Troy the other day; I had seen it back when it first came out and I told Andrew it was moderately entertaining. Mostly just so I could see Brad Pitt nearly naked again. (Can you make that little "purr growl" sound that Eartha Kitt as Catwoman used to make? I knew you could.) The funny thing about the movie (funniest) is why the director thought ancient Greeks, Spartans & Trojans needed to speak with affected English, Scottish, & I think a hint of a slight Irish accents. That was the most distracting thing-- but once you ignored that, there were some things I could find entertaining (refer to Brad Pitt nearly naked comment.) Speaking of Mr. Pitt (as I have been, in case you didn't notice) thanks to the movie, he made a guest starring appearance in a delightfully naughty dream last night. Whew! Even in a dream, I can't imagine what Jennifer Anniston was thinking breaking up with that guy. I mean, I adore my sweet hubby in every single way possible and wouldn't actually trade him for a dozen Brad Pitts. But that was a very nice dream to wake up from, in a very nice way. :) If you get my meaning.

Anyway. Now for a nap. I'm sure I can't hope for a sequel to last night's dream, but a couple of hours of catlike behavior will substitute nicely.

Dreams, Fiction, and Lots of Time. Maybe.

I woke up this morning with a dream that would make a killer story floating about my head. I tried to stay in bed for a while, to get all of the dream with the story's finish over. I think I got most of it. It has to be written.

I've written about 5,000 words so far, and it's pretty good. It's about a ghost. It reads a little "chick lit" ish at this point, but that's alright. If that's what it ends up being, then I'm fine with it, as long as there's magic, which there already is (well, being a ghost telling a first person narrative, of course there's going to be magic!!)

Cause you know. With the dissertation, and twins percolating away and due in a few months, I have loads of time to start a new novel. I don't know if it will be a novel or just a short story, but since it's already eight single spaced pages, and barely into the meat of the story's action, I think it'll at least be a longish short story. It's one of the first fiction stories I've "caught" in my head that I know almost all of the main events of. And the small details are coming really easily, like I was reading someone else's story.

My handyman has been driving me nuts, though, the last two days. Yesterday interrupting the dissertation. Today, while I was reading over the story, crunching Fritos or something. I really really will be glad when he's done. He's been here wayyyyy too long. Finish the deck wouldya!!! He's a nice enough guy, and he tries hard to not interrupt but he's like a little wiggle-butted happy doggie when you come home-- he just can't help himself but make noise and need attention.

Cool. We'll see what happens. I probably won't post too much of it on here, because I don't want to do anything to jinx it. But maybe when it's done I'll get it published somewhere. If it's just a short story, I'll send it to some fiction mags or something. Or maybe a fiction contest or whatever. We'll see. (That used to always mean maybe when my mom said it in answer to a "Can we?" question.)

Dragon! Cool!

In medieval Europe, dragons were considered mostly evil and a generally bad omen. Christianity linked the dragon with Satan because of the dragon's snake-like appearance. However, to the Orient cultures the dragon was a symbol of wisdom and royalty. It was a benign animal and the fifth creature of the Chinese zodiac. It resided over the east and the sunrise. It was also said to bring rain and the springtime. The dragon is interesting because it combines all four elements: air, earth, fire, and water. It could fly, had the horns of a ox, breathed fire, and resided over the moon.
What mythical beast best represents you? Take the quiz

via Aleah

Can I Change Out of My PJs Now?

I've spent all morning doggedly editing and revising chapter 3, "Kitchen Witches: Imagining the Home, "Women’s Work," and the Domestic as Site of Political Resistance" which begins with these two quotes as epigrams:

"Most ordinary, [. . .] that is the nature of deepest magic. Deepest magic which lies at the heart of our everyday lives, flickering fire, if only we had eyes to see" (Mistress of Spices 54).
"The application of time and skill to frivolous things is the hallmark of civilized society[. . . ]any savage can face down a lion or suckle a baby, but History begins with Cleopatra dyeing her hair" (Galveston 39).

to send to my dissertation advisor. The next thing is that she'll look at it, comment, suggest changes, and then, hopefully, if those changes aren't too severe, we'll send it to the rest of my committee and be ready to move on to the next chapter. It's very exciting and frightening at the same time. As long as I procrastinate and don't send her my work, there's no chance that she'll hate it and tell me to give up the PhD. :) So far, that hasn't happened, but there's always a chance. Or that she'll tell me to rewrite the entire thing and several months of work will go down the tubes. Because I can't just say "screw academia" and do something else after all this time. I've got to get the piece of paper so I can get a job and stop being a drain off of my husband's paycheck-- which is a huge huge conflict for someone like me who is a staunch feminist and independent person. Plus, he wants to be a kept man, and I've got to get the money to let him live that life of leisure so many men dream of. :)

But I'm still in my PJs, having refused to do anything except eat lunch and type type type till I had the damn thing in e-mail. I'm smelly, hair messy, and bleary eyed. But it feels really good.

Cross Your Fingers 2

I'm hoping that the draft of my chapter three of the dissertation that is currently being spit out by the printer will be ready today to send to my dissertation chair. That means it will be fiddled with, commented upon, and edited more later after she sees it. It's not perfect, but I am not going to make it perfect on my own; I just keep picking at it as it is now.

I have lots of things to do today in addition to reading this draft to see if it's ready to go to Dr. R. But this is the first time I've felt hopeful on this part of the draft. If I do send it off today, then I'll start redoing the Buffy the Vampire Slayer chapter (which is chapter 1-- see, you don't write them in order.... duh!) tomorrow. I'm actually about 2 weeks behind the goal I had set for myself of getting Chapter 3 sent to Dr. R by the end of January, so I have to get there soon or else be hopelessly behind forever.

Chocolate & Pasta. Now that's love!

Making this* and this for dinner tonight. We don't really believe in the "it's Valentine's day, must go out to dinner with hundreds of other couples" thing. (Not that there's anything wrong with it-- it's just not us.) Mostly it's cause I cook better food than most restaurants, and it's so nice to be all alone and not in a room full of other people. So the cake is in the oven making the house smell all lovely and chocolate-y. The pasta will be soon. And Andrew will be home soon, too. We'll probably have an afternoon nap, and then dinner later. I'm going to write "love you" on the cake in red letters (cause I'm clever like that.)

Besides, I got a bunch of special new "bling" when Andrew came home from Guam, so I don't need any today. (The cat just hopped up on the computer and is demanding to smell my chocolate-y breath. Cute yet annoying little thing).

*although for the stuffed shells, I'm making my own recipe. This one is close. I use meatballs instead of ground beef.

Pizza, Brazilian, & Bears, oh my

So in ABQ, we stayed at a very nice hotel, about a block away from the one the conference was held at. It was cold and drizzly, so the walk was a little uncomfortable, but not too bad, really. Could have been much worse. Unlike most downtowns in major cities, there weren't a lot of people walking around on the street though. So it was a little deserted feeling sometimes. I can see why people at night wouldn't have wanted to go out from one hotel to the next.

Friday night, we were looking for food and on the way to the restaurant our concierge recommended, smelled the lovely smell of pizza wafting on the chilly breeze. We went into the NYPD pizza shop, which had great thin crust pizza, with that basil-touched sweet but garlicky sauce that I like. Andrew, putting those red pepper flakes on one of his slices, fell victim to an old old trick. Someone had loosened the cap and the entire pepper flake contents fell onto his slice. It was pretty funny. The off-duty policeman who was sitting at the "pizza bar" next to us thought it was pretty funny too. Luckily, Andrew doesn't really mind lots of pepper and once you scraped the majority off, it wasn't bad (for him. I would have not eaten it).

The next day, after the conference was over, we ate at this Brazilian place. If you've never eaten at a Brazilian place, it could be an Atkins dieter's fondest dream. You get this mondo salad bar, then these roving meat-waiters bring you 9 courses of grilled meat. From chicken hearts (on which I passed, thank you very much) to steak cuts. Very tasty. The dessert was the best-- this chocolate raspberry cake shaped (because of V-day) like a heart. Yum! I still want more of it.

As for the panels & conference stuff, it all went fine. My paper, which was as I said earlier, a reduced version of my intro chapter to my dissertation, got a lot of laughs. I hadn't realized before how funny parts of it could be. Of course, part of it was my delivery (cause I'm such a great paper-reader.) :) I went to a lot of the panels, and this year we had a significant contingent of Buffy the Vampire Slayer panels. Mostly interesting, although I have to admit in some ways I was very "Buffy'd out" after a while. (To get an idea of what one would write a paper on BtVS like, click here.)

As I said yesterday, the drive seemed much longer this year than it has in the past. It's because of the extra weight of the babies-- the seat began to feel a bit like a rock after a while. Same thing last night at the movie theater, though, so it's really just a matter of time before I need to sit on feather pillows all the time.

So that's the conference. I don't have any really funny or interesting tidbits to share at this point, and I'm trying AGAIN to figure out the issues with our medical coverage. Every time I bring this up, Robotnik mentions Kafka. And yes, you are so very right. But I think, actually, that in this case, Kafka would seem the optimist.

Home Safe--- Tired

Did someone move ABQ further away than it was last time we drove up there? Or is it just that it seemed so much further cause of the two passengers-in-waiting that helped us go? Tired tired. Lots of things to catch up on today, including more sleep later. Think Andrew is already dong a "re-rack", so must go see if missing out.

Got back home at almost 3 am last night after a very long day. Conference was fun; paper went well; have lost use of definite articles apparently. Back later. Or tomorrow. With fun and educational posts.

Comparing Bellies

Something I never really do is compare myself to other women. Yes, when I was a young teen I would look at cute girls and think "Am I cuter than her? Skinnier? Better hair? More popular?" Teen girls do a quick evaluation of each other when meeting that settles in their own minds who has the status and who doesn't. But when you get older, you just don't care anymore. You know where you think your value lies, and mine generally has been in my brain, not my body. (Although it's pretty easy to say that when you also are comfortable with how you look, when those years of quick comparisons made you think you were doing okay there.)

But now, I've noticed a new trend. It's a little like when you buy a VW bug; all of a sudden, VW bugs are everywhere, and you can't help but notice them. What do THEY put in their little flower vase on the dash? Is it better than what you have there?

Suddenly, there are pregnant bellies everywhere. Granted, part of this is before pregnancy I didn't exactly hang out in Babies R Us. But still. Bellies... I'm surrounded by preggie bellies.

I tend to do a quick glance at a woman's belly nowadays to see if it's pregnant. Is she wearing loose sweatpants & a big top because she's pregnant or has she just enjoyed a large meal of pasta and all you can eat salad? If it's pregnancy, I look to see how far along I think she is. Is her belly bigger than mine? Do I think she's further along than me? (Usually, yes. Cause I'm much bigger than most women at my phase cause of the twofer.) I imagine what it's going to be like when I'm actually huge. Because eventually, other women will look at my belly and say "JEEZ! Look at the size of that thing!" (And, incidentally, this isn't a rant about me feeling fat, or bad about my belly. I love my belly. It's perfect, and round, and I am a Goddess. All hail me. Seriously. Where are my sacrifices?)

I said to Andrew that I imagine it's a little like how men might behave in a locker room. You know, I'm sure you're not all staring at each other's packages, but as Andrew said, "If some guy is really huge, you can't help but notice."

I kind of like to wear tight shirts so that one can see the perfectly round bulge of belly. Put on a loose shirt and you might just think I haven't been working out. (Nah. I think nowadays it's pretty obvious, but for a while there, there could have been some debate.)

I remember in the most recent film version of Little Women there's a scene where Jo (played by the lovely Winona Ryder) comes home to find Meg pregnant, and visibly so. She says, astounded by her sister's silence on the matter "Why didn't you tell me?" and Meg* replies, oh so modestly, "One doesn't talk of such things." Well I like talking of such things.

Got belly? Bring it. I got belly too. And I betcha mine's bigger. **

*And incidentally, Meg has boy/girl twins too, Demi & Desi. Funny, now that I think of it, that she came to mind just there.

**Also, a blogger tip from me to you. The blogger post button tried desperately to eat and delete this post. But before I push that "publish" button, I always do a "copy" of the entire post to my clipboard. Then, if and when the blogger gnomes try to eat my lovely post, I have it saved elsewhere too. If you don't trust your copy clipboard enough, try posting it into an email draft. Cause few things suck more than trying to recapture the tone and exact words of a good post.

I Guess I Shoulda Taken That Left Turn at Albuquerque....

So tomorrow I'm headed to my conference in Albuquerque, NM. Andrew thought he wasn't going to be able to go cause he thought he had to work, but it turns out he can go!!! He'll have to study during the drive, but that's okay, I can drive! It's a long drive, and I was thinking I would fly, but it turns out to get the special air fare I was looking to get, I'd have to fly to Atlanta, then to ABQ, and that's almost as long with all the waits at airports & such as driving. (About 2 hours difference). So yay! The drive takes us through Roswell, NM, which is always fun. It's a tiny little town, with a special museum for alien sightings. We've stopped there the last two times we drove up, but this time we probably won't since we've seen it, and this time we don't have any new people coming with.

I've finished my paper, and am printing up my transparencies as we speak. They're kind of cool-- I could post them online somewhere if anyone wants to see them. They won't make much sense without the paper, but still. Now I have to go buy some more supplies at Office Max, and other little errands. I'm just really glad Andrew's coming with because I really had a bad attitude about going there, before, since he just got home and I didn't want to leave. Now it's a little "mini vacation." I'm not sure if the hotel rooms have wireless access; I think they do. I'll bring the laptop nevertheless and try to log on.

This is a really fun conference; it's a popular culture one, and you can do papers or presentations on any aspect of popular culture. You don't have to be a scholar or muckety-muck to do it. There are papers there on everything from cookbooks to Harleys. My paper, clearly, is on witches, since it's part of my dissertation. But in years past, I've written on three of my favorite movies, including Tank Girl, on the Sims, and last year, another one on my dissertation on the movie version of Practical Magic. It's also going to be fun because many of the attendees come every year, and there's a little "family" group, and I'm sure everyone will gush a bit over my fatness and the babies. :) It's funny, too. On the conference program, someone named Sean Wells is giving a paper on comic books. I told my Sean that I was awfully proud of him; I hadn't even realized he submitted an abstract. He better get busy though if he wants any AV aids. I need time to get those ready.

Anyhoo. Off to the shopping.

Is it Naptime Already?

Up at 7 am. I hate alarm clocks. Really a lot. Even if I got plenty of sleep last night, the alarm clock is an evil sound. (And I know there are those of you who have to get up earlier, but you also have the added perk of a paycheck, and a bank account that is not less than a hundred bucks right now* and no evil dissertation looming over your head constantly.)

So we had breakfast, (biscuits and gravy....mmmmmm), I did laundry, and I edited a bunch of my chapter three pages and am printing them out, and now, what I want more than anything, is to go lie down on the bed with the cat and sleep again for a little while. Sleepy sleepy.

Maybe just a short catnap. Meow.

*Andrew's account is, thankfully, more than that. I'm a kept woman.

The Prodigal Bear Returns

My hubby is my "bear"-- it's my cute little pet name for him. (One of them. I have others, but a girl's gotta have a few secrets.) He came in last night about 6, and like the good lil' June Cleaver I am, I had a pot roast w/potatoes & carrots and some yummy chocolate cake baked. Yes, really. Our friends A & N came by and shared the bounty of Cleaver-ness and presents were distributed. I got some good pirate booty. Arrrrrrrr. :)

I'm a little sleepy this morning because, since his internal clock is still set to Guam time a little bit, about 2 am we were all up. The cat, me, the babies (I'll assume), and my bear sat on the couch and had peppermint tea. The cat conked out at about 4:00 and we took the hint and tried to go back to sleep ourselves. I sure hope his schedule regularizes quickly.

If you were looking for any other kind of juicy details, you'll just have to imagine. Pot roast is as juicy as I get on blog. :)

Big Day!

Andrew's coming home today! He's driving from Shreveport as I type this and should be here in about 3 hours. I'm very happy, needless to say. I also got my paper & powerpoint presentation together for the conference I'm attending this week from Thurs-Sun in Albuquerque. The paper is a very slimmed down version of my dissertation's introductory chapter. I cut it down from 40 something pages to 10 this morning. I sure wish I could write as fast as I can cut!!!

Anyway, now to have a shower, take a nap, and wait for my prince charming and the presents he's bringing me. :)

Goddess in Waiting

She seems to smile
see her teeth there–
waiting for joy.

Trying to catch a photo of her mouth,
her tiny tounge creeps out,
raspberries ready.

She flips, curls into a ball
refusing to be measured properly, illusive.
Straightening comfortably after we move on.
Playful already. Girlchild hiding low.

Change a syllable and she is:
Energy, constant driving movement of the universe.

Try to get a good photo of her heart,
and she holds her hand just so–
casts a shadow,
veils those fluttering four chambers.

Her heart is her own, to be revealed in time.
Though not today.

Maia: nurse, mother, goddess of spring.
Woman-to-be, who will
someday
hold in herself the same gift of life as she is now to you.
Daughter of the man
gently cradling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
She hides.
A star to come.

Kaw Feb 05

for all the mythology allusion, click here

Sighting Butterflies

The Celts thought that women became pregnant by swallowing butterfly souls-- unknown.

His heart
captured on film,
contracting, white light echoes.

Shapes for a moment-- frozen–
a butterfly.

Rebirth, transformation. An
always moving
beautiful life
spent
seeking
sweetness.

His heart
still fighting to grow,
will be fierce.
He will give that heart to you
a million times over.

And you would do anything
to protect that butterfly heart
from the pain you know will happen
the loss you know is inevitable in time.

And you will teach him:
Savor that sweetness.
Rest your wings in sunshine.
Fly higher, forgetting the ground,
forgetting the caterpillar’s gravity-bound toil.

His heart
waits for summer.
Wings beating slowly, now, resting,
anticipating the flurry
of bee-laden yellow zinnias and their intoxication to come.

Your heart
contracting , quietly hidden anticipation:
smiles, tears, the smell behind his neck
of little boy like wet shaggy dog.

Your heart
shapes for a million frozen moments–
His.

Kaw Feb 05

Meme (on Saturday... I'm a Rebel)

Aleah just tagged me on this meme, so here goes....

Total amount of music files on your computer:
Probably about 500. I quit counting at 200 something.

The CD you last bought?
Joss Stone, Mind, Body & Soul

What is the last song you just listened to before reading this question?
Um, the CNN-HNN jingle? Not listening to music right now.

Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:
"Don't You Forget About Me"-- Simple Minds
"Wonderful Tonight"--Eric Clapton
"The Ballad of Dorothy Parker"-- Prince
(I'm stuck!! I can't think of any more....)
"Is This Real?"-- Lisahall
"Joking"-- Indigo Girls

Approximate number of books on your bookshelf or in your house:
More than Thousands

The last book you bought:
Non-fiction: So That's What They're For (about breastfeeding)
Fictionwise: Edenborn, Nick Sagan

The last book you read (before the one you're reading now):
Edenborn, Nick Sagan

Five books you've read more than once, or that mean something to you, or you just really, really like (because I think it's too damn difficult to have a favorite book):
Little Women-- Louisa May Alcott
Galveston-- Sean Stewart
Their Eyes Were Watching God-- Zora Neale Hurston
The Duchess Bakes A Cake--Virginia Kahl
Woman on the Edge of Time-- Marge Piercy
OOh, and I know it said five, but add to this the trilogy by Jacqueline Carey that starts with Kushiel's Dart. Fab!!!

Me, a PowerPuff Girl

Ha! I LOVE these stupid memes where you make yourself out of a cartoon character or something. This one is cute. The hair is a little curlier than my hair usually is, but this works pretty well. I like the bees antennae. Via Jane-blog

Cell Phone Birds

This morning it is lovely. The sun is shining, it's about 52 degrees outside, and the cat is lounging on the half-finished deck with a look of extreme contentment. It will most likely rain later today, but for now, it's a touch of spring to be.

Earlier, as I was waking up slowly, flipping myself from one side to another to ease my aching hips, I heard a noise outside. In the groggy haze of almost sleep, I thought "whose cell phone is ringing out there?" Turns out it was birds chirping and trilling away their happiness at no gray rainy day.

Now tell me that's not sad, for my slightly conscious mind to think "cell phone" rather than "bluebird of happiness"?

(I actually remember reading somewhere that mockingbirds were learning cell phone sounds and adding them to their repertoire of noises they make... so it's not impossible....)

Cabbage Patch

Does anyone know if you can make a post "sticky" on blogger, so that I could leave this absofrickinlutely cute thing up at the top to annoy all of you till July?

Otherwise, I'm going to have to figure out how to put it in my template somewhere.

Scolding Your Elders

I had lunch today with Andrew's dad and his Grandparents (from his mom's side.) We went to a cafe style place called Luby's, which isn't bad, but at which you can eat a lot of food. I wore my "sexy librarian glasses" cause my contacts are bugging me and I'm pretty sure that for the first thirty minutes, Andrew's 90something grandfather had no clue who I am. He often has a problem with that; he asks my sister who she is every time he sees her.

Later, as we were leaving to head back home, Andrew's grandmother wanted to buy a chocolate bar to "pay the driver"-- in other words, Andrew's dad. Who so does NOT need a giant sized chocolate bar. So I had to scold him about eating it all in one sitting. I'm one of the only people who can get away with scolding him for things like that, mostly because he knows I'm right, and I don't actually have another agenda other than trying to keep him healthy. I pointed out that on the back of that candy bar it says that there are approximately 4 servings in one bar. So four people ought to eat it, not ONE. In the space of ten minutes. Which I have seen him do.

This is the person who, when we went to London in 2002, was worried about Mad Cow disease and asked the waiter at a fancy restaurant in the theater district if the steak had mad cow. The waiter looked at me to translate cause he didn't understand Texan. This same person who was worried about the unlikely event of getting mad cow at a restaurant in London ate liver & onions today. I told him, apparently to his surprise, that it is the organ meat you have to worry about. As in, liver. If there were a big problem with mad cow in the U.S., liver would NOT be your safest bet. I think that kind of grossed him out.

But he's really got a lot more to worry about eating that giant chocolate bar.

Can you scold your parents? Do they listen to you? Or do they dismiss any knowledge you've gained merely because you were once their kid and they figure they'll always know better than you? Andrew's dad sort of likes it when I scold him; it's attention, which he hardly gets from anywhere else. But it does feel a little naggy. I don't like feeling like the proverbial fishwife yelling at her family.

So put that chocolate bar for four down now if you've eaten a quarter of it. You know you don't need an entire 6 oz of chocolate and sugar and fat in one sitting.

I'll be taking a nap now. I'm all worn out from my nagging. :)

That's What I Figured

When I was in my Sophomore year of college, I had to read Dante's Divine Comedy (which means Inferno/Hell, Purgatory & Paradise). I got through all of (and out of) Hell with our guide, Virgil. I made it about halfway through Purgatory, and then got really really bored and pretty much started faking it. I didn't read hardly any of Paradisio-- which, in many ways, is a boring repetition of Purgatory. I figured that said something about the state of my soul. (I got a good grade on the exam, though! Wooh!)

So this morning, after seeing the quiz on Terry's site, I tried Dante's Inferno test. I answered as honestly as possible... and I got these results. Which pretty much match up with what my record of reading Dante shows. Pretty funny! If it makes you feel any better and you haven't read Dante, Purgatory is only moderately less bad than Hell. You suffer pretty much the same torments, but there's "hope" for you to be saved (which mostly has to do with the simple act of believing in God & feeling bad about your sins.) But Purgatory is still a place of punishment, according to Dante, where your sins are purged (get it-- PURG-atory) from you through torment. In Hell, you're just tormented, and have no chance of getting out. In Paradise, according to Dante, you pretty much just sit around all the time trying to be even better & get to a higher level of boring sitting around trying to be good. (And there is a lot of singing.) Sort of like American Idol.

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Low
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Test

Lady in Red Tape

During the Clinton administration, there was a lot of talk about creating a national health care plan. I am all for some kind of national health care; having grown up as poor as I did, with no medical at all, I know exactly how much this is a problem in this country for lots of people.

During the talk of nationalized health care, I remember hearing someone say something about it being "sort of like the military medical system."

God forbid.

If you've ever been on welfare, take that system and make it slightly LESS efficient, slightly MORE confusing, and then add a feeling of non-accountability to almost all of the employees to whom you have to talk to get any help when something goes wrong. If you haven't ever been on welfare, just imagine the DMV on a bad day. Or your college's campus police office at the beginning of the semester when they hand out all the tickets to the new students who don't know where to park.

I have a weird glitch in my record at the hospital where I am going for my babies' care. The doctors & nurses are not a problem here-- it's the RECORDS. I have called about fifteen phone numbers this morning to try to fix the problem. At one of those numbers, I was given a number for someone to help me-- totally wrong number. At another number, where they quite hilariously answered the phone "customer service" I was put on hold and forced to listen to "Lady in Red"* in its entirety. How long is that song? Too long. I hung up. Called someone else.

I finally found someone who was helpful and is looking into my problem, which probably has to do with the fact that last year, Andrew changed from a Navy guy to an Air Force guy and hence has two records in the system. Presumably, nice guy on the phone who has figured THAT out might be able to then fix my problem without me having to go down there and go all Mama Bear on their asses. (It's going to be a persistent metaphor for a while, I'm afraid.)

But my point (and I do have one) is that yes, I'm all for having some kind of national health plan, but it has GOT to be run by the private sector somehow. People who can, if they screw you over too badly, be fired. People who don't have the security blanket of knowing "it's not my job to care."

Because NO ONE should be forced to listen to a Muzak version of "Lady in Red" after having already hit 14 dead ends. No one.

*And don't get me wrong, I actually sort of like the song, in its not Muzak/intstrumental on hold version. But there is a distinct difference between a sweet love song on the radio and being on hold for that long. If you don't know the difference, drop something very heavy on your foot, repeatedly, and then have someone tell you to "hold please." There you go.

Guess Who?

Meet Maia Ann and Sean Andrew.

They're doing very well-- all their organs look like they should and they were feisty and wiggly in the "Phase 2" sonogram (which took two hours!!)




Now I need a nap. :)

Fighting Entropy

With Andrew gone almost a month, I have let some parts of the house get a little messy. Yes, my office is actually much cleaner than it was when he left. And the guest room looks decidedly different in its transitional stage between place people crash when they've had too many Chocolate Chip Martinis to baby room. But my bedroom has been a mess for a week. I've had a big pile of clean laundry to fold, books scattered everywhere, toiletries all over the bathroom counter.

It was time.

This morning, all day really, I've been cleaning. A break for lunch, yes, and a short break right now cause I'm getting a little tired. When I get tired, the skin on my fat belly gets tight. It's from standing at the bowed-back angle that can't help but stand like when your weight rapidly shifts during pregnancy. (They say not to do it-- but I'd like to know how the hell you're supposed to not).

It'll be nice when it's all clean. It's amazing how much junk accumulates that one must rid oneself of now and then. I had a big drawer full of old bath stuff-- lotions I never use, hairspray that's leaked and I again, never use. Old bottles of Nyquill past their prime. I threw them all away.

It's not spring cleaning, it's not pregnancy "nesting." It's "Andrew's coming home maybe next Monday" and I want the house to not be a pig pen. (It's not really, but the clutter that I've let clutter up the place, which Andrew would normally scowl at me and make me clean up, needs to be put in order.) I hope I can finish tonight. I do need a break right now though.

Entropy, the idea that the universe tends towards disorder & chaos. I once read a short story in the really neat little book Einstein's Dreams that featured a world where the opposite was true-- the universe tended towards order. Things cleaned themselves up. Don't I freakin' wish!

Whores & Booze

It's not a poem, (and I totally knew you were teasing) but you know, I can write something about whores & booze. So here ya go.

About the same time as the McDonald's man incident, my mother had a friend from the bar she worked at who was a prostitute. She was a beautiful dark-skinned black woman with that short curly fro that was popular in the mid-seventies, and I called her "Aunt Gracie." She babysat me a few times when my mom couldn't get anyone else, and I would play with her little 1 year old baby boy on a blanket pallet spread out on the floor of her small kitchen. I remember when he was asleep his eyelashes would curl so tightly they were like little tiny springs resting on his fat cheek. His eyes were such a dark black you couldn't see the pupils and he laughed all the time. Her kitchen had one of those thin aluminum diner-style kitchen tables and I remember watching her drink coffee and read the paper in the morning, her husband coming out to kiss her on the cheek and her distractedly smiling at him.

I suppose Aunt Gracie is one reason why I've always been very interested in the idea of sex workers' rights. Gracie was not a druggie; she was a good person who was truly trustworthy and kind. She just happened to do for a living something that our society says is wrong, with which I disagree.

I wish that prostitution would be legalized, like it is in Las Vegas. I do not think the act of sex for money is, in itself, degrading. Not in the least. If legalized, it would no longer be a degrading thing if the women who did it for a living chose to do so and could actually make a safe living off of the work. Being licensed would make sure they were healthy, and they could control their money without the assistance of a violent male who hurt them and took a huge cut and perhaps forced them to do drugs. Now, I'm not talking at all about kids who do this, or the people who are on drugs. I'm also not talking about people forced into the work in an abuse situation. But if there was a legal form of prostitution, then police would have more time to go after the truly harmful types of prostitution rings and protect children and those who cannot protect themselves, for whatever reason. Basically, the way it works now, predatory sleezy people (mostly males) control the industry, and they have a way of making it degrading and hurtful. It's only a leftover Puritan morality that tells us women should always be ashamed of sex and that anything outside of married sex for the purpose of procreation is wrong, and it is something that our laws uphold because it's very controversial.

I realize a lot of people disagree with me-- but I wonder if they realize how much better they would actually make the world if they changed this law. Criminalizing prostitution, which just is NOT going to go away, forces it into a seedy underworld when it could be a job just like any other.*

I've gotten into this argument with people in the past, especially people who grew up wealthy and never had to struggle for anything. I asked one girl if she really thought it was more degrading to make a decent living as a prostitute or a stripper than it was to clean someone's toilets for far less than the poverty level. She believed in her heart, and I'm sure many people do, that it was less degrading to clean toilets. I have to disagree, and I have in the past hurt some feelings when I explain my reasons for this (Aunt Gracie being one of them). The rich girl just didn't get it-- she had never had her water turned off because her family couldn't pay their bills, or been forced to move out in the middle of the night or face eviction. Or been homeless.

Now that I've started to realize the extra fears one gets when it's your own children you're trying to protect and provide for, it's even more obvious to me that you will do whatever you can to protect them. And if you personally don't have a problem with sex, then what's really wrong with making good money at something that doesn't have to take a 40 hour work week, and leaves you potentially more time to spend with that family? Especially in a world where you could control your situation. I am sure that the Heidi Fleisses of the world are not degraded by their lifestyle. They live it up, and have a whole lot of power.

I was telling someone recently, that because of an article on my academic website, I received an email from a man who was basically trying to find women to set up "in a business pleasing southern gentlemen." Essentially, because the article on my website is written by a woman who works at a brothel in Nevada, he figured, I guess, that we were all just waiting for his wonderful opportunity to work as his whores. It was sort of funny, and sort of creepy. I had to tell the clueless email writer to stop writing to me (which he did, thankfully). As the guy who I was telling about it said "I guess that means all the great pickup lines are now taken".

As for booze, well, that's an entirely different post altogether. I'm all for it too. But I could compare the time when booze was illegal in the U.S. to prostitution. Didn't having liquor illegal create a seedy criminal underclass that was put out of business for the legitimate, tax-paying businesses that arose after liquor was re-legalized? Prohibition doesn't work if it's a "vice" that people refuse to give up.

For now, I just have to watch longingly while my friends consume chocolate martinis near me. I have a bottle of my favorite champagne waiting in my fridge for after the babies are born and I can pump the breast milk and store a dinner for them and have my Veuve Cliquot and chocolate for dinner. (Maybe I'll also have some actual food, then, too. But I dunno. Champagne should be on the food pyramid.) That'll be a while, though. Until then, booze is more taboo for me than whores.

*It's also a different issue entirely on the men who frequent prostitutes--and I think the reason prostitution is still illegal is much more because powerful people want it kept this way to control straying spouses than for any real "public health" welfare.