///w-a-m///

oh no! she's.... masturbating

 

i'm in the middle of combiling a [crappy] newsletter for my office (which is a nonprofit aimed towards school readiness of children aged 0-6)
and i'm just scanning the articles for something that i'd want to read (as i'm not the parent of any children, nor do i want to be the parent of any children any time soon). and i end up stumbling upon this
(for those of you who are lazy and don't want to follow the link.. or in case the link dies in the near future.. here's a snippet.)

I have a concern about our four-year-old daughter. She has recently started masturbating while at home. This is usually done while resting, while watching television or before falling asleep. It seems to have become more and more frequent. When we find her doing this we give her a warning to stop. If she does not we ask her to go to her room. If she still continues we physically take her there. We've explained that this is a personal thing, that others do not want to watch her do this, but we get no where. She continues on. We've discussed this with her pediatrician and his answer is to tell her to stop and put her in time out. Are we doing the right thing? Is this a phase?

i just want to roll my eyes at the woman, and tell her to stop hindering her daughter's sex exploration. to stop making sex seem like this horrible, horrible thing. or her mindset is prolly that, "oh no, my daughter is sinning..." and i wonder if this woman's husband ever grew out of the masturbation faze..

12/18/2001 (0) comments

 

Can you imagine living this life?
She was raised by her aunt and uncle because her parents had died. She finished high school. She got her drivers license when she was in her thirties, because her husband couldn't get off of work to take her to her doctor's appointments when she was pregnant. She stayed home and raised her children.
Then when she was in her mid-fifties, her youngest turned eighteen. Her husband retired. She didn't have to be home all the time anymore. So, she got on with her life.
She got a job as a cashier at the grocery store. She started attending college. Once she was half way through, she got a job in an office. She worked hard. She took the bus to school, because they only had one car and her husband wanted it at home. She worked full time and went to school full time. She got up early in the morning to cook dinner for her family so they could eat while she was in class.
In a week, she'll have a bachelor's degree. She's fifty-nine years old. Last night was the graduation reception. She got the 110% award and was recognized for her achievements.
I bitch and moan a lot about Lena. She's not very good at her job. However, I really admire her for actually doing it. She could have very easily let the odds go against her. She was too old. She wasn't smart enough. It was hard to get to school. Her family needed her to cook dinner. She was too poor. She wanted to get on with her life though. She had done what she thought was required of her as a wife and mother and then she "got on with [her] life".

12/07/2001 (0) comments

 

the diamond fantasy bra

okay, imagine if you just have a whole lot of money to throw around... would you really want this diamond/sapphire bra? especially considering that this model has already worn it? and what size does it come in really? are there any choices? and if there are any choices, does that mean that they'll rip the diamonds out of the bra that the model is wearing- so that it will be a bra that fits you?

for 12.5 million dollars, i would hope that the bra fits like no other. (and of course i don't know why one would want one made out of diamonds.. that just seems like it would be rather uncomfortable and all.)

i'm just disturbed.

11/15/2001 (0) comments

 

(a chat between my 15 year old sister... and a sleazy guy.)

psychodancer15: hey
XavierJay2: hi
XavierJay2: how are you
psychodancer15: i'm fantastic
psychodancer15: how are you?
XavierJay2: I am fairly well
psychodancer15: just fairly well?
psychodancer15: is there anything i could do to make you.... super?
XavierJay2: actually yes
psychodancer15: and what would that be?
XavierJay2: so where are you from?
XavierJay2: tell me where your from?
psychodancer15: cincinnati
XavierJay2: sweet
XavierJay2: age?
psychodancer15: 21
XavierJay2: well we could meet and fuck all night
XavierJay2: that would make me super
psychodancer15: really, you mean it?
XavierJay2: yes
psychodancer15: so you dont have a girlfriend or anything?
XavierJay2: now tonight is out of the question but tomorrow night my roomate is going out of town
XavierJay2: no
psychodancer15: thats hard to believe, you seem like youd have one for some reason
XavierJay2: so tomorrow do you want to come over and keep me company
XavierJay2: no I really don't
psychodancer15: well wednesdays are tough b/c i have dance...... so i dont think so
XavierJay2: awww
XavierJay2: where do you dance at?
psychodancer15: i work at a small dance studio, i'm a teacher
XavierJay2: cool
XavierJay2: Maybe I could come over tonight to your place for a little bit?
psychodancer15: why do you want to come over so badly?
XavierJay2: well you offered to make me super
XavierJay2: i thought we could fool around
psychodancer15: and do what exactly?
XavierJay2: well what do you want to do
XavierJay2: I am game for anything
XavierJay2: I am very oral have you read my profile
psychodancer15: how about a long talk by the fire with some hot chocolate?
XavierJay2: sure
XavierJay2: why not
XavierJay2: it is better than sitting here
XavierJay2: and I love talking
psychodancer15: me too
psychodancer15: gosh and to think at first i thought you would be all about sex
XavierJay2: so are we on?
psychodancer15: not tonight i'm worn out
XavierJay2: ok
XavierJay2: when?
psychodancer15: maybe thursday
XavierJay2: ok
XavierJay2: I will have to see what time I work on Thursday
psychodancer15: where do you work?
XavierJay2: thriftway
psychodancer15: oh cool
XavierJay2: not really its a grocery store
XavierJay2: nothing exciting ever happens there
XavierJay2: what time is your dance lesson tomorrow
psychodancer15: 4
XavierJay2: well why don't you come over after it is over
XavierJay2: well have beer/wine and chat
XavierJay2: I even think I have some hot chocolate
psychodancer15: no it doesnt get over till late
XavierJay2: how late
psychodancer15: 11
XavierJay2: I will be here all night alone
XavierJay2: that's not too late
XavierJay2: it would be fun
psychodancer15: i'm sure it would be
XavierJay2: i since a but
XavierJay2: I sence a but
XavierJay2: I cannot spell tonight
psychodancer15: i can tell
psychodancer15: its sense by the way
XavierJay2: I know
XavierJay2: I need to proof read before I send
XavierJay2: Do you attend UC?
psychodancer15: yea
psychodancer15: so......
psychodancer15: why are you so ready to fuck someone you dont even know?
psychodancer15: if you give the right answer you win a prize
psychodancer15: hello??????
psychodancer15: ok well heres the deal bucko......
psychodancer15: i know you are engaged
psychodancer15: and the best part is......
psychodancer15: I KNOW YOUR FIANCE
psychodancer15: yea soo..... i dont know how the hell youre gonna get your fat ass out of this one
psychodancer15: its sooo funny how these things work out isnt it
psychodancer15: i cant wait to see the expression on her face
psychodancer15: i'll be sure to send this conversation
psychodancer15: thanx for your cooperation, it was great help

10/16/2001 (0) comments

 

the history of the pad

8/13/2001 (0) comments

 

Another stereotype I didn't believe in turns out to be alive and well...

I share an office at work with two other people. One is a girl from the mountains of Eastern Kentucky and the other is a boy from a dairy farm in the southern part of the state. They are both also in the 18-25 demographic.
The one from the mountains is married to a boy from the same town. Her husband's mother continued to do his laundry after he was married. Her mother-in-law washes the dishes when she comes over. She would buy her son groceries if my co-worker would let her.
Then there's the guy. He goes home to his mother (an hour and a half away) every weekend.... cause she does his laundry and buys his groceries. He is a 25 year old salaried accountant. He doesn't know how to do laundry. He also thinks his mom enjoys washing his clothes.
The grocery situation is so much sadder to me. He drives his mom to the grocery store and then waits in the car while she shops. She's a legally blind widow. She pays for his groceries. He sits in the car. She buys his shampoo and razors and food. He doesn't have a problem with this. He won't even go into the grocery store with her.
He also won't order me certain things if he's going out to get lunch. Potato cakes for example. He won't order them... it sounds too feminine. Drinks without ice. I don't like ice. He won't do it. It's not masculine enough for him. Even though he knows he's ordering it for a girl.
On our boss's birthday he wouldn't go to the grocery store himself to pick up the cake. Why? cake is not masculine. I guess if you can't enter a grocery store with your handicapped mother.... then you certainly can't enter one alone and buy a pastry.
It's not just foods and learning to laundry either. He tried to convince a co-worker to sew a button back on for him one day. I offered to teach him how. Apparently if someone told the masculine police he could repair his own clothes, they would kick him out of their club. He claims to keep his apartment immaculately clean. I believe him. He's an accountant. They're like that. However, at his mom's, he thinks he can just throw things around. He admits this. She'll clean up after him.
The people at the post office gave him stamps with flowers on them once. He had issues sending his bills out with flowers on them.
I want to know... when will he be self sufficient? I ask him this. Apparently the long-term plan is to find a woman who knows how to do laundry and doesn't mind if he doesn't. She also has to be willing to go to the grocery store alone to buy his food and personal items. And do all those other non-masculine things. And he needs to find her before his mom dies.
I thought that the stereotypical "man" needed to be self sufficient. Apparently you don't need to buy your own food or take care of your own clothes. Hell, you don't even have to *pay* for your food. If there's a woman around, you don't even need to clean up after yourself.
How many of these mothers are out there? My mother stopped doing my laundry the minute I could reach the bottom of the washing machine. Once I was out of college and employed, I never dreamt of her buying my food with her money while I waited in the car.
Are there really many young men out there who are like this? Who think their stamps relect their masculinity? Who think that the people at the drive thru will judge them if they order two cokes and one doesn't have ice in it? Or you ask for potato cakes? I mean, they're just giant tator-tots... Who won't learn to wash clothes or sew on a button?
Am I alone in being appalled by this?? In thinking it's unusual??

7/28/2001 (0) comments

 

First off, I just want to say that I read my high school's semi-annual newsletter this week. One former classmate I talked to was having some sort of personal crisis over it. He looked at the class notes and decided that his life has "no meaning". We dated for several years, and, honestly, his life doesn't have much "meaning" to it. He has chosen that for himself though. He chooses not to forge meaningful relationships with people. He chooses only to give of himself to his dog and roommate and computer. I don't understand why it took a high school newsletter to make him realize this. I hope that it'll have some sort of profound impact on his life.
What I got out of reading it though was a sense of satisfaction. The JETS (junior engineering something or other) teams from my high school placed first (JV) and second (varsity) nationally. They were coached by a woman. One incredibly intelligent woman, Ms. Deborah Haggard. The teams are also always handpicked by her. The JV team contained two girls and six boys. The varsity team contained three girls and five boys. Yeah those girls placed in the best nationally in a math/science competition. It makes me feel better about that whole math olympics thing...

7/28/2001 (0) comments

 

Yesterday morning I watched this whole piece on the International Math Olympics and the USA's team on CBS's Sunday morning show. Then I wrote this whole rant about it. Then, like an idiot, I closed the window without posting it. This turns out to make the whole rant much more complete. A rant with follow-up ranting.
Okay, so there was this whole segment about the kids who went to this Math Camp. All the kids are boys. No mention of this being an all-male camp, but whatever, there were no girls. Not in one lousy shot did I see a girl. Maybe this camp was only for boys. Maybe there are other math camps for girls. Given that it's a camp, I can accept the lack of ladies. Besides, I wasn't as awake as I could have been and I wasn’t really looking for girls.
So then there's all this footage of people taking the test to get to go to the International Math Olympics. Not one girl. I was awake at this point and looking for girls. Did the girls take the test in another room? Where were the girls? Did not one girl in this country even aspire to the international math olympics? No one mentioned the lack of girls.
So, now I'm thinking, maybe this is like the physical olympics where girls and boys compete separately. I mean, this is international. Maybe I can blame random other countries for being sexist and backwards and not letting the girls play. There's no mention of the female team or the female math olympics... but then mostly they are covering this kid who is going for his unprecedented fourth consecutive gold. Maybe our girls just don't stack up internationally. I can accept that.
Okay, but then there's the footage of the opening ceremony and some girl from Columbia introduces herself. So girls *could* participate. Why did the US send 6 team members and 2 alternates and not one was female????
I was truly appalled. Where were the girls? Did not one girl in our country aspire to the international math olympics? Is there not one girl in the country who has the math skills rank in the top eight??
Honestly, now apparently I am very naive. I have been openly complaining about this for 24 hours now to anyone who would listen. I am the only one who is suprised, or bothered, by the lack of girls. When my boyfriend woke up I told him about this. He said basically that it's still true that girls just aren't expected to do well at math. He even thought maybe that there just weren't any girls who made the cut to take the test. I was shocked and dismayed by this idea.
So, I brought it up at work. No one else was even surprised. Okay, they were disinterested. No one was bothered. Not remotely.
Is the stereotype that girls are bad at math still alive? Seriously, I was a freshman in high school when I first heard this "boys are better at math" bullshit. It came from a teacher. It caused me to go running to the Headmaster in fury.
I went home and my mom laughed. She said that was funny and it was something people really did think.... a long time ago. I believed her. I hadn't come across this idea again (except for that whole Barbie who talks and says "math is hard" thing). Then I saw this whole piece.
Am I totally ignorant?? Why were there no girls representing the United States at the international math olympics??????

7/16/2001 (0) comments

 

My little sister is bringing her boyfriend to our "family" Florida vacation this upcoming week. They are a very cool couple... my sister is getting very nervous about it, which I think is a bit cute, but I'm keeping myself big sisterly... "It'll be OK, there are going to be 30 people there, you don't have to be the one entertaining him all the time... Eric is cool, we know him, we know he's probably not going to freak everyone out, and if he does... well maybe it's good to see that now and plus, you'll learn a new use for underwear after seeing him run across the beach with it on his head... hahaha..."

I'll admit I'm also feeling a little pang of, "Dammit! I must be sure to have phil or terry come to my cousin's wedding next month! Little sister can't be in serious relationships! I'm the bigger one! I should be able to give her better advice about this!"

Then I realize, I'm totally happy now and I love being independent and having good guy pals wherever I go... so why do I feel like I need to be having both good guy pals and one, solid, stable person right now? Thoughts like this, to me, are how people end up in bad situations or get divorced later so then all the playing with good guy friends is that much better... and I'm content with that, it's me right now. Then why do I feel like I need to show that a singular person is in my life and I'm dedicated to keeping that person there?
Elizabeth

7/12/2001 (0) comments

 

i've visiting my family (which is no longer the cohesive whole of the family living in the same house and getting along together) down in tennessee for the last ten days i have of freedom from a full time job. (it is what i call my last glimpse of a summer vacation before i have to actually be an adult and actually work for survival.) they live in a small town, with a dead mall and a Super Walmart.
i refuse to go to walmart for multiple reasons (it is big and scary, i'm disturbed at the idea of buying food at the same place as you buy clothing and stuff for the car, they censor music, it is a large corporation that is putting mom and pop shops out of business.... the list goes on)

but one of main reasons why i don't believe in supporting walmart boils down to their christian ethics influencing pharmacies.

i found myself out to dinner with just my dad and my two brothers... and we were talking about the evils of walmart. (but even as evil walmart is, they still end up shopping there because it is the only big store in town.) one of them being is that they refuse to fill any prescriptions for a certain form of contraceptives for women.
"What kind of contraceptives are you talking about?" my dad asked of me..
_morning after pills_
"But isn't RU486 illegal?" spoke my father
_that isn't a morning after pill_
"Yeah it is... I've heard that it is illegal" spoke my brother nick
_but it isn't a morning after pill, it is an abortion pill.. two completely different things_
"But they're illegal"...... "What is the difference?" spoke my father
_once induces abortions.. the other. the morning after pill, the drug which walmart refuses to stock.. actually prevents pregnancies from happening... in case of accidents._
"But that's illegal........." spoke my brother nick

*sigh*

somehow i wanted to insert into this circular sounding conversation, that i know from experience that morning after pills are legal. but how exactly am i supposed to approach the subject? (i physically went into a clinic, where i found out that i am a 1/4 of an inch shorter than i thought i was *sigh*.. and i got an actual prescription from a nurse who told me to avoid Walmart Pharmacies because they will not fill the prescription... ) should i tell my dad that i took two pills, 12 hours apart from the other, from the brand "plan b"... a drug that is going to become over the counter....... how do i even begin to get that thru to my siblings and my parents, who are lost in the bible belt???

7/07/2001 (0) comments

 

i drive a convertible. really, my car, jerry, is little more than a golf cart with doors. he's just a little geo metro convertible who turned 100,000 miles over the weekend. we had a little celebration for him. he got new spark plugs and i threw out all the trash on his floor.
there are certain odd obligations that i think come with driving a convertible. for example, music. when i turn up my radio, everyone can hear it. people stare when they hear folk-rock (or eighties pop) blasting out of a car. they can stare. i feel that i am adding culture to the world by subjecting them to my very very odd tastes in music.
also, people think that the fact that i am in a convertible means that it's suddenly okay to talk to me in traffic. i don't mind. i just think it's funny. they ask for directions, if i will let them over, proposition me for sex, just start random conversations sometimes... it's fun. they roll down their windows and just assume since i don't have a roof over my head, i want to talk to them. if you know me, you know i would talk to the walls if they would just nod at me. so, i like this.
i really like it when people stare at my car in envy. this doesn't happen much, as jerry is old and tiny and has no muffler. more often, people stare at it like "what the hell kinda car is that?". seriously, have you ever seen a geo metro convertible?? they look like maybe some odd french car. particularly with the roof up. and jerry sounds lovely. he needs a whole new exhaust system. and he's going to get it soon too.
but i love jerry. triple a doesn't love jerry. they've had to come and jump him and change his tires and tow him to the nearest garage. but he turned 100,000 miles over the weekend and he deserves some recognition. not all cars make the 100,000 mile mark. he's little and he's cute and most of the time he takes me where i want to go...
but now my lunch break is over. usually i go for a little drive during lunch, but today jerry is out on loan. so i had to stay here. and tell the world about my car....

7/03/2001 (0) comments

 

Something new for w-a-m. It's been months...
w-a-m has been around for years. i am bound and determined not to let it die. i want it to exist in the 'best' medium possible, which has involved a great degree of changing formats over the years. here's the latest one.
the idea: sort of a hybridization of the e mail list and the web site. stuff gets posted up here, everyone and anyone can discuss it. how fun. try it, discuss.

7/03/2001 (0) comments

an experiment in hairstyling

 

i currently hate the way that my hair was recently cut. perhaps this is my fault for living the boring life of having had the same-ish hair style for a better portion of my life (which is a result of not being rather fussy and/or because i've been incredibly lazy when it comes to getting ready)... but i have let the hairstylist play with my hair, and cut it in the way that she deems it needs to be cut.

this isn't the average hairstylist. she's loves cutting hair, she loves how she can apply her love for mathematics in the art of hair cutting. she's just another one of those crazy smart kids who went off and did something completely different.

anyways, the last time she played with my hair... i enjoyed the results.. it was extremely amusing, because all of a sudden i looked playfully like a 2nd grader (in my own mind) with this sexy fem cut in everyone else's mind. (i question the adultness of the hairstyle, because just like when i "play" with makeup, i still feel like a little kid... instead of any adultish person.) so i decided to go along with whatever she felt like doing to my hair recently.

needless to say, i hate it. basically on the premise that it requires work . i generally wake up with out much of a getting ready process. (i'm not the type who wakes up really early in order to "apply my face"... i am the type who will roll out of bed and continue on with my day.) actually doing my hair seems pointless, because it will never look good no matter how much time i put into it.

being completely ill of trying to make it look nice, i decided to test out a theory that it looks best when 'messy'. (ah, maybe the stylist wasn't doing a horrible thing after all) due to recent situations which left my hair in quite the messy, but cute state.

i went around all day without even brushing my long hair once.

i got compliments on how 'cute' my hair looked.

i'm continuing the rest of the time i have this hair cut, with perennial bed-head, just as my statement against those who try to get this fabulous messy look that i achieve in at least 5 hours of sleep. hooray.

--kel

4/09/2001

mary ann climbs a mountain

 

today i went to the mountains with josiah. it was a beautiful day...
sunny, shorts and sandals weather. living 40 miles from a national forest
(the red river gorge), it only seemed appropriate that i mark the first
beautiful day of the year by heading out into the mountains to hike.
i am not a hard core hiker. not by any stretch. i am more of the constant
smoker who likes to walk in the woods. my only "hiking" apparel consists
of a pair of boots first owned by my mother in 1975. but i think the
mountains rock... and in the national forest, there are plenty of yuppy
trails with markers and very little risk of serious exertion.
josiah on the other hand, is a hard core outdoors person. he owns multiple
pairs of shoes for a variety of outdoor activities. he climbs stuff and
likes to explore that which is not the trail.
so, we set out for the gorge. we drove around a bit, josiah was looking
for something to climb on and i was just loving the scenery. finally, we
stopped at this nice valley with a little creek and stuff. we wandered
around a bit.
then we saw a sign. a bright yellow sign. up the mountainside in the
woods. we're both big on reading and very curious. needless to say, we
had to read the sign. we climbed up the mountainside. it was a marker
marking the official edge of the daniel boone national forest.
well, that prompted us to decide to climb the mountain. what i thought
when we started climbing the mountain was that we were going to traipse up
the side of it until it turned into rocks.
we walked up the mountain... and up and up and up. we really started at
the very bottom. then we reached the point at which i thought the mountain
was no longer navigable, you know, where the top turns into crazy boulders
and you stop hiking and call it the top. when you consider the mountain as
climbed as it can be without sophisticated equipment and healthy lungs. i
suggested we pause so i could smoke a cigarette.
i was wrong.
at this point, i think i should clue you into as to how ill prepared i was
to rock climb. one, my outfit consisted of: a very small t shirt stating
that i am a cincinnati opera lover. no bra. a pair of boys shorts which
managed to cover my legs all the way to the knee and have enough pockets
not to need a purse. and sandals. procured from payless for ten dollars
last summer. okay for walking, not really for climbing. oh, and a bandana
to hold my mess of tangly curls out of the way. not even a ponytail. two,
i have never once in my life climbed onto anything which was not like a
counter top. i do not like the idea that if i were to fall down, there is
nothing for my butt to land on which is not below my feet. i do not climb.
three, as previously stated, i have no lung capacity. i don't exert
myself much. i am horribly out of shape. i am not strong. this does not
bother me.
yeah so, i climbed a mountain. seriously, i climbed up the side of a
mountain all the way to the top. despite the seriously foreboding mostly
vertical rock face near the top.
when i say that i climbed a mountain, i should probably say that josiah
yanked my sorry ass up a bunch of rocks. mostly, that's what happened. my
climbing consisted mostly of josiah scampering with ease up about five feet
and then anchoring himself so i could use his leg or hand or something to
pull myself up, or, in the more difficult parts, so he could grab my hand
and pull me up while i tried real hard to contribute more than color
commentary involving my fear of death.
we made it to the top. the very top. we were really seriously looking out
at the other mountaintops over the giant canyon of the gorge. regardless
as to how much help it took, no one tied a rope around my waist and yanked
me up there, i really did climb a mountain. and then i finally got to
smoke a cigarette (i carried out my butts)...
oh shit, you mean i have to go down the way i came up? yes, mary ann,
that's how we get back to the car. i am pleased to say that in the getting
back down, i was much more capable of helping myself (sliding on my ass and
screaming in terror). twice josiah had to stop me from sliding to my
death. okay, and at the end, he was kind enough to position himself
between two rocks so i could use him (stepping on his feet, sliding off his
legs, holding his hands) to assist my coming down. the hike down the
hillside after that did not seem nearly as horrible as coming up it had
been...
but the point is, today i went all the way up a mountain (with assistance).
it was neat. my wrists and ankles will never be the same, my arms and
legs are cut and bruised to shit. i did not break a single nail though
(and my polish came out virtually unharmed).
and i feel like i accomplished something. i climbed a mountain in sandals
with no bra. and i did not die.

-- mary ann

(i think that josiah should contribute his thoughts on this situation...)

4/08/2001 (0) comments

the never thought of consequences of divorce:
who gets the Marilyn Merlot?

 

for a long time my parents have been married, thru out all of the years where it seemed like everyone else's parents where getting the fashionable divorces. everyone else had cool step siblings to beat up, or to raid their closets... yet, everyone else was envious of the television family happiness portrayed in the LASTNAME household.... little did they all know is that the myth slowly wore away at the edges, happiness was replaced by lost identities and communication problems.

oh well....

The Big Question is:
how exactly does one draw the lines down what they get to keep?

so pretend the divorcing couple once had a considerable wine collection, for their own personal edification. and what if the wine collection still contains an unopened bottle a 1989 Marilyn Merlot?

who gets dibs over the bottle?

while both members of the soon-to-be ex-item are jovial over the concept of future inebriation as a result of that beautiful bottle.. who gets to maintain custody over this bottle with a picture of Marilyn Monroe?

can they jointly share the bottle? (is this at all possible?)

should they enlist the son to sell the bottle on ebay, then spilt the proceeds?

could they even trust the son to give them equal portions of the money not used by the son to purchase more video games? (or more specifically to purchase more Samba maraca's? or what if the son doesn't bother selling the bottle just for to increase his own ass wiggling Samba skills?)

should they just giggle about the silliness of the whole separation issue all together? as a simple bottle of Marilyn Merlot barely scratches the surface of the concept of having spent so many years with a person only to be dividing up trivialities.

sometimes it is easier to laugh, and feels better to laugh, than to let out those streams of tears.

they know who gets the kids, the house, and the Miro.
but who gets the Marilyn Merlot?
we might never know.



--kel

3/30/2001

spring break is not a good time for working.

 

for the first time, in ages, i actually had school work that needed to be accomplished over spring break. or work that i realized, if it was accomplished during break, i would be much more happy and much more less stressed during my dwindling numbers of weeks left in school.

i found myself saying to other people, "Yeah, i'll prolly bring my stuff home, but i'll never really accomplish anything." Even though there is many a things i need to accomplish, and things that i really had hoped to accomplish.

when i had actually told my dad that i was had to actually do school work over break, he seemed puzzled. "School work? During Spring Break? Why?" not quite understanding the stress alleviation that will occur if i do everything that needs to be taken care of. and i didn't want to feel like i completely wasted a good week doing absolutely nothing, instead of accomplishing something.. no matter how silly the task may have sounded.

little did i know, the spring break fates would have preferred if i stayed on a sunny warm beach somewhere far away from anyone else.

my airline decided to strike. (which is terribly amusing as it was chosen because there was a scare that northwest would strike again. ugh.)

oh yeah, and there is also the minor detail that my parents decided that now was the time they would announce their impending divorce.

somehow, how this all factors in ... i really just want to be able to do my school work. i really need to have some non-interrupted time for working, which doesn't seem like it is going to happen any time soon... during this lovely spring break.

spring breaks should be exempt from any concepts of school work, this is my decree.

--kel

3/28/2001

 

my father's father has always been a stranger to me. he was actually a stranger to my father most of his life. i have seen him twice. once when i was three we lived there for a long time while my mother was working in atlanta. and the other time was before my little sister who is now 13 was born.
so, tonight, out of absolutely nowhere, i decided to call him. i found his phone number (the wonders of the internet) and dug up all of my nerve...
and called. a smallish child answered the phone and i was petrified that i had only the information that he lives near atlanta and his name is jack and i was pretty sure (but not positive) on his last name and he invented plastic plants (yes, i am directly blood-related to the man who set those atrocities loose on the world) as in plastic house plants. the kid asked who was calling. i told him my name and that i thought jack knew me. he asked if it was about his foot. i said no and i was waiting for someone to yell "dad! phone!" so i could be humiliated to tell a stranger that i was looking for my grandpa and called the wrong man. but instead he said "grandpa phone" and i was slightly relieved. the kid turned out to be my cousin. i didn't know he existed, but when i got to talk to him, he told me he knew who i was, i have red hair and my picture is on the fridge, but i was six then. suddenly, i wished my first grade school picture was more flattering...
i talked to my grandpa for maybe half an hour. i'll know for sure when the phone bill comes. it was long enough to make me cry, but not long enough.....
i learned that he's diabetic and he had half his foot amputated recently. a family history of diabetes is enough information to make the call worthwhile if i never speak to him again... and for my whole 21 year life i have been denying that i had a family history of diabetes.
i learned that my aunt kelli is now 29 and is doing well and has a child. my grandpa was really nice to me. really nice. it made me want to jump into my car (which barely gets me to work some days) and drive to atlanta to hug him. he was actually happy to hear from me. i was so scared that whatever had caused him not to talk to my father or my aunts was going to make him hang up the phone.
i told him about my life and my sisters and he asked about my mom three times... he mentioned dad and just said to tell him hello and that he loves him and "short visits make long friends". i know they haven't spoken in more than ten years.
i had never heard that phrase before "short visits make long friends" but i really like it.
i gave him my phone number and i learned he makes it near here pretty often for the horse races when they are "in season" and he said he would call me. i don't know if i expect him to, but i know he meant it when he said it. he told me to call anytime and particularly if i was ever in atlanta.
so my brief interview with the man who invented plastic house plants (he figured out how to make them not smell funny, that was the key), was very informative. i don't know what happens from here, but i am glad i made the call, and i think i'll be finding a more recent photo of myself to mail off to georgia soon if nothing else.
-- mary ann

3/23/2001 (0) comments

 

(((i'm livid.)))
a rant by knk

currently i'm on the verge of tears due to a current situation with a professor's grading of a paper of mine...



let me backtrack and also apologize to all of you who have been subjected to reading my shaky writings, as i never liked writing (or my writing skills) for a good portion of my life. if and what i write is more because i feel like i have something to say, and i have always highly disliked the idea of being a silent passive 'girl.' thus my reasonings for writing in general.

i would consider myself a good student, i show up to my classes (as difficult as that may be early in the morning on a freezing cold minnesota day), i actually make the effort of participating in my classes, i do my work, and even tho i might procrastinate a tad (but who doesn't).... i get good grades, even tho i somewhat question the idea of being graded (and would much rather learn without the trappings of being graded)... i dream of going off to grad school and being completely/continually immersed in the search/discussion of knowledge.....

it is my last semester of college. and i'm fulfilling those last requirements that over the years i either forgot about or they didn't fit into my schedule.... generally, i take classes on the basis of if it looks like it would be of interest to me, so i signed up for a class on scandinavian literary fairytales. (which seemed, at the time, would appease my interest in the form of fairy tale writing and also might be something outside of the realm of the theory which is the bulk of my major. the class actually looked like it would be good.) yet, i find myself in a class where i continually find moments where i would want to conflict with the professor (but because i've learned, conflicting with the profs generally isn't a good idea)... i'll grimace as he boils down all of freud, or all of marx into these bite sized pieces to manipulate in ways in which he can use against the stories we read. (i come from the line of thinking that if one is going to use a philosopher person to back up an argument, that you should be exposed and also expose the class to that writing. None of this has been done. Feminist theory is glossed over in a few words to a class full of neophytes to theories in general.) i have on several occasions objected to his screwing foucault into something completely unrecognizable.. but at that time, i only explained instead of attacking him. (thank you f.s., years ago to learning about the importance of 'i' vs 'you' statements.) so i write my paper for the class, on a topic which is quite close to my own heart and interests... i was extremely excited about the paper, and even sent copies of it to other people...

yet i wasn't excited to see it returned to me... completely marked up in red ink... for trivial reasons.
(did i mention yet that he isn't a native english speaker? perhaps this factors in a tad.)

i was completely livid when i first looked at the markings. i actually did cry... because not a single one had anything to do with the actual content or my progression of thoughts, but it was extremely critical about my usage of my mother tongue, english.

i will never claim to being an expert on the english language. as i hated english when i should've been learning grammar... there were other subjects of more importance.
and also, the writing skills that i have developed are completely as a result of spending a good portion of my life online... (and only because of online did i ever develop a taste for even writing a word.)

my major is writing intensive. it is what we do. and i enjoy it. (i'm even willing to stand up for the ancient idea of a senior thesis, because it seems to be an essential crowning moment of a major: cultural studies and comparative literature, which is focused on writing theory about theory.) but i don't write about fluffy literary texts in the way which the paper for this class required.

i went in and talked with the professor after class today. (after i had a bit of time to calm down... and thus think about it all.) i told him how i'm not an english major, i'm might not be the best at grammar... but the syllabus said nothing about being harshly graded on the grammar, it only mentioned that the content was of high importance.
and i told him that i didn't think he was justified in writing "Quite a good string of observations, but somewhat marred by 'unpolished' language." as the only damn thing he wrote about my actual content.

he railed on me for 45 minutes.

as being overheard (by my other class which is 30 minutes after the end of this prof's class) by others, they couldn't believe his tone of voice and the dumb things he was saying.

he spent a good portion of the time critiquing my usage of the 'meaning' instead of what he would rather 'means.' i told him that this is just semantics, and shouldn't affect my grade. but he thought it made the paper unreadable. we also had an argument over my usage of the word 'risk' instead of what he wanted the word 'sacrifice'.. because he didn't believe that the character saw the it as a risk, and i said that it isn't from her standpoint that i wrote my paper.. it is how i read the story, and it is from the reader's view that she (the character) took a 'risk'. then he said that i should say 'as a reader of this story....' instead of just writing the word 'risk' without being attached to saying it was from me. But the whole damn paper is from me, so i don't really see the need in justifying every line by taking up words saying "I believe" or "My understanding" or anything in the damn 1st person in general. saying the word "i" doesn't help add to my argument, i only see it as weakening.

we're studying hans christan andersen, a poor undereducated man, who had brilliant stories to tell but was always critiqued by his contemporaries on his grammar skills instead of the content of his stories.

3/22/2001 (0) comments

 

i am not catholic, but i adore the trappist monks. everyone should visit
their nearest trappist monastery. they are the coolest people on earth.
there are a few reasons i love these monks. one, there's a woman living at
the monastery in kentucky and no one cares cause she's just as committed to
her religion and spirituality as they are. i think it's really cool that
they are monks who let girls be monks. equal opportunity in that monastery.
another thing that's awesome about these monks is that they make the best
cheesecakes and jellies in the world. okay, so it's not really a very deep
reason to love them, but they seriously make cheese and cheesecake and
jelly and bourbon that's fabulous. plus, when you buy it, you're giving to
a really great cause, these monks who do a lot for you...
which brings me to my third reason to love trappist monks. the whole
premise of their existence is that the world is so busy and so crazy that
not everyone has time to pray. so, they have it arranged so that at all
times, 24-7-365 there is always a whole monastery full of trappist monks
who are praying for all of humanity. and they just don't pray for your
immortal soul either. they pray for your health and well-being and
basically, they're just out there praying that you have a good day, all
day, and all night, every day. there's always a trappist monk looking out
for you and hoping you are happy. that rocks. when the whole world seems
against you, you can always remember there's a bunch of monks somewhere who
love you and hope it's going to be okay for you. you have to appreciate the
thought if nothing else. it makes me warm inside....
another thing to love about these monks is that they are really cool and
self-contained. they support themselves through their yummy food sales
(hand grown, handmade, hand packaged food with love from a monk who wants
you to be happy!) and they severely limit their contact with the outside
world that they devote their lives to helping.
only three monks in the whole monastery in kentucky talk to people from the
outside world. one is the one who runs the gift shop, one is the one who
gives the tours and the other is the one who answers the phone. the last
time i was there, one of my friends asked if they don't all want those jobs
and the tour guide laughed and so no. they really value being the one who
just wraps cheesecakes all day long and those other mundane jobs because it
frees their minds to think about other stuff.
there's really something in there, the idea that it's better to be able to
be self contained and just be able to be alone with your thoughts. i like
that a lot.
the first time i went to visit "my monks" in kentucky, i was just in awe of
this beautiful place where they live and this amazing existence that they
have chosen for themselves. i thought for months that i should be a
trappist monk. really, i did.
i mean, what better kind of people can you ask for? they ask nothing of
you, they don't want anything from you, they don't even want to talk to
you, and yet they dedicate their lives primarily to praying that good
things will happen to you. maybe you don't believe that prayer gets you
anywhere, but you have to love that these people are at least sending out
wishes for you to be happy. plus their whole like incredibly zen and
philosophical way of life, they all work, but the work they value most is
the work that frees their mind. i'm telling you, you should go and visit
your local nearest trappist monastery. pack a picnic. enjoy the sites
(there's some incredible stuff at the one in kentucky). take a tour.
learn about your monks. take home some food made with love.
"my monks" have their website at www.monks.org. go visit it. learn about
these people. they love you, love them.

--mary

3/21/2001 (0) comments

 

It's funny… when you write with certain music in the background or in the foreground or wafting through your head, the influence it has on your words is amazing…it's kinda like drugs. Kinda like how the words of so many songs that so many straight people sing and claim as personal anthems, were written in a cloud of smoke in a big room of people having sex. Or the paintings that we all gape at like, "how the hell did they ever paint something like that? And look at the symbolism…and the contrast…and the…"…were painted on some really good high… im sitting here with the beautiful voice of ani d floating across the hallway from my room to the computer room (since my cd player won't stretch all the way in here-- I just have to turn it up real loud)…and it's kinda weird because what i'm about to write will be in part because of what surrounds me.
Influence is both so blatant and hidden in our society. I went through this big philosophical phase about a month ago (pertaining to influence)… my friend from argentina sent me this email about the occurrings of some random day…he had gone into the city of beunos aries (he lives outside of it) with his friends and they had been walking under a bridge and had seen a man lying on the ground. At first, they thought he was drunk and passed out, but when they got closer, they saw blood everywhere and realized that he was dead. And for some reason, something hit me when I read that.

A man died.

To me, he was a random, no-named Argentinian man under a remote bridge in a distant city I have never been to. How could that ever effect me?? But then I thought about influences and the way people work and the the way people affect each other… and what if I was going to meet him someday? What if he was going to meet someone who was going to meet someone who was going to meet me someday?
We all take a little bit of each other everywhere we go…kind of like those big puffy flowers that spread their seeds when the wind blows…they scatter and grow in other places.
People are like that. We talk to each other and plant our ideas in other minds and those minds plant ideas in other minds…ideas that could never
have been planted if the first planting had never been.
And so what if the whole entire course of my life has been altered because of this single dead Argentinian man? Or what if part of myself has been passed all the way down to him through a big chain of people? Then did part of myself die with him? And then what about plane crashes and car accidents and the people that die every single day…? We never really give a thought as to how their death affects ourselves…
So now it sounds like I believe in fate. I don't. because I don't think I believe in god. But I believe that we are all connected in some weird way…through emotion, through influence, through just being alive together on this planet…and for some reason, it makes life a little more beautiful to me.
Just to know that we're all running around together, confused as hell…influencing little minds and pretending we are less naïve than everyone else. We dance around in little bubbles that i create for you and you create for me. We're preoccupied with things that don't matter. We forget that all we have is each other.

--debbie

****I've dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after and changed my ideas; they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind. ~ emily brontë****

3/15/2001 (0) comments

 

Two months ago, at the time I am starting to write this, I had unprotected sex. I am normally very sexually responsible, but I had an evening of oversight. I wasn’t concerned about contracting any diseases, I am in a long-term relationship and we both have been tested. Pregnancy did cross my mind, but obviously it didn’t strike me as anything to worry enough about. There were condoms in the room, it wasn’t a question of convenience. It was a simple choice I made. And now I am paying for it.
I hate birth control. I have refused the pill for many reasons, most of which revolve around my general distaste for having my body ruled by drugs, and my questions about long-term use. I would rather wait and see what happens to people who spent time on the pill when they were my age once they are ninety before I try it on myself. Condoms are annoying. It’s not having to buy them or the stopping to use one that bothers me. It’s the using them. As for other methods, I have my reasons.
I know I have to be very fertile. No one on either side of my family has less than two children. My parents both have enough siblings it takes two hands to count them all. My mother got pregnant with my while on the pill. There really isn’t an excuse for what I didn’t do that night.
So, here I sit, pregnant. I am not feeling really shy or ashamed or anything, I made a choice, here are the results. I have also made another choice which I am not shy or ashamed about. I am going to have an abortion. As soon as possible. 
Here’s the story on what’s happened since. Two weeks after the unprotected (and great, I might add) sex, I woke up with cramps. Right on schedule. No period came. This went on for two weeks before I began to seriously evaluate the situation. I had cramps every day that felt like tomorrow I would bleed. I felt like I had PMS. My period did not come.
So, I sat down to consider possible reasons why I would not menstruate. Well, I had dramatically changed my entire life since my last period. I added stress, and removed some nutrition. I changed my sleeping habits from 10+ hours every single night to less than 6. I began spending time with lots of new women. My car is emitting fumes which could stop anything normal and healthy. The new millenium had started. There were plenty of perfectly good reasons why I wasn’t having my period, yet. It just needed time to adjust to my life.
I gave it a week. No period. I began to seriously worry. This is now five weeks after the unprotected sex. Now I decide to actually consider pregnancy as a possibility. I still had cramps every day. My body went back to normal size finally (I had been PMS bloated for three weeks). Things started to change.
Everything I ate after 8 PM made me vomit. I was completely exhausted and started going to bed around nine PM when normally I am up until two. My libido vanished. These all could be easily attributed to a sinus infection combined with a new job. Maybe that’s what causing them.
At one point I told my boyfriend that “there’s a very real chance I may be pregnant”. That was about this time. He just sort of agreed and didn’t bring it up again. So, neither did I.
I let two more weeks pass while taking hot, hot baths and talking to my uterus about letting go of whatever it was holding in there. No dice.
So, Saturday, I finally cornered my boyfriend and myself. We went to Kroger and bought the cheapest pregnancy test they had. If I was pregnant, I was pregnant enough that any old test ought to be able to figure it out. I went home, I drank a bunch of water. I peed while he timed to make sure it was at least five seconds. 
He went to the couch, I kinda stared over the thing in the bathroom. It was almost instantly that the lines appeared. I waited the three minutes (he was still the designated timekeeper), and then came back in the room and announced we are pregnant. I then walked right by him to the phone book to look up planned parenthood, wondering if I would be able to get an abortion here or if I would have to drive 100 miles to the nearest clinic I know of that performs them. It was a Saturday night, but I thought surely the hours would be on the answering machine. They aren’t.
Then I noticed my boyfriend crying. We had talked about this already in a “what-if” way. We had agreed on abortion with no discussion. He explained that when I said I was pregnant he was happy about it. He had already decided he loved this baby. He admitted he knew it was going to have to go away, pronto, but he was emotionally involved with this zygote thing growing inside of me making me smoke less and sleep more (possibly). I had not counted on this.
I was as nice and sympathetic as I could be, talking about how maybe someday we really would have kids, but not while we can barely afford to feed and house ourselves, and now we know we can certainly conceive. He didn’t seem much consoled. He agrees that we are not giving birth to any babies around here, but he is still sad.
It’s been four days now and I am finally jotting this all down. He seems to be feeling better about the whole situation. I am not, I know I am 8 weeks post conception here and I have to get this thing out, NOW. 
Which brings me to my current beef with planned parenthood in this town. I am thrilled that we have one, and I don’t mean to sound like I am taking my reproductive rights for granted (although I do dream of how someday women will be able to). I love Margaret Sanger for founding that organization. My problem is that they are too hard to get in touch with.
I have called at 8 am and at 5:30 PM. Immediately before and after work. I know there is typically a one week waiting period to get a preliminary appointment, and I don’t even know if they can supply me with what I need. I procrastinated long enough. I am trying to take action. What this means to me is that I am going to have to call from the payphone at work (I have a phone at my desk but I do not want the people I share an office-room with to overhear this particular personal conversation on work’s dime) on my lunch break. It also means that I am definitely going to have to miss work for both appointments. Or maybe here I can get it all done in one. I am not sure what the state laws are regarding waiting periods for abortions.
Other information to share with you in this preliminary report… I did some research online and have learned that the whole process takes ten minutes (for a D&C which what I presume will happen to me), and, while you should take the rest of the day to relax, you can resume normal activity the next day. However, you might bleed for up to four weeks and cannot have sex for like four weeks after that. I’m hoping for a Friday appointment. I don’t want to miss any more work than is necessary.
Last night my boyfriend announced that he didn’t think he wanted to have sex until we were ready to actually make children. I responded by saying I intended to suck it up and get on the pill as soon as this was over, and couldn’t we re-evaluate this after the about two months of medically imposed abstinence? He’s not so sure. I guess we’ll see.
The other primary issue is the money. Basically that I don’t have any. I mean, I have enough money I could afford this, but I am counting on it to pay my rent next week. My boyfriend is between jobs right now and cannot even pay his half of the rent (hence my extreme poverty), but he is looking for a job. So, I am trying to save my pennies against the clock.
If I sound like I am not emotionally involved, it’s because I am not. I don’t care about this thing that I have invited to mooch off of me. I am concerned that my boyfriend isn’t going to be able to handle this. I am not second guessing myself, I have always been avidly pro-choice, and I know this is what is best all around. I am scared to death that something is going to stand in the way of my personal choice and being able to act upon it (like time or money or protesters or geography).
I am writing about this for WAM because I want to share my experience. I don’t know if I will change anyone’s opinion on the matter, but I hope I can at least interest you.

3/14/2001 (0) comments

 

I was sitting in a coffee shop in Clifton the other day, and I had a strange awakening to an action that I have performed many times, but never noticed.
I was writing in a notebook, when my left hand started to itch. Rather than stop writing to scratch it, I simply used my teeth. I realized though, that I had done this many times before and, in fact, rarely used my hands to scratch any part of me that I could reach with my mouth. At first I was rather amused and infatuated with this odd behavior that I had discovered in myself; soon though I began to understand it.My mind, I have decided, does not operate in a normal fashion... in fact, it operates quite abnormally. Not only does it come equipped with a pause button (I stole that description from Mary), but it operates on several tracks at once. The odd part though is that the tracks are separated by really fucking high concrete walls so that what ever is happening in one track is completely isolated from and oblivious to what is going on in the other tracks. So this sudden enlightenment led me to understand the previously mentioned strange behavior.I scratch my hand with my mouth. Is that odd? Is it odd that I get so preoccupied writing that I do not want to break my train of thought? Is it odd that when my trains of thought collide I become helplessly confused and am forced to murder small animals? Is it odd that I would joke about murdering small animals? I don’t think so.
None of that seems odd to me. However, it seems odd to me to concern one hand with the problems of another.

--josiah

3/13/2001 (0) comments

 

"Tell me why - I don't like Mondays"*

Things should never begin on Mondays, as Mondays are the days everyone who has ever read a Garfield comic seem to dread.  There is something in the idea of actually having to get out of bed at a prescribed time, in order to continue on the daily haze which is called life. Sunday has evolved into "me" day, instead of participating in some institutionalized religion in order to make me feel happy, generally I partake in what I want to do. It is just that Monday comes around, leaving off where Sunday once was, and it is shock as now yet another week has begun, now it is yet another week to procrastinate doing something.

Actually one of the big somethings that I have been regretfully procrastinating has been simply doing something about the WAM web.  It should be easy, as there are already a few articles written, some buffer space to slack. But each Monday comes around so quickly that I realize as an afterthought at about 11.30 at night, that I should’ve done the WAM website.    "Oh, well, I can just put that off for next week.   As it should start on a Monday, shouldn’t it?"

Maybe the whole apprehension to actually updating this website has simply been, I personally don’t like beginnings, and conversely endings.  Greetings seem silly, especially the small talk of "Hi, how are you" in passing persons. (Especially seeing how no one really has the time to actually listen to how you really are, just a "fine" is all they really want to hear.)  There seems to be some need/ some want of mine to have some little small talk with you, that potential reading audience, if only to say who/what this is, instead of what I would more rather is that this begins hence forth as if you and I know what is going on (hey, if you know would you care to enlighten me?) 

well anyways, enough rambling on my side of things, I really should just do write one thing: 

HELLO welcome to WAM

peace love and empathy,

kel

* extra bonus brownie points for those who actually recognize the above quote being from a Boomtown Rat's song.

3/12/2001

w a m:

 

wam is the sharing of an idea within a certain context. The context changes periodically. The ideas change constantly. Sometimes, it's a conversation, sometimes it's a more of a commentary/personal thing. It's in print. Maybe it's about barbies or politics or strange things that influence us and our behavior. Whatever wam is, you'll be able to better define it, the more you expose yourself to it.

1/22/2001 (0) comments