Word Up, Sister!

Cold Coffee reminds me of the more endearing qualities of my father.  His early mornings were grumpy, but real.  He was real before work.  And when he would leave, I would sit in his chair and drink what was left of his cold coffee and pretend that I got to spend more time with him that way.  He loved me when he was sober, but someone else always came home at night.  He was someone that was heavily burdened by the ways of the world and the pressures of … well… everything.  I have no idea what caused my father to drink so much because he started before I knew the difference between my toes and my fingers.  This was quite a long love life with booze, a sentence of 20-25. 

The more time I spend in the “real world” the less I value myself.  I am not worth what I was years ago, but I was a screw up back then, just had a skinny ass is all.  I thought it was big then.  Wonder the massive expansions waiting for me in the near future…  Will I look back on today wistfully, dreamily as though it weren’t as painfully draining and tiresome as it feels today?  It is almost certain that I am that type of fool.  I will look on today fondly as though it were the “good old days”. 

It’s funny how I can look back at my childhood as some wondrous time.  I wonder how I can look back and only see the few minutes a day when my father was my daddy and he loved me more then any.  The largest portion was actually quite painful, for a childhood.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about those mornings with my dad.  I only remember the taste of cold coffee fondly.

There has been a huge problem in my life that I can’t weed out no matter how I try. My body. Huge problem. I love women that don’t fit into gender boundaries and walk proudly. I love them because I don’t have the courage to be one of them. I walk proudly but I am a good actor. I am so tired of looking at myself in the mirror and wishing that I looked better, slimmer, sexier, whatever. I am never completely happy when my eyes tango with a mirror. I don’t want to believe what the mirror says and it never changes to suite my sensibilities. I could starve myself and be skinny for a while, but it won’t stay for very long. And I know I would never stop if it were made easy for me for even a moment. I wouldn’t quit until my clothes weigh more than me, then I might have a light snack. But thank Goddess it isn’t easy to diet or we as a people wouldn’t see curvy women ever again. Not one. They would all disappear down the drain along with tonights gourmet dinner. (Seconds anyone?)

I was taught in not-so-subtle ways during my formative years that I’d better not grow an inch wider, ever, or I’ll have a horrible life. Those teachings were absolutely ridiculous, but unfortunately they were right. I hate to admit it, but the fact that they taught me this makes them right. I will have a horrible life because I am larger then a paper weight. Now I shall spend a good portion of my money, effort, livelihood, thought, free time, and (worst of all) self-esteem trying to concoct a way get back to the size that I was in grade school (because THAT is the current fashion.) Although, I hear that fetuses are sexy these days so that might become an even less achievable goal for the average woman. When are men going to just admit that they fantasize about fucking children? Just get it out and over with, so that we can get you all some counseling, and women of the world can get back being a size 12 or so.

The disturbing thing is that, now that I think of it, I was given these guidelines by women. It has always been a woman that has made me feel lower than dogshit due to my dress size. Funny that! Additionally, the “knowledge” I recieve about my body usually comes from… My Family. I remember an x-mas many years ago where at the tender age of 16, I got diet pills in one of my shiny wrapped packages from “Santa” (my grandmother). Apparently she had gotten a really good deal on some locally made herbal diet pills (speed) and decided to spread the wealth. I was the only grandchild to receive them. I was also the only grandchild that weighed in “higher then she should”. I come from “athletic stock” and therefore I am huge disappointment to those that are supposed to love me and happen to share my DNA.

But my brainwashing must have started much earlier, because I was an unknown-to-be-suicidal child. I made suicide pacts with myself several times before the age of 13. I remember at 10 I was laying the bathtub one night, and decided that if I were to lay on my side in the tub and notice that my hips were taller than the tub I would kill myself with one of my mom’s razors. My hips have since spread to that of a full grown woman’s and have been taller than the tub ring on several occasions. I haven’t tried to kill myself, but this has arisen an odd tendency to carefully scrutinize the bathtub when moving into a new place. Your childhood affects who you are. (Sidenote: later on that same year, I made a pact to kill myself if I ever got pregnant. Once again, I haven’t tried to kill myself, but I’ve never been pregnant either.)

I’m tired. I am so tired of hating myself, and trying to push myself into the mini fridge. Even Ani Difranco pisses me off sometimes. She’s a great spokeswoman for women’s rights and common sense, but she is also 5′2″ and even pregnant, couldn’t have weighed more than a buck-o five at the time. She is small and gorgeous so people are more inclined to listen to her music and listen to her theories. Because she is a “woman”. That is a cruel thing for me to say, but I am hating myself right now and feel no reason to leave well enough alone. So, I won’t erase it and I won’t apologize. Besides, Ani isn’t aware that I exist. I highly doubt that she would give a damn for anything that I have to say. Fuck it!

How do I feel? At the moment I feel like a feeble, simpering idiot with no obvious sense of priorities nor self worth. I feel that I have wasted my time and the time of anyone that has taken the time to read this pile of garbage. But then again, I get the feeling that I am not alone. And that someone out there feels the same way. Maybe we could find a cure for self-hatred together, and surprise attack the world at large. Goddess knows that we haven’t been able to do it alone. Know what I mean?

The breeding fad has been around for too long, and it needs to stop.  You people are doing this for the wrong reasons.  You don’t have children due solely to the urge to love, take care of, and raise a child with dignity and respect.  You are having children for the worst reasons imaginable, and none of you have the presence of mind to think about why you want this baby so badly. (I have found it is usually along the lines of “Gee, honey what would a child of ours look like?  Let’s find out.”)   

Accidental babies.  “Oops, I’m pregnant.  Abortion is murder.  So, I’ll just keep it.”  First of all abortion is NOT murder.  Consider it a man-made tier of natural selection.  It is healthy and necessary.  Think of it as removing a tumor, only with a fetus you don’t have to undergo chemo therapy afterward.  Yes, it is hard to do, but so is raising a child if you aren’t ready or prepared to do so.   Speaking personally here… I am one of the accidental children and it was horrifying.  My mother had me at the tender age of 16.  On several occasions thru life, my mother would get very drunk, and sternly informed me that I was an accident, and that my life was the utter ruin of hers.  She married my drunken father, due to her pregnancy and hasn’t forgiven me since.  I know damn good and well that it isn’t my fault… now.  But these things are traumatizing to hear at age 7 and 9 and 14 and 15.  She’s a good woman, but she was never suited to be a parent.  Women who are not prepared for pregnancy are not prepared for motherhood. Simple fact.  Maternal instincts are a myth.  If you are “suited” to motherhood then you are suited for it.  But don’t hold your breath and hope for the love of poopie diapers and high pitched screaming to overtake you in a wave of ecstacy.  It will never happen.   

Worse yet, some kids are born to women who can’t find stability in any other relationship.  If they are pregnant, they’ll often rationalize it with “at least a baby will love me forever.”  That is an incredible and unfair weight to put upon the shoulders of a newborn baby.  Shame on you!  Get a hamster!  A baby is completely controllable and has no opinions of its own… temporarily.  What will you do when they get older, you have to learn enough social skills to keep up with them?  When you want to live a life, wide in variety and freedom, what will you tell your child?  Remember your parents?  So, do you recall the unfair expectations that they laid upon you during your tender years?  Or perhaps you fondly remember their exceptional neglect due to an interest in other things?  They were put under the same pressures as you, learn from their mistakes.  

Here’s a good one.  “My mother wants me to have kids.”  “My mother wants me to get married… to a man.”  I was raised to have the utmost respect for mothers.  Particularly those who are old enough to be my mother.  However, your mother had her shot at breeding.  She can’t tell you what to wear anymore (and if she can, seek help).  She shouldn’t be telling you when to breed, nor that you even have to in the first place.  That is your decision!  Stand up for yourself.  Be an adult.  You don’t have to have children if you don’t want to.

 Let me break things down for you: Babies are cute sometimes.  This a defense mechanism provided by nature, nothing more.  One baby is just like another.  It is not a precious and individual snowflake.  It’s a yowling larvae sack!   

Giving birth is not a “miracle”.  Pregnancy is a chemical reaction and should be treated as such.  A + B = Fetus.  It was perhaps referred to as a miracle back in the days when people did not realize that sex and pregnancy had anything to do with each other.  Women just brought forth life in those days without obvious cause or warning.  But now a days we are well aware of the cause and effects, yet the “miracle” is spreading like the plague.   Producing offspring will not… I repeat… WILL NOT make your life “all better”.  It won’t make your life “complete”.  It won’t heal your marriage.  It won’t stop your husband from screwing around.  It won’t make you more attractive nor cure your menstrual issues.  And that “passing down the family name crap” lost any meaning centuries ago, and it only ever had meaning to men (the selfish bastards)! It won’t provide you with someone who’ll care for you when you’re old.   It won’t even provide you with a guaranteed Mother’s Day gift every year.  These are lies and myths that you have been spoon fed from birth.  The moment your mother had you she started training you for making babies! Children have been reduced to vanity projects.  Happy to break it to ya, but you can get more love and fulfillment from pet store!  Get a cat or a hobby!  Volunteer at a Woman’s shelter.  Help raise money for Cancer survivors without insurance.  Take some pride in yourself instead of expecting a spit-gargling meat sack to fulfill all of your hopes and dreams with their mere existence.   

Adoption.  Now that is a time worthy endeavor.  There are millions of children that have no one to care for them, with the exception of a government clerk that isn’t really required to “care”.   I have asked people time and time again why they have given birth to children instead of adopting.  I am often given half hearted excuses about there being couples out there that can’t have children and blah blah blah. This is utter bullshit.  There aren’t enough non-breeding couples to house these helpless children.  If there were, enough childless couples, foster care wouldn’t be such a nightmare.  But it is. 

Others who favor childbirth, do so because they feel that a child won’t mean anything to them unless it shares their bloodline.  This line of thinking makes no sense to me.  If this is such a problem, then perhaps you shouldn’t strive for children at all…just a suggestion.  

  My reasoning for advocating adoption is that if you adopt you have to really want it. You have to jump through hoops of fire and fill out paperwork and be completely committed to the pursuit of a child. Instead of, just realizing you’re pregnant one day and hoping that it turns out for the best. Therefore, using a baby as a vain attempt to permanently commemorate a beautiful loving and magical relationship that “mysteriously” breaks up once the child is born and reality officially sets in. No relationships are permanent. Only the effects are. I personally would rather tattoo my boyfriends name on my forehead then have a child with him. The former destroys fewer lives than the latter.

Bottom line.  There is no reason to give birth.  Pure and simple. If you want a baby so badly, you should pursue an avenue that has some dignity.  Adopt a child, they are the ones that really need your love and care.    

  Abortion.  Along with popular belief I am all for it!  I saw a bumper sticker a few days ago (inspiring this little rant) and it said “How can you say there are too many children? That’s like saying there are too many flowers.”  Honetly!  I followed this woman until she parked and then asked her if she pulled dandelions and other weeds from her garden!  What are dandelions?  Unwanted flowers!     So, morale of the rant boils down to; be an adult and don’t breed.  Adopt a child or get a pet.  Educate our young women on the “miracle” with a lot more facts and less biased toward breeding.  Make birth control and condoms available for anyone who is physically able to use it!  Make abortion legal in all 50 states and keep it that way until we actually have some reason to give birth again.  Stop reducing our gender to the role of “baby factory” and have some self respect.  Thank you!

One of my few certainties is that I will die.  It is a fact.  But how will it happen?  I feel cheated by death already, because I know that I won’t get to see the last scene of the movie that I am such a part of.  The packing up and moving on scene that wraps everything up and gives the viewer a sense of completion and closure.  I want my money back! Or at least a hand in the writing process. 

The idea of death has brought me to the thought of my funeral. Ugh!  That could go badly!  So badly.  You cannot fathom the bad.  First of all, the prep for the funeral. This is where my relatives go thru my house to “clean up” and fight over my meager possessions.  And they inevitably find instead my staggering collection of dildos and other sex related paraphernalia.   Whips and chains and candlewax, Oh MY!  ***If any of my dear friends are reading this … take note.  Should I kick the bucket.  Break into my house and grab my sex toys.  Distribute them amongst  yourselves, first cum first served rules apply.  Consider it a keepsake that could only come from the likes of me.  *smirk. 
But keep the naked pictures of me and post them on the bulletin board at the funeral when no one is looking.  I would really enjoy that!  Especially the ones of me spinning fire topless.  I am quite proud of those. If you can’t find them, I am sure that Brandon still has copies. 
Things I would like to see happen at my funeral…A bar fight…Should my family insist on a christian style funeral…I want the preacher to leave with a limp and a bloody lip, my friends and family exchanging blows and howling at the moon. “Where is the cooler?  I need a beer and some ice before I go back in there to kick some more ass.”  People are angry in general and never have the opportunity to express it!  Let this be that opportunity.  Take all the anger that you acquire on a daily basis, take that fuel, beat someone over the head with a hymnal and light a fucking match!
 I want people to show up naked.  I want my friends to get arrested at my funeral for indecent exposure and plead guilty proudly.  Cover yourselves in mud and wrestle, winner gets all of my worldly possessions (with the exception of the sex toys.  See above).  And some tricky bastard should tumble the coffin.  It’s just an empty, freshly embalmed shell with no further use anyway.  Give the folks in the back row a laugh, for Goddess sake. 
I want a drum circle at my grave, and some Irish bastard to holler drinking songs about booze and tits and blue ribbons, thru a keg.  And bagpipes!  I want some fucking bagpipes, played badly! 
I want blunt honesty…I was a shithead so don’t paint your face with regret and talk about how much of an “angel” I was.  The most flattery I could expect is for everyone at the “party” to share a moment when I made them laugh. That is something consistent about me.  I have made everyone I know laugh at some point or another. Sometimes it is laughter thru frustration, but it still counts as laughter, right?