Which Comes First

This morning on the way to school I got to enjoy another fantastic conversation with the boys, leading to deep thoughts of course. I asked the little one how his hard boiled eggs were, since I had had some also, and found them very hard to peel. As an aside, one thing that makes me want to have a full-fledged tantrum besides two layers of sleeves, wrong waistband heights, and maladjusted socks is when the shell sticks to the egg while you're peeling, taking away chunks of egg white and rendering your egg inedible because it is no longer smooth but now all jagged and fucked up. He said his were fine. He's maybe not quite so attuned to egg aesthetics as I am.

I told him the interesting fact that very fresh eggs make difficult-to-peel hard boiled eggs, while older ones do not. Since we just got these from the co-op, I said, they were probably quite fresh and therein lay the problem. I believe I might have said something along the lines of ".....fresh from the chicken's butt." Of course then the little one had to take it up a notch, noting that it would be more like from the chicken's vagina. Well that's just inaccurate so I told him it would be more like from the chicken's cloaca, because chickens lack vaginas. My older son piped in that he knew about cloacas. Instead of saying where the fuck did you learn about cloacas I said yes, it's kind of a combination vagina and butt.

I thought about it a little further after I dropped them off, and I realized that I've always secretly thought cloacas sucked. I think it's totally uncool to have your vagina and butthole be the same thing. It feels like a lack of boundaries, genital-wise, and I'm against it. I've never been overly fond of birds and I do hold their cloacas partly responsible for that. It's wrong to dislike an organism for a characteristic for which it is not at fault, but I'm just trying to keep it real and put it out there in case anyone else has a secret prejudice against an animal. Like really big orangutan faces, or maybe how that one lizard runs upright with bowed legs.

Moody Monday

One thing about me is that I don't really have a lot of moods. Like usually, I'm just me. I think it's partly because I don't see things so much as whole days, weeks, or months, but more just as individual moments independent of a categorical bad day, bad week, or bad month. I actually never understood how my ex would assign values to years as they passed (" '08 really blew, but it looks like '09 might be a good one"). Anyway, for some reason I had enough moments today where I felt irritable that I might possibly say that I was kind of in a bad mood. But only for parts of it. I'm not committed enough to maintain that for a whole day.

When I look back on the day I realize that I was irrationally irritable during biochem lab, but I'll vent anyway because I want to. There's this guy in my lab, not my partner thank Zeus, who is jovial. But it's a contrived joviality, like he decided that he would have this certain larger-than-life personality and be distinctive in every room he's in. He does not succeed at this, no, he does not. Instead he is just loud, and smarmy, and a butt head. Today he irritated the living shit out of me, and instead of larger-than-life I thought his personality was smaller-than-dead. He went over to the TA to ask him (obnoxiously and all personality-injected) all about what he did on spring break and I was so incensed that I wished his lab partner would rape his eye socket with a pink dildo. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't have distinctive obnoxious contrived personalities. It's not too much to ask.

Then I was also irritable because I do not like it when someone else's gi smell rubs off onto mine. It's a scent violation and it's not ok with me. I'm fine with other people choosing their own rancidity, but when it is foisted onto me I am no longer just slightly offended, but ready to fight to the death to stuff the fetid stench molecules back into their skin. And I think I could do that with my lightning fast reflexes and crazily robust mind force.

The mood couldn't last though. I had a really good panini for dinner, and sandwiches make me happy.

The Loss Of The Cookie

Ever since the great weight cut of '09 I've been more likely to eat healthy foods. Not that I was ever really eating crap to begin with, just that I'd eat generally pretty well with an occasional Nutty Bar thrown in. Or a special Cheetos night. You know, just normal eating with junk food every now and then. Then as I grappled more and more, I noticed how much my performance depended upon eating healthily. So I upgraded the generally-eating-well to Really Paying Attention. Refined carbs, excessive dairy, lack of fruits/veggies, basically everything with no nutritional purpose--mostly out of my life. And I noticed how much better I felt, and then took it to the next level with the Smoothie. The Smoothie blasted me into nutritional orbit around the planet Awesome.

So the other day I felt like I hadn't seen an old friend for some time--the Double Stuf Oreo. Those magnificent morsels really got me through some rough times during the divorce. As some of you may remember I was a little curvier right around that time, due to the comfort of the cookie. I actually had cleavage. For those of you who don't actually know me in real life, I'm just over 5'11" and about 140 lbs. So maybe not the most saftig, figure-wise, which is why the presence of cleavage indicates divorce-induced plumpness. At any rate, it didn't last--my body rejected it all once I reached a critical tipping point and all the divorce chub kind of just went away over the course of a summer.

Anyway, a few days ago I felt like it was Oreo Time. I just had that hankering for small round slabs of sugared lard sandwiched between two crunchy slices of cookie heaven. So I got some and sat down to enjoy them. After about two bites I almost puked. Holy Mother of Pan, they are so sweet I think I shat honey and it's possible that my tongue curled in upon itself in a sugary spasm. I really could not enjoy the Oreo, a condition which I found alarming and unexpected. I mean, if I cannot handle the sweetness of the Oreo, what does that mean for my Nutty Bar consumption? Or other waxy Little Debbie products? That cake-making vapid faced smile may never grace my pantry again.

It looks like I'm going to have to investigate the possibilities of nature based grain enhanced fiber filled sweets to round out my diet. Maybe a carob brownie made with flax seeds and sweetened with the voices of children, or an organic hemp cookie frosted with world peace. Since my days of actual junk food enjoyment may be over I'm just going to have to find other things to do when it's Oreo Time. And I guess I'll have to rename Oreo Time altogether. From now on I will have Fiber Time, or maybe Healthful Meditation with my Chi Time, or possibly even Butcher a Free Range Chicken Time.

Little Boy

My boys still like to sleep in my bed sometimes, remnants of attachment parenting when they were babes, I guess. By attachment parenting, I mean attached to my boob. Anyway, the younger dude was sleeping with me the other night, which is usually a tangle of limbs and sweaty little boy. I woke up at about 2:30 a.m. to find him pulling the covers up over me, tucking me in. I don't know that I've ever had a sweeter moment in my life.

Wheaties Box

So I'm considering competing again. This time, jiu jitsu, not pankration or frou frou forms, weapons, and sparring competitions. I say those are frou frou because they're not real fighting. They're more like fighting fanciness, or pretty versions of what might happen if you fight with a person who has already told you exactly what they're planning to do. They have their place.

Anyway. There are some jits competitions coming up, one local, one bigger. And even though I felt like I'd never ever compete again after worlds, I'm starting to think that maybe I might consider the possibility of thinking about participating in grappling competitions. Main obstacles: I'm chicken, and I hate that nervous competition feeling. Like I hate it so much I would rather miss out on things than have it. At the Arnolds a couple of weekends ago I just felt relieved that I wasn't grappling. Not at all like regretful and wishing I was in there. I think this is a personality defect, or maybe just a sign of extreme willingness to avoid unpleasant feelings. I don't get it. Because I'm competitive as hell, and not at all nervous when it comes to most sports. Put me on a volleyball court totally naked--fine, no problem. Triathlon, meh. Not so much nervous as wishing it were over. Bike/road race, meh. I'm so incredibly mediocre that nervousness would just be silly and self-aggrandizing. Spelling bee, oh wait not a sport, but still. Ok, wrong example, I almost died at spelling bees from nervousness. Those sucked.

People keep telling me to just do it, I'll do great, probably kick some ass. The thing is, I don't care too much about whether I win or not, I mean except that I would totally want to win. But I recognize that my first tournament is more like a hazing or just something to get through, and getting my ass kicked is the likely outcome. I can live with that. It's not that I'll get my ass kicked. I just don't want to do it for some reason. And if it's not that I'm scared that I'll get my ass kicked, what is it? I think I need to look within. Or just suck it up and do it, and figure it out some other time.

Rainbow of Pain

So as time passes, the colors of the eye change. It is now very, very pretty. I made a point of being seen with my ex as much as possible over the past few days. I figure if we're going to have assumptions of spousal abuse, why not have them directed at him? That's just efficient, if you ask me. Anyway, without further ado:

I like the yellow, personally. It feels bold and unique. And once my kid's gymnastics coach said, "You are bold and unique" after I emailed him a colorful epistle during a clusterfuck of epic proportions in the gym. So I like that my black eye represents the inner me.

Update: Psycho Prom Queen Look

So I thought I would include a shot of the eye . Aside from the fact that I did not really capture the depth of color here, and that my nose looks huge, this is a fair representation of the eye from hell. Actually it's pretty good today because I can open it.

Black Eyed Peas

So there I was, grappling. It was my first roll of the night after being stuck studying for two days, and I really needed the physical outlet to say the least. I was rolling with this guy Chris, doing some good stuff, driving him crazy with my guard, having a good time. Then we broke apart, and he was standing with me sitting. He went to pass my guard, like step through my legs, just as I went in to grab the stepping leg. I felt a major crunchy impact as his knee went directly into my head, right in my eye socket actually. He came down right away, checking if I was all right, but only got out part of the sentence. I heard,"Are you..ICE! Ice! Right now!"

Right about that moment I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. On further inspection it turned out to be my actual eye. Puffing so rapidly and furiously that I could see it out of my own eye. Chris got the ice on it but not before about 5 other guys came over to look. Holy shit and Jesus Christ were the main comments. Fuckin A was used once. I figured it was pretty bad. It didn't hurt but I got the ice going anyway in hopes that I could avoid looking like a major domestic abuse victim. Alas I could not. My coach came out and looked at it, exclaimed mightily with profanity, and went to rip Chris a new one. I asked if I could keep rolling. He said that I was done for the night, which sucked because I wanted to roll and it honestly didn't hurt too much. All the guys kept coming over to look at it. Mostly they cracked up. At one point I asked what I have to do to get some sympathy, cry next time I get hurt?

I packed up and left because I could tell my eye was swelling shut and I had to go pick up my elder son at the gym and it seems like driving with only one open eye might interfere with depth perception. I finally looked in the mirror on the way out. I seriously looked like Rocky Fucking Balboa. See how his eye is kind of shut? That's me. With a little purple. And I am the guest reader for my niece's class tomorrow. And also, it's conferences week at the boys' school. That's right, I get to go meet with the teachers with a big ass shiner. Just like last fall. That's right, I also had a black eye for last semester's conferences. Awesome.

I'm going to go ice my face now.

Daniel Boone

I was remembering my father-in-law the other day, sweet angel that he was. One of my favorite times with him was a total fiasco where we both come off as kind of bumbling and stupid. But we laughed about it for years, and I can picture it so, so clearly.

So I used to have this big ass house with a big ass garage from which you could enter the house. One day when going down the steps into the garage I could see from my elevated vantage point that there was something on the top of my car. Upon further inspection I determined that it was turds. And probably pee, too, but that was never confirmed nor disproved. I was all, who pooped on my car? It was bigger and more crap-like than birdshit, actually it screamed mammal to me, in a silent, stinky, metaphorical poop scream. Then the next day I noticed tiny five-fingered foot prints on the hood, left by the animal who was disgusting enough to step in its own shit. Then we noticed the garbage was attacked, in spite of our ever-vigilant night garage closing (this house was on the edge of a suburban wood, and in close enough proximity to some major nature that we had to use wilderness control protocols. And as an aside, my ex who is from Damascus, like downtown, sidewalks to play on, no grass super urban zone, had a hard time with the animals. I remember collapsing with laughter when he told me that a deer stared at him when he left for work early one morning. He said he didn't trust that deer.)

So anyway, all of these clues led us to believe that there was a raccoon living in our garage. We decided to confirm this by having one person turn on the garage lights from inside the house when we heard raccoon noises, and the other person stand outside looking in the garage window. After a few poorly timed attempts success was ours and I saw that fucker dangling by one hand from a shelf, scrambling to hide from our accusing, well-lit stares. The next morning we called an animal removal service, who said that the minimum charge to trap the raccoon and remove it to a raccoon amusement park was $200.00. My FIL and I decided that was outrageous and we would take it on ourselves. Ex-h was off being doctory while we defended the fort.

My FIL felt that the first thing to do was empty the garage, so we could flush that garbage eating ringed face buttmunch out of there. We did that. When everything was out except my bike, the workbench, and some plywood leaning up against the wall, we figured out that the little bastard was hiding under the plywood. So Hajji (FIL) built kind of a small wall that would direct the raccoon out of the garage, like bumpers in bowling but made out of random shit like PVC, buckets, and wood. I told him that would not work because raccoons are capable of jumping over things that low. We stood there and discussed it for a while. He maintained that the retaining wall was necessary and would in fact be the key to our success. I remained unconvinced but deferred to his enthusiasm. We carried on. As he started moving the sheets of plywood the raccoon seemed to feel trapped and hostile, and hissed at him. He may have jumped back a little, surprised by the ferocity of the fat fucker. We decided that we should arm ourselves in case things got intense.

I found myself holding the hose. It was a hose with a high-powered multi-stream gun at the end. I turned it to the forceful setting, got the trigger settled nicely in my hand, and stood back. Hajji reached out and gingerly moved the last piece of plywood, and that was when all hell broke loose, suburban style. That little garbage pirate came at my father in law like a psycho rabid paratrooper, dodged around him, climbed up on my bike, and started trying to skitter up the wall. I turned tail and ran. I'm not proud of it, I showed no courage in the face of impending raccoon attack. Hajji stood strong and grabbed the hose where I had flung it in my extremely hasty and uncourageous retreat, aimed, and firehosed that crazypants raccoon in the direction of the great outdoors. It launched itself off the wall/bike/workbench where it had been going apeshit right into the path that Hajji had made. I believe I saw a gleam of triumph in his eye from my reconnaissance position at the kitchen door. But then he remembered how that bandit faced car pooper startled the shit out of him when it first launched its defensive psychotic raccoon attack and followed after it, hosing it in revenge. Even when the raccoon made it to the trees he gave one or two final squirts, just to make sure it knew who was in charge.

I may or may not have called the animal removal place back and gloated a little bit.

FaceSpace

One thing I love is Facebook. Not because I've gotten in touch with some long-lost friends, not because it unites the world in a Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon kind of way, and not because I'm a total voyeur who likes to observe from the sidelines. No, it's because of the vast entertainment value of the people who post wonderfully vague emotional status updates. These updates are almost always followed by support in the form of questions and concern. Another one that I love is the declarations of personal strength, clarity, and/or determination that also bring about all kinds of support. And I don't say this with total scorn, by the way. I'm actually somewhat awed at people's capacity for openness. I don't really have that a whole lot. Anyway, an example or two:

Status: If you're not with me, then you're against me and I won't back down! I've seen who you really are!!!eleven1!1!
    Comment: I totally get it! I'm with you all the way, girl!!
    Comment: What happened? It sounds really bad, I've got your back!
    Original person: Just the usual shit, but everything is just against me right now. I'm staying strong
                               though!!! Through the fire the clay hardens!
    Comment: You're so strong. Thanks for being in my life.
    Comment: Screw those bitches!!! Hey, are you going to be in yoga tonight?
    Comment: Girlfriend, one thing about you is that you are totally for realz. Fuck the haters!!!
    Original person: I'm totally going to yoga. I'll tell you all about it then. It just keeps getting worse. But
                              I'll never give up, never give in!!!!
    Comment: Fuck yeah!! You rule!!!
    Original person: Thanks, you guys, I love you all. Nothing like friends to hold you up in bad times!!!!

Another example:

   Status update: "If you come out swinging, then your arms are not around you, hugging yourself in love
                            and strength. If you come out waving, then your arms are like jazzy ambassadors to the
                            world."--me
   Comment: How is is you always know just what I need to hear? I love you, your wize.
   Comment: Oh my god, this is exactly like what happened to me tonight. That is just crazy.          
                     Coincidence? I don't think so.
   Comment: I heard that somewhere once. It's good.
   Original person: I was just at home, and it came to me. I felt like everything was falling into place.
   Comment: That's some good shit.
   Original person: It's just so hard to see clearly sometimes, like I need you guys to help me stand tall.
   Comment: We are so here for you, always, girl.
   Comment: Sing it, sister!!!!!
   Comment: Are you coming tonight? Margaritas for all!!!
   Original person: Thanks you guys. Fucking hell yes I'm coming for margaritas!!!! It's totally part of my
                             journey.
   Comment: Bitches!!! Don't let em get you down, keep on keepin on!!!
   Original person: I know, right?