now and then you find something worth remembering

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Wed, 06 Mar 2013 12:35:53 -0500

2headedsnake: Tree of Life (by enkel dika)

Fri, 24 Jun 2011 21:01:37 -0400

2headedsnake:

Tree of Life (by enkel dika)

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Wed, 15 Jun 2011 08:57:48 -0400

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Wed, 01 Jun 2011 07:16:57 -0400

windypoplarsroom: Arthur Wasse “The Summer House”

Mon, 23 May 2011 07:38:48 -0400

windypoplarsroom:

Arthur Wasse

“The Summer House”

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Tue, 17 May 2011 20:16:18 -0400

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Mon, 16 May 2011 07:01:53 -0400

Ex-High School Boyfriend, Why Aren't You Googlable?

Fri, 13 May 2011 19:33:59 -0400

Ex-high school boyfriend, why aren’t you googlable?

Look, I know it’s been 13 years since I made a dramatic exit from your bedroom and ordered you to hell. I can still recall my boisterous declaration that I would never speak to you again; it’s one of the few absolutes I’ve been faithful to.

I followed our final confrontation of hormones and angst with a satisfying flounce into my 1988 Chevrolet Beretta. The Counting Crows were on the radio – not exactly an anthem of grrrl power, but they possessed a certain whiny catharsis that served my purpose at the time.

Thing is, I’m so sure that you are now a ginormous fuck up. Remember how you got less than 700 combined on the SATs? I do. You would think that would have been a red flag, but when you’re only 16 and still nervous about getting fondled over the bra, even life’s greatest truths can be somewhat hazy. Even though I’m so sure, I crave confirmation. But I get nothing. Not even one measly Google image result of an amorphously connected logo. Nothing at all.

All I want to do is type your name in quotation marks into that little box up there at the top of my browser and have the magic of the internet show me that you’re still working in retail at the Quakerbridge Mall. Is that so much to ask?

No, wait, that’s a lie. I totally don’t care that you’re still working in retail. I want the internet to tell me that you got arrested on beastiality charges in the middle of Millstone, NJ. And that your father was finally deported for all of that shady gambling he did during his down time at the Shell station. Seriously, what was up with that shit? And why did he always offer to carry me up to your bedroom when I came over after school? In retrospect, this should have been a greater concern.

Hey, remember that time we were making out and you rammed your tongue halfway down my esophagus and managed to lacerate my lips and chin with your teeth all in the same session? Oh, that’s right – that was every time we made out! Surely you must remember. Oh my god, do you have a LiveJournal? I’d really like for you to be on the old LJ and post embarrassing confessions about how your wife left you for your crazy-ass co-dependent little sister and now they live on a lesbian commune in the Arizona desert and you’re all emo and shit. And, like, your icon is a photo of you and you’re balding and then in tiny font it says ~*broken~hearts~weep~broken~tears*~ or some other batshit saying. Something that definitively proves that you broke off a big piece of crazy and ate it. I know it’s a stretch to ask for a LiveJournal account from a 32-year-old man, but you were always so thoroughly developmentally stunted, I think there might be a chance.

Or how about a MySpace? Ex-high school boyfriend, can’t you even have a fucking MySpace? And not only do you not have a MySpace, you have the fucking gall to have a name twin on MySpace, so that every time I search for your name I get Mr. 24-year-old “beer is my middle name lol” from Houston, TX. And as much as I wish he were you, he’s not. For Christ’s sake, Ex-high school boyfriend, even that douchebag from our youth group that tried to feel me up on the Sky Diver at St. Michael’s carnival has a god damned MySpace and he may even have had one fewer firing neuron than you.

Hard to say, though.

Well, wherever you are, I can only hope you sense my unhealthy, semi-obsessive, and admittedly disturbing curiosity about your whereabouts. Even I don’t know why I think about you. Your successors haven’t all been noble, but I have to say, you were pretty special. No one since has told me that he has an aversion to putting his mouth on nipples, or explained that he wasn’t ready to lose his virginity because his pectorals were not developed enough. And I have yet to meet another man who eschews the glory of cunnilingus. It’s ironic, because you were so into blowjobs…asking me to describe my technique, helping me out by fondling your own nadsack, wondering aloud what it felt like to give th—

Wait a minute. Am I just searching on the wrong websites?

The Bittersweet of Breastfeeding

Wed, 11 May 2011 08:38:13 -0400

I’ve breastfed my daughter for 14 months now, and plan to continue as long and she and I both feel comfortable. It was difficult in the beginning when we were both learning how to do it, and I ended up pumping to establish my supply because she was a little bit of a sleepy nurser. That was tough. I grew so delirious from the pumping and nursing that I became convinced I heard voices in the rhythmic undulations of my Medela Pump In Style. I guess I’m just lucky they never commanded me to, for example, kill the Queen. That said, once breastfeeding took off, it really took off. I’ve loved it since about, oh, three months in, and hope to do it again with my next child.

In the meantime, this baby is growing up, much as I hate to admit it sometimes. She doesn’t so much nurse for nutrients anymore; she nurses mostly for comfort. But lately I’ve been noticing that she doesn’t nurse as much. It used to be the first thing she did when I picked her up after work, but some days, she beelines to her animal safari puzzle instead of my lap. The first time this happened, my instinct was to touch my shirt and ask her if she wanted to nurse, but I stopped myself. It’s in her hands now. I won’t refuse her, but I’m no longer offering.

Last night, I nursed her to sleep and then rocked her as she lay dozing and content in my arms. I thought about those 3:30am pumping sessions when she was two months old, and how, at the time, I missed life without breastfeeding. Now the thoughts of weaning her make me cry. When the time is right, I will do it, because it’s part of my job as her mother to never let my own hang-ups interfere with her development. And I sure am damn proud of how much she’s grown. But I won’t pretend it’s easy.

Sure, there have been times when I haven’t enjoyed nursing. I just wanted my body to be mine alone. I just wanted to relax on the couch with a book for 10 minutes. I just wanted to be able to eat dinner without worrying about dripping marinara sauce on my baby’s head.

But nowadays as I sit, nursing and rocking my baby, on these warm spring nights, knowing these nights are numbered, I try to hold on to every second. Because it all goes by so fast, so fast. Too fast.

My daughter...

Tue, 10 May 2011 20:53:44 -0400

…doesn’t know how to say my sister’s name. Instead, she makes a particular face whenever she sees her or hears her name. It’s pretty hilar.

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Tue, 03 May 2011 08:23:40 -0400

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Sun, 01 May 2011 17:31:05 -0400

Pregnancy before having a kid meant lots of rest, eating adequate meals, and not lifting anything...

Fri, 29 Apr 2011 16:28:42 -0400

Pregnancy before having a kid meant lots of rest, eating adequate meals, and not lifting anything heavier than an eight pound cat.

Pregnancy with a kid means I sling a 23 pound toddler on one hip, a 5 pound diaper bag on the other, consider it a luxury because I got to sleep past 5:15am, and eat a breakfast of a linty unwrapped Lifesaver in the pediatrician’s waiting room.

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Fri, 29 Apr 2011 13:46:43 -0400

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