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Marissa Turner

Attila, please don’t bite the fence

Add that to the list of things I never thought I’d say.

And he was so cute when he did it, up on his tippy toes and watching his parents do yard work on the other side of the fence.  He was determined to get free, his little hands unable to open the fence in the traditional way, forcing him to call the Power of the Rat and just chew his way out of the fence.

The fence is unharmed and he still has all his teeth.

Today is gorgeous.  I know that Nature, despite me being horribly allergic to it, is an amazing thing that almost daily has me going breathing a sigh of awe and amazement that such a thing exists and we can use it for free.

It’s so nice today, I’m taking notebook and pen outside to work on one of the short stories I’ve got in my head at the moment.  It’s still chilly, but a decent hoodie and warm socks will take care of that.  And sunlight is the best light for writing.

The Magic Meatball says no!

The kids got toys in their happy meals.  Magic Meatballs from the iCarly show… and since they got the toys, the most commonly heard phrase in the house is “Magic Meatball says (insert answer here)”.  Little J. is trying to use the toy to usurp her parents, and I’m looking for a way to take the batteries out.

I’ve got the short story going again, and while it’s not at the speed I’d like, it’s flowing well with only a few swear words tossed in from me when the muse wants to play hardball.

And the bug is gone!

We’re all healthy again, thank God, and have designated tomorrow as girl movie night.  Julie & Julia, and whatever else girly strikes our fancy at Blockbuster, D. and I will be watching the chick flicks after the kids are in bed.

Girl best friends rock.  Not as handy as guy best friends sometimes, as my female friends are usually about my height (except in the rare case they’re much taller than me, and in one case, actually shorter than me) and they too have issues opening a new jar of pickles, they still rock.

Thunder Butt got groomed today, and as such, she’s been a pain in the ass since.  Stealing the kids toys, or getting underfoot as often as possible.  However, she no longer has juice in her fur (Attila decided to soak his dinner in said juice one night and Thunder Butt got hit with friendly fire from the juice box straw), and she had a blow out done, so her shedding is better.  Even her ears got cleaned!

I met a knitting group with D. today, and while we didn’t get to stay long, it was nice to meet other knitters out in public, on pure accident.  On post where I’m at, we’re not allowed to congregate at Starbucks (yep, I named names) because we’d be taking space away from paying customers.  Which is bull, as I know for a fact knitters like to have a drink on hand while knitting. Coffee, tea, wine, beer, or a chocolate milk, it’s a drink to have next to our yarn holders while we work and talk.  And then there’s the food part; knitting and food go hand in hand (as long as the food doesn’t end up on the yarn).

“When I was younger, I used cheap yarn.  Now I’m older and I have more income.”  Anyone else thinking “Towanda” right now?

Yay, fatty cakes!

A stomach bug took out four of the five humans in the house yesterday.  D. and I both started feeling crappy on Monday night, and come Tuesday morning, she was puking and I was doing my best zombie impersonation.  Attila seemed fine, and he was absolutely wonderful when his mother and I were napping on the sofas because we didn’t have the energy to stay awake.  C. got home from work, and I retreated to my room to pass the fuck out and let my body become its own war zone to fight off the bug.

Sometime while I was passed out, Attila got sick, Little J. had to be picked up from school because she’d puked all over herself, and D. was still puking.  Even Thunder Butt got sick late in the evening.

It was a bad night in the house, to say the least.

C. thought to himself that he’d escaped the dreaded stomach bug, only to wake up this morning feeling crappy.

Blah. It’s only a 24 hour bug, but damn if it doesn’t feel like a long 24 hours!

I’m afraid

Merely because I had the bad luck to be born with a uterus instead of a penis.

Granted, having a penis would make me potentially stupid at any point on any day simply because an attractive uterus carrier wiggled their butt at me, or made sure I got a good look at their boobs, but at least if you’ve got a penis, a doctor cannot force decisions upon you.

And God doesn’t punish you for an abortion.  And no one is trying to tell a doctor they can’t see you because of your skin color.

There are not words in the English language to tell you how disgusted, and terrified, I am of the actions taken by third-party individuals to make sure they had their way.

Here are the articles I read today that had me shaking my head and researching a way to buy a private island for cheap where no one could tell me how to handle my own body.

A FL doctor forces woman to bed rest.  Because the valid concern of taking care of her two toddlers and making sure there was enough money in the house to put food on the table and make sure the power stays on, didn’t matter.

Woman arrested for admitting she thought of an abortion earlier in pregnancy.  She’s pregnant with her third child, unemployed, and headed for divorce.  I can see why she was thinking of abortion or adoption.  She probably has to do creative math just to afford food for the kids she does have, and having a third child would only make things harder.

As for her falling down the stairs being an attempt at feticide… my last pregnancy was hell at times; I’d get so light headed and dizzy that if I didn’t lay down right away, I would fall down.  I couldn’t get up suddenly, turn around suddenly, or even bend over to fast without risking passing out.  And I lived in a second floor walk up, so the whole going up and down stairs thing was really a lot of fun for me.

How is providing reproductive health services a bad thing?  I can’t even think of a smart-ass comment for this stupidity.  My soul is retching because people this narrow-minded are in positions of power.  Women, no matter color creed or height, should never be turned away from access to health services, whether its birth control or an abortion.

And, God does visit the sins of the mother upon the child.  Now, I thought the Bible verse was ’sins of the father’, but don’t quote me on it.  It’s been a long time since I read my Bible.  That aside, the undiluted idiocy Bob Marshall is spewing on those statements is epic.  And, if that was how God ran things, then why do some parents have a first born with disabilities?  And who is to say that they even *think* the child is disabled?  To a parent, their child is their child, no matter what.

And what about women like me, who didn’t abort their first born but the God who punishes abortions also made the mother miscarry?  And more than one time, what about second or third or fourth miscarriages/stillbirths?  Does God punish those, when He could just as easily be blamed as the reason for them?

Now, I’m not saying that all abortions are valid.  I’ve known too many females who use abortion as a form of birth control versus using a condom, but I’m not going to deny someone an abortion either.  It’s their choice to make, not mine.  I don’t want to make decisions for their uterus anymore than I want them making decisions for mine.

About a week after I stopped playing with Barbies

It’s snowing in Kentucky again!  Yes, I know it snows all over the country, but it’s been *years* since I got to play in the snow.  Literally, years.  So, I’m enjoying it.

And Thunder Butt in the snow is hilarious.  She ended up making a snow alien with her butt and wagging tail today on D’s patio.  Yes, it made me smile and laugh and give her a treat.  If you cannot spoil them for no reason at all, then you need to have your head examined.  Dogs (and kids) are worthy of being spoiled if only because they bring us joy (even when they’re big pains in the ass).

I’m hopefully going to meet up with my cousin while I’m at Fort Knox; I had completely forgotten they lived in the area, or I’d have rushed through their baby gift before coming up.  Oh well, live and learn, and buy flat rate boxes.

I started up what is going to end up being a short story (max 35K words) last night, and so far I’m happy with it.  Really happy with it.  Keep your fingers crossed and wish me no typos.

(I thought Attila just asked me if someone was cute… he was saying thank you.  Oops)

Bucket List

I can cross another thing off my Bucket List: I saw the Fort Knox Vault today.

Now, I’ve got Yellowstone, Yosemite, International Wolf Center, Ireland, Scotland, and Arizona desert left to see.  Oh, and Australia.

Getting caught with your pants down

You know, I’m rather sick and tired of celebrities cheating and then going on television and saying “I’m sorry, so sorry, here, slap my hand with a ruler, and I’ll never do it again”.  Because, that’s what all those pretty ghostwritten speeches boil down to in the end.

How many of them really are sorry?  I can understand one time being unplanned and that you might regret your decision in the morning.  I can even go so far as two times being an accident, as everyone gets drunk on occasion and things happen when alcohol is involved.  But several times?  With multiple partners?  That’s not an accident, that’s not a case of ‘I just couldn’t help it’ and it sure as hell isn’t something that can be forgiven.

I don’t care much for groveling, as it makes a fool out of both parties.  Because the one who did the cheating?  Will more than likely do it again.

The one who got cheated on?  Is going to be miserable, paranoid, and distrustful for the rest of their life if they stay with the cheater.

I don’t give a damn if they say “it’s an addiction”.  I’ve been through plenty of addictions in my life, and I’ve managed to get rid of almost all of them, except for coffee.  Touch my coffee, and I’ll dismember you with a rusty spoon.  But, you can kick an addiction if you want to.  The kicker is that a lot of people are just too goddamn lazy, or pathetic, to make their life better by getting rid of said addiction.  Even when they admit they’re an addict, they don’t really want that security blanket gone.

“Its the cocaine, the coke made me do it.”

“Just one drink won’t hurt.  Just one.”

“I can’t help it, they’re like a drug for me.”

Each of those excuses is a cop-out, a way to avoid taking responsibility for their actions.

It’s not just celebrities.  I can name five people, right now, who’ve cheated on their significant other in the last two years.  And that’s just off the top of my head, give me a hour, and I can give you at least twenty.  And these are people I know in real life, not in passing, but I’ve hung out with them, had dinner at their house, things like that.  And these were people who, nine times out of ten, were in what was a good relationship.  They were loved, respected, appreciated.  But, apparently, they just had to go fuck something else for a change of pace.  Get caught, pretend to be sorry, and then act offended when they’re dumped.  It’s even better if the wronged partner “got even”; because what’s good for the goose apparently isn’t good for the gander.

Women cheat as often as men, before someone says I’m sexist in pointing the finger at men.  But, I will say that men get the worst of it as their cheating is reported more often than a woman cheating.  No man wants to admit his wife/girlfriend went looking elsewhere, as it’s an assault on his manhood.  According to the men I know who have been cheated on anyway.

In my view, cheating on someone you supposedly love is a quick way to show them that you really don’t give a damn about them.  That you’re more concerned with yourself than with them.  You don’t care if you hurt them, so long as you get what you wanted.

Now, note that I said “someone you supposedly love”.  If you don’t love them, and they know it, then cheating is still not nice, but it’s not as horrible in my opinion.  Because there isn’t really a lie in there- they know you don’t love them, so they really can’t feel like your ripped their heart out or blew up the life they thought they’d have.

Dressing room dance hall

You see it on television, the woman walking towards the dressing room like an inmate walking his last few steps to the room where he’s going to get that lethal injection.

She has clothes in her arms, of varying styles but in a size that she’s not positive she can pull up over her butt, and a look in her eye that says she’s already resigned to disappointment.

She disappears into the room, the door shutting with a click that, to her, sounds like a cannon going off.

The slip and slither of fabric on skin as she takes off the clothes she’s wearing, the clatter of plastic hangers as she pulls a pair of jeans off their clips.  Again the sound of cloth on bare flesh as she pulls the pants up…

And a victory cheer when she not only gets the pants all the way up, but she gets them to button.  And another cheer when the cute little top fits and even looks really good.

Can you guess what I did today?  I will say, I love a sale when I can get a whole new outfit for less than the cost of a delivered pizza.

I might have done the moonwalk (and a victory booty shake) in the dressing room while trying on what became my new jeans… maybe.

They called a snow day for *this*?

I’m in Kentucky at the moment, freezing my little toes off in cold weather and ice-crusted snow.  And I’m loving it.

See, D. and C. and Attila and Little J. are here.  Well, I’m here with them versus me being there where my mail is sent.

I woke up today to D. telling me she was going to run Little J. to school, coffee was brewing, and if I could please keep an ear out for Attila in case he woke up while she was gone.

Can you say “instant good day”?  No joke, I am usually very cranky of a morning since I’d much rather spend as much time as possible in my little warm nest of blankets and sheets.

Instead, I’m hopping out of bed this morning to see Little J. off before she went to school.  Then Attila and I watched Blue’s Clues, with him snuggled in my lap.  Even Thunder Butt is happy here, she’s got tea cup humans to play with, and snow, and a huge back yard, and all kinds of baby socks on the floor for her to carry around in her mouth.  It’s Lab Heaven.

We even napped today, all four of us.  Attila in his crib, Little J. and I curled up in one chair, D. in the other, and we just zonked.

I know, sounds very boring, but it’s these times that recharge me.  I haven’t felt the urge to really write in about two or three months now, what with real life intruding and things like “stress” and “being responsible” bogging down on my mind.  Here, it’s not a free ride at all, but it’s enough to get me out of that funk and into a mindset where I can listen to the Muse without wanting to put an arrow through her forehead.

Also, for future reference, do not threaten the Muse with an arrow through the forehead.  She will make you regret it.