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Marissa Turner » 2010» February

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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.

Adventures in parenting

I don’t know if you’ve found this blog or not, but THE Feisty Irish Wench is someone I have situated at the top of my reader.  Because she gives such gems as The Sippy Cup Rant.  The best line in that is “if you fall asleep or play at your workstation, it is removed”.

He won’t swear, but he has no issues with exploding bodies

Few books having me going “oooh, aaah” when I read a review.  Usually it’s “huh, interesting” and then I get it. 

But, this one here had me calling my local library to see if they had it in yet. 

They don’t, sadly.

“After all, I find it a bit disorienting when the author doesn’t use words like ‘shit’ or ‘bastard’, but has no problem with exploding bodies…”  This had me giggling into my coffee this morning- I have to agree.  Not with the disorienting part, but how you expect to see some words in a story with explosions, violence, and mayhem. 

But, I’m the woman who has no problem saying the word “cunt” (and using it when it’s called for) but I cannot stand it when people throw the word “retard” around.  I’ve lectured children and adults when they say something is “retarded”.  I’ve stopped reading authors because of their casual use of the word.

But I’ve got no issues calling someone a “cunt-faced bitch” to their face. 

I’ve got standards, they’re just not what you would expect.

You taste like Christmas (or, what I believe love actually is… and what it is not)

I know Christmas was a few weeks ago, but that is probably the best line I’ve ever said to a member of the opposite sex.  They’d just had a peppermint coffee thing, and yeah, when I kissed them, the taste reminded me of Christmas.  And since I suffer from the disease of “my brain doesn’t know how to tell my mouth to STFU, therefore everything I think comes out of my lips and resonates through the ether”.  Which makes for interesting first impressions, but not so good in the rest of the life.

I know that many people in the blog world are going to tell stories of how they met ‘the one’ this day.  How true love came into their life.

But I’m not one of them.   

Instead, I’m going to talk about how I came to realize that love comes in many, many different shapes.  And that your soul mate isn’t always the person you’re with, be it long-term relationship or marriage.

One thing that is shoved down our throats (well, for females anyway, as boys got G.I. Joe toys and water guns) is that love is like a story book.  The Disney versions of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and all the rest, love is this glowy thing that makes you warm and fuzzy and you never fight.  Oh, and you don’t kiss until you’re in love either. 

I’m going to throw the bullshit flag on that. 

Love can be glowy and warm and fuzzy and maybe even rose-scented. 

It is also fighting (with reason and you can back your argument up with facts, not over stupid things like which person farted first), dirty dishes, socks on the floor, the cap left off the toothpaste, and stealing each others pillow in the middle of the night because they stole yours first. 

Hogging the blankets and sometimes catching an elbow in the belly as you shift around while you’re sleeping, and poking them just hard enough to make them stop snoring.  (And it’s also laughing your ass off at them while they’re sleeping when the dog tries to lick their face and they think its you; but you save them from the dog kisses because you know it’d weird them out to get French kissed by the canine) 

A vegetarian buying meat at the grocery store because their partner is a carnivore.  Or a non-smoker buying cigarettes on their way home because their partner is a hardcore smoker. 

Love is making them be the one to hold the cat during feline bath time so they’re the one with the clawed up wrists and chewed up fingers. 

It’s waking them up in the middle of the night to deal with the spider in the bathroom because you’re too much of a wuss to squash the evil creature yourself.

Love isn’t a dozen roses one day of the year.  Or lingerie that will either never get worn, or it’ll get ripped to shreds that first time out of the drawer.  It’s not sex (though, sex is better if you love the person), or kissing, or cards, or teddy bears holding stuffed hearts that say “I Love You” on them.

How do I know that love isn’t any of those things?  Because I’ve only loved two men in my life.  I’ve had sex with more than two men.  I’ve kissed about one hundred and twenty people in my life, on the lips, and I didn’t love all of them.  I liked them, sure, or I wouldn’t have kissed them, but to say I loved them would be an outright lie.  I will say that the number of people I’ve had sex with is exponentially smaller than the number of people I kissed, before anyone gets to thinking I was *that* friendly of a girl.  I’ve gotten flowers from strangers, teddy bears with little “I love you” hearts on them from people I’d never really gotten to know. 

Love isn’t going all out on one day a year.  It’s showing them, every day, how much they mean to you.  It’s the little actions, like squashing the spider (and disposing of the corpse, as those things are just nasty), and the big things, like not complaining when they make you hold the cat (anyone who has bathed a cat who has all their claws can back me up on that being a big thing) that span the years. 

That is love.

V-day from Marissa and Thunder Butt

And, sometimes, this is love too. 

Every kiss does not begin with Kay… most of them begin with alcohol.

I proudly stole this from MoonRat, and since this is the better than anything I could tell you today, here it is.

Enjoy!

 

1. I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.

5. How the heck are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I’m pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

9. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.

10… Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don’t want to have to restart my collection…again.

13. I’m always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. “Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this — ever.

15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Damn it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What’d you do after I didn’t answer? Drop the phone and run away?

16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

17. I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call…

18. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day “Dad/Mom what would happen if you ran over a ninja?” How the do I respond to that?

19. I think the freezer deserves a light as well..

20. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay