tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56132102634132081282024-03-18T23:02:43.333-04:00Malpighian Corpuscle(Ra)2 + (ah)3 + (Roma)2(ma) + (ga)2 + ooh + (la)2
I used to write about bad romance, now I just write about the state of my heart.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger594125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-45007664750939347572015-10-17T21:52:00.001-04:002019-09-09T20:30:32.104-04:00New blog finally sortof upI'm now over here: <a href="http://hannahsphere.blogspot.com/">http://hannahsphere.blogspot.com/</a> (or get pinged by email every time I write something: <a href="https://hannahsphere.substack.com/">https://hannahsphere.substack.com</a> ).<br />
<br />
I'll be writing about the same stuff except that it's no longer general love life and ennui. I'm happy now. I still overly think things but hey, you can take the girl outta the brain but you can't take the brain outta the girl.
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<br />
(God, that was terrible.)
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<br />
See you over at the new place!
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<br />
(Asplenia is still closed!)
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(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-50624085676534791282015-09-01T17:08:00.001-04:002015-09-01T17:08:25.242-04:00Announcing the closing of this blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fSKESKTavrY/VeYQ_mN6PkI/AAAAAAAALIQ/ppAnr56XeyA/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fSKESKTavrY/VeYQ_mN6PkI/AAAAAAAALIQ/ppAnr56XeyA/s400/sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It's been a long time to be operating spleenless, and the time has come for me to move on. If you like my writing and want to stay in touch, I will eventually be posting to another blog and can notify you when ready: <a href="mailto:aspleniad@yahoo.com">aspleniad@yahoo.com</a> (or comment here with a way to notify you). (Note that I don't use any kind of mailing list software and will not be sending anything remotely resembling spam. I mean, I may not be religious but I still try to avoid hellfire.)<br />
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Thanks for stumbling across my tiny corner of the web and keeping me company while I tried to find myself. I think I'm good now. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-45712161596758397682015-08-29T21:52:00.000-04:002015-08-29T22:00:05.256-04:00Straight up relationship advice from MadeaNailed it. Hilarious!!<br /><br />
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/86149821" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe> <p><a href="https://vimeo.com/86149821">Madea - Let em' Go</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user24927139">Joshua Davis</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-69648566820547462532015-08-27T00:36:00.001-04:002015-08-27T00:36:23.918-04:00Healing"So the Rennfest is Saturday."
<br>
<br>"Do you dress up?"
<br>
<br>"Not really. My friends do though."
<br>
<br>"That's like Dragon Con!"
<br>
<br>"Yeah, they dress up there too."
<br>
<br>"What exactly is Dragon Con?"
<br>
<br>"It's a science fiction convention with talks and vendors and like 30,000 people descending on Atlanta. A slew of hotels host the talks, you can get a schedule at check-in and start planning. Or just hang out and people watch. That's mostly what my friends and I did."
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<br>"Fun!"
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<br>"Yeah. That was where I learned what the term 'Ginger' meant. I'd never heard it before."
<br>
<br>"Really?"
<br>
<br>"Yeah! I went outside when my boyfriend was flirting with someone else. Some young kid could tell I was miserable and tried to cheer me up. 'My friends call me Ginger' he said, and then explained it was because of his red hair. He had nice hair."
<br>
<br>"I'm sorry you had to deal with that kind of thing on your own."
<br>
<br>"Sigh, yeah, some girl was rubbing his back and he seemed super into it. I didn't want to make a scene but it was hard to watch so I just left. That boyfriend was always doing stuff like that."
<br>
<br>"Well, you won't ever have to worry about that with me."
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<br>[Who says relationships aren't healing?]
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<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-65752202391143698912015-08-24T00:27:00.001-04:002015-08-24T00:27:40.563-04:00Roommate woes turned to hey ho'sI'm not happy about this realization about myself, but a few weeks ago, resentment was building in me about my roommate. He had the GALL to use one of my refrigerator shelves!! And he doesn't ever put out the recyclables! And his love life was a mess! And he left his ID badge in the common area! Omg!
<br>
<br>I was stewing about this and other minuscule things when I thought about what it might be like to live with my stepbrother. I love that guy so dearly. But he sure as hell would not be careful about where he put his damned leftovers. If there was an empty shelf (I hadn't been using it), he'd slide that to-go container right up there in my domain. And I would be only affectionately annoyed. "Oh bro," I'd snicker. "So clueless!" Then I'd move his shit to the lower shelf and move on with my life.
<br>
<br>This wasn't a nice revelation. You mean it wasn't the THING itself but it was me being OCD?
<br>
<br>Not to justify this, but it had felt like there was an intruder in the house. I at least tried hard to be respectful and not say anything that would make him not feel at home but inside I bristled. Kudos to me that he couldn't tell I was struggling but something's shifted. We've started to become friends. Hang out. Listen to music and watch House (fucking awesome show!). He bought a TV, which my ass did not own previously, and dammit if it didn't make the house warmer, somehow. Amenable. Sociable. Fun.
<br>
<br>The negatives aren't that bad. No roommate I have ever lived with (and there have been many) ever put out the recyclables. And not winning the love life lottery isn't a requisite on the lease. He's aight, you know. And now it's starting to feel like home with him here.
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<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-86877968981800234072015-08-20T01:55:00.001-04:002015-08-20T01:55:09.514-04:00Not much He asked me what my tastes were in engagement rings. And then someone texted me and asked, "what's new" and I said "not much," because I couldn't say, "we want to get married" and "I'm in love and having the time of my life" and "it's getting more comfortable with his kids" and "somehow that hasn't been as hard as I expected" and "the daughter and I are really bonding" and "one of my best girlfriends made it through chemo" and "I'm pretty much done with the past" and "the future looks and feels amazing" and "I'm even starting to like having a roommate because I'm getting to know him and he's kind of a nice person which somehow makes it easier when he forgets to put out the recyclables."
<br>
<br>All of those things are new and yet I said none of them. Not much is new, and yet there is so much!
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<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-51264430562733591182015-08-19T00:58:00.001-04:002015-08-19T00:58:48.511-04:00Why we write<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Y8dBDd0Fo8/VdQNCUiygdI/AAAAAAAALG8/7NBUywCJv1U/s1600/IMG_7266-728512.PNG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Y8dBDd0Fo8/VdQNCUiygdI/AAAAAAAALG8/7NBUywCJv1U/s320/IMG_7266-728512.PNG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6184582521812058578" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-16520338409372449992015-08-17T12:02:00.001-04:002015-08-18T10:09:15.127-04:00Article and thoughts on "The Only Piece of Dating Advice You Need"<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<div>
<div>
I agree with this article, "The Only Piece of Dating Advice You Need." What it means to be a priority to someone is that it will feel like you are a priority, whether it be a friend or lover. I spent some time trying to convince myself that I was laid back and didn't mind not being a priority, but the end result was very lonely. <br />
<br />
That might work for some (or some time) but knowing myself now, I need high quality connections. Not only was my willingness to overlook my own needs a symptom of low self-esteem but I unwittingly reinforced those low feelings by investing in people who did not value me equally. It's embarrassing to admit. <br />
<br /></div>
Learning to listen to signals more than words helped. It's very confusing to hear, "you're amazing" or "I adore you" and then not feel it. People have different ways of reaching out, connecting and expressing so it's not necessarily the fault of the other person that you don't feel cared for, it may just be a basic incompatibility of needs or expression. You can either accept what is, or look for someone more similar. (They're out there.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The best advice I got (for any relationship, including friendships) is to tailor your effort to theirs. If you reach out and there's no reaching back, then it will hurt to keep trying. It's usually not even personal -- could be timing or whatever -- but it's still good to be protective of your energy and invest it mostly in returns that feel good. Emotions are the best GPS. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
The article:</div>
<div>
<br />
<h2 class="hP" id=":190" tabindex="-1">
The Only Piece of Dating Advice You Need</h2>
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<a href="http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/7936736" rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/7936736</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-55596304013464149452015-08-17T02:35:00.001-04:002015-08-17T02:35:09.377-04:00When you are in love... <3<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqQzAOvDGck/VdGAn04aTbI/AAAAAAAALGk/3bEpyFNmlE4/s1600/IMG_7271-709395.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqQzAOvDGck/VdGAn04aTbI/AAAAAAAALGk/3bEpyFNmlE4/s320/IMG_7271-709395.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6183865185054903730" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-62044110501004024442015-08-03T23:33:00.001-04:002015-08-18T10:09:33.833-04:00Flaws Tourette's: when you bark out everything wrong with you every 5 minutes. It's a thing, and it should be named after me.I did what you're not supposed to do. He thought I was perfect so I pointed out my flaws.
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I feel horrible about my hair!"
<br />
<br />
"What's wrong with it?"
<br />
<br />
"Well in addition to the usual shittiness, I haven't had a chance to cover my roots. My grays are coming in."
</blockquote>
He peered over and began inspecting my scalp, in quite possibly the kindest way one could embark on such scrutiny, yet I instantly regretted drawing attention to it. My mom was right. Never point out your flaws. But I never listen. I announce my flaws to the world, all the time. They're always on my mind, how could I not?
<br />
<br />
He didn't say anything for a split second and for all I know, he was stuck in that zone of not knowing how to word what should come next, like I was that time his daughter, arrestingly beautiful, wrinkled her nose at an older photo and said, "I was soooo ugly a few years ago!" She could not be persuaded of otherwise.<br />
<br />
I stammered at first because all I could think was, "What? You are gorgeous -- a model, if you wanted (thank goodness you don't) -- oh you are the prettiest and you don't even know!" "Fairest in the land and everything!" I wanted to say all that.<br />
<br />
But nothing came out because my brain was muddied with the surprise that someone so gorgeous and graceful would not know. I don't remember what I DID say but it probably didn't come across as very reassuring. (Note to self: work on that - and be thankful you haven't failed a teenage daughter of your own!)
<br />
<br />
Anyway so maybe that's why he didn't react right away. Peering down on the rats nest of salt & pepper strands, what do you say? "My what a gracefully fraying clump! No one wears frizz like you."
<br />
<br />
(My attempt at humor is terrible at this hour, and over this subject! But it is laughable, really.)
<br />
<br />
He kissed me and made me feel loved and I was on cloud 9 again (my phone wanted to change that to Clod 9) and I forgot all about my Flaws Tourette's until tonight, when his ex reached back out on Facebook and they reconnected after a break.
<br />
<br />
She's prettier and thinner and gawd, when will I just embrace my own damn humanity?
<br />
<br />
(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-18767994982116807842015-07-28T21:30:00.001-04:002015-07-28T21:30:30.055-04:00Oh, Pinterest!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KZV-UnzA6NQ/VbgstyTN3jI/AAAAAAAALFY/0RR899S0zUE/s1600/IMG_6461-730056.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KZV-UnzA6NQ/VbgstyTN3jI/AAAAAAAALFY/0RR899S0zUE/s320/IMG_6461-730056.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6176736054046744114" /></a></p>Me last year (if I had a fantasy wedding, which I don't). Hilarious!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-29133151144313656492015-07-26T20:34:00.000-04:002015-07-26T20:34:44.051-04:00Hi, if you just watch this 7 minute video, it will explain why you're wrongI think I finally understand what must be like to be gay or transgender or something unacceptable to mainstream society, and risk being vulnerable to finally tell people, "hey, this is who I am" only to hear, "yeah, um, well, sorry bruh... I love you but you realize you're an abomination, right?"<br /><br />
Except this isn't about my genitals, it's about something even more amorphous: an invisible being who existed 2,000 years ago and apparently had some very strong opinions about things.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vPyfgwCe9g8/VbV30NmnX4I/AAAAAAAALEU/BQF8QtLTdDY/s1600/gods.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vPyfgwCe9g8/VbV30NmnX4I/AAAAAAAALEU/BQF8QtLTdDY/s400/gods.JPG" width="305" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Family Member: </b>"Hey, want to watch this 7 minute video on why the people of the Duck God cannot marry the people of the Rabbit God?"<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> "I'm not really so interested in that but thanks. BTW, have I mentioned that I'm dating a man of the Rabbit God?"<br />
<br />
<b>Family Member: </b>"Oh yeah, hey, about that. No offense but I can't go to the wedding if you get married."<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>"What? Really?"<br />
<br />
<b>Family Member:</b> "It's not personal. Seriously, just watch this video and it will explain why you're a pariah. Peace out!"<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>"But my last husband was of the Rabbit God?"<br />
<br />
<b>Family Member:</b> "Oh, yeah, well, I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to go. Yeah I'm actually forbidden. No hard feelings though!"</blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jcqJA2ElRmc/VbV6N2JBsTI/AAAAAAAALEg/QvUcmpgvw-s/s1600/no-hard-feelings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jcqJA2ElRmc/VbV6N2JBsTI/AAAAAAAALEg/QvUcmpgvw-s/s320/no-hard-feelings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Yeah. No hard feelings, bruh. We're cool.<br />
<br />
How can there ever be hope for peace as long as people can believe such separatist nonsense? This exchange was not only deeply depressing on a personal level but on a global level as well. Mankind is doomed. DOOMED!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p9xMIjwNeLU/VbV7p4_mgbI/AAAAAAAALEs/6EGBc9mFhWc/s1600/seemslegit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p9xMIjwNeLU/VbV7p4_mgbI/AAAAAAAALEs/6EGBc9mFhWc/s400/seemslegit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-34433189544587227742015-07-25T23:10:00.001-04:002015-07-26T19:56:57.702-04:00Planning <3<div class="mobile-photo">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-90640860265258985792015-07-24T20:46:00.000-04:002015-07-26T20:35:16.654-04:00Why I haven't been blogging as much<div class="mobile-photo">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lvw1qod5E3k/VbQt5oIS6hI/AAAAAAAALDo/7UG4JVH7d2s/s1600/IMG_6460-789804.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6175611457079798290" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lvw1qod5E3k/VbQt5oIS6hI/AAAAAAAALDo/7UG4JVH7d2s/s320/IMG_6460-789804.JPG" /></a></div>
I'm so wildly, madly, happily and contentedly in love. 9 months. <3Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-75225721676690398342015-07-19T22:54:00.006-04:002015-07-20T12:38:07.931-04:00My gut DOES have a voice!Yesterday, my love and I lazily wandered over to a friend's yard sale to pick up an office chair and ran into a girl I loosely knew -- a friend of a friend of a friend. She greeted me warmly and it seemed nice to connect until she tossed her hair back and playfully batted my sweetie on the shoulder. "We should hang! We should TOTALLY hang. We can party together!"<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xVRO5ME5nOQ/VaxX8-aQC0I/AAAAAAAALB8/zcK6Gdx-mhw/s1600/Htemp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xVRO5ME5nOQ/VaxX8-aQC0I/AAAAAAAALB8/zcK6Gdx-mhw/s320/Htemp1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not really my thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not being the "party" type, this seemed more directed at him than me (although without much reason since neither is he). I looked uncomfortably at them both.<br />
<br />
BF, ever observant, answered for me. "She's not really into that."<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ADPnfAr4IEU/VaxYYOa4jXI/AAAAAAAALCE/ivVC3fZ4oK4/s1600/Htemp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ADPnfAr4IEU/VaxYYOa4jXI/AAAAAAAALCE/ivVC3fZ4oK4/s320/Htemp2.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More my thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"That's okay," she countered. "YOU don't have to drink. He and I will just have a few." She gestured flirtatiously towards her new potential drinking buddy.<br />
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I surprised myself by what I said next. "That's not really that cool with me."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
She was taken aback. "What? But it will be so much fun!"<br />
<br />
Fun for who?<br />
<br />
"I don't know," I said. "It just feels weird. Like, 'Oh hey, how about your boyfriend and I get drunk!' -- that just doesn't feel comfortable."<br />
<br />
I didn't recognize myself or the words coming out. Who was saying this?<br />
<br />
She looked at me and realized I was serious. "But you'll be RIGHT THERE," she pushed.<br />
<br />
BF looked at me, seeing the friendliness drain out of my face. He'd never known me to be jealous or protective before and wasn't quite sure what to think.<br />
<br />
Neither did I. I'd never done anything like this before.<br />
<br />
The girl tried to save the conversation. "Well, it's good that you know your boundaries!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WNPEW6yOXR0/VaxdP87I01I/AAAAAAAALCc/xRDTLORadxE/s1600/Htemp4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WNPEW6yOXR0/VaxdP87I01I/AAAAAAAALCc/xRDTLORadxE/s320/Htemp4.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I smiled wanly and we all stood in awkward silence.<br />
<br />
She turned towards me and smiled. "Well. Anyway. Last time we saw each other, we said we would get together. We should totally do that! I mean, we said we would hang out, right? This time there should be NO excuses! NONE! When are you free?"<br />
<br />
Wait, what? I don't want to hang out. How the fuck do you say, "Can't you just be happy to see me every other year for 5 minutes in passing at some mutual friend's gathering?" Why do we have to be friends??<br />
<br />
I mumbled something about being busy (truth) and tried to back away ungracefully to my car, waving goodbye.<br />
<br />
I can't think of too many times I haven't wanted to be friends with someone, but this wasn't just because she seemed like the type to strip naked and lap dance on my man in front of me. But I couldn't quite put the unease into words.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPdl-kmpxx0/VaxeoJ-yatI/AAAAAAAALCo/4ke-YaQiQFw/s1600/Htemp5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPdl-kmpxx0/VaxeoJ-yatI/AAAAAAAALCo/4ke-YaQiQFw/s320/Htemp5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to avoid this scenario.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Luckily, Amazing BF trusted me even though I couldn't fully verbalize everything (thank goodness we are not new anymore) and later, I confirmed with a few other friends that she had some issues that made her unstable, toxic and dangerous.<br />
<br />
My gut had grabbed me and shook hard, but heeding it made me feel excessively bitchy. But maybe it's important to be bitchy sometimes. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-34698168738606025712015-07-16T21:05:00.001-04:002015-07-16T21:05:45.411-04:00Thanks??Earlier, someone dragged me out to their car to give me "cool stuff" they were clearing out of their house. ("It's too awesome to just donate!")
<br>
<br>Items:
<br>
<br>1. A used cardboard box that a set of nail polish once came in.
<br>
<br>2. A tent flap.
<br>
<br>Um... thanks?
<br>
<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-39574189399858936462015-07-11T01:03:00.001-04:002015-07-11T01:03:18.883-04:00Pictures really do say it best (text convo in 3 steps...)<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-spwFvMeFhws/VaCjmYG3CQI/AAAAAAAALBU/k6wIjhgSvTA/s1600/FullSizeRender-798884.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-spwFvMeFhws/VaCjmYG3CQI/AAAAAAAALBU/k6wIjhgSvTA/s320/FullSizeRender-798884.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6170111369199159554" /></a></p>We disconnected a bit, but it doesn't stay that way long before we realize it. Note the happy photo: resolution!
<br>
<br>I'm still waaay too sensitive, but he's so tender with me. He really understands me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-63623159691563109352015-07-07T20:27:00.001-04:002015-07-07T20:27:14.768-04:00Instagram's Texts from your ex feed is hilarious<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XopwTRTVN_E/VZxuY9EL0II/AAAAAAAALAw/IRYEH5zUGOk/s1600/FullSizeRender-734769.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XopwTRTVN_E/VZxuY9EL0II/AAAAAAAALAw/IRYEH5zUGOk/s320/FullSizeRender-734769.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6168926964578766978" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQAJOyd6CWk/VZxuZ9Gf1XI/AAAAAAAALA8/0pjmEIDoAkQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-738319.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQAJOyd6CWk/VZxuZ9Gf1XI/AAAAAAAALA8/0pjmEIDoAkQ/s320/FullSizeRender-738319.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6168926981768336754" /></a></p>These two slayed me:Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-39964995117614812222015-07-05T10:31:00.000-04:002015-07-05T11:35:35.425-04:00Exes Explain Ghosting, the Ultimate Silent Treatment - NYTimes.comYes, I've seen this, and it annoys me. I think people should treat others with respect; discomfort with difficult conversations ("it's not you it's me" etc.) doesn't absolve us from the responsibility to treat people with care. I've not "ghosted" (and been thanked for being honest) but it's happened to me a couple times. That does sting. (Not counting going on one date with someone and neither feels a spark and neither follows up - I think that's okay, you are only meeting someone and not involved yet.)
<br>
<br>"Whether this behavior has become more predominant with the advent of technology is debatable, but perhaps now it stings more, since there are so many ways to see your beloved interacting with other people while ignoring you. The rise of apps like Tinder and Grindr, and the impression they give that there is always someone else — literally — around the corner, is certainly empowering to ghosts."
<br>
<br><a href="http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/06/26/fashion/exes-explain-ghosting-the-ultimate-silent-treatment.html?referrer=&_r=0">http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/06/26/fashion/exes-explain-ghosting-the-ultimate-silent-treatment.html?referrer=&_r=0</a>
<br>
<br>
<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-5448631231588071062015-07-05T10:05:00.001-04:002015-07-05T10:05:34.701-04:00Where love begins<div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><em>""Where the myth fails, human love begins,"</em>Anaïs Nin <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=9a72193de6&e=5eaee49c5f" style="text-decoration: none;">wrote in her diary in 1941</a>. <em>"Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws."</em> Indeed, just like <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=23324281a2&e=5eaee49c5f" style="text-decoration: none;">perfectionism kills creativity</a>, it also kills love – the more we mythologize and idealize the person we love, the more disillusioned and disheartened we grow as we come to know their imperfect humanity which, if untainted by these blinding ideals, is the very wellspring of true love." </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">More: </span></div><div><br><a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/2015/06/29/pathways-to-bliss-joseph-campbell-marriage-relationships/">http://www.brainpickings.org/2015/06/29/pathways-to-bliss-joseph-campbell-marriage-relationships/</a></div><div><br>(Sent from my phone)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-47088371020275601592015-06-23T23:04:00.001-04:002015-06-23T23:04:13.432-04:00Um, maybe this isn't something to be advertised??<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hG7jdAn26-k/VYoeL3a6F2I/AAAAAAAAK_k/7g5xOtq6kh0/s1600/IMG_5567-753433.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hG7jdAn26-k/VYoeL3a6F2I/AAAAAAAAK_k/7g5xOtq6kh0/s320/IMG_5567-753433.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6163772229214148450" /></a></p>Seriously, people!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-13023505371943886572015-06-19T11:49:00.002-04:002015-06-19T11:53:20.687-04:00But 4 hours IS an extended period of time!!<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E1MMBTFJMHU/VYQ4C9kEWzI/AAAAAAAAK-s/tIKG1SOn5kQ/s1600/Unhappy-Employee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E1MMBTFJMHU/VYQ4C9kEWzI/AAAAAAAAK-s/tIKG1SOn5kQ/s320/Unhappy-Employee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
My workplace recently did an employee satisfaction survey and
it came out low. I'm happy working here, but apparently lots of people
are not, so the head decided to address this. <br />
<br />
He released a
statement to the effect of "We're trying to address employee needs and
happiness. We're working on it! We even got everyone a special little
Red Cross kit in case there was an emergency and people needed to
shelter in place for an extended period of time."</div>
<div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qlYN0nKn8vA/VYQ4ZbEE8xI/AAAAAAAAK-0/oOe3Gp1q3LY/s1600/emergency-kit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qlYN0nKn8vA/VYQ4ZbEE8xI/AAAAAAAAK-0/oOe3Gp1q3LY/s400/emergency-kit.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That yellow packet is our 4 ounces of water.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I found this WILDLY hilarious. </div>
<br />
Because of one word: "Extended."</div>
<div>
<br />
How long is an "extended" period of time? Because I remembered when those kits were handed out. <br />
<br />
They contain precisely FOUR ounces of water. </div>
<div>
<br />
Red Cross claims that this 4 ounce packet of water will provide ONE day's worth of water.<br />
<br />
Four
ounces is the equivalent of half a glass of water.<br />
<br />
Consider that the
(unofficially-recommended) daily serving of water is EIGHT 8-ounce
glasses of water a day, how long was 4 ounces supposed to last? A few hours? </div>
<div>
<br />
Even
if the Red Cross has determined that cellular function can still occur
at the (non ideal) level of 4 ounces per day, this means we can get
through ONE day.</div>
<div>
<br />
THIS is an "extended" period of time??</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKos6RkoJTo/VYQ5sZWmYlI/AAAAAAAAK_A/reoerWEUgio/s1600/thirsty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fKos6RkoJTo/VYQ5sZWmYlI/AAAAAAAAK_A/reoerWEUgio/s320/thirsty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
My brain fast-forwarded to the vision of an emergency scenario. <br />
<br />
I pictured thousands of employees on day 4 dropping like flies, dead from lack of water. <br />
<br />
An
investigation would be opened as to why this happened, especially when
the leader assured higher-ups that employees would be okay for an
"extended" period of time. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Investigator 1:</b> "But they had a Red Cross kit!"</blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote>
<div>
<b>Investigator 2: </b>"Only the kind that lasts for a day. Poor slobs."</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div>
<b>Investigator 1:</b> "Huh. So why did they assure everyone that they were set for an 'extended' period of time?"</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div>
<b>Investigator 2:</b> [Shrug] "Well, maybe one day IS an extended period of time."</div>
</blockquote>
<div>
<blockquote>
<b>Investigator 1:</b> [Goes back to scooping up bodies] "Sure must have felt like it to those thirsty sons of bitches."</blockquote>
</div>
[END]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-8199607771577291082015-06-12T15:28:00.001-04:002015-06-12T15:46:13.317-04:00How to be an asshole, part 1: no one can feel however they feel<div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm all fired up by this convo:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Woman
1: </b>"Six weeks after a long labor followed by a cesarean, my husband
tells me, 'I have not had time to write poetry since the baby was
born.'"</blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote>
<b>Woman 2: </b>"Clearly, he never wanted to have sex again. Ever."</blockquote>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fKghxCFrn9M/VXsvW1uI0qI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/u_G-Hv2L3D4/s1600/stare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fKghxCFrn9M/VXsvW1uI0qI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/u_G-Hv2L3D4/s320/stare.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Why
is it not okay for the husband to feel that way? And why is the
response "Punish him for having feelings we don't like! Withhold sex!!
"?<br />
</div>
</div>
Those people are going to get a divorce in 10-20 years!</div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JkI0UyhVREA/VXsvtK3omWI/AAAAAAAAK9g/Q_mqAoqRXZI/s1600/first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JkI0UyhVREA/VXsvtK3omWI/AAAAAAAAK9g/Q_mqAoqRXZI/s1600/first.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Why
is the response not something compassionate, like, "yeah, I hear you,
that sucks"?? Or, "I feel that way too, it's been so time-consuming that I
haven't had time to write myself"? </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Aren't partners supposed to be a
team? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RSQeHM8mZas/VXswv22-QtI/AAAAAAAAK9s/7VcbHvjSJRs/s1600/team-player.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RSQeHM8mZas/VXswv22-QtI/AAAAAAAAK9s/7VcbHvjSJRs/s400/team-player.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
This is a concept discussed both in NVC (non-violent
communication) and by therapists that deal with relating,
relationships and couples counseling: the idea that one person knows the "right" way for things to be and how this turns into a power imbalance that is ultimately disconnecting. <br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KGYOlkqpxtg/VXsxmJ6vK6I/AAAAAAAAK90/vKVsYeti7oE/s1600/disconnected.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KGYOlkqpxtg/VXsxmJ6vK6I/AAAAAAAAK90/vKVsYeti7oE/s1600/disconnected.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
I found a good (long) article about this concept by a counselor who calls this the "Master/Slave" problem, where the "Master" is the dominant, 'right' party ("This is how the towels should
be folded!") and the "Slave" is the one who must comply: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Excerpt:</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">If someone complains about silence, I expect to find a Master/Slave
problem. A relatively stable Master/Slave relationship (remember
Master/Slave relationships are inherently unstable) will have
communication going only in one way from Master to Slave. The Slave will
have learned to be silent about any disagreement. The Slave will be
keeping their differing points of view secret. The typical Master does
not notice at first, but in more mature relationships I often hear
things like, “I can’t find out what she wants” Or “He won’t tell me.
He’s quiet all the time.”</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="14de8f5d45a8a3fd_twoagree"></a></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
(By the way, I think this is a pretty good definition of agreement:
one person thinks there is agreement, but is in some level of delusion.
Their partner knows there is no agreement, but is keeping silent about
it. From this emerges the one-liner: “If two people are agreeing, then at least one of them is lying – withholding their truth.”) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
This silence is one thing that makes Master/Slave Relationships
unstable. The decision-maker is uninformed, and is often critically in
delusion about what is going on in their partner.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
When I am working with an individual in a relationship, I often focus
on this problem. If they mention something their partner does that they
don’t understand, I invite them to share why they don’t know what is
going on in their partner. When they share, “He/she won’t tell me” I
then <a href="http://www.alturtle.com/blog/_archives/2005/3/16/442954.html" target="_blank">PreValidate</a>
the non-present and non-speaking partner and move to teaching about
Master/Slave. “Of course they don’t tell you. You are probably a pain in
the neck to talk to. Let’s see if we can figure this out.” </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
Silence is so major a problem that I often give people a couple of <a href="http://www.alturtle.com/blog/_archives/2005/3/11/418514.html" target="_blank">one-liners</a>
to help them learn. The one reason a person is quiet is that it is not
safe for them to talk. The one reason a person lies is that it is not
safe for them to tell the truth.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="14de8f5d45a8a3fd_argument"></a></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
ARGUMENT</span>
</h3>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
The most common sign of a Master/Slave Relationship is an argument.
Simply put, an argument is two people trying to be Master at the same
time. And both are using Punishment systems, trying to pain their
partner into pretending agreement, with varying success. If you are
arguing, then you are probably trying to establish your “Truth” as the
only truth, and get you partner to appear to agree. Arguing is the
verbal behavior of two bullies. (A bully is a person who wants their way
and will cause pain for others if they don’t get it.)</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
Arguing is admired in our culture. People often express their power
and strength in arguments. Our TV and politics are full of arguments.
Yet almost all couples who come into my office state that arguing is a
problem. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="http://www.alturtle.com/archives/172" target="_blank">http://www.alturtle.com/<wbr></wbr>archives/172</a></span></blockquote>
<br />
I can now see that this is the dynamic that existed in my marriage, but I am not absolved from my responsibility for my passive role.<br />
<br />
The new mom above set the rules but they were cruel and unrealistic and included her husband not being
allowed to mourn the loss of his free time or feel bad that he wasn't
able to do a fulfilling activity. Not only did she regard his feelings as inappropriate, but it was universally accepted that he should be shamed for having them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sHXY2_fM8XM/VXsyWNb1_gI/AAAAAAAAK98/cpRhHk7sqtU/s1600/yes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sHXY2_fM8XM/VXsyWNb1_gI/AAAAAAAAK98/cpRhHk7sqtU/s320/yes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Why is our society so threatened by feelings? What happened that we are not allowed to feel how we feel? Feelings exist whether or
not you welcome them. Fighting them just makes it worse. The most current info says that if you want to sail through life the zen master of emotional health, you have to accept what you feel inside. Why not make this easy on others by accepting their feelings too?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UPzbWEfyfmM/VXsyqyA7KeI/AAAAAAAAK-E/N6Ns9O0cZfE/s1600/acceptance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UPzbWEfyfmM/VXsyqyA7KeI/AAAAAAAAK-E/N6Ns9O0cZfE/s320/acceptance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-77763154142094420172015-06-09T23:44:00.001-04:002015-06-09T23:44:09.280-04:00Proof of terrible people in the world (in case you didn't already know)<div><span></span></div><div><div dir="ltr"><div>Quote one guy friend said a date told him (which she then followed up with a photo):<br><br></div>"Your face looks like a particular breed of hunting dog." </div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><a href="https://images.akc.org/pdf/judges/CKCS.pdf">https://images.akc.org/pdf/judges/CKCS.pdf</a> <br> </div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">Are you fucking kidding me???</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">Another guy friend said he was once asked, "Hey, do you have back hair?" </div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">And quite a surprising number of other male friends said they were asked how much they made and if they could support the woman. </div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">I'm ready to run screaming down the street - what is wrong with these people!!</div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5613210263413208128.post-1338786234965344942015-05-29T22:22:00.001-04:002015-05-29T22:22:55.028-04:00» Scientists have discovered the formula for lasting love – So why aren’t we listening?<a href="http://thedailyorbit.com/scientists-have-discovered-the-formula-for-lasting-love-so-why-arent-we-listening/">http://thedailyorbit.com/scientists-have-discovered-the-formula-for-lasting-love-so-why-arent-we-listening/</a>
<br>
<br>
<br>(Sent from my phone)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0