did I forget to mention?

for the past 2 weeks I haven't been working. today was my first day back in the world of the gainfully employed, and I must say that it sucks. I have no will to do anything, and I really do mean anything. that started pretty much on sunday when I realized that freedom was over. luckily, it's only a temp job and after 2 weeks I can walk away and never look back. I really do need to find something that I actually enjoy doing. but, after 25 years I still haven't found anything. so, the search continues.

my brain seems to have turned to mush after nearly 8 hours of mindless tasks. how can people do this their entire lives? i'm going to have to find some good scholarships and haul my cookies back to school so I can skip classes again. but, repeating my college experience is probably the worst thing that could happen to me right now. so tomorrow I will boldly haul my ass out of bed at 6am and begin the workday yet again. wish me luck.

favorite picture

I don't know why, but I love this. 

battle royale

I'm hidden away in the bedroom on my laptop listening to the screams of japanese schoolchildren. not my idea of fun.

my fiance swears by netflix. actually, so do I. I love it. we have over 120 movies in our queue. unfortunately, most of those are cheesey sci-fi or brutal bloodfests, like the one that the love of my life is watching as I sit here, nearly traumatized. the basis is that high school kids are rounded up by a rogue government group and shipped to a remote island where they are given various weapons have 3 days to battle to the death. after 3 days, necklaces that were attached to them just before they were sent to kill each other will explode and kill them anyway. before that happens one of them is supposed to survive and be the "winner." I don't know what that lucky person wins, but I'm sure it will be fully rewarding.

this from the man who will turn the channel when previews of films such as Exorcism of Emily Rose or something along that vein will come on because he knows it freaks me out. then, he asks me why I'm going to bed so early. it's a one bedroom apartment, it's either to bed or in the bathtub if one of us doesn't enjoy what the other is watching.

I have to admit that if we didn't live together before getting married, it's highly debatable whether or not there would be a quicky anullment. we're both...headstrong. what's strange about putting the two of us together, though, is that in each other's company we are much more likely to concede to the other. usually he'll wait until I'm already in bed to watch movies I hate. he's much more likely to sit through something that I like and he can't stand, however. although I've never tried to watch French Kiss while he's in the room...that might be pushing it a little too much. should I try and see what happens? I can only take so much of kevin klein's crappy french accent, though. oh well.

what I'm worried about, and what I continually find new and clever ways to ask him, is if this will change over time. will we get sick of being exposed to something that one of us loves and the other loathes? right now I can say that we love each other way too much to ever let our relationship erode to such a level. but can I say that in ten years, or even five?

my parents used to have entirely separate lives from each other, and my friends and I were certain that as soon as my younger brother and I were out of the house they would get divorced. but, fast forward to today, and my brother's dropped out college (believe me, this was the best choice for him) and back in the house, my dad's partially retired and working 2 weeks out of the month, and my parents have never been happier. they travel together all the time, they're only home when dad has to be for work. they're not fighting...who are these people???

I used to get once-a-year phone calls from my mom on a tirade about wanting a divorce. my dad has always worked non-stop and was rarely home. my mom's been a housewife since I was seven years old. either he didn't pay her enough attention, or when he did he would say or do something wrong. I couldn't wait to move out and/or have them get divorced. so what happened? I guess it's one of those mysteries in life, like how my brother got to be almost 5'11" when the average height for men on both sides of my family is around 5'7" and the women are probably averaging 5'2". and I know that he's a product of both of my parents and not some strange man passing through the neighborhood.

bottom line, I don't want to be my parents. I try to spend no more than a week at a time at home so that my mother and I don't end up playing our "who's the worst person in this relationship" game. over the phone or for a few days together, we're the fucking gilmore girls. past that, well, I don't want to go there in my head right now. or ever. but sometimes I'll notice that we have the same mannerisms. no one can tell us apart over the phone, not my dad, my brother, or my fiance. but does that mean I'll be like her with my children, or with my husband? I don't know, but I hope not. doesn't every independent woman say that about her mother? but is this something I can control, or will I naturally slip into it the way I can't help downing chocolate when I'm PMSing? I know I should stop, but if I do I just might kill someone (point of interest: Dagoba chocolate and Haute Chocolate are THE BEST chocolate bars and must have been created by hormonal women).

anyway, the movie's got to be close to over. I wonder who got the grand prize (which was probably just a slap on the ass and few extra days to live)? I'm going to have a big mug of tea and forgo the warm, creamy, milky, hot chocolate (oooh, say it slow, say it slow...hhhhoooottttt choc-o-late...) for tonight. I weighed in at a little over 105 this morning, and would like to keep it there for a little while...until I can drop another 5 and look killer in a body-hugging, sheer silky gown. you know what I mean...

The feminist takes a husband

as a tangent to my immediately previous bitchfest, here's what my fiance did right:

he made me feel like a desirable woman.

I've felt attractive, I've felt beautiful, ugly, repulsive, fat, slim, sexy, almost every feeling related to the female sex, but always like a girl. this was the first time that I've felt like a sensual, almost maternal, woman. the slight heft to my thighs is the perfect size to be warm and inviting; the roundness of my stomach is soft and feminine; none of it is out of place or superfluous. this feeling is difficult to acheive and even more impossible to keep hold of.

needless to say, as of this morning I'm back to wondering how I'll ever look like anything but a giant thigh poured into a white dress. part of the problem is that I'm only five feet tall...not a lot places for the fat to go. bridal magazines are only exacerbating the problem. seeing a woman who's 5'10" and 120 pounds is vastly different from someone who's 5'0" and 120 pounds. put them side by side in the same dress, and you'll feel my pain.

but this idea that my roundness is what makes me "just like a woman should be," as my man tells me, runs completely counter to what I have convinced myself I should look like, or even act like.

I have always believed myself to be a staunch feminist. I will not wear skirts or flash my cleavage. I won't be shy or quiet and everyone will know my opinion the second it comes into my head. I will get my way and enjoy the journey there. I can be a man and be better than a man because I'm a woman. and realize how little sense that makes.

basically, I thought that being a feminist meant being a man in a woman's body. I don't mean sexually, but by refusing to be what donna reed was: a homemaker without a job, whose sole meaning in life was to take care of her family. In my mind, being a housewife meant I was worthless.

in college I read julian of norwich, the first real feminist by modern defintion. I can't remember ever being more disappointed. she believed that a woman should be proud of being a woman, so far so good. being a woman meant being a good wife and taking care of your husband. there was obviously much more to it than that, but that's pretty much what I boiled it down to. I refused to accept that ideal of womanhood.

but why? shouldn't being a feminist mean embracing everything that makes you a woman, everything that differentiates women from men? the skirts, the breasts, the long plaited pigtails, everything sweet and soft and feminine - I think that's what I did my best to shun.

I think I missed the entire point of feminism. not being able to open a jar doesn't make me any less of a feminist; believing that I inherently cannot understand the basics of construction, does. thinking I can run a marathon in the same time as a man, despite biological and anatomical differences, just means that I'm confusing being a feminist with being a man.

when Silence of the Lambs came out I convinced myself that it was my favorite movie because it was strong and gory and something a man would like. Dirty Dancing was my dirty little secret. anything lovey-dovey, touchy-feely was something I wasn't allowed to enjoy because I'm a feminist. I'm finally getting to the point where I will tell anyone who listens that I LOVE DIRTY DANCING, I LIKE CHEESEY CHICK FLICKS AND I HATE GORY MOVIES!

enjoying my soft and womanly body, my vulnerability, how much I love disney movies and dressing up and wearing makeup is something I'm just beginning to embrace. I know it sounds strange, but my misunderstood definition of feminism meant that I was afraid to be girly and feminine, and kept me from knowing who I am. I still don't wear skirts, and my fiance thinks that if I give up on the "Weddingfest 2006" that I'm attempting to plan that he'll never get to see me in a dress again. and he might be right, but you never know. I'm getting there.

of course it took a man to make me realize how much of a woman I am, and to realize that being a feminist means that I can wear a dress and high heels and that doesn't lower my IQ or make me worthless. wanting to take care of my family is just a different career path than becoming an attorney and devoting my life to the office and money. I'm still not sure it's the right career for me, but at least I can consider it and not feel like a failure in life. and if my husband wants to stay home and take care of the kids while I work, just as appealing! I'm finally getting comfortable with the idea that I can be donna reed and be a feminist at the same time.

The countdown continues

yesterday was exactly 5 months until my wedding day. the entire day was, in my mind, a spectacular moment of self-loathing. I have yet to find/muster up/pretend I have the will power to force my fat ass onto a treadmill. but I do have bad knees thanks to years of pretending to be picabo street, so why ruin them further when I can just crash diet a month before I need to squeeze into the little white dress (which seems to get smaller every day)? right? right!

that was the majority of my day. and I have to admit that yesterday afternoon was one of the few times that my fiance actually helped to calm my nerves (I'll get to this later), as opposed to the usual, and infuriating, comment, "whatever makes you happy."

for any bride who has, is currently, or will plan a wedding, the best advice I have for you, no matter what your budget, hire a wedding planner. and never, and I mean never ask your fiance for advice on anything beyond the date of the wedding. maybe you're one of the lucky ones to find a man with opinions on something more than when you'll have sex or when you're done watching Whose Wedding is it Anyway (side note: don't watch that show if you're planning a wedding, it's a major stress-inducer) because Sports Center is on. but if you're a woman with a significant other who has minimal interest in what your wedding looks like, sounds like, tastes like, anything; don't ask them for help or opinions. a simple, "this is what I have in mind," no, better, "this is what I've decided," is all that is needed. believe me when I tell you that this will keep you saner.

the reasoning behind this, and I've done extensive research (by research I mean crying to any woman I know who's already married), is the men honestly don't care what the wedding looks like. they don't want to go to wedding ceremonies, just receptions, and one looks exactly like the other in their mind. most men will judge by the quality of the bar; whether open or pay-for-your-own, beer and wine only or fully-stocked; this is where a man's wedding expertise ends. the most used quote by a man regarding his own wedding, after "whatever makes you happy," is "just tell me where to be at what time." and that really is all they need to know. asking them for anything beyond this, will just piss you both off, although for different reasons.

of course, planning an audrey hepburn-esque wedding when your man is clearly the line-dancing type, not a good idea. he'll do it because he loves you, but that doesn't mean he'll like it or any more than tolerate it. even though, as you've been raised to believe, this is your day, it might help to have it reflect the man you love, even if it's just a creative line in your vows or a certain song during the reception that maybe seems really wrong for a wedding, at least he knows you thought about him during the planning. and this brings me right back to my original point, hire a wedding planner. then no male opinions are needed whatsoever, and if he hates it you have someone else to blame it on. and I'm all about placing the blame.