Seven Deadly Sins

Greed:	High
Gluttony:	Medium
Wrath:	Low
Sloth:	Medium
Envy:	Very Low
Lust:	Medium
Pride:	Medium

Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz

Five Weird Things About Me

Yabu has tagged everyone who read his meme to reply in kind, so here goes.

Five Weird Things About Me

1. I have quite a few OCD type compulsions- toilet paper must hang outward, clothing in the closet must be hung in color order, CDs and mp3 folders are all organized alphabetically by artist (CDs in order of release date for each artist), etc.

2. I am neurotic and creative at the same time. I can be very crafty and artsy fartsy (painting, beading, writing), but at the same time, it has to be just right or I'll redo the whole thing. (Craft paints and beads are also organized by color; see number one, above)

3. I have a ginormous soft spot for all animals except snakes, and yet I am an unrepentant carnivore. Snakes can burn in the fiery pits of unquenchable Hades for all I care, but don't ever EVER mess with a dog, cat, horse, goat, seal, kangaroo, zebra, liger, or hedgehog. Don't abuse cows either. They must make my milk, T-bones, and next season's boots, so treat them right.

4. I am a 29 year old female college graduate who cooks for her husband every day. (Am I the only one that thinks this is weird?)

5. Even after recent completion of the aforementioned college, which took 6 years, my most anticipated upcoming career move is that of stay-at-home mom to my soon-to-be-conceived children.

And the bonus round, just for shits and giggles:

6. My musical tastes run the gamut from classical to heavy metal to electronic. Some days it's Josh Groban and Tchaikovsky; others, Alice In Chains and White Zombie; and others still, Depeche Mode and Röyksopp.

Why I'm not renewing my Cosmo subscription

I've been a subscriber to Cosmopolitan magazine for several years. It offered mindless entertainment month after month, without fail- hair and makeup tips, fashion spreads, funny "I can't believe I did that" stories, and the requisite juicy celebrity gossip.

Now, however, as Glamour magazine did a few years ago, Cosmo has lost its lustre to me in more ways than one.

I ended my Glamour subscription because I was tired of seeing article after article telling me about how I need to protect my right to abortions. As I am a staunch supporter of life and the right to it, these articles stuck in my craw enough to make me put down the magazine. I had subscribed for the proclaimed purpose of the magazine - fashion and glamour - and that was not what I got. If I had wanted a politically charged/liberal magazine, I'd not have chosen one named Glamour; I'd have gone with something a little more overt, like Abortion Times, or perhaps Baby Killer Weekly.

Cosmo has become trite to me with their oversexed attitudes. Every cover has the word "sex" or some variant no fewer than 4 times. On the December cover: "The Sexiest Things to do Before Sex," "Guys' Sex Drive," "Your Sexual Health," "Girl On Top: These 9 Pleasure-Maxing Sex Positions Will Send You Both to the Moon."

Give me a fucking break. (No pun intended.) This magazine makes 20 to 30 somethings look like a bunch of nymphomaniacs. Again, if I'd wanted a magazine dedicated to sex, I'd have chosen something else.

My January issue arrived yesterday. I did my normal flip-through of the whole thing, removing the loose subscription cards that inevitably drive me crazy. (Yes, I am a nutjob. This has already been well established in previous posts.)

An article in the middle was nothing out of the ordinary; one of their trademark assemblies of shocking or funny mini-stories from various women. This one is titled, "Naughty Nannies: Busted."

The tagline reads, "Naughty nannies have been making headlines lately. Here, Cosmo rounded up salacious stories from young moms scorned by their misbehaving babysitters." The women telling the stories are ages 30, 27, 33, 26, 31, and 31. Their stories run the gamut from attempted husband stealing to jewelry theft to on-the-job sleeping.

"Oh my," you, the concerned reader, may think. "Those nannies are awful! Those poor parents, hiring someone so rotten!"

Nay, nay, dear reader. The nannies are not the ones to blame.

I blame the women telling these little stories.

When you hire someone to come into your home and do YOUR job of raising your child/children, what do you expect?

Naturally, the nanny is already playing the part of mother. So why should you begrudge her the job of wife as well?

If you can afford to have someone live in your house and raise your child full time, while you gallivant off to whatever career or other time waster you see fit, then dammit, you can afford to stay home and raise your child your damn self.

Kids are not a hobby. They are not a distraction. They are not a part time, evenings, and Sundays responsibility.

Having children is a full time, 24/7/365, no sick days, no paid holidays, no time off, no substitutions responsibility.

I haven't waited 29 plus years for kids just so I can farm them out to a live-in babysitter or outside daycare facility for them to be raised. Why would any parent want to miss out on all the wonderful "firsts?" First word, first step, first self-feeding, first sit-up, first roll over, first smile. Seems like a damn shame to miss that stuff.

Careers can wait. Jobs with a paycheck can be performed by anyone.

No one can replace a mommy or a daddy.

Interesting day

Wow. What a ride the last 24 hours has been. Has been? Have been? Dunno.

Last night, at about 12:30, our two girl dogs got into a tussle in the kitchen over some scrap or crumb. I put the muzzle on Lucy, a 50+ lb. lab mix, and was getting the muzzle on the smaller girl, Betty, a 22 lb. beagle, when I realized her ear was bleeding. Lucy had nipped a quarter-inch slit in the edge of Betty's ear. *sigh*

I applied pressure with some tissue after cleaning the wound with peroxide. The bleeding would stop, and then Betty would shake her head and fling blood. This happened a couple of different times before my husband and I decided to apply a large Band-Aid with Neosporin to the wound, and then Ace bandage Betty's ear to her head. She hates it, but tough shit. She's the instigator in any of these little scuffles they have over food. Betty has food aggression, and Lucy doesn't know her own strength.

Anyway, Betty came to work with me today so I could keep an eye on her ear. We went from Ace bandage to masking tape when she was clearly uncomfortably hot and panting. It sounds awful, but the tape mostly sticks to itself, and is wrapped around her head just enough to hold the ear down so it can scab over.

So that was fun.

Later this afternoon, despite having my baby dog by my side, I began having some of the old familiar anxiety creeping upon me. The things that annoyed me were all small in and of themselves...mostly the inefficiencies and disorganization of the place where I work...and the fact that our lazy ghetto ass 19 year old baby mama receptionist is too lazy to transfer any phone calls, so she simply pages over the intercom for every incoming call. "So and so, you have a call on 501." Her voice grates my last fucking nerve. I almost unplugged my phone.

I am renewing my commitment to finding good audiobooks to load on the ole iPod Shuffle, so I can plug my ears with decent literature while working. It really passes the time, and I actually work better than when I'm just listening to music.

I listened to Dean Koontz's Velocity earlier this week. It rawked. I love his writing style- he is not afraid to use unusual words, and his metaphors are out of sight.

This evening has been good.

I just got done watching CSI, which I hadn't seen in several weeks. Good stuff. I'm all over the blood and guts and science of it. I know many of their tactics are bullshit (no police department in this country has the resources they have, especially to process their own DNA evidence, and crime scene techs do not interrogate suspects), but I can look past that.

By the way, the Las Vegas CSI is the only CSI worth watching, in my opinion.

Now, of course, I'm on the computer blogging and listening to Aqualung while my husband snores away on the couch.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but an interesting news headline on Yahoo: "Freeman Criticizes Black History Month." So I click on the link and the article absolutely impresses me. I mean, I knew Morgan Freeman was the shiznit as an actor, but I had no idea he was smart too!

"You're going to relegate my history to a month?" the 68-year-old actor says in an interview on CBS' "60 Minutes" to air Sunday (7 p.m. EST). "I don't want a black history month. Black history is American history."

Freeman notes there is no "white history month," and says the only way to get rid of racism is to "stop talking about it."

The actor says he believes the labels "black" and "white" are an obstacle to beating racism.

"I am going to stop calling you a white man and I'm going to ask you to stop calling me a black man," Freeman says.

Well, skin me alive and call me luggage. It's about time someone non-white said it. Time to do away with all the other institutionalized racism, while we're at it: Black Miss Anything pageants, race-based scholarships, racial quotas in corporate hiring or school admissions, and school bussing.

Questions for you to ponder

An Issue of Pride

Why do some gays insist on shoving their homosexuality out there to the whole world? I understand being comfortable in your own skin, and I have no problem with gay people being gay. It's their right, and none of my business what they do in their bedrooms.

What I don't get is the whole gay pride thing...the rainbows, the pink triangles, the parades, any of it.

I believe that people are born straight or born gay - that there's nothing really you can do about it unless you choose to act otherwise. It's not an accomplishment to be straight or gay. It's nothing you have to struggle to become. It just is. So what is there to be proud of?

I'm a married woman. I love my husband and happily dated other men before I met him. I don't go around with stickers on my car saying "Hetero Pride" or wearing a t-shirt proclaiming "Straight Chicks Rule" or "Happily Banging My Husband On A Regular Basis."

I feel the same way about so-called racial pride. It's not an accomplishment. It just is. Womanhood is another one. I like being a woman; it suits me just fine. I do not, however, feel the need to proclaim my femininity from the rooftops or be a man-hater or femi-Nazi in order to be a real woman.

If you are happy to be what you are- man, woman, gay, straight, black, white, Irish, Latvian, whatever- I'm glad for you, and more power to ya. Why make a big deal out of it?

Real pride, in my opinion, comes from accomplishments and hard work. My license plate cover proclaims me an alumnus of my Alma Mater, because dammit, I worked hard for 6 years to graduate. Too bad the Summa Cum Laude isn't on there as well. I may roll my eyes at all the "My Kid is an Honor Student" bumper stickers, but really, parents, you rock that sticker for all it's worth.

Dizzy Monday

Well, today is my second day off of drugs. Yes, you read that right. I was on drugs until last Saturday; the drug of note was of the prescription variety, but it was a drug nonetheless.

As of this weekend, I am no longer on Paxil for depression and anxiety. I've been taking it for about a year and a half, and honestly, I don't think it has done much for me.

It might have helped take the edge off when I was going through one of my Superwoman crises or depression jags, but I'll never really know.

My Superwoman moments go like this: something gets backed up, usually housecleaning, or this time last year, school work. I start to get anxious and other things begin to pile up on me. Suddenly, I'm noticing every speck of dust and dirty dish and pile of laundry and unfinished craft project. There's too much to do. I don't have time to do it all. My husband does nothing. My dogs do nothing. I'm never going to graduate. I'm not appreciated. I can't do anything. Nothing ever goes right. Everything comes crashing down and I FLIP the HELL OUT. I usually have a tension headache for 3 to 4 days afterwards.

My depression usually comes out of similar circumstances, but with a general malaise and tons of sleeping to try to avoid the anxiety. Both are fueled by a desire to do all, be all, and be perfect, with a subsequent realization of the impossibility of that.

As a side note, I would recommend that anyone wanting off of their antidepressant gets clean with their doctor's help. I ran out of my Paxil for 3 days once, not meaning to but too busy to go to the pharmacy. By day two, I had serious stomach issues (my husband calls it the BGs- bubble guts) and dizziness. This was a dizziness like none I had ever experienced. The best way to describe it is that I felt like my body was vibrating inside my skin. I feel some of that same dizziness today, this being my second day without the meds. I'm sure my tummy will have some rebellion also. Also, my sleep quality for the last several weeks has been crap.

My doc had me first go from 30mg to 20mg. After 15 days of 20mg tablets, I broke the pills in half for the remainder of the bottle.

DH and I are trying to get pregnant. That was my main impetus for weaning off of the Paxil, with doctor supervision of course. My other reason was that I didn't want to be a pill hound for the rest of my days. With a family history of depression and other various and sundry mental health issues, I knew I'd have to live with it the rest of my life, so I wanted to find better ways to deal.

The best solution for me thus far has been behavioral modification. To keep from having Superwoman crises and subsequent bouts of depression, I do myself the favor of keeping up with dishes, laundry, etc., even when I don't feel like it. Since I love to cook and bake, this means doing dishes every day (ugh). My least favorite thing to do is dust, but if I vacuum more often, I don't have to dust quite so much, and I don't mind vacuuming. (My new Dyson vacuum helps even more. I love it!) It's a series of small compromises with myself: Get this yucky thing over with, then enjoy this relaxing/fun thing (like practicing making babies- my libido's returning as well, thankfully!).

I'll probably have nagging "not good enough" feelings in my head for the rest of my life, but they don't have to rule me.