It occurs to me that I have not made any posts of any substantial value (not that any of them really are to begin with) in a very long while. So I decided to do a brain dump about some things that have been on my mind lately.
<brain dump>
First: If I read, see, or hear one more thing entitled “Oprah Admits Crying Over Abuse in Her South Africa School,” I’m going to vomit. Projectile vomit, with large chunks of half-chewed burrito. So she cried. Big. Fucking. Deal. I cry when I see a Snuggle Bear commercial on television, but I don’t go typing up press releases about it. I’m so glad she can eke out a few tears for South African kids half a world away when there are plenty of poverty-stricken, starving, abused, homeless crack babies here in America. You’re a real frickin’ philanthropist there, O.
Second: I’ve been reading an interesting book, purely for recreational reading, with no relevance at all to my actual, real, personal life, called Having an Affair?: A Handbook for the “Other Woman.” It’s written by a British author whom I swear has got to be the thickest most confused woman on the planet. And she doesn’t even live in America, if that tells you anything. Some things she has really, really right. My main complaint is her incessant insistence as to the reason men cheat on their wives: because the wives don’t work at making their men happy, because wives get fat and stop wearing makeup, and because wives let them get away with it. So basically, wives of the world, your man is required to do nothing to keep you happy for the rest of your life, but you are expected – nay, *required* – to maintain your slender physique, even post-children, smear on the war paint even if you’re staying home watching the kids, and to do whatever it takes, whenever it takes it, to make sure that your man is satisfied sexually, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. Seriously. Read the book. But get it from the library; don’t spend money on it. A man’s happiness is everyone’s responsibility except his own. A woman’s is no one’s responsibility, not even her own. I shall now quote an actual passage from the book: “If you’re reading this and you’re a wife who suspects that her husband may be having an affair, your time would be better spent if you put this book down and started making your husband happy.” *blinkblink* BULLSHIT!
My other complaint about the book is that the author implicates that even with the aforementioned safeguards, that all married men will cheat on their wives. Without exception. Now, part of me actually believes this is probably true, but contrary to that overgeneralization, there *have* been married men I’ve known who absolutely would never cheat on their wives, regardless of circumstance. So why butcher that hope for us women? Seriously, reading this book makes me more and more depressed every time I open it. Hence why it’s taken me three weeks to read three chapters. I wouldn’t call myself a feminist, but holy shit, this woman is the most anti-feminist author I’ve ever read. Anyway. . . enough on that topic. I feel my blood pressure rising with every letter I type.
Next: I have gotten to a point where the very concept of dating turns my stomach. I actually had a date a couple of nights ago. Not a bad guy, in fact I actually like him a little, but the thought of calling, or emailing, or arranging a second date, or getting dressed up, leaving the house to see him again, absolutely repulses me. It’s not him. I just don’t want to be bothered. I simply enjoy my solitude more than I enjoy the company of someone I barely know. And I do not have the stamina for this; I do not want to spend hours upon hours “dating,” getting to know someone, only to find out that, once again, I’m not interested, or he’s not interested, or he’s interested but only if I’ll lose weight, or he’s interested but only in sex, or I’m interested only to find out he has an abnormal fixation with dead things or explosives or he’s interested but wants to take me to a porn theater on our second date or I’m interested but then he sends me text photos of himself naked. You laugh, but every single one of those scenarios has happened to me. In. Real. Life.t
Also: I’m ready to start exercising again. I ditched my diet during my vacation in July and haven’t had any luck starting up again since. Luckily, I’ve only gained three pounds back. I’m eager to start swimming again, but I think Panda and I both are getting bored with it. So I’m hoping this one-mile swim goal will motivate me a little, but I’m also looking for some new stuff to throw into the mix, especially since winter is coming on and wet hair = cold walk to the car after a swim. So, I’m thinking kickboxing looks fun, and also thinking of signing up for Weight Watcher’s meetings. Never been to the meetings before. I always just tracked everything myself. I figure I might meet some new people and it might motivate me.
Speaking loosely of vacation: only two weeks until my Thanksgiving vacation! Woot! I desperately need some time to myself. I intend to spend the entire week (except Turkey Day) in my pajamas, watching old movies and petting my cat. I don’t even intend to shower from Friday, November 16th until Thursday, November 22nd. Try me. I’ll so do it.
Random thought: I wore makeup for the SECOND day in a row today. This has got to be a record. I can’t remember the last time I wore makeup twice straight like that.
I bit a fingernail today for the first time in five weeks. It was the pinkie nail. Now my left pinkie looks so short and stubby.
</brain dump>
