Did People Get a Free Kitty For Creating a Blog?

With all of the writin’ that is going on, is anyone actually readin’?  i mean, seriously?   it seems that EVERYONE is a writer these days, in the way that about five years ago everyone was a singer destined for American Idol, and like ten years ago everyone was an actor.  i’m pretty sure 65% of my Facebook friends were all models three years ago too.  but now?  everyone is a fuckin’ writer.  i guess when people realized that spewing out videos for youtube and making tumblr accounts was more work than they wanted to spend, they gave up on that, because i remember not too long ago EVERYONE had a vlog and was making five minute video movie reviews and recording about their favorite eyeshadow color.  they were all going to be the next Tay Zonday, or Jenna Marbles.  everyone was looking for their instant ten minutes of fame and was expecting to go viral with videos of drunken party antics.

i guess none of that happened. so they’ve moved on to Pinterest and spend all day virtually pinning DIY crafts that they’ll never do and planning their platinum dream weddings from their cubicles at work.  it’s an incredible timesuck and so easy that a chimp could find 67 recipes for perfect champagne macarons.  but this only accounts for half of the bored attention whores looking for internet fame and glory.  so now they are all blogging.  i must admit that i don’t even click on the links to their pages anymore.  in the beginning i tried to be supportive so i would read about the great dinners they got at the local restaurants and the Power Mom meetings they had at Panera and what they ate there.  and how it’s so annoying to not be able to buy kale at Costco, or find Uggs for Little Kimmy except online.  or their blogs about the cruel injustice of Netflix not carrying their favorite shows and so they are forced to order the upper tier of cable so they don’t miss out on what Honey Boo Boo or Kim Kardashian are doing.  i can’t keep up.  i simply i refuse to.  and truly, i’m going to be honest, they are boring.  i hate reading their constant complaints on Facebook about what happened last night on Downton Abbey or Game of Thrones and i certainly don’t give two shits about their blog about how they would make Walking Dead better by adding more realistic weapons (or some shit).

i don’t expect any of them to read what i write and truly and honestly, 85% of what i write is purely cathartic for me.  i’m admittedly self involved and self serving with my blog too, but i am trying to build up a bunch of very like minded bloggers for my own little happysnark blogi-verse.  hopefully together we will outlast these flash-in-the-pan so-called writers until they move on to, i dunno, being conceptual artists.  until then, won’t you come and blog with me?

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My Name is Theresa- And I’m a Realist

I realized something the other day when people were still throwing new year’s resolutions about, and i was steadfast in my resolution to not make any resolutions.  i was sitting quietly in the car as we drove around Atlantic City listening to Christmas music. we were trying to get the last of the holiday spirit before it disappeared into the chaos of another three hundred-and-some days.  i watched the blazing marquees blink and flash and i wondered what was in abandoned and broken down buildings.  i watched the groups of casino-goers scuttle about and i saw lonely people trudging home from their late night jobs.  i felt so small, like you do when you are disconnected from rushing crowds and noisy happenings.  i wondered, as you do, what those people were celebrating, and felt lonely for not being a part of their fun.  i was quiet and introspective, like you are when you miss your friends and wondering if they were  missing you too.

there was talk about what we would do if we were to inherit a lot of money.  my boyfriend and i were dreaming of owning a campground or a bed and breakfast, and building the house of our dreams and traveling.  realistically unrealistic, but with the right circumstances, possibly attainable miles and miles in the future.  we talked about the past, and things he used to do in his old neighborhood, and like i do, i listened, wondering what my childhood would have been like if i was in his shoes.  talk of ‘the way it used to be’ was brief, if only because it’s just talk, and there’s no potential in dwelling on the past, so the conversation went back to buying a boat and a camper, specific kinds of dogs, special vacations, all excited with possibility.  my life being what it is, however, full of so much missed opportunity, so much disappointment, i didn’t give myself the chance to get filled with dreams. or even hope.  i’m a realist.  and we realists no better.  we live in the now.  we only allow ourselves realistic thoughts.  we don’t dream or make WISH BOOKS or say things like “someday i’d like to…”.  we just can’t.  we can talk about the future in the short term, on practical attainable goals like- “in six months after we pay off our credit cards-…”, or “after i lose ten pounds, i’d like to-…”, or “next week after i finish work for the week-…”.  attainable. practical. realistic.  i am a realist after all.

i wasted a lot of my life wondering about the ‘what if’s’, and crying over my problematic past.  neglectful parents, correctable mistakes, broken promises.  these are things i know. but these are also things that i can no longer do anything about.  they are done. they are in the past. they are the past.  thankfully.

the future?  i want to believe, and dream and hope and wish.  but i can’t allow that.  i don’t want to say, “after i lose 100 pounds i’ll buy that bikini to wear on our caribbean cruise”– there is just SO MUCH WRONG with that.  it’s almost laughable.  i won’t say things like, “i would like to go back to school if-…” because, well, i just won’t.

i can however, let myself say, “after my car is paid off next summer, i’ll feel more relaxed” and “by next year, our credit cards will be paid off, and we’ll finally be able to breathe a little easier”.  these are things i can say.  these are things that will happen.  these are things that i know (*knocks on wood*, barring some unforeseen disaster- that is NEVER out of the possibility).  but MOSTLY, for the most part, BASICALLY, (probably) those are things i know.

now, having said all of that, i still WANT things to happen.  like, winning the lottery, or getting a huge burst of creative energy and also a miracle publisher and get my books onto shelves. or losing 25 pounds.  i can hope for a dream job for my boyfriend.  i can dream that my son will find his way through life easier than i did. but will i wait for it?  will i dream about these things?  will i allow myself the luxury of HOPING for them?  absolutely not.  i’m a realist.  and realists don’t do that.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/daily-prompt-forward/

Not So Much a Hero

Today i’m supposed to talk about a hero, eh?
well, i aint got one. nope. no way, no how. not wonder woman, not spiderman, not martha stewart or even any of the horrible disney princesses. i grew up with a mad crush on Michael Jackson and slept with a giant hard plastic King Kong bank—- does that count? i didn’t think so.

so. hero… hero… um. how about someone i admire?
because that’s an easy one. i admire my boyfriend. i admire his courage and strength. i admire his ability to ignore the assholes of the world. i admire him for having the guts to come out. my boyfriend, of nine years, came out to me this spring as male. let me back up and explain.

way back when, nearly a decade ago, i got a divorce and started what i liked to call, “guerrilla dating”.
being bisexual, i was happily dating both guys and girls, and one crazy night at a favorite club, i ran into the cutest person i can recall having met up until that point. very low-key, very casual, quite gender ambiguous and yes, quite drunk. i was hooked almost instantly. some heavy flirting and a bit of a ‘whirlwind romance’ later, we were in love and together ever since. that tale, however, is very long, and for another time.

through the nine years, i was labeled as ‘in a lesbian relationship’, and by default lumped into the ‘lesbian’ category, despite being bisexual and explaining constantly that one’s sexual identity or preference is NOT defined by their partner or relationship status. i held fast and true to my blatant bisexuality, all the while dispelling the myth that bisexuals are ‘greedy’, ‘confused’ and ‘cannot be monogamous’. i never cared about the gender of my partner. i just knew that i loved that person.

years and years after we met and fell in love, combined lives and built a home together, he bravely came out to me that he finally realized that he was a transgendered male, i.e., born with a female body, but inherently male. he risked me not accepting him, of me breaking up with him, of me not understanding or wanting to continue our life together; none of which happened, because i do accept him and want to continue our life together no matter what. and although i may not understand SPECIFICALLY what he is going through, i will support him every step of the way. so, since he came out to me and started his transition, things have been the same as ever; for me anyways. for him, unfortunately, coming out to me was just the beginning. next he had to tell our friends, which, although seemed easy, wasn’t. he still had to overcome the fear of being questioned, or not being taken seriously. everyone was supportive, however, and for them, as with me, it was all very easy-peasy. for my boyfriend, however, who hates any sort of attention, things weren’t as simple. he was having trouble fielding all of the questions and even responding to the overwhelming support, when he was still just feeling his way around this new step of his life. he had to learn to respond to his newly chosen name, and even remember to use the masculine pronoun when referring to himself. thirty-six years is a long time to just change something simple like your own name, especially when dealing with having to use your ‘birth name’ at work. there was so much stress from trying to decide how to come out at work, or even if he should, or even if he COULD and risk getting fired. it was so hard watching him struggle and be afraid of getting outed. he had to explain the situation to HR repeatedly, and unfortunately his company didn’t even know how to deal with the situation, which didn’t help ease his troubles. at every turn, there was a new scenario, a new situation to have to consider whether or not coming out as a trans-male was the best thing to do. he was under a microscope so often that i saw him crack occasionally, and those cracks lead to more stress. but he always managed to get his chin up and at least fake his way through it. he was so very brave then.

hardest of all, he had to eventually face his family and struggled with the whole situation for a long time. it is sadly a step in his journey that he will constantly have to revisit many more times to come, but at least, the initial conversations are over. i have always known my partner to be brave, but these things took the most courage of all. but even still, with what seemed the hardest part behind him, there were more steps, each more complicated, each another chance for exposure. he cannot hide, no matter how much he wants to. his whole life, he has always drawn attention, despite being quiet and withdrawn. every day he has to move forward, and every day is an introvert’s nightmare; stares and sideways glances; whispers of “is that a BOY or a GIRL?”, constant questions about whose credit card or license he has, and a never-ending stream of screwed up pronouns. waitresses usually seem to address him as ‘sir’ whereas blue collar workers call him ‘a lady’, and when people realize their mistake, it’s more exposure as they try to correct themselves, apologetically. and now, he has the added fear of the BATHROOM DILEMMA. he’s too boyish to use the ladies room, and men’s rooms aren’t usually fully equipped for his current ‘equipment’ and there’s always a fear of being called out, or openly questioned and embarrassed; not to mention the scariness of backwards people who don’t understand the world; people who can’t accept that how we are born isn’t always black and white, or male and female as the case may be.

even more, there’s always an underlying fear of what happened to Brandon Teena who was portrayed in the movie based on his true story in Boys Don’t Cry. i am admittedly nervous for my partner at times, a lot of times actually. there’s always the underlying fear of hate crimes. always. no matter how much i pretend, the fear still lingers, even if just in the cobwebbiest of corners. i want to protect him from everything- the stares, the snickers, the pronoun game, and hate crimes; mostly, i want him to be able to transition quickly, both with legality of paperwork and also physically with surgery. but the reality is, i am not always with him, i can’t always be there to be a buffer when he needs to use the bathroom at work, or when he needs to use his old driver’s license or credit card. i can’t always be there. and at these times, when i can’t be there for him, he has to put his bravest “i don’t give a fuck”- attitude forward, just to do things that we all take for granted. and he is brave. i love him for that. he may not be my ‘hero’, but i admire his courage to just be who he really is.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/daily-prompt-hero/

The Question Jar Pt. One

As much as i enjoy fantasy, writing about what fantastical mystical being i would be and what my special powers are is a tad cheesy- even for someone as cheddar-riffic as me. HOWEVER, i am trying to get into the habit of writing even if it’s not something that’s my usual flavor. i suppose that it can only help me grow as a writer- so—– i’m some sort of wizard or something. here i go-

Walking slowly on the sandy shore in the dead of winter, i watch the foamy gray water roll back and forth towards my feet and then back to the endless ocean. jagged remains of shell fragments stir as water fills them and swirls back out to sea. my mind is as calm and empty as the beach is, now that summer is long gone. a wintry gale adds to the color in my cheeks and it encourages me to continue walking done the shore line. i walk, as all beach wanderers do, slowly, purposefully, and staring down, scanning the sand for perfect shells. my boots scrum across the thick wet sand, leaving footprints that will be erased only seconds after. looking up i see the glitz of Atlantic City in the skyline and wonder how many steps in the wet sand i would have to take to meet up with the towering buildings.

like a child, i stop and let my feet get sucked down into the thick sandy muck, becoming frozen, becoming part of the beach to stay forever, and i feel something heavy drag across the toe of my boot. i look down and see a glass jar. my heart stops a beat when i see silver shimmer glittering inside. i bend down and pick it up and work the lid off. peering back inside, there now appears to be nothing in it at all, and i resist the urge to hurtle it away into the ocean, deciding instead to carry it off to a trash can.

the second before i replace the lid, i hear a tinkling and a puff of glitter is released into the brisk morning air. crystals rapidly form in the jar and a thin line of diamonds fall onto the beach, disappearing as they touch the sand. it doesn’t take long before i realize the jar is full of magic of some kind and i quickly unstick my boots and walk away towards home. as i walk, i look at the newly forming crystals and wonder all of the wonder-able things about this jar, particularly why it had come to me.

almost instantly the answer came to me- i had been wishing for some hope only moments before allowing myself to get sucked into the wet sand. i was in despair. my life was not going as i had planned, certainly not in the way i wanted, and i was feeling lost and desperate. i was wishing to be drawn into the earth, wanting my soul to become a crashing white wave. all of my negativity was swirling around my ankles just moments before, but somehow, the toxicity was diminishing. why now? why after so long of constant sadness and life beating me down was it disappearing? another tinkling and my mind brightened as if by magic and i looked down at the jar. diamonds were still trickling out and down onto the sand. i tried to cup them in my hand, but like liquid silver, it rolled right off. was this jar the answer? was this simple glass jar enchanted? more crystals, and more glittering diamonds skittered down, melting into the sand. yes, it had to be. but why? what did it do? what does it mean? why me? the tiny crystals seemed to be bubbling, foaming, popping, as if excited to answer my questions. it finally occurred to me that this jar was giving me answers to my questions. my brain exploded with joy and a thousand more questions. i turned and hurried myself off of the beach, thrilled at the promise of my new treasure.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/01/daily-prompt-do-you-believe-in-magic/