Taboo

        Between marathons of Teen Mom, Teen Mom2, and True Blood, I didn't think my taste in television shows could get more entertaining- until I found Taboo on the Geographic Channel.  Where has this show been all my life? 

         It all started when Tempe refused to go to bed last night.  She just cried and fretted every time I put her down.  This is odd because she's been on such a good schedule the past few months.  Anyway, while she was deciding if she was sleepy or not, I was flipping through the channels and saw a documentary on people who lead secret lives.  Sounds pretty interesting, right?  They showcased a wealthy, sucessful business man who, twice a year, decides to become a Train Hobo.  Woah.  And let me tell you, this is just the tip of the Crazy Iceberg.  These people made me feel normal.

       Sissy and I watched shows about people who had unhealthy relationships with the dead- now I'm not talking necrophilia or anything so dramatic, but they were people like the inhabitants of Madagascar who dig up their dead every once in a while, throw a big party to reacquaint their dearly departed with the fam, throw some new swaddling on them and hope their mummified loved one can send some good luck and prosperity their way.  No such luck so far, the man whose mother was dug up, only makes $1.38 a day.  I think I'd leave the tomb closed next year.

     I'm not going to say that the segment on Furry Fandom was odd, and I'm not really going to say it was funny either.  There were some things that I tried (in vain) to understand, and there were some things that I hurt myself laughing at.  Sorry if that's your thing.

     For people who may not know, "Furries" think that they are both human and animal.  They have a problem with anthropomorphizing (giving human feelings, emotions, and rationalizing capabilities to non-human things) animals.  They had a pig, a blue cat, a fox, some sort of weird dragon/tree/fox hybrid...I dunno but that boy could swing around trees like a stripper on a pole.

    The people they interviewed were socially awkward and unhappy with their lives.  They felt that they could hide within these bulky, ridiculously animated outfits.    I can understand the whole being-dissatisfied-the-the-cards-you-were-dealt scenario, but couldn't they just drink and smoke like the rest of us?

    As for the anticipated sexual aspect of being a Furry, they didn't really delve into that, but I assume they don't scrog with their bulky costumes on.  How would that even work?

    I'm digging National Geographic's darker approach to MTV's True Life deal, and I plan on watching some more.  I enjoy trying to figure out the psychology of people who participate in 'outlier' behavior. 

:.Yup.:

In the Auto Zone

       I hate driving, especially days like today when there's more traffic than normal and everyone's in a rush to get wherever.  By the way, I HATE people who don't use turn signals.  If I'm trying to get onto the highway and I'm waiting for you to go on by so I don't risk pulling out in front of you, the least you can do is give a freaking signal to let me know that you're turning into the driveway next to me.  I mean, it's highway courtesy people!  Also, four wheelers are off-road vehicles, not in-my-way-because-you're-driving-five-flipping-miles-an-hour vehicles!  I really just want to run them in the ditch.  Yes, I have Road Rage issues.
        When I was a little girl, my Mamaw used to infuriate me when we went somewhere and she'd drive ten miles an hour and pull off in every wide place to let other drivers go by her.  It drove me crazy because I was her passenger, but now that I'm a driver, I think more people could be this courteous on the roadway.  I mean, if you want to drive slow, that's you're prerogative, but let people get on with their lives!
        Also, I'd love to find the man who decided to put Halogen bulbs in headlights...and kick him in the crotch.  I know it has to be a man-innovation because a woman would be smarter than that, surely!  Don't even get me started on people who pass you in blind curves after brushing the dust off your bumper for thirty miles.  I drive the speed limit, dammit!
        Anyways, it's a pretty common occurrence to meditate while driving.  You probably aren't aware that you're doing it, but it's like when you go down the road and aren't sure how you got to where you are, or you don't remember large pieces of driving-time.  Meditative driving, and when I'm trying to sleep at night, are usually prime time for my writing ideas.  It's really not fair.  Prime Time should be Laptop Time! 
         I don't understand it, I am capable of writing good things, but I can only write so long before my brain's sputtering around on fumes and I start writing a bunch of nonsense.  I should probably start recording my ideas on my cell phone and leaving a notepad by the bed.  With my luck, I'd psyche myself out with my preparedness and I'd never have a good idea...ever again. 

:. I Need to Drive Dumbo Around!  "Get Outta My Way!".:

Chimp Watch

    Before December 13, 2011 I’d never put a whole lot of thought into sibling dynamics.  I knew that having two Rugrats would be significantly more complicated than having one Rugrat, and I also knew that I didn’t have any experience dealing with brothers and sisters aside from my own.  I’m fairly certain that the experience is different now that I’m a stranger to their brother-sister relationship.  Okay, less of a stranger and more of a referee. 

     Now that Tempe is big enough to move around and is actually aware of her world outside of her titty-bottles, she wants to play with Connor-especially his toys.  It doesn’t matter that she has her own things to play with, or that he has his own big-boy toys to play with, each others toys are just way more funtastic.  

     The more I stress about their relationship, the more I realize that I can’t really effect it all that much.  Sure, I can force him to spend time with her and bribe him into sharing his toys, but I can’t really make him like her.  I think that he’s more fascinated with her than anything else, and I also can’t discount his blind jealousy of anyone or anything that takes my attention away from him for even a nanosecond.  As I’m writing this, I’m forced to hide the computer behind the couch cushions.  

    I hope that they grow up and rely on each other and support each other in a way that I can’t.  From experience, I know that I’m more apt to be open and honest with my brother about my life, and more likely to take his advice over my parents’.  I don’t know why that is, but I’m aware that the secret society of siblings does exist.

    As a sociologist and an avid anthropologist, I find child-rearing to be the most fascinating social experiment…ever.  Some days I feel like Jane Goodall, hunkering down in the jungle, and watching chimps throw poop at each other.  I know it’s going to get way more interesting, and I can’t wait.  I know they’ll drive me crazy, worry me to death, and infuriate me to no end, but I love them more than anything else in this world- and that’s saying something because I REALLY love my computer, iPod, and coffee. 

    Uh-oh, gotta go.  I think Connor’s catching onto the whole computer in the hidey-hole gig!

:.While Bubby's all distracted, I'm playing with his yummy car!.:

If It Makes You Happy

     I've spent the better part of the afternoon listening to The Piano Guys on YouTube.  I'm drawn to them and their cello/piano music like nothing else.  If you haven't listened to them before, you should.  But, while I was watching them, a thought occurred to me- it must be absolute Heaven to make a living doing what you love.  You'd never have to dread going to work or suffer the day glaring at the clock and praying for quitting time. 

    When did life get so complicated anyways?  We all do things that we hate to make money, it hardly even makes sense when you get right down to it.  I mean, do we even need all of those expensive gadgets?  Unless you're Hindu, you only have this one life to live, so why not spend it doing what makes you happy...as long as you're not hurting others in the process?

:.The Piano Guys.:

I miss you!

     Am I the only person who remembers Choose Your Own Adventure books?  I must be, otherwise I'd see all freaking sorts of them on bookshelves all over the planet!  My first CYOA book was a R.L Stein Goosebumps book.  Now, I'm not a fan of reading the same book more than once (unless I honestly can't remember what the hell happened) but with a Choose Your Own book, problem solved.  I can read the same book a million times and come up with a different tale each time. 

    If I was a little better at plotting and game-making, I would enjoy writing one of these.  In fact, I think some modern books could benefit from it like Twilight, you could bypass the lovey-dovey crapola and get right to some adventure.  Okay, Twilight might not be a good example after all, unless someone just completely rewrote it, nothing could make that series all that entertaining.  Sorry.

    What about the Shades of Grey books?  They're really good, if that's your thing.  But, I think it could benefit itself with a CYOA approach.  Say, you're not feeling like reading sex stuff all day, you could skip to page 200 and get right back into something more substantial and not humping-like-rabbits.  

    So, someone much more qualified than I, write a Choose Your Own Adventure novel about Zombies and send it my way, please.  I'll dance at your wedding!  Or your Civil Commitment ceremony, whatever.  I'm not here to judge.

                                                               

Half A Birthday for Temperance!

       Wednesday, Sissy turned six months old.  I think that the first half a year is just as important as a yearly celebration.  Babies go through so much in their first six months of life, and I started celebrating with Connor Lathan when he turned six months old.  I had him a little cake that he could wallow in and then a slightly larger cake for everyone else to eat.

       We had Sissy's party today because everyone was too busy during the week.  Sissy's Aunt Liz made her strawberry cake last night and we frosted and decorated it this morning.  Tempe enjoyed her pink Princess cake, and it was nice just to celebrate life.  I'm so blessed to have her here, healthy, and happy. 

:.Strawberry Cake Is So Yummy In My Tummy!.:

:.Happy Birthday Hat.:

In The Works

   ~ This is a small portion of my new writing project.  I'm not sure what will come of it, but I like it so far.  What do you think?~       

         I hear the rhythmic sound of water seconds before I actually see it. I open my eyes and breathe deeply, the salty, moist air invading my nostrils. It weighs heavily in my lungs, briny tentacles filling me up until I'm close to bursting and I'm forced to exhale. It's beautiful here at the precipice of the world. I imagine the continent stretching out behind me as I gaze out over a very small portion of the Atlantic. I think of all of the people, memories, and places at my back and I step forward until waves bubble up around my ankles and then my calves. I'm tempted to keep walking, submerge myself completely in the cool water. Could I escape myself out there?

      I lift my hand, it feels like lead and it takes a Herculean effort, but the sun is so bright here. Too bright for nighttime. My brain is trying to communicate something to me. Why do I think it's supposed to be dark? I shade my eyes from the glinting water and watch the waves, my heart thumping in time to its lazy rhythm as I imagine how deep the water really is out there in the murky, mysterious depths. I think it would be quite peaceful to drown out there.

“Drowning is not so pitiful

As the Attempt to rise.

Three times, 'tis said, a sinking man

Comes up to face the skies,

And then declines forever

To that abhorred abode,

Where hope and he part company-

For he is grasped of God.

The Maker's cordial visage,

However good to see,

Is shunned, we must admit, “

Like an adversity.” I recognize the words and her voice, her beautiful, sweet voice and suddenly I'm crying like a lost child. I didn't hear her approach, immersed in her words as I was. Mom loved that poem. With her vigorous lust for life, I never could understand her kindred spirit with Emily Dickenson.

She smiles and runs her fingers through my long, black hair- ever the patient caregiver. Her muddy brown eyes mirror mine, everyone says we look alike but I don't see it. She's so beautiful and lithe. I'm more lanky and clumsy.

       “Why are you here Kassie? Don't you have things you should be doing?” She's scolding me, making me uncomfortable in my own skin beneath her watchful stare. Nothing escapes her notice.

       “I don't want to do anything at all. I want to enjoy the day with you,” I plead, reminding myself of someone much younger than my twenty-three years.

      “It's so dark out here,” she lets go of my hair and looks out over the black, menacing ocean. My hand drops uselessly against my side as I mimic her pose. She's right. The sun is gone and I step back into dry sand, suddenly afraid of the water.  There it is again, the changing of light and the tugging in my mind.  There's something I need to be aware of.

       “Don't be so frightened. It's not so bad,” she smiles, but it's weak. Her once healthy skin is suddenly stretched taught over her bones and her eyes, alive with love for me only moments ago are dull and glassy.

      I dash forward, my movements much slower than I thought they were, weighed down by the sand. I catch her, easing her onto the cold, wet sand. It's my turn to smooth her hair with my hand and I attempt to hide my fear as clumps of it fill my palm and then fall uselessly beside her. “Oh Mom, I'm so sorry,” I'm sobbing, but somehow my words are still strong, much stronger than I am.

      “Be happy Kassie,” her words echo in the stifling breeze and she's gone. My fingers grab for her in the dirty sand and broken shells. I have to find her. I have to know she's okay. I search for her, rubbing my palms and fingertips raw on the abrasive sand. Not even her hair remains.

       I scream and I can't stop. Grief is a living, breathing, thing clawing my insides and the salty air only adds to my agony, filling the empty spaces and making my blood burn. 

:. A fitting Image, I think.:

                                                       

Over Exposure

        Before this week,  I hadn't written in a while.  I've had parts of ideas, usually late at night when I'm too tired to get up and come back to my computer and type them all out, but I never get up to do it.  I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid.

         It's hard to explain, and it's probably even harder for you to understand even if I tried to explain my thoughts on me and my writing.  I suppose it boils down to exposure.  I've never felt so vulnerable, so naked as I do when I'm writing...more specifically when someone reads what I've written.

       When it comes to my feelings, I'm guarded and all walled-up.  And no matter how hard I try, my emotional baggage seeps into anything and everything I write.  My reader(s) may not realize it, but there's times when I'm laying everything out for the world to see and it's terrifying.  I feel that if anyone ever really, truly knew me, they would hate me- and the worst part of it all is that I could not blame them.

     All of my distress aside, it feels good to put my thoughts to paper again.  It's so freeing to get rid of some of these conflicts.  I can define them, make them pretty, and resolve them through stories and fictional characters.  They are my little experiments, and my time spent creating them brings me joy that I'd forgotten how much I needed.

     I have hope for a literary career again, and it's breathed new life into me.  I want to succeed for more reasons than money (although I hide behind that false pretense so I don't appear as emotionally invested in my dreams as I really am).  I want to succeed because writing is my passion and my purpose.  I know, if I were to be given a chance, I could make someone, somewhere happy with the things I write.  I pretend that I'm selfish to hide how selfless my intentions really are.  I know, I'm an enigma unto myself.

Pucker Up, Baby!

    I've been sitting here thinking about kissing.  I mean, I was looking at a picture of the very yummy Sam Eliott and how much I'd love to devour his face and then I thought "Kissing is the weirdest thing".  I mean, gross things are probably on my lips anyway, and then someone likes me so much that they want to share them?  And why does kissing get us so hot and worked up anyway? 

:. You're Welcome.:

    I read somewhere that there are around Seven BILLION germs in the average human mouth.  Eww.  And what if I luck out and get the above average Germer.  Yuck!  Good news is, not all germs are bad.  I mean, we have lots of germs all over and in our bodies to begin with, right?  
                         “A good proportion of the body is full of germs, and we have a symbiotic relationship with most of them,” says Amesh Adalja, MD, an instructor in the division of infectious diseases and an associate in the Center for Biosecurity at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. “Bacteria help metabolize certain substances in the mouth, for example. In other organ systems, bacteria are responsible for breaking down food and synthesizing vitamins, among many other functions.” 

        So, swapping germs can be beneficial because you're being exposed to germs you might not have and you might need them.  I guess they would also help boost your immune system, too.   And on the emotional front, kissing helps you bond with your partner- I'm sure it has something to do with neurotransmitters and all that medical textbook terminology.  I'm too busy reading Fifty Shades of Grey to waste time actually learning stuff!

       The horrific side of kissing is (obviously) the risk of spreading the not-so-nice germs like Mono, Herpes, and Hep. B.  To be fair, lots of viruses can be spread by rubbing your naughty parts against each other, as well as snot, spittle from sneezing, and other oozy stuff from your other orifices.  Did you know that there were such things as Mouth Warts?  I was unaware.  I wonder what those even look like anyway?

    The best argument I can think of, is kissing is an evolutionary impulse (It's also lots of fun).  You need other people's germs, either for their crime fighting parasites, or for the ability to contract germs and boost your immunity to them.  Also, who could look at Sam Elliot's lips and not want to kiss them?  If only he could smooch me and say "Ram" like he does on the Dodge commercial...all at the same time.  I'd probably keel over from too much blood rushing from my brain  to my...never mind. 

:. Just in case you were curious.  FYI: Do yourself a favor and don't Google "Mouth Warts".  It's scary!.:

When to Cut Back on Web Habits?

    My name is Jessicca and I am addicted to the Internet.  Okay, now that we got our Webaholics Anonymous meeting out of the way, we can move on.  And what's so anonymous about saying your name...and showing up in person to those meetings anyway? 
    
     I think everyone can relate to having an inappropriate relationship with the Internets.  I see my computer more often than I see my husband, I'm not really complaining, that's just the way it is.  I would say that I see my computer more than I see my kids, but I have their pictures plastered everywhere, I'm always talking about them, and they're always hanging off of me, even when I'm trying to write stuff. 

    So, I've compiled a helpful guide for those of you who may be on the fence wondering if you're a fellow Webaholic:
    

     * You haven't left the house in weeks.         
     * You haven't picked up an actual book in weeks.
     * You have no IRL Friends.
     * You know what IRL means.    
     *If you do talk to someone via not the Internet, you constantly annoy  them with tales of your Online Friends.
     * You make a date to IM your friends, family, significant other.
     * You suffer from severe carpel tunnel and your fingers are permanently poised over an imaginary keyboard.
     * You develop severe withdrawal symptoms during a power outage and curl up in the corner in a fetal position with your wireless mouse. 
     * You no longer answer or return phone calls, but immediately reply to messages and e-mails.
     *  You check Facebook no less than fifty times a day to see who 'like's your new status, picture, comment, whatever.
     * You no longer feel the need to tell anyone anything in person and take it for granted that they've already read about it on your social networking page.
     * The only news you're familiar with is what's in your News Feed.
     * You watch television while also typing on your laptop.
     * The only number you dial on your phone is Tech support.
     * You shy away from web-cams because it's too reminiscent of an actual conversation.
     * You can't sleep at night because you're too worried about all of the neat-o stuff you're missing on your computer. 
     * You watch gross videos on YouTube of people popping gigantic blackheads for entertainment, then continue to complain about how demented and weird those people are for making these yucky videos in the first place...but you can't look away no matter how hard you try.  So gross, must look away!
      * You troll Topix for juicy gossip, and take their word for absolute Gospel. 

Feel free to add your own suggestions here!  I've gotta go Troll the 'Net for more cool stuff!