Category Archives: Random

Boys and Girls, Guys and Gals, Men and Women

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Well. Isn’t that a broad topic? Gender and gender issues have been on my mind a lot lately. Always a big thing for me, actually, but I get outraged and angry so very quickly that I rarely get a chance to think rationally.

Anger is an energy, according to most of the former members of the Sex Pistols, otherwise known as PIL. Yes, it is, and if I could harness my own I could power a small city. (Great song by the way)

My family will confirm that I have always been prone to rage. “Temper tantrums” they said when I was little. “She’ll grow out of it.”

The thing is: I have never grown out of having temper tantrums. I have never seen the reason why I can’t be loudly outraged, to the point of kicking or throwing things, when shit is just that dammed stupid and I’ve had enough, enough, enough!

I can explain, or excuse, a good bit of my ability (or inclination, or sheer desire) towards letting loose and having physical expressions of rage by seeing my father lose his shit, and taking him as a role model. But my mom never did that, and my sister never did either: so why did I?

The only reason anyone has ever given me to not lose my shit, too, as an adult, is that women just don’t do that. So, is it a gender thing? is my first question. I have always been taught, by example, that women aren’t allowed to show anger. Or, god forbid, outright rage. Why the hell not? I certainly feel it, why do I have to hold it in? Isn’t that the same as holding in the tears when they want to come? Emotion is emotion, right?

Maybe not so much. Why is it that I refuse to shed tears unless I’ve really lost it, and only when I feel safe with the one I’m crying in front of. Or I do it secretly, which just makes me feel so alone and pathetic. I fucking hate it, and that’s a fact. Why did I choose the stereotypical male way of dealing with stuff that makes anyone want to cry?

Why is it that I have seemingly, unknowingly, chosen the male way of dealing with extreme frustration? Why do I react this way when my sister doesn’t? It can’t be nurture, it has to be nature. I had two older female role models, but what felt right to me was to be like dad.

So. Does that mean I’m a boy in my secret heart? Well. If it does, I’m a gay boy. Or a bisexual boy with a preference to other boys. My dad and my sister both read my blog, and while they don’t need details, I rather expect that they already know I’ve been adventurous with my sexuality. And I also know they both don’t judge me for whatever they think I’ve done. I love them both very much for that. (It’s not ever been as weird as you might think, guys! Or it didn’t seem weird to me…)

As usual, I’ve rambled.

I recently got quietly angry over a comment that I literally walked into at work. Some shit about how one fella’s wife has no ‘spacial awareness.’ I come through with a pallet full of boxes – that I personally didn’t put on that pallet, and the squeeze is tight and two of my boxes fall off. “Perfect example, women have no spacial awareness!”

Me: “you mean whoever loaded this pallet did a shit job of it, right?”

“Nope, women are shit at spacial awareness! Hahahahhahahahhaha!”

Didn’t say a dammed word at the time, because I was furious. I grumped about that for hours, really annoyed. I couldn’t decide if they were having fun with me as a member of the crew, or if I’d actually been slighted, hard. Truly, it was meant in fun. However. It put me in a shitty mindset, and that helped me make the decision: that was fuckin’ sexist and I had a right to be annoyed.

I never want to be the annoying asshole, but I also think I can, and should, speak up when it sucks to be the butt of a joke just because I’m female. I am sooo tired of that old joke. How do I respond, however, in a way that I can not only show that I’m not getting really angry (I’m not) but that it isn’t fuckin funny, either – so next time maybe don’t, okay?

All the over-sharing background just leads up to the last question. Is is me? Is who I am and what I feel based on my genitalia? I didn’t have a choice about what I was born with, but I’ve been dealing with people badly, awkwardly, my whole life. I never seem to quite understand anything other people say or do, confidently. I’m rather more comfortable at the moment with my interactions with the guys, and have a lot more fun with the boys than I ever did with the girls. It’s nice to take an insult as a joke, and a compliment with ‘shut up you’re distracting me!’

I’ve gone nowhere with this, and I’ve been writing for hours now. What do I tie this up with? I guess this: most of my followers appear to be CIS women – so how do you feel? Did anything I’ve said hit a chord in your heart-strings?

*sorry, dad, if I’ve upset you in any way. I know you aren’t the same person I knew as a kid. It’s still my history, upbringing, and the things I took on board when that was what kids do.

I Got Nuttin’ to Say

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So here are cute pics of my fur-babies.

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I know I give more e-time to the cats than the dog; so here she is having a nap on a freshly-washed rope toy. She is gorgeous.

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Might not look like it, but Spot was passed out hard with his chin on his “brother’s” flank.

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Brotherly lurve, including the underside of Spotty’s pink tongue.

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The best photo that wasn’t. If I’d gotten this in focus, it would have been right amazing! But I didn’t, so it isn’t, but you still are looking at it.

Red Dwarf Season 11!!!

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I am inordinately happy about this. Yes, I’m a giant geek.

http://www.giantfreakinrobot.com/scifi/red-dwarf-blasts-eleventh-season.html

Some of the text from the website GiantFreakinRobot:

“Fans of deep space wackiness, robots, amazing absurdity, and a creature descended from the common house cat, have a lot to be grateful today. Once thought long dead, the venerable British sci-fi sitcom Red Dwarf is coming back to life one more time. Co-creator Doug Naylor has signed on to write an eleventh season, one which is already scheduled to shoot later this year.

For the uninitiated, Red Dwarf is the story of Dave Lister (Craig Charles). Through a series of unfortunate events he is the last living human in the known universe, and is stranded on a mining ship lost three million years in deep space. His only companions are the hologramatic recreation of his former bunkmate, a twit named Arnold Judas Rimmer (Chris Barrie); Kryten (Robert Llewellyn), a neurotic maintenance droid with a head that looks like a pencil eraser; and Cat (Danny John-Jules), a vain, ditzy humanoid that evolved from Lister’s cat Frankenstein. There’s also a time-addled computer, who has gender reassignment surgery part of the way through the series. The crew has all sorts of crazy adventures, meet all manner of space creatures, robots, and half-mad killer cyborgs, and even travel through time on occasion.”

Let’s hope this works: YouTube link to a really good top ten best of clips. I’m grinning like crazy still.
http://youtu.be/UVmKeisK2cU

How Many of Your 9 Lives Are Left?

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My darling dear had a terribly close call while driving to the shops recently. An auld wan pulled out right in front of him, on a wet road, when he had a young wan about a meter and a half off his bumper. (For the non-Irish: wan means woman, basically just ‘one’ but rarely used for men.) Cars coming the other way, too. He made the quick decision to pass the old dear right snappy, nearly clipping her wing mirror in the action, and facing down the oncoming traffic. He made it, and left the young woman tailgating his arse to deal with the slow car instead.

Braking hard would have made a sandwich of our Mini, and steering while under ABS braking isn’t ideal. So he went for it, as I would have too, because while the Mini is 11 years old and just went over 125,000 miles on Friday, she is quick when you need her to be. I trust in that car daily when faced with slow arseholes behind slower tractors going around hard curves on narrow ass roads.

There is a dammed good reason Minis are used as rally cars!

As usual, I’ve gone off into a story instead of getting to my point. Which is entirely based on the Facebook update he did after arriving home: “Many thanks to the lady who pulled out in front of me (doing 65mph) today. If I braked, Ms tailgater behind would’ve been on my lap so boot to the floor into oncoming traffic & bye. Missed her wing mirrors by inches & lost one of my cat lives.”

Cat lives… we say that cats have nine lives, of course. I know hubby has had some bad times and if he thinks this is a number down, I believe him. I know of one other time he came close. So unless I want to get him all grumpy thinking about other times, I’ll say he still has seven. In reality, it’s probably six, but I don’t want to put him in a bad mood by asking. Maybe five. Who knows. Four? Sure there was at least one close call when he was very small.

I already did one post about a time I could have died, so I won’t go into the others. That post was gory enough!

How many cat lives out of nine do you have left? Tell me a story or write a post and link back if you find it’s a really good story!

A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words?

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I’m super low on energy as I have some sort of upper respiratory infection.

Also, coming down off the Paddy’s Day festivity excitement is slightly depressing.

Also, I always get a little weirder than normal in the spring. Even as a child, spring has messed with my head. All that potential life and energy and just plain potential, stored up and waiting to burst into…. well, I never quite managed to burst into anything particularly special so maybe that’s why I get a bit bummed out.

Anyhoo – I got a wee ceramic watering can and some narcissus bulbs for Christmas. I planted them and left them on my kitchen windowsill to grow.

And they did, of course. And they also looked like Spottie’s favourite snack – a long stringy thing. After he had a good munch, I moved them to the fireplace mantle, which is out of reach and too crammed with stuff for Spot to consider jumping up.

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I thought I was just taking a picture of my flowers. But what I saw was a little snapshot of me and who I am, displayed above my fireplace. Shall we have a tour?

Left to right: The plate is one made by my dad and his wife. She is a potter, amongst many other talents, and for several years they made Celtic pottery and toured the USA selling their wares at Irish festivals. Absolutely stunning work, and I’m very happy and proud to display their craft where it can be seen immediately. I’d love to share a link, but sadly they have retired from pottery-making.

The skulls – in old Ferrero Rocher chocolate boxes, no less – are ones I found myself. Top is a fox, bottom is a groundhog. I have a cat and an opossum, too – they just aren’t in the photo.

Well, the flowers of course. The wee watering can actually works as one, so it is pretty efficient at getting rid of excess water, despite having no drainage holes at the bottom (ye know, where they normally are). If you have time to stand around holding it at an angle to drip while keeping the long leaves from breaking. Meh. Will move the narcissus elsewhere I think.

The wonderful Celtic-carved skull! Man I love that thing. I bought it at the Cleveland Irish festival one year when dad came to sell their wares. I just fell in love with it. I believe I got it from Gaelsong – be warned, they are more than happy to send you catalogs full of drool-worthy items. I don’t see much stuff of their quality even over here. Maybe they just have an awesome photographer…

The wee white thing is a Philips IMAGEO LED candle light – we have them in red and blue and just love them. That’s the US/Canada link, but of course they sell them in Ireland and the UK (not sure about Australia/New Zealand). Cheap to run, charge quickly and cheaply, can be used on the charge base while lit, and give nice flickery light for hours and hours with no fire danger. I’d give them a 10 out of 10.

There is also the tiniest bit of a postcard that Socks sent me from her vacation to Maine in the fall of last year. ‘got lobstah?’ Hahahaha! I’d love to go to Maine.

Last – because it is not the least, not by any means – is the Ouija board.

I wrote so very much about that board that I think I will have to take a better photo of just the board and do a separate post. It’s incredibly important to me and deserves an explanation.

What treasures do you keep in a place of honour?

Damn, this Traffic Jam, I Really Hate to be Late

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I’ve been holding on to these photos since summer 2012! I wasn’t in a blogging mood then, but it seems I’m getting back into the swing of things.

iDJ and I had driven out to Urlaur Lake, so I could go snorkelling. Unfortunately the place was jam-packed, and there were even two dammed Jet-Ski’s out on the water, rocketing around, scaring the swans and fish. Um, no: I don’t desire to have my underwater magic world soundtracked by whining engines. Plus we had Dogzilla with us, and she is terrified of children – of which there were many.

Poo.

So we went off in search of something else to do. On the way, I got to experience my first traffic-jam, County Mayo style!

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Don’t you just love that the cattle were being moved along by bicycle? The cows are taking up both lanes, too – clearly not too many other cars had been up or down the road recently.

(Yes, we are geeks, and R2-D2 talks when you bop him on the head.)

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Interesting that the cattle had nearly all moved to the correct side of the road after passing us – except for that one big brown girl who can just barely be seen on the left. She was all about the tasty road-grass.

The white/blue-grey one with the eyeshadow that was giving iDJ the stink-eye was bigger than our Mini Cooper. Yikes.

I was in the passenger seat, repeating ‘ohshitohshitohshit’ under my breath, while smiling like crazy at the experience of seeing a herd of cattle parting around the car. ‘Don’t knock the wing mirrors off! Please…? Gooood cows, niiiice cows!’ No damage was done to the Mini – unless you count the poop-splatters acquired further up the road.

So, I Have to do This Now at Work…

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Some jackass has stolen two of my drinks out of the work fridge. Yes, I get made fun of for my slightly passive-aggressive note. But I still have my drink at the end of the day since I started doing this.

Asshole never copped to doing it, either. I wouldn’t fuck with me either when I’m thirsty.

Bad Dog-Mom = Great Cat-Mom

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It’s been cold lately, and even though she has a thick fur coat, the dog refuses to understand that she is only allowed on the couch when she is invited. She’s been in a slow shed since about August, so is definitely not welcome on my awesome couch.

After I caught her sneaking up there while I was still home, I started leaving things in the way so she would take the damn hint. Sometimes it would be a random ladder that was to hand (what, you don’t have ladders just leaning around in your living room?), but lately it has been a couple of empty boxes.

Of course, the cats were in ecstasy that I had boxes just leaning around in my living room. But it got better when I put them on the couch. Double the fun!

This morning I had another brilliant idea. I tucked a corner of the blanket that lives on the couch into the box before I left for work. Nine hours later, I come home and iDJ immediately asks me, “Guess where Spotty is?”

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I have turned Spot into the happiest cat in Ireland.

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Laser-eyes courtesy of the iPhone flash: needed as it is lovely and dark and warm and soft in the box now.

Who the Hell Puns in their Sleep?!?!

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Me.

I do.

I’ve not been sleeping well lately. More accurately, I’ve not been sleeping for long periods in the morning but I do have loads of REM sleep, complete with weird dreams.

Last week I again dreamt that I was a man, and it was perfectly normal in the dream. Forget the details now, as you do, but I remember noting that I wasn’t even me in the dream.

This morning, I was the interviewer for a TV documentary on a famous person. I wish it was someone real, but I don’t think it was. It was a man, and rather heavy-set and intelligent. I think he was an actor. Much like the amazing Stephen Fry, but it wasn’t him. I was there to document his unusual hobby, which was candle-making.

In dream space, there was lots of time doing camera angles, set up, questions, etc. It went on for a while, perfectly normal – as if I have a clue what being a TV interviewer entails.

Eventually, cameras rolling, a young man walks in. The star stops and says, “Oh, I’d like you to meet my assistant. He’s been invaluable. This is Chandler.”

I woke up immediately, laughing out loud.

Ugh.