Bitchy McBitcherson's Blog

Tag: me

  • 4:45 AM

    and all is not well…

    First of all the furnace in the RV is not working and it is fucking cold. I am worried the fish is going to freeze to death. They (RV rental people) say they will try to get somebody out to repair it in the morning. They also say that I can go pick up a space heater at Walmart and they will reimburse for it. This was not possible as there is no 24 hour Walmart here.

    Tried to sleep anyway, despite it being fucking cold. Luckily, I have a warm blanket, a light blanket and a comforter. Xander was so cold he joined me under the covers to sleep, something he never does.

    We got 2 hours sleep before Willow came over and peed all over me. She soaked through all my bedding. After I killed her (okay, I didn’t really do that) I checked the pamphlet for the campground. It has a 24 hour laundry room. I bagged up all my stuff, took things so I could shower too, since, umm gross. Hauled my ass and tons of stuff over there and found a sign saying that as of Nov 1, the laundry room was closed from 10PM to 8AM.

    I squatted on the sidewalk and cried quietly, so as not to wake the other campers.

    I am cold and exhausted and have no place I call home. This 25 foot box is physically stressful to drive. My back and neck are killing me. I smell like cat piss, and I have no blankets to keep warm. I can’t even begin a load until 8. Who knows when somebody will come to fix my heater or how long that will take. I am already a day late and at risk for missing the movers on the other end. Check out time is noon, so if they can’t fix it by then… Well I won’t have slept anyway by then.

    I would toss all this bedding and buy new stuff so I could sleep, and a space heater… except, yeah, no 24 hour Walmart (or anything else).

    Xander has refused to use the kitty litter since setting foot in the box on wheels too, so perhaps we’ll have an encore soon. If not him, I’m sure Willow will do something. She hates me.

    The fucking Walmart can’t even bother with an answering machine that lets me know what time they do open.

  • Body Acceptance and Lack Thereof

    Part of the reason I wrote the fat post was because I really wanted to write this post, but needed those other thoughts out of the way first. Then my life got in the way and it took me a little bit to get back to this post.

    I don’t like my body. I do not have a warm relationship with it, and I am not very motivated to improve my feelings toward it.

    I get that YOU may believe that loving my body is a SHOULD so strong it is almost a requirement, but frankly, your shoulds hold more annoyance than interest to me. It is me, and my body. From my perspective our relationship should only concern you for the seconds you choose to expose yourself to my words. If it really hurts you to hear about my body hatred, or you feel that you must give me a pep talk. You might want to quit reading.

    The current source of our problem relationship has little to do with appearance. I won’t claim to have always been comfortable looking the way I happen to look. I won’t claim that I will age gracefully, and never even consider a visit to a plastic surgeon for some little bit of something. I certainly won’t claim that I do not have flashes of appearance insecurities, or worse. However, on the majority of days, I am fine with my appearance.

    I like the theory of body acceptance. Especially as the mother of a teenage girl, it is a big part of what I want to impart to her. It is made far more difficult by the fact that in all honesty I am so uncomfortable in my own skin.

    Literally uncomfortable.

    I have been in pain since I was 10 years old. Some days it is less, some days it is more, but I am always in pain. Chronic pain, they call it. Really fucking annoying, I call it.

    Yet, most days it isn’t really all that annoying, because I am so used to it. It is just a part of life for me. So, if it is just background noise, why do I hate my body? Most days I tend to ignore my body. I focus on the billion other things going on in my life and I don’t think much about the aches, except the brief instant it flares sharply as I change position. When the concept of body acceptance comes up though, I think about my body. Once I think about it, it all crashes over me in waves. The significance of our bodies is so much more than how they look to us, and it is sure as hell more than how it looks to others.

    Yes, I get it. I’ve heard it all. “At least you can walk.” “Look at all the things you can do.” “Look at your beautiful family.” “You should be grateful.”

    I can already detail out all the positive aspects of my body, and there are many. Certainly, I appreciate that things are not worse, and I know very well that they could be, but does it go so far as to wipe out the pain and frustration that is still there. No. Not for me. Have whatever opinion you have to have about my attitude, but it is mine, and I am not looking for your help or inspiration to change it.

    Then there are the surgical scars. Occasionally I happen to honestly and casually mention that one bothers me. This is invariable followed by somebody telling me how it doesn’t look bad, or is barely noticeable. The thing is, I do not mind the scars because I think they are ugly, or I am worried what other people see. They bother me because they remind ME of the physical, mental and emotional suffering that surrounded their creation. Also, they still physically bother me. My nerve regeneration is poor. I tend to end up with large patches of numb and tingly with occasional sharp pains. I can have those spots even when the scars are completely hidden from view.

    Now I am sure that many people reading this feel curious about the causes, background and nature of these pains and surgical scars. If you spend enough time with me over the years, you’ll hear about it here and there. The reason I am not detailing it out here, is that it just doesn’t matter where the subject at hand is concerned. What I am talking about is how I feel about my body, not the journey my body has taken to arrive at this status of under-appreciated anatomical structure.

    This week has been a marginal one. I’ve been able to get out of bed every day. I have not had to avoid any of the things I needed to get done. I was able to function physically. It was definitely not a pretty bad, bad, really bad, or seriously fucked up week. It was just one of those weeks where things were a step and a half above the I almost completely block it out I have so much practice level of pain.

    This week I was reminded at every move and twitch about the pain, but I wasn’t reminded with a chainsaw.

    Also, for anyone who would like to believe that any pain is caused by my being overweight, and would be solved if I dropped 50 lbs. You are wrong. No, I don’t need to detail out why. You just are.

  • Who pays attention to me?

    Bart Prince is an architect that I became aware of from some work he had done in California. It caught my eye. One day I day scrolling through the TiVo guide I noticed his name and recorded the show. I was about a home he had designed for his parents in Albuquerque, NM. Because, like all his designs, it was rather distinctive, I was curious if my FIL, who lived in Albuquerque, was aware of this house.

    I asked my FIL and not only did he know of the house, but he happened to know Bart Prince. My FIL is a writer, among other things, and he had recently written a magazine article about Bart Prince, and has spent a fair amount of time interviewing him.

    A few weeks later a package arrived. It was a book about Bart Prince, signed to me from Bart Prince. It was a very thoughtful gift, showing that my FIL thought of me when I wasn’t directly interacting with him. I appreciated it.

    The next time I went to visit Albuquerque my FIL arranged to drop by and visit with Bart. I got to see his home and studio and listen to him talk about his current project in much different tones the soundbites so common on HGTV. It was an interesting afternoon and once again proved that my FIL actually stores little bits of information about me away in his head and tries to do things for me.

    We were just in Albuquerque for a couple of days this last unexpected trip, so he had us drive past Bart’s house so I could see the new structure that had been built next door on the second lot he owns. A house annex I guess.


    This is the new structure.
    annex (not mine)

    This is the home/studio that I visited the last time I was in ABQ. Sorry the photo was so bad, but I parked the car to take a photo of the new space.
    house (not mine)

    Here is a shot showing both. If we hadn’t been in the middle of running errands I would have gotten some decent shots of the sculptures out front. This is just in a standard neighborhood, built on two lots. It is not very large, although most of the homes around it are single story. Obviously it stands out, as the homes nearby are all traditional, but he has been there a long time so everyone is very used to it.
    house and annex (not mine)

    Anyhow, I have people who are related to me by blood who pay less attention to comments I make.

  • Post 2 of The Things I Like Series

    When I was in the third grade, I wrote, directed and acted in my first play. Yes, I was a control freak from the start. When I got older I remained involved with theatre, but gave up on the acting part. As part of our program in college, you had to get on stage, so you knew what it was like from that side. I hated it from that side.

    From the other side, well it was quite a love/hate relationship. It continues to this day. At this moment I rarely do work, although I’ve had multiple people encouraging me to start volunteering at local theaters. It is tempting. I really love that line of work, except when I am hating it.

    Lately, I mostly remain an audience member. Often I am disturbed by the audience behavior. Turn off your damn phones. Don’t bring children if they cannot sit still and shut up. Don’t come yourself if you cannot sit still and shut up. Do they comprehend that the people up on stage can hear them?

    Some of the shows I watched in the past year were because I actively wanted a chance to see them. Others I saw based on the recommendations of friends. Others we attended because we knew somebody involved in the show. Sometimes I enjoy myself very little. Sometimes I enjoy myself immensely. Occasionally I can make it through an entire show without once thinking about how I would have done it differently. This year that actually happened multiple times, which was nice.

    A year in theatre (somewhat in order):

    “A Christmas Carol” (December 2005)
    “A North Hollywood Canteen Holiday”
    “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)”
    “The Argonauts”
    “The Block”
    “I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change”
    “Don’t Dress for Dinner”
    “Hairspray”
    “Usher”
    “Urinetown”
    “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”
    “The Real Inspector Hound”
    “Black Comedy”
    “Wicked”
    “The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee”
    “Proof”
    “Sluts! The Musical”
    “Aesop’s Falables”
    “A Christmas Carol” (December 2006)

    The most recent “A Christmas Carol” that we attended (and we still have one more version of it to see this year) was put on at a private Christian school. I only found out where we were going an hour before we needed to leave the house. Not that knowing would have changed my agreement to go, it just would have changed my expectations a bit earlier. I thought we were going to a public high school production. It was a nice production. They obviously had a solid amount of money for costumes and actually did some very nice things with the set. I have to say I was impressed with the set. They were selling expensive jewelry outside to benefit the program and having a silent auction in the lobby as well. I suppose that is how they afford the nice costumes. There was the fairly typical mixture of talent levels for a school show. There were several nice singing voices. Overall, the whole accent thing did not go well, and I do not think the director should have had them attempt it. The show was performed in the school chapel. I have not been in a chapel since I worked as a wedding photographer. The pews were padded which was nice, but every little thump and movement carried all the way down, so the guy at the end of the row was irritating the crap out of me with his constant fidgeting. One of the many problems with having a very bad back is being quite sensitive to having seats knocked and shook. All in all, it was solid for a school production. They did Christian it up a, Jesus was mentioned multiple times during the play and the ghosts were termed “Angelic Spirits” first and thereafter were always referred to as spirits, never ghosts. I guess ghosts is a negative.

    When the play was finally over (this tale is one that I am extremely familiar with, and not one of my favorites to start, so it is no reflection on the show or anyone in it that I was happy to see it pass), I was thrilled because I was hungry for dinner, and more importantly I needed to find the restroom. I was unable to make a rapid exit because the lights immediately came up and the sermon and prayer session began. That hasn’t happened to me at a play before. I would seriously prefer it not happen again.