Are we looking at The End of Men?

For nearly as long as civilization has existed, patriarchy—enforced through the rights of the firstborn son—has been the organizing principle, with few exceptions. Men in ancient Greece tied off their left testicle in an effort to produce male heirs; women have killed themselves (or been killed) for failing to bear sons. […] Now the centuries-old preference for sons is eroding—or even reversing. […] Even [Ronald] Ericsson, the stubborn old goat, can sigh and mark the passing of an era. “Did male dominance exist? Of course it existed. But it seems to be gone now. And the era of the firstborn son is totally gone.”

Women, it seems, are awesome.

The end of the era of the firstborn son in many countries is astounding.  Even rigid patriarchies (like South Korea) are over it.  But the article points to the fact that in the US, things are going one step further. 

When parents visiting fertility clinics in the US first got the ability to choose the sex of a baby, feminists feared for the future of women.  There was no need for that fear, it seems.  Having girl babies is the option of choice by a wide margin.  (In some clinics, it’s as high as 2-to-1.  And with a new sperm-selection method currently in clinical trials, girls account for 75% of the requests.)

And, not from this article, but adopting a girl baby costs about $2,000 more than a boy baby. (source)

Girls are in demand!

The postindustrial economy is indifferent to men’s size and strength. The attributes that are most valuable today—social intelligence, open communication, the ability to sit still and focus—are, at a minimum, not predominantly male.

• Earlier this year, for the first time in American history, the balance of the workforce tipped toward women, who now hold a majority of the nation’s jobs.
• For every two men who will receive a B.A. this year, three women will do the same.
• Of the 15 job categories projected to grow the most in the next decade in the U.S., all but two are occupied primarily by women.
• Women now hold 51.4 percent of managerial and professional jobs—up from 26.1 percent in 1980.
• Yes, near the top of the pyramid (Fortune 500 CEOs) women are not there yet.  But they’re climbing: last year, female CEOs out-earned their male counterparts by 43 percent, on average, and received bigger raises.

Overall, the feeling I get from the article is that in a changing world and workforce, men are proving unable to adapt.  Women have faced a need to adapt for decades, and adapt they did.  Against all kinds of social pressure, women did things like go to work, get an education, work as  single parent, work while married,  work with children at home, etc.

Men?  Even though they are losing their grip on control of the workforce, on getting an education (which is a prerequisite for so many jobs these days), etc, they seem to lack the drive or determination to do the things necessary to take back what they’ve lost, or at least keep pace.  So now they’re falling behind.

(And sometimes it makes them sad…)

In recent years, male support groups have sprung up throughout the Rust Belt and in other places where the postindustrial economy has turned traditional family roles upside down. Some groups help men cope with unemployment, and others help them reconnect with their alienated families. Mustafaa El-Scari, a teacher and social worker, leads some of these groups in Kansas City. El-Scari has studied the sociology of men and boys set adrift, and he considers it his special gift to get them to open up and reflect on their new condition.

“Who’s doing what?” he asks them. “What is our role? Everyone’s telling us we’re supposed to be the head of a nuclear family, so you feel like you got robbed. It’s toxic, and poisonous, and it’s setting us up for failure.” He writes on the board: $85,000. “This is her salary.” Then: $12,000. “This is your salary. Who’s the damn man? Who’s the man now?” A murmur rises. “That’s right. She’s the man.”

The men in that room, almost without exception, were casualties of the end of the manufacturing era. Most of them had continued to work with their hands even as demand for manual labor was declining. Since 2000, manufacturing has lost almost 6 million jobs, more than a third of its total workforce, and has taken in few young workers. The housing bubble masked this new reality for a while, creating work in construction and related industries. Many of the men I spoke with had worked as electricians or builders; one had been a successful real-estate agent. Now those jobs are gone too.

Men, it seems, are not able to adapt. In school, they have a harder time committing to education, even when they are in dire need of certain education to get a new/better job.  They are not as good as women at seeking out study groups, asking for help when they need it. As the article says, “Guys high-five each other when they get a C, while girls beat themselves up over a B-minus. Guys play video games in each other’s rooms, while girls crowd the study hall.”

One senior college student told the reporter, “men are the new ball and chain.”

In the professional world, men are not adapting either.  As noted earlier, of the 15 job markets  projected to grow the most in the next decade, women dominate all but two.  Theoretically, there is no reason men should not be able to do these jobs.  Teaching and nursing schools have tried HARD to recruit more men in recent years, and it’s just not working.  Teaching used to be a male-dominated profession, and then women took it over and men never challenged to take it back, or equalize the percentages.  Men seem unwilling or unable to compete in non-brawn jobs, and thus they are a dwindling force in this increasingly non-brawn society.

The article ends by referencing a Dodge commercial that aired during the Superbowl.

Of all the days in the year, one might think, Super Bowl Sunday should be the one most dedicated to the cinematic celebration of macho. The men in Super Bowl ads should be throwing balls and racing motorcycles and doing whatever it is men imagine they could do all day if only women were not around to restrain them.

Instead, four men stare into the camera, unsmiling, not moving except for tiny blinks and sways. They look like they’ve been tranquilized, like they can barely hold themselves up against the breeze. Their lips do not move, but a voice-over explains their predicament—how they’ve been beaten silent by the demands of tedious employers and enviro-fascists and women. Especially women. “I will put the seat down, I will separate the recycling, I will carry your lip balm.” This last one—lip balm—is expressed with the mildest spit of emotion, the only hint of the suppressed rage against the dominatrix. Then the commercial abruptly cuts to the fantasy, a Dodge Charger vrooming toward the camera punctuated by bold all caps: MAN’S LAST STAND. But the motto is unconvincing. After that display of muteness and passivity, you can only imagine a woman—one with shiny lips—steering the beast.

I post this not to really have much of an opinion on it, but simply because it made me think…  And also as a way to say, “Hi guys!  I’m here!”

As promised…  Because I know literally none of you were salivating in anticipation…  I thought I’d get this up quickly before I head out.

Pictures of my mother’s laundry room.  The rest of her house is lovely all the time. But for some reason, Mom was using the laundry room as a dumping ground.  Honestly, the “before” pictures don’t really do it justice.  There were hundreds of spiders (and their webs), mold and mildew on the walls, many loads of laundry and items to be ironed, mice nesting in her wetsuit, trillions of screws and nails and tools strewn everywhere, mouse droppings everywhere, literally 80% of the floor covered in STUFF… It was really just atrocious.

So I fixed it! 

Took me ages to organize and throw stuff away, and bundle coats and shoes and clothes for Goodwill, and then to clean all the spider-mouse-bug crap outta there.  But I DID IT. 

Yay!

So, without further ado…

BEFORE & AFTER PICTURES! 

^The area supposed to be for folding laundry was home to everything from mouse poop to a sewing machine to a television to books to a broken Brita filter…

And here it is after…

^Sorry for the shoddy pictures, btw.  I borrowed my mother’s camera and I can’t work it right.  I miss MY camera.  *sniff*  Anyway, hey, look, you can actually fold laundry  there now!  I even hung the random hangers I found around the room on the rod underneath the table.  To remind my mom that the rod is there for a purpose.  And as you can see, while I am nice, I am not THAT nice. Because I left a basket of her ironing there for her to do.

^I can’t even begin to explain this. So I won’t try.  It’s just embarrassing.

And here it is after…

^Would you lookit that… Better.  I would still want to fix those shelves, but she wouldn’t let me throw anything else away…

^Here is that whole side of the room in one shot… Before…

And after…

^ I’m supposed to be taking the paintings, but I need to get them to a framer first. That’s why they’re still sitting there. 

^Last but not least, the actual washing machine/dryer area. If you look closely, you will see a bottle of maple syrup and a bottle of wine on the shelf with the detergent.  I don’t know, man, maybe she was filming one of those “Look how well it gets out a red wine stain!” commercials for her own private use?  I don’t like to think too hard about these things.

ANYWAY.  Here it is after.

^I realized, after I’d left, that this shot doesn’t include the shelf…  I promise you it’s clean and organized, and free of food and adult beverages.  The area is not, however, free of the mat knife I left on the dryer.  My bad.  Pretend it’s not there. (Also can someone tell me if it’s mat knife or matte knife?  I’ve seen it both ways and google won’t tell me which is correct.  Kthnx.)

I’m quite proud of myself.  Now the laundry room matches the rest of the house in terms of prettiness, order, and cleanliness.  Sweeeeeeeet.

My mom said, “Holy shit.  HOLY shit.  Holy SHIT” over and over and over again when I finally finished and showed it to her.  Even at 27 years old, parental approval still feels good. *beams*

So.  I have not a goddamn thing to talk about.  I’m pissy and irritable, though, so I’ll share that.

Job #2 is going swimmingly.  However, that’s the 10-99 job.  Job #1 is the one that gives me health insurance and life insurance and all that good stuff.

I accrue a decent amount of time off, so that’s cool.  I cashed in my time off in April, in order to pay for the moving expenses (new furniture, bedding, etc.) when I relocated to Anne’s condo.  That was all well and good, and I haven’t taken any time off since then, saving my Personal Time (PT for short, so I don’t have to keep typing it out)…

And then a few weeks ago, I found out ALL the staff at my house are on a forced vacation. For at LEAST a week.  Leslie, the woman we support, is in the hospital for testing.

So, because I receive benefits from my job, I have to use my PT. So does everyone else I work with and we are NOT pleased.  Here are a few issues.

1. It sucks to have to use PT when you don’t plan to. Especially when you can’t GO anywhere while using it.
2. We have NO idea how long Leslie will be gone.  A week, minimum.  However, they may want to keep her longer.  Also, they may change her medication and (being as the last time she had a major med change she almost died) that would mean she’d probably stay in the hospital longer…
3. Two of the girls I work with are going to go into negative PT because of this. One of them just used up all her saved PT to go see her boyfriend (who is across the country, becoming a border patrol agent) for three weeks.  The other girl JUST got off maternity leave, so her PT is depleted too.
4. I’ll end up with zero PT, as will a third girl I work with.  If Leslie stays in the hospital longer, both she and I will also end up in the negative.

I’m not even close to happy about this. I NEEDED that fucking time off. But there’s nothing I can do.  Except sulk.  And sulk I shall.

In other news… I have no other news.

I do have a V. Important moral question, though.  If you’re engaged in a teasing little conversation with your man… (Which HE initiated by snapping a picture of himself standing next to a pink car, and then sending it to you.)  And he ends up saying “Yeah, my friends call me Pinky.”

Well, is there anything WRONG with calling him Pinky?  Please say no.  I’ve had to hold back, and it’s painful.

Incidentally, I decided later today I’m going to post “LOOK I CLEANED SHIT” pictures.  Why?  Because that’s literally the most exciting part of my life.  Cleaning shit.

Subtle had to go changing things up, and now I want to answer these questions too… So here are the ones she added/changed.

(I’m stuck at work, being bored while Leslie eats her dinner SO EFFING SLOWLY I WANT TO MURDER HER.  I managed to kill time and not her with this, though!)

1. Fail moment in the last week?

Ate some out-of-date food by accident, and puked my brains out until stupid o’clock in the morning.

2. Most memorable job?

Working as a live-in nanny on a 300-acre hunting and trap-shooting ranch in Tennessee with congressmen as clients, 122 animals, two kids, several psychotropic medications, no high-speed internet, no cable, while my boss was trying to be fixed up with a stable guy who had such a thick accent I literally couldn’t understand him.  Ah, Tennessee…

3. Favorite pizza topping?

Roma tomatoes, artichoke hearts, green peppers, black olives, onions, and imaginary feta cheese.

10. Most painful experience with contacts?

I got a bacterial eye infection from dirty contacts that landed me in the ER. I was rocking back an forth in a pain so bad I literally can’t describe it.  I mean… Okay, so… I once ran down the stairs, my foot landed on the metal pole of a vacuum, and my ankle snapped, and it took me THREE DAYS before I even went to the doctor.  And I was TEN YEARS OLD. 

What I’m trying to say is that I have a pretty high pain tolerance. 

And this eye pain is the worst pain I have ever felt, bar none. 

My IQ is pretty fabulous, but when I had this eye thing, the nurses at the hospital thought I was retarded and gave me stickers that said, “Girl Power!” to try to get me to talk.  Fuck that and fuck them. I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t talk, I wouldn’t think.  Nothing mattered in my whole world except the pain. 

The doctor was a douche, though.  After giving me all kinds of meds for the bacteria and putting some Vicodin down my throat, he refused to give me anything for instant, topical pain relief, saying it would slow down the healing process.  My father, being an EMT, knew what to look for and stole a bottle of something from the ER which he dumped in my eyes once I was standing, shaking, in the parking lot by his truck.

That shit was amazing.  It was also creepy, though.  I mean, you never really FEEL your eyes… But imagine if they were GONE.  That was the feeling those heavenly eye drops gave me – like I had empty holes in my face. 

So. Fucking. Odd.

11. Movie you want to see?

Winter’s Bone.  NO OTHER MOVIE MATTERS UNTIL I CAN SEE THIS! Oscars are in the future for this movie, I’m SURE of it.

12. Weirdest thing you’ve had in bed?

A fully functioning, loaded assault rifle.  Yes, I’m serious…  And thankfully, I took a picture because I wanted to show Itty, since we were talking in msn and APPARENTLY in England they think it’s weird to have loaded assault rifles hanging around your house.  (I know, I agree – THEY’RE the weird ones, obviously.  Silly British.  *shoots things*)

14. Word you edge into every conversation to make yourself sound superior?

“Anthropomorphic” or any of its permutations.  (Also, “permutation.”)

15. Name you thought would be really cool to give the fruit of your loins without really thinking it through?

D’Artagnan.  I’m 100% serious about this.

16. Thing you think you’re slightly too anal about?

Proper pronunciation.

17. Thing you wish you were slightly more anal about?

Washing my sheets.  I sleep at work 4 nights a week, so I use that as an excuse to not wash my sheets at home for two or three calendar weeks.

18. Proud moment?

Recently?  I spent 3 hours cleaning my father’s fridge.  Took the whole inside apart, tossed everything out of date, and scrubbed every surface, every nook and cranny (I even employed Q-tips to make sure EVERY bit of EVERY area was spotless.)  I was so excited about it, I earned Antonio saying, “You are an exceedingly strange pet.”

19. Dish you can cook with confidence?

Anything I’ve made before, basically… I guess specifically I make wonderful chili, the best chocolate chip cookies, amazing pancakes, and this one dish my brother calls “The Best Thing in the World.”   That’s literally what he calls it.  He’ll say, “Hey, can you make The Best Thing in the World tonight?”  I miss my bro. ;(

20. Reason why you’re doing a meme instead of a real blog?

Because I have nothing to talk about.

1. What is your first name?
“Chloe”  

2. Were you named after anyone?
Okay, fine, my name isn’t Chloe.  But Chloe is my almost-name.  It’s what my mom wanted to call me while I was in utero. That’s why I use it to blog; it’s got a connection to reality. (And with my real name, yes, I was named after someone.  A dude, no less.  Yay?)

3. Do you wish on stars?
Not anymore.

4. When did you last cry?
Yesterday.  I’ve been crying almost every day, actually. Go me!

5. Do you like your handwriting?
No.  I think it’s childish and uneven and I hate it and I hope it dies.

6. What is your favorite lunch meat?
Tofurky.

Because I’d rather eat THIS…

Than this…

Call me crazy…

7. What is your most embarrassing CD?
Yikes.  This question made me realize I don’t own any CDs anymore.  I USED to own this CD, though…

And you bet your ass I knew every word to every song. 

8. If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
No.  Please see questions 4, 7, and 14 for further details.

9. Do you have a journal?
Not anymore.  I totally used to, though.  I decorated them, and was a total high-schooler about it.  See?

(Yeah, it says “Journal” right on the front.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m hella creative.)

(I remember I liked that chick because as far as my crappy French told me, it said something like “Little Bitch” on her arm.)

10. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
At my levels, I think it qualifies as more “abuse” than “use.”

11. What are your nicknames?
Cuntmouth, Kitten, Poodle/Doodle, “Chlo,” (okay, fine, not “Chlo” but the shortened version of my real name, so Chlo is standing in.  Deal.) and many, many more.  I’m VERY particular about nicknames.  I’ve got nicknames only my father calls me, only people who have known me since I was small call me, only a single friend calls me, etc. I get angry when people try call me by a nickname that “belongs” to someone else.

12. Would you bungee jump?
Fuck no, and fuck you for asking.  No.  No no no.

13. Do you untie your shoes before you take them off?
I untie my sneakers, yeah.  None of my other shoes have laces.

14. Do you think that you are strong?
I guess it depends what kind of strong you mean… Actually, it doesn’t matter because no, I don’t think I’m strong.  I strongly disagree with your choice to include the word “that” right there, though. It’s an empty word.  Go on, read the sentence minus “that” and tell me if it loses meaning or changes intention. It doesn’t.  Know why?  Because “that” is an EMPTY GODDAMN WORD 90% of the time. Stop, like, using it, like, all the, like, time because, like, empty words are, like, FUCKING USELESS.

15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
Ice cream is not what I’m in the mood for… And my favorite varies.  I guess, if I had to have some right now, it would be coconut ice cream made with coconut milk.  

16. Shoe size?
10-11, depending on the shoe.

17. Red or pink?
Both.

18. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
The way I look.

19. What do you miss most?
Being thinner.

20. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back?
Yes.  Every one of the zero people I sent this too should send it back.

21. What color pants/shoes are you wearing?
Navy blue yoga pants, no shoes.

22. What are you listening to right now?
My cat winding around my ankles, and headbutting the coffee table. It’s a dull thunking sort of sound mixed with little chirps from her as she figure-8’s around and around.

23. Last thing you ate?
Strawberries.

24. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
“Corpse Gray” from the emo-crayons.

25. What is the weather like right now?
Apparently it’s “Partly cloudy with temperatures steady near 80F. Winds SW at 10 to 15 mph.”  Thanks a bunch, weather-dot-com.

26. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Patrick.

27. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Height.  I’m 5’11” so looking at a man’s height comes with the territory.

28. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
I like the person I stole it from.  Does that count?

29. Favorite drink?
Iced almond milk chai.

30. Favorite sport?
There isn’t a single sport I love watching in general.  There are plenty of TEAMS or PEOPLE I like watching, though.  In American football, baseball, speed skating, tennis…

31. Hair color?
Ugly, ugly, UGLY.  It’s not blonde.  It’s not brown.  It’s this murky, ugly, in-between.  I usually color it…  I’m growing it out right now, though.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with it… Probably cave and dye it again, because it’s so ugly.  Here, look – this is a picture from the last time I had my hair all grown out with no color.  (The shape of the erasing is funny because I was making a weird face in this – jaw wide open… It amuses me.  Also, I was being careful with the eraser toward the top, then I got lazy.  But rest assured my face isn’t made of loops or odd angles like that.  OR IS IT?!)

See? STUPID color hair.  Which is why I usually dye it.

32. Eye color?
Medium blue, with dark blue rings on the outer edge.  The very top of my right eye has a streak of brown in it, though.  If you squint, and maybe smoke half a joint, you can kinda see the brown haze at the top here…

33. Do you wear contacts?
I used to… I’ve worn glasses for about a year, but I need to get to the eye doctor and get a new Rx so I can get contacts again.

34. Favorite food?
I’d choose a well-cooked artichoke with lemon juice over just about anything else on the planet.

35. Last movie you watched?
Youth in Revolt at home.  Last one at the theater was for work, and it was Marmaduke… Since I didn’t want to go, and spent the whole time secretly texting my roommate because it was SO effing bad, it doesn’t count.  So, the last theater movie I saw by choice was Iron Man 2.

36. Favorite day of the year?
I don’t have one.  I’ve discovered there is no day immune to sucking away your life and soul and happiness, so… Yeah. 

37. Scary movies or happy endings?
Either.  Just don’t try to combine them or I keeeeeel you.

38. Winter or summer?
MEH to both of them.  I prefer late spring or early fall. 

39. Hugs or kisses?
Hugs.  I wish I got more of ‘em.

40. What is your favorite dessert?
It changes, often with the weather.  Right now, Italian Ice FTW!

41. Who is most likely to do this meme?
Anyone awesome.

42. Who is the least likely to do this meme and comment?
People who consider this beneath them. (Arguably these are actually the awesome people, but I digress…)

43. What books are you reading?
Well, since I forgot to bring any reading material to my Dad’s (where I’m house/cat-sitting and cleaning) I’ve been reading some really groundbreaking stuff.  Namely, this:

Obviously, I’ve gleaned a lot of useful information.  I plan on compiling a list of things and telling The Man, “Hey baby, ur doin’ it wrong! And let me tell you why…”  He’s always been the type to live how others tell him to, especially me.  So I think this will go over swimmingly.

44. What’s on your mouse pad?
I don’t have a mouse pad.  Suck it.

45. What did you watch on TV last night?
There was fuckall on, so I went to OnDemand and hung out with this guy:

He shared some wisdom with me, about love…

“The reason you haven’t felt it is because it doesn’t exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons. You’re born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts. But I never forget. I’m living like there’s no tomorrow, because there isn’t one.”

Cheerful.

46. Favorite smells?
I hate questions like this.  It DEPENDS, man.  I mean, I like the smell of clean laundry, but if my dinner smelled like that I’d be none too pleased.

47. Favorite sound?
Cheesy as it is, Antonio’s heartbeat.

48. Rolling Stones or Beatles?
Beatles!

49. What’s the furthest you’ve been from your home?
3,500 miles away.

50. Do you have a special talent?
Nope. I’m resigned to the fact that there is nothing I do better than everyone else.

51. What is your ring tone?
The plainest one that comes with the phone.  Because, you see, it’s a goddamn PHONE, and I want it to sound like one.

A quick rundown of my Father’s Day.  And my life.  Enjoy, my lovelies.

1 – Worked.  A lot.

2 – Worked on my poker face.  I came to my Dad’s house, and chatted with him and his girlfriend.  Partway through chatting, I wandered down the hall to put some laundry in the washer.  When I came back, my Dad was rubbing his girlfriend’s shoulders.  She said to me, “I’m SO sore!  I danced for an hour and a half last night!”  Under his breath, my father muttered, “And had sex.”  My father’s hearing is not so great.  Mine, however? Spot on.  Awesome.  (Oh, and telling Antonio about that after was A Big Mistake.  He finds it hilarious, and he knows I’m INCREDIBLY visual, so he gleefully rubbed it in. )

3 – Worked on my poker face s’more. Took my Dad out to dinner.  Was paraded around the restaurant while people I don’t know told me they knew me when I was “THIS HIGH!” while holding their hands a distance off the floor that would indicate we hung out while I was in utero.  then I got hugs and kisses while smiling and thinking “Bitch, I don’t KNOW you, so keep your arms and saliva to yourself.”  (Then had to wait longer for our food because they had taken it back to the kitchen when we went missing after our salads.   Our waitress, of unending faith, had shooed away people who tried to clear our table, and brought us hot, lovely food almost as soon as we got back to the table.  I liked her. I tipped over 20%.)

4 – Talked to The Man.  Poor guy had literally his hardest day at work ever.  Worked so hard in such incredible heat he lost 6 pounds during the day – not an insignificant amount given that he’s in good shape as is.  Yay dehydration!  I’d have liked to dehydrate him a couple teaspoons further, but it turns out you can’t suck cock when the cock is a thousand miles away.  (He’s seriously cock-sucking deprived, and has been texting me at stupid o’clock in the morning to inform me THIS is the time he’d like to do some facefucking. Makes me squirm, and also makes me kind of embarrassed.  I have no idea why.  I’m a secret prude who is secretly horny, I think.)

5 – Lost my brother.  He’s supposed to be doing some artsy work for me, but he’s disappeared into the mountains with his college friends and, I assume, some weed.  He’s working 6 days a week, kicking ass and taking names in his field.  I’m so proud of him.

6 – Just poured myself a glass of wine.  My GOD am I busy these days.  It’s just stupid.  Once every few weeks, I unwind with a glass (or three) of wine.  I thank fuck I didn’t inherit my father’s drinking issues (he’s been dry for 20+ years, yay Dad!)  because I seriously LOVE having wine once in a while but I’ve never felt I NEED to have it.  I don’t fantasize about it, I don’t make excuses to drink it, I never go out to drink with friends, I don’t have a glass with dinner… Just once in a while, I love it. I am my father’s daughter in many ways.  My brother and I got opposite genes physically.  I have my Dad’s hair, teeth, eyes,  eyesight, chin, nose, etc.  The only things I got from my mother, physically, are her fingers and her non-alcoholic tendencies.  Mentally, my brother and I switched.  Mentally, my brother and I grabbed a few things from Dad (I got some of his attitude, and not the best parts, and my brother got his ADD) and we split my mother’s gifts.  My mother is inhuman in terms of talent.  She’s a brilliant woman – literally brilliant.  I’m talking 1596 on her SATs (back when they were scored on 1600 and didn’t always have a 0 at the end), full ride to Duke (where she decided not to go), logical, eloquent, just truly brilliant.  AND she’s an amazing artist.  She can paint, cook, and write on professional levels.  So I took her brains and have trouble making stick figures, and my brother took her art and couldn’t get out of trig in high school.  My theory is my mother was a fluke – that much talent can’t usually fit inside one person.  So my brother and I each got half and still ended up luckier than 95% of the population.

7 – Rambled uselessly in my blog.  You love it.

8 – Want to complain a wee bit.  Our water is fucked up at work.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to care for someone who sometimes has seizures and is incontinent when you can’t turn on a single tap ?  Five-gallon bottles of Poland Springs filtered water are great for the water cooler, but fuck me running, they SUCK for washing dishes, bathing someone, washing hands, mopping floors, etc.  I usually wash my hands at LEAST once an hour at work and am constantly in and out of (synthetic, I think they’re vinyl) latex gloves (and thus am pretty sure The Man has softer hands than I do… But then again, he’s a freak who has these HUGE scary hands that are somehow soft, and works all day on his feet in boots and has no calluses and never gets blisters.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – he’s just not 100% human, not a chance.) I swear to God if it’s not fixed by my next shift, I’m quitting.  Okay, shut up, I know I’m not really going to quit.  But it’s SO GODDAMN frustrating.

9 – Decided to seek out an episode of Weeds.  Why?  Because someone in my blog-o-sphere (I can’t recall who, sorry!) had posted this clip a long while back, so I wanted to see the episode.   Incidentally, God bless Netflix Instant streaming video. I’ll post the clip too, just because it made me happy to see on TV.   (If you are simply too busy to spare the three whole minutes, just bump forward to 1:20 to cut to the action, then to 3:05 for the reaction.)  Surprise Nonconsensual Spankings are ADORABLE on TV!  Cute!

Lastly, and most importantly… I miss The Man.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much of my day is spend thinking about him.  I imagine mundane things, like having basic conversations with him.  I picture him standing in the bathroom, with a towel around his waist, fucking with his hair.  I think of his laugh, the curve of his shoulders, the honeyed amber of his skin, the different ways different parts of him taste, the way he talks, the way he sighs, the way he understands why I do things better than I do… The funny noises his stomach makes when we’re lying in bed and I’ve got my head on his abdomen and he’s drinking something.

I just miss him.  But, for once, it’s not a sad missing.  It’s…. It’s an appreciative missing.  A peaceful one.  Both of us are working our asses off, planning and moving forward.  I don’t know how long until this separation will come to an end, but I’m not worrying about it now.  I have worried, a lot, in the past.  And maybe I’ll start worrying again tomorrow, but I don’t think so.  He’s making it clear that he’s making plans, and  those plans include me, and all the things we both need to finally make this relationship real.  Because I don’t kid myself – what we have is amazing.  When we’re apart or together.  But until I’m living with him on a fulltime basis, with no plans to separate again for any reason (like goddamn school.  Eff that, I’m never going back.  One bachelor’s degree is plenty enough for me!) well, it’s just not REALLY real.

There are obstacles, but I know they aren’t excuses, for either of us.  So we’re getting there.  And that’s beautiful.  Life is pretty beautiful.

(So how is YOUR life?  And, what the crap should I blog about?  I’m SO BORING these days.  I need some kind of inspiration.)

So, I’m at work (surprise, surprise!) and I got a text message from The Man.  I figured, what the hell, I’ll share it.

He had told me he was heading to take a nap, which he sorely needed, and then sent this:

Now, mind you, I’m pretty convinced I have a “serious mouthfucking” coming my way anyhow.  But still.  It was probably unwise to be cheeky the day after we spent some time figuring out a time to visit each other.

Then again, I never claimed to be wise.   Cheeky, though?  Yes.  I claim that badge with honor.

And hey, my boss just texted me.   The 17-hour shift I’m on?  It’s now going to be a 21-hour shift. 

*sigh*

(Oh, and, look at the first text. Do you see how the word “man” in looks a little wrong? That’s because Antonio either made a typo, or his new phone autocorrected, and what should have been “man” turned into “msn.” It bugged me too much to post it like that, so I edited it.  What?  Shut up, no, I’m not OCD.  You’re OCD!  DIE!)

I got an email from kaya and a comment from DK, both of which were kinda like, “Yo. Where you at, bitch?” 

I think they’re in cahoots.

(I don’t, actually, I just enjoy the word ‘cahoots’ and won’t pass up an opportunity to use it.)

I’m here.  Swear.  I just… I don’t have much to say.  And nothing irritates me more than banal daily life-updates that are uninspired and lame.  Unless you’re a spectacular writer, your boring life is, wait for it… boring.  No one wants to read that shit, so I’m not about to shovel it out.

BUT now you have to listen to the crap that I know no one really wants to read about.  Ha. You (well, okay, kaya and DK) asked for it, so on your own heads be it.

I had a 50-hour work week.  Twenty-three of those hours were all in a row. From Friday night until Saturday night. I came very close to losing my mind.

I spent part of that shift trying to convince The Man that the guys on his crew argue amongst themselves about who gets to work with him NOT because he has work skillz that ensure stress-free times on the job, but because he has a nice ass.

(The Man disagrees.)

((He’s clearly deluded.))

I slept a grand total of five hours last night, too.  I had trouble sleeping because I’m allergic to the bed in my room here at my father’s house (it was Dad’s 60th birthday Saturday!) so I was stuffed up and sniffling.  Then my friend, Itty, texted me to let me know about a trip to the hospital.  Broken elbow, in about six places, waiting to go in for surgery.  I got sick feeling all over again.  I finally fell asleep and I was up five hours later, totally unable to sleep again.

Bleh.

I did cook some kickass Indian food yesterday, though.  I wish I had a camera – I would have taken pictures and gloated endlessly.

So, let’s see.  I can attempt to talk about what you’re all here to read about.  The relationship, right?  The obvious shittiness of long-distance aside, we’re good. I’m existing in a holding pattern until the fall/winter, but I’m becoming okay with that and I’m managing to just be happy in the moment, knowing something better is coming closer with every day. (I can tell Antonio is happy with me because of his use of nicknames.  He drops them altogether when he’s not all that pleased with me. Granted, I don’t think “cuntmouth” would make most women swoon and think “he’s lovin’ me!” but it does the trick for me.)

This is Antonio’s busy season, so he’s working like CRAZY.  Plus last month his roommates were all, “Hey, buddy… So, uh, we’re moving out. Which means you have to too. Post-haste. Kthnxbai.” 

Since Antonio has precisely zero free time, looking for an apartment was simply not an option. So he moved in with a friend.  His description of the state of this friend’s bathroom disturbs me on a soul-deep level.  Two men living together terrifies me.  I’m scarred from college, I tell you.  My best friends were two hockey players and their bathroom was the sort of place where you wanted protective clothing, the kind of protective clothing that would make hazmat suits look like cute little take-‘em-or-leave-‘em lacy underthings.  So I’m imagining a nuclear waste facility at the new place.  I hope Antonio convinces him to clean it up a little.

Hahahaha! I know, I know, that’s ridiculous.  I’m trying to imagine them sitting around making a chart for bathroom-cleaning chores… Hope springs eternal, hey?

ANYWAY, he’s busy.  Which leads me to something that might actually be blog-suitable. Because you know, I hate his job. I HATE it.  I hate that it’s got seasonal component, so everyone gets laid off in the winter, including him.  That leaves Antonio without a steady income and without health insurance. Every. Single. Year.  I hate his hours, I hate that he has to travel so much, I just hate it.  He’d be so much better off – physically, financially, everything – if he did something else.  His last job, he made much more money, controlled his own hours, etc.  He just hated it and hated the East Coast and hated the city.

A couple years ago, when I had asked him if he liked his current job, wanted to keep doing it, etc. – Antonio talked about how he wanted to get out of it, find a different job, start a business, something.  But over time I realized he hasn’t gotten out of it.  I haven’t seen him try. He hasn’t talked about it. And I started thinking…

I started seeing (rather, imagining) a lack of drive, of motivation, something.  He’s injured now (his knee) and he can’t take time off, he can’t see a doctor (because his insurance takes 3 months to kick back in) and it’s just NO way to live. Especially no way to live if you’re planning on having a family, and not living and dying alone. And yet, he wasn’t doing anything about it. WHY?

So I stewed on it for a while. 

I waited.

I worried.

I wondered why he didn’t mention wanting out when I asked about his knee.

I wondered where his sense of purpose had gone.

I tried to figure out why he stopped caring about moving forward.

It was crushing.

And, eventually, as a last-ditch effort, I asked. (Backwards, I know, right?)

And he was all, “Yeah, I totally agree with you, which is why I’ve been pursuing other options.  I’m hoping this will be my last year in this industry. I’ll talk to you about it more in depth on the phone.”

Just like that. No big deal.

And it hit me, once again, Antonio is just NOT a sharing-and-caring kinda guy, not by default. It’s not that he wanted to hide it from me, it’s not that he didn’t think I should know.  It’s not that he lost his drive or motivation, it’s not that he changed his mind about getting out of the business he’s in and moving on. He’s been on it.

He just didn’t see the need to TELL me.  I figured if and when he had this brainwave or started looking for a new job, he’d SHARE with me.  And the fact that he hadn’t talked to me about it meant he was doing nothing.  So I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to come across as bitchy or pushy… 

I guess, for some reason, I’m STILL not used to having anyone close to me not share major thoughts or feelings or life plans, never mind a partner being all quiet about it.  I sincerely wish Antonio would keep me more in the loop because I’m prone to feeling isolated, ignored, unwanted, unimportant, and on the verge of being cast aside.  His “Actually, this man IS an island” type lifestyle and mentality and ability sure as shit doesn’t help me feel all secure and involved in my relationship, yanno?

I think I’m on a need-to-know basis, and he and I differ on what defines “need” but since he’s in charge, his definition reigns supreme.

But… As much as I think he could have just told me, I should have just asked. 

A long while back, I was having trouble understanding why Antonio wasn’t reading my moods.  Why he couldn’t tell when I needed sympathy vs. when I need a solution.  I became really turbulent, and feeling (as usual) isolated, ignored, unwanted, unimportant, and on the verge of being cast aside. Eventually, I spilled everything out in a torrent of tears and emotions.

And in the end, it was all pointless on my end.  He not in the business of reading my mind.  And when I have a problem, he wants to give me a solution. To him, that’s the best thing he can do for me – FIX my problems.  And… He’s right, it is. But sometimes I need attention, sympathy, a shoulder to cry on…

Those horrible back and forth, “I’m running but I want you to chase me!” and “Leave me alone means I need you!” and “I’ll be miserable so you can convince me how wonderful I am and how much you want me”  GAMES women play to feel wanted are not going to cut it here. 

Not in this relationship. 

Nope.

Trust me, I’ve tried. And as all women do, I’ve SO deeply felt it was genuine, that the melodrama was real and only professions of undying love and commitment from him could make us okay.  But of course that was bullshit. It was an attempt to fabricate ups and downs, to suffer the lows so you can feel exalted by the highs.  It is, plain and simple, drug-seeking behavior.  I won’t even try to pretend otherwise, no matter how real it felt at the time.  And over time, that behavior wears on things, on people, on relationships.  It rots them.

Luckily, Antonio is a smart man, and not one to be manipulated.  He doesn’t fall for it, and he doesn’t let me fall for my own drama either.  Thank fuck for that.

Now, to be clear, he has no problem comforting me, loving me, letting me be clingy,  and all that good stuff.  He has no problem showing me that he cares, that he wants me around, that he loves me.  And he doesn’t hesitate to show it when HE wants to, but there might be times *I* want him to. And I have to just say so, not try to play games, no matter how subconscious, to get him to do it.  That’s manipulative, and that’s a no-go. 

So I say, “I need you.” And as soon as is feasible, I’ll have his attention.  Simple as.  I just need to ask.

So… It’s kind of the same with this job thing.  I sat here and made it worse in my head.  I decided all kinds of things. I decided he was just on track to burn himself out, to give up and give in, even though that’s not like him. I worried about what everything meant, in the short term and the big picture.

And it was stupid.  I should have just asked. 

(Or, you know, he could have just kept me in the loop… Heh, sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

First up, the loser.  Thaz me.  I haven’t posted in two weeks.  It really feels like it’s only been a couple days.  Bleh.  I think kaya passed me her blogger’s block. Thanks, wench. 

(Side note: I dunno why my blog randomly makes the link underline a strikethrough in some links but not others. Are you guys seeing “kaya” as struckthrough too? Wtf? I’m blogging in Windows Live Writer… I looked at the source code for the post and it seems the same here as it is for links later on.  I DON’T GET IT.  Maybe I’m the only one who sees it this way…) OMG NEVER MIND!  Luna saved the day, and my sanity!  (P.S.  That part is SUPPOSED to be struckthrough.  Swear.)

I just dunno what to talk about right now.  I feel like I blog to three main ends.  One, when something fabulous is happening.  Two, when something shitty is happening.  Three, when I’m feeling all analytical and pensive (and/or angsty) about my life or mindset in general, (usually) as it relates to this world of BDSM.

None of those three things are going on.  I’m just… You know… Living.  My relationship continues on and I’m happy. The getting-to-24/7 part still in a holding pattern, which is likely to last the summer given Antonio’s back-breaking work schedule in the warm months.  That sucks, but for the next few months I’m done stressing over omgwhatdoesitmeeeeean!?!?  My jobs continue to suck up a massive amount of my time.  Everything I could talk about is either trivial or not-remotely-power-exchange-related.  In other words, boring, and you don’t care.

I know I’ll get my blogging mojo back.  Right now, it’s just on vacation. Or in a coma.  One of the two.

I wish I had a camera – or could afford to get a new one.  At least then I could be motivated enough to bore you all with fun, healthy vegan food.  Alas, it’s still missing and I’m still poor.  Bah.  I’m going to have to steal my roommate’s camera for a day, though, because we’re now moving onto the WINNERS portion of this post!

The Movie Game ended in… an (almost) TIE!

Cool, hey? It’s not REALLY a tie, but only two people really TRIED, and they both did really, really well.

If my math is right (which it might not be, my brain is fried today), then miss subtle got 13/14 correct and miss Tapestry got 12/14 correct.  (And together they got every single one.  That confirms, in my twisted brain, that none of my codes were too hard since the combination of the girls’ answers covered the board!  *nods*)

Oh, and in my last post?  Did you notice the font kept changing?  All those phrases in a different font were quotes from the movies.  I TOLD you there were clues in that post!

For anyone who cares, the correct answers were…

So basically NO ONE wants to show off their brainiac skillz on my last post.

It’s deeply sad.  I’m deeply sad.

On a “prize-winning” note, I’ve decided I’ll borrow Anne’s camera and shoot a small video tour of our condo and figure a way to show it to the winner. It’ll be tame – there isn’t a chance I’ll record anything identifying or even say anything kinky on someone else’s camera.  In fact, she’ll probably follow me around while I do it and want to see what I’m doing and make me show her the video after.  She’s nutso like that.  (I’ll totally be talking, though.  I can’t NOT talk.  I’m a blabbermouth. People say I talk too much.) So the winner will get to hear my super-stupid voice, and get to see the place I am calling home. If I closed the contest today, the winner would be subtle by a friggin’  mile, because she’s actually tried, and gotten 9 out of 14 correct.  (She made 11 guesses total.)

I might let her in on the action even if there is a come-from-behind winner, just because she played BEFORE knowing what the prize was.

To help her (and anyone else interested in having a go) I’m going to let you know which of her guesses were wrong.

Toast is NOT the movie Smoke.  But good guess, both are from 1995 and are one word. And now I kind of want to see Smoke.

Jogging with Chilly Feet is NOT Happy Feet.  Again, great guess – both are two words and from 2006.  However, the movie I’m talking about is just about as far from Happy Feet as a movie can get.  It’s a bloodbath. (Okay, so I’m just guessing Happy Feet isn’t a bloodbath. I’ve never seen it.)

*****************************************************************

Uhhhhhh, what else?

I dunno.  There’s nothing really going on that you’ll care THAT much about… I’ve taken “stupidly busy” to a WHOLE new level this week and I swear, my life’s a disaster zone…  I honestly can’t remember where I was this weekend.  I’d have to check my nightly emails to The Man, and that’s like four mouse clicks away, so you can bet your ass I’m not doing it.  I worked, that’s for sure.

SUNDAY -  I know there was a conversation with The Man about oral sex which culminated with him asking me, “What’s wrong with false teeth?” after I had a cow when he jokingly (I hope) suggested that he might get my teeth removed one day. I swore a lot.  I should probably stop swearing so much – it has no nobility.  Ha!  Who am I kidding, there is nothing awesomer than a well-placed curse.

MONDAY – I fought traffic and went into the city to observe a presentation given by my new boss.   She’s positively kickass in action – no wonder her appearance fees are so high. But sweet Jesus, I hate city driving. 

TUESDAY - I was preparing for a nice, relaxing day off. Got up, got myself showered, ate breakfast, did some dishes, headed to the Post Office, and then my phone rang around 11:00am.  It was Anne, and she simply couldn’t tolerate being at work (and then something about some of her instruments being held up in customs in the United Kingdom and not being able to *insert words biomedical engineers understand and I don’t*). 

So she came home, we got ourselves ready and headed about an hour away from home.  Anne and I cruised around Nordstrom where we started talking about panty hose, she was saying… whatever that’s not the point of the story… Anyway, afterwards we hit up Whole Foods, then went to a BJs and got home around 10:00pm, exhausted.  We put everything away and hunkered down on the couch to chat and try to survive the “PET ME NOW OR I WILL SURELY DIE” onslaught of the kitties.   And then Anne and I got to talking… About this new guy she’s after.  And I though it might be unwise to tell her what I thought, but what is necessary is never unwise.  *nods* So I told her she was batshit insane for pursuing this guy and that he is not, in any way, interested in her. She’ll bounce back.  Trust me on this.

TODAY – I came to work.  At 3:00pm.  I’m still here (it’s about 8:30pm as I type this) and I still have 11.5 hours left on my shift.  Boo-yah!  I talked to my brother, Harrison, and we discussed (in essence) Paul Rudd watching himself dance in the nude.  It made sense. (Look, I probably should have told you this before but you see, well, insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.)

TOMORROW – In the morning, I’ll go leave work and go see the new boss-lady and help her with a few things – namely getting her schedule in order and ordering business cards – I’m thinking eggshell with Romalian type.  Then turn around and head back to work.  (Until I devise a better system, I’m just going to be calling the job with the boss-lady client “the new job” and my old job “work.”  Are we all happy with that?  Good.)

*****************************************************************

Then I’ll… I don’t know.  Die, I expect.  At least I’ll be in my PJs.  If I’m gonna die, I want to die comfortable.

I’m tired.  And I’ve been having nightmares.  The last one involved an accidental pregnancy and The Man refusing to speak to me.  Like, he was there, but he wouldn’t open his mouth and make words.  And he was hitting on a 19-year-old piece of trash.  I hated her.  I tried to be nice since we were in school together and she was a former hooker trying to get her act together.  I told her, “I’m super proud of you for showing some initiative. Maybe I’ll even come to your graduation.  But right now?  Back the fuck off my man.”  She didn’t listen.  And he didn’t speak one word to me.

Anyway… I guess I should get back to work. Mop the floors and run the dishwasher and count meds and do the books and make sure all the documents are locked up  – all that good stuff.

I’ve decided I’m tired of saying “Anne, you know, my roommate” or “Patrick, my sort-of-brother who just got out of the Army who says things like ‘When you fall asleep tonight, I’m gonna fart in your face.’” and I really need to make a page here that has a list of everyone I talk about frequently.  I want to make one that has semi-anonymous photos of everyone, but I dunno if The Man would allow that. I wouldn’t want it public anyway, but I wouldn’t mind having a password protected one… Maybe I can make two pages.  A regular one anyone can see names and descriptions so anyone who reads can figure out who is who, and a second password-protected one with some pictures.  I’m a very visual creature, and I know how goddamn annoying it is to read a blog without pictures. We’ll have to see if he okays that.

I’ve also got a few posts in my head that will need to make it onto the blog soon.  I’ve got ideas about breath-play swimming in my brain, for one thing.  Stay tuned.  I promise I’ll sit still long enough to post for real soon.

In case you missed it, guys, there are CLUES in this post about 12 of the movies on the list.  There isn’t one for the first movie because it’s WAY too easy on its own.  And there isn’t one for #10 because that one isn’t in English…  But that’s kinda a clue in itself, hey?

So.  I’ve informed you this post is FULL of clues.  And  now you’re looking for the secret. But you won’t find it because of course, you’re not really looking. You don’t really want to work it out. You want to be fooled.