god & the veiny boobs: the final chapter

So when we last left the saga of the veiny boobs (read more here and here), the taste of triumph had turned to dust in my mouth when the newly installed fixture failed to light up:

The next day we arose early to keep cleaning and preparing for the party. When I came down to tell Loopy that I was done cleaning my office (must post some before & after photos of that!) we noticed that a miracle had occurred:

Now, in my family and in the religious organization/cult to which my parents used to belong, this would genuinely be considered a miracle.

It would be seen as definitive, concrete proof of the existence of a loving God who shows His infinite compassion and mercy by doing odd jobs around the house to make you feel better.

So what, I ask, would explain the fact that, shortly afterward, there was a “pop” and we beheld the following scene:

What does that prove? That God doesn’t exist? That God doesn’t interfere? Or that God is a sadistic f#%ker?

And... which of these theses is supported by the fact that our dishwasher stopped working just as we needed it to wash the first load of pots & pans from the party prep?

Now, one of my cousins, who is completely ‘round the bend on this stuff, would say that when we didn’t fall down on our knees and praise and thank God for making our light fixture work in the morning, He punished us by making the other one stop working. Then He trashed the dishwasher just to really make His point.

If that isn’t "sadistic f#%ker" in a nutshell, I don’t know what it is. Unless it’s "petulant, spiteful, petty, sadistic f#%ker."

(Come to think of it, maybe that’s where Bush & co get the idea that it’s okay to do stuff like ruining some guy’s wife’s career just because he didn’t toe the party line on invading Iraq. If that’s how God acts, it must be okay for the holy anointed president to act like that too.)

Good thing I don't believe in God. Or this would really be f#%king with my head.

pretty birdies, mean birdies

While trying to determine if my new, improved, google-proof meta tags are a success, I discovered a REAL birdfarm—in Belgium no less. Check out the pretty pictures...

I also learned that "birdfarm" is a nickname for an aircraft carrier. And that there are a lot of websites where old navy guys reminisce about their careers.

overdue

fyi, if you were here yesterday, Friday's posts have been edited...they were a bit long & rambling...I mean, worse than usual

So I dumped my therapist.

You may remember this post, when I realized that I had a crappy therapist, er, I mean, a therapist who did not meet my current needs.

Here is a small sample of our concluding conversation:

Me: See, I realize I don't have good boundaries with you because, even now, I'm just sitting here worrying about what you think.

Her: Well, here's what I think—

Me: No, I don't want to know what you think. That's the whole point. I shouldn't be worrying about what you think.

Her: Good, very good—excellent boundary-setting. And I respect that. But just let me say one thing...[proceeds to tell me what she thinks]

If you're wondering why I didn't dump her years ago, well, I can't answer that question. If I knew why I do half the things I do, I wouldn't need therapy.

turns out, you can take it back

If you ever make a dumb mistake like mine and want to remove it from Google forever, go here.

new york, new york

So Loopy & I are going to NYC in mid-December, partly for a meeting of the socialist organization to which I belong, but also because—it's New York for chrissakes, do we need a reason?

But now I have one more reason to look forward to it: a special exhibit of Fr@ Ange1ic0* at the Met. He's my Mom's favorite, so I'll pick up some postcards for her, which will make her happy. And he's an interesting guy, poised in between the gothic and renaissance.... The show's review in the Times this morning really whetted my appetite.

Some of you may be envious. Some of you may think I'm nuts. I'm used to that.

I'll always love visiting New York. But would I want to live there again?

Hard to say...

Watching Sex & the City last night made me remember what I love about New York (great food, great places to eat great food, great people-watching, all kinds of interesting things to do anytime of day or night...) and what I hate (shallow self-absorbed people obsessed with fashion and Work).

When I lived there I also became a shallow self-absorbed person obsessed with fashion and work. When I moved to Madison I remember looking at all the lumpy people wearing sneakers and sweatthings, and being utterly horrified at the thought that "no matter what I do, they'll drag me down... within a couple of years, I'll look like that...worst of all, I won't care that I look like that."

I was so right. Hee hee. I should post "before & after" photos.

But now that I'm in the reverse position, I don't want to go back! I don't want to be that awful person again! I feel like I barely escaped without completely losing everything that's important to me. And I mean *everything.*

Loopy says if we lived there again it would be different. We'd know different people, we'd do different things.

I'm sure she's right.

For one thing there's all our socialist friends (whom we only met after moving away!). I'd be teaching, not putting on makeup and a suit and going to work in some corporate hellhole. We'd be involved in activism, union organizing, maybe I'd even find some other activists into meditation. After all, one big reason NYC is so great is that no matter how odd, quirky, or eclectic you are, you'll find people with whom you have something in common.

But the idea of moving back still gives me a sick sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

---

*Why am I suddenly writing like those wacky kids who spend all their time "IMing" and surfing the net via their cell phones? Well, when it comes to being google-able, once bitten twice shy!

transition

Due to the unforeseen hull breach, I have taken drastic measures. If you are reading this, you already know.

Too drastic, you may say. You may point out that no matter how careful I am, sooner or later, my immediate family (read: my mother) will find out where my blog is and read it.

Well, the later the better. She's already blind in one eye and has a cataract in the other, so time is on my side.

I asked Loopy if that sounded too cold and heartless to put in here, and she said that Mom would actually think that was really funny (I agree—she's got a sick sense of humor that way). So I will leave it.

Now of course I've come over all mushy toward my Mom and think, "it wouldn't be so bad to have her read my blog."

But then I think about how great it's been to post frankly while I'm visiting them.

Obviously, this is a decision I should take time making.

In the meantime, you'll be glad to know I have upgraded my search-engine-evading meta tags. If anyone knows any more besides these:

META name="ROBOTS" content="NOINDEX,NOFOLLOW"
DEFANGED_META NAME="ROBOTS" CONTENT="NOINDEX, NOFOLLOW, NOARCHIVE"
DEFANGED_META NAME="GOOGLEBOT" CONTENT="NOSNIPPET"

please tell me immediately!

The postcard above is from Stella Marrs - check her out (here) - she has some great stuff.

and back to Flickr

taken by Rogiro in Tshwane, South Africa.

His translation: "We do anything in and around the house, what your man doesn't want to do or can't do."