If you are a Facebook user, and I am, you've noticed that there are several different types of people on Facebook. There are the ones that lurk, the ones that post on occasion, the ones that put their whole life out there and the ones who do very little else but repost the memes and jokes, banners and pictures that someone else already posted.
There are a couple of other types, but lets not get complicated.
I use facebook (to play candy crush) to keep up on the happenings of the people in my life. I love the personal stories, pictures, the life updates. I enjoy the occasional article shared with thought. What I don't love is all the political and religious stuff posted over and over. My politics and relationship with the almighty is personal. I don't need to hear about yours. It used to be that you didn't discuss politics and religion because you didn't know who you were going to offend. Now it seems that any platform is a good platform for evangelism.
I have blocked the photos of many friends and family for this, which is sad because I don't get the updates they send out their lives or pictures of their children. I learned recently, that if I can't see them, they can't see me. In some cases I'm okay with that.
I have one friend with a child with Autism. Actually, I have many friends with children who have Autism. It's frightening. But this friend is always posting memes about how wonderful her boy is, how special, how we need to understand Autistic children because they are special.
And they are.
But I was starting to get a little annoyed. Until I was reading the comments on this post. The post itself is poignant and heartfelt. It talks, more than most people do, about some of the difficulties attached to raising a child who redefines normal. But one of the comments made me realize...
My friend, she isn't posting randomly, she's reaching out. She may not have the community of people that she needs. Like me, she has moved away from our home town, away from her mom and the friends that were her support system when her boy was born.
Suddenly, I'm not so annoyed anymore.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Friday, May 24, 2013
I think there is a ghost in my house
If you have known me for any amount of time, you'll know that I believe wholeheartedly in the afterlife. I also believe in reincarnation and the unversal conciousness and all sorts of hibbity bibbity, but we aren't talking about that right now. I don't talk about it often because most people think that I am nuts, but please understand that I was raised in a houshold where psychic skills were not only believed in but fostered. Otherworldly things existed. And the study of them was encouraged.
Adulthood has not dampened my belief in these things, in fact, experience has shown me that there's some crazy ass shit out there that can't be explained by "normal" explinations.
Like static on a digital recorder, recording in a basment with no other electronics. Doors opening, voices heard, faces in pictures, and smacks on the butt when no one else is in the room.
I don't talk about it as much as I used to because well, people think I'm nuts. And I am, a little, but I'm also okay with that.
Ghosts. Ghosts have been a part of my world since I was a very little girl. I am fortunate in that run ins with them when I was little were never pooh-poohed as my imagination. My parents asked questions and encouraged me to talk to them and about them.
So I do. When in the right company.
When I moved into the Elfin Cottage, I sensed there was something there, but I explained to it that this was my house now and that we would have to exist with respect to each other. Other than a few noises that can be easily explained by the settling of a nearly 60 year old house build on sand in an earthquake prone area with lots and lots of wind, well, I try to explain with the mundane first. Things have been quiet for quite awhile.
Enter Doug. Not long after Doug moved in, he complained on FB that he had "demon dreams". Not good. I've heard the sigh of a demon and it was chilling. Turns out he was experimenting with skills he shouldn't having only hard about them on TV read about them on the internet. I warned him to please be careful. That precautions have to be taken or bad things can happen.
The next night I heard, quite clearly from his room, a gravelly voice. It was late, the TV was off, and it was definately not Doug. My impression was not that we were in danger, but that he was being warned not to be messing with stuff he isn't familliar with.
Last week, I returned home from work and Doug told me he thought I had been home earlier, as he heard very distinct footsteps in the (ceramic tile) hallway. The next night, I was in the living room watching Dr Who when I noticed a shadow passing in front of my studio door. The light was on in there. The dog was with me. I thought Doug might be lurking, but he was in his room. I turned out the light. and decided to tell you about it.
The truth is that I am not as perceptive as I was when I fist moved to N Nevada. I realized that it's because I don't tell ghost stories anymore. The people I spend my time with aren't into that sort of thing and I get it.
I realized that it's time to start talking again. And maybe pulling out that little digital recorder and seeing what I can pick up.
Adulthood has not dampened my belief in these things, in fact, experience has shown me that there's some crazy ass shit out there that can't be explained by "normal" explinations.
Like static on a digital recorder, recording in a basment with no other electronics. Doors opening, voices heard, faces in pictures, and smacks on the butt when no one else is in the room.
I don't talk about it as much as I used to because well, people think I'm nuts. And I am, a little, but I'm also okay with that.
Ghosts. Ghosts have been a part of my world since I was a very little girl. I am fortunate in that run ins with them when I was little were never pooh-poohed as my imagination. My parents asked questions and encouraged me to talk to them and about them.
So I do. When in the right company.
When I moved into the Elfin Cottage, I sensed there was something there, but I explained to it that this was my house now and that we would have to exist with respect to each other. Other than a few noises that can be easily explained by the settling of a nearly 60 year old house build on sand in an earthquake prone area with lots and lots of wind, well, I try to explain with the mundane first. Things have been quiet for quite awhile.
Enter Doug. Not long after Doug moved in, he complained on FB that he had "demon dreams". Not good. I've heard the sigh of a demon and it was chilling. Turns out he was experimenting with skills he shouldn't having only hard about them on TV read about them on the internet. I warned him to please be careful. That precautions have to be taken or bad things can happen.
The next night I heard, quite clearly from his room, a gravelly voice. It was late, the TV was off, and it was definately not Doug. My impression was not that we were in danger, but that he was being warned not to be messing with stuff he isn't familliar with.
Last week, I returned home from work and Doug told me he thought I had been home earlier, as he heard very distinct footsteps in the (ceramic tile) hallway. The next night, I was in the living room watching Dr Who when I noticed a shadow passing in front of my studio door. The light was on in there. The dog was with me. I thought Doug might be lurking, but he was in his room. I turned out the light. and decided to tell you about it.
The truth is that I am not as perceptive as I was when I fist moved to N Nevada. I realized that it's because I don't tell ghost stories anymore. The people I spend my time with aren't into that sort of thing and I get it.
I realized that it's time to start talking again. And maybe pulling out that little digital recorder and seeing what I can pick up.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Why I will never be a go-go dancer
Saturday night was full of all sorts of weird little stories.
Some of the casinos in town have go-go dancers for the entertainment of the guests at night. The one we were at was one of these and while we sipped our drinks, we watched.
There are many reasons why I will never be a go-go dancer.
It isn't the outfit, although I am too fat to wear what they were wearing. I'm not fat, and the gym is helping me slim down, but no matter how fit I get, I will always be too fat to wear a bra, underwear, and fishnets in public.
It isn't the age, although I do think I'm too old. One of my cohorts pointed out that if you're over 25 you're over the hill for a go-go dancer, and I'm okay with knowing that I'm too old to go prancing around on a mini stage.
No, the reason I will never be a go-go dancer is because I just can't do those deep knee bend dance moves. Every time she did it, I pictured myself going down and failing to get back up. Struggling to stand while teetering in my heels, finally duck walking about until I find something to grab hold of... Nobody needs to see that. Good thing I'm too old and fat to try!
Some of the casinos in town have go-go dancers for the entertainment of the guests at night. The one we were at was one of these and while we sipped our drinks, we watched.
There are many reasons why I will never be a go-go dancer.
It isn't the outfit, although I am too fat to wear what they were wearing. I'm not fat, and the gym is helping me slim down, but no matter how fit I get, I will always be too fat to wear a bra, underwear, and fishnets in public.
It isn't the age, although I do think I'm too old. One of my cohorts pointed out that if you're over 25 you're over the hill for a go-go dancer, and I'm okay with knowing that I'm too old to go prancing around on a mini stage.
No, the reason I will never be a go-go dancer is because I just can't do those deep knee bend dance moves. Every time she did it, I pictured myself going down and failing to get back up. Struggling to stand while teetering in my heels, finally duck walking about until I find something to grab hold of... Nobody needs to see that. Good thing I'm too old and fat to try!
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
A sense of entitlement
I met a new fellow the other night, a new friend who, in the course of conversation, said something really interesting. And really true.
He said that he dates a Japanese girl because he got tired of American women's sense of entitlement. (I'm sure she is lovely and wonderful in many other ways too) He mentioned with emphasis, that she is very respectful.
I don't think that this is the sort of man who expects a woman to cower and bow, I truly think that he just appreciates that she treats him nicely.
I don't think he is wrong.
There are exceptions to every rule of course, and I hope that I am one of them, but I do agree. American women sure seem to have a sense of entitlement. I hear them talk. I get the encouragement from people I know.
"He needs to do this or that for you"
"He better be taking me out for a nice dinner"
"I/You deserve a man who..."
It's not that I think that women should settle for a man who doesn't treat her right (which sounds so wrong coming from me given my history. There are many untold stories here). But when I consider what is "right" I think of the running list of things in my head that I DON'T deserve. For example,
I don't deserve to be treated like I don't matter.
I tend to think though, that this basic human kindness. No one deserves to be treated like they don't matter.
But back to the topic at hand. I don't think that there's anything wrong to desire a man who showers your with gifts and dinners and his undivided attention if that's what you want. But I don't think it should be expected. Because no one really deserves it. There's a huge difference between wanting and deserving. American women really need to remember that. We don't deserve things because we were born women. We shouldn't expect things because we were born in a country where our worth is not measured in cattle. How is that any different than measuring a man's worth by the size of the diamond you made him buy you?
He said that he dates a Japanese girl because he got tired of American women's sense of entitlement. (I'm sure she is lovely and wonderful in many other ways too) He mentioned with emphasis, that she is very respectful.
I don't think that this is the sort of man who expects a woman to cower and bow, I truly think that he just appreciates that she treats him nicely.
I don't think he is wrong.
There are exceptions to every rule of course, and I hope that I am one of them, but I do agree. American women sure seem to have a sense of entitlement. I hear them talk. I get the encouragement from people I know.
"He needs to do this or that for you"
"He better be taking me out for a nice dinner"
"I/You deserve a man who..."
It's not that I think that women should settle for a man who doesn't treat her right (which sounds so wrong coming from me given my history. There are many untold stories here). But when I consider what is "right" I think of the running list of things in my head that I DON'T deserve. For example,
I don't deserve to be treated like I don't matter.
I tend to think though, that this basic human kindness. No one deserves to be treated like they don't matter.
But back to the topic at hand. I don't think that there's anything wrong to desire a man who showers your with gifts and dinners and his undivided attention if that's what you want. But I don't think it should be expected. Because no one really deserves it. There's a huge difference between wanting and deserving. American women really need to remember that. We don't deserve things because we were born women. We shouldn't expect things because we were born in a country where our worth is not measured in cattle. How is that any different than measuring a man's worth by the size of the diamond you made him buy you?
Sunday, May 05, 2013
Biggest Little FurCon
It's unusual for me to be up at 3 am and even more unusual for me to be up writing at this late, late hour, especially knowing that clean sheets await.
Some things, though, cannot wait.
Tonight, I attended a Furry Convention.
Furries, for the uninitiated, are people who dress like animals. Think, high school mascot, only far more personal.
It was something the Wifey had always wanted to do, attend a Furry convention, so imagine her surprise when there was one in Reno. Since I tend to be up for a good people watching adventure, I agreed to go to the casino where it was being held and stare.
What I found was a really nice group of people in various states of animal dress. Some, just wore tails. Some, ears. Others were in full body costumes. Some costumes were homemade, some were custom. All exhibited a certain personality. You could tell that some of the people were more comfortable in their costume than they were in regular clothes.
Amazingly, I get that. Where I thought I would giggle and snort and roll my eyes, I found that I accepted their desire to dress as animals. I understood their need to wear a different skin. One of their own design. Who wouldn't want to be a purple giraffe? Who hasn't put on a costume and felt empowered? I feel that way every time I wear certain outfits or put on my referee jersey.
We ended up in a Furry dance party. I sat and watched while my cohorts boogied. I smiled at the unabashed joy of the revelers. I blushed at the Yiffing. It was, an experience to remember.
Some things, though, cannot wait.
Tonight, I attended a Furry Convention.
Furries, for the uninitiated, are people who dress like animals. Think, high school mascot, only far more personal.
It was something the Wifey had always wanted to do, attend a Furry convention, so imagine her surprise when there was one in Reno. Since I tend to be up for a good people watching adventure, I agreed to go to the casino where it was being held and stare.
What I found was a really nice group of people in various states of animal dress. Some, just wore tails. Some, ears. Others were in full body costumes. Some costumes were homemade, some were custom. All exhibited a certain personality. You could tell that some of the people were more comfortable in their costume than they were in regular clothes.
Amazingly, I get that. Where I thought I would giggle and snort and roll my eyes, I found that I accepted their desire to dress as animals. I understood their need to wear a different skin. One of their own design. Who wouldn't want to be a purple giraffe? Who hasn't put on a costume and felt empowered? I feel that way every time I wear certain outfits or put on my referee jersey.
We ended up in a Furry dance party. I sat and watched while my cohorts boogied. I smiled at the unabashed joy of the revelers. I blushed at the Yiffing. It was, an experience to remember.
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