Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Little girl likes her brain

Gentle reader, the time has come to admit something.
I like my life.
As lives go it's not 24, certainly. Living out here in my rural idyll has not made me go all 'Pilgrim at Tinker Creek' (bleugh) either. Still, its a mighty good life.
Do you know many people who can say that with a straight face?
I think mainly I like my life so much because I spend little time worrying about other peoples opinions about it. So I do as I fucking please, and what fucking pleases me is, well, lots and lots and lots of things.
The thing I am proudest of is that I have a very well stocked mind. I worked hard at it too. If you ever have to be trapped in a submarine with me, I will be the one you can count on to go batshit and start eating people and screaming and banging my head.
No! That is a joking, ha ha! Oh, is so to my humor lip!
Actually you can safely count on me to be the last person who takes that route. I'll be the one writing graffitti on the bulkheads with a burnt match while all the weeping tweakers trip over me as they scramble around in their own urine and vomit. I know how to keep myself amused.
The key to having a well stocked mind is READING.
If you have a library card, you are wealthy. The American public library system is the gem and envy of the rest of the world (except for maybe Great Britain. But did you know you can access their system using ours? Hooooooo, yes. Dig the fuck outta that.)
Once you have a well stocked mind the rest of the world falls into perspective. Really, you become freed from lots of greed and envy and coveting of things simply by being well informed. You stop making quite so many bad decisions for the same reason...with nothing moral, nothing that takes great will involved, just by simply having taken in the information. You have to agree, thats a likeable thing right there. Really. You HAVE to agree. It's my blog.
I also like my life in large part because I finally chose the right person to spend it with. Ladies and gentlemen, this was due to nothing on my part at all. It was pure luck. (Thats all I'm going to say on the subject because I don't want you theiving, man-hungry vipers bothering him at work. now that ive made that comment, watch; i claim to be a feminist a few more lines down.)
I am a homemaker-type person, as it turns out. Someone has to be, and lo and behold it was me...the last person I ever expected, and the last person probably LOTS of people ever expected. I really like it. I really do. I'm good at it, too. And so thats what I do, and when it comes to what I do I am serious as a mass fucking grave full of heart attack victims.
That makes me just about a minority of one, until I go through this Rod Serling warp in space and wake up in the same boat as the christian separatist moms (and they all squish over to one side in horror). Nobody else takes us seriously except Martha Stewart.
Let me digress . Well, no; screw ya- you have no choice in the matter.
The womens movement sure did JACK SHIT to raise the average persons level of respect for the diaper changer and the goer-to of school programs in the middle of the day. They say 'every mother is a working mother' but in reality the general feeling is, if you don't work outside the home it's probably because you're stupid.
You know what? Fuck'em.
I'm a feminist; I raised the Stainless Steel Amazon to be a feminist; I daresay having lived the courage of my convictions every goddamn day for the last 21 years makes me more truly a feminist than nine-tenths of the broads out there with NOW stickers on their cars. Refusing to put up with second place no matter where you're planted is what makes you free...although you don't spend as much time wafting through daisy filled meadows wearing tulle as the douche commercials would leave you to believe.
Although my present life kind of does resemble a douche commercial, now that I stop and think. And don't you wish you could say the same thing? No, really. I have a garden here that I waft through quite frequently, a real one full of plants, and tourists stop and take pictures of it. It's kind of strange thinking that I'm in some strangers vacation memory book wearing a holey 'Speed Racer' t-shirt with my bra full of compost. But it is truly glorious in the spring and summer, and maybe its pretty enough so that people mistake me for a yard gnome.
It's the second major garden I've ever done and it is quite frankly fabulously beautiful. If there is anything femmy-girly about me, this is where it gets fully expressed. Right smack out on the main road through town with a big hippie standing in the middle of it.

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