don't shoot the messenger?

you know...they always say: "don't shoot the messenger." but i say NAY. i strongly disagree. i vehemently disagree. i disagree bunches.

see, here's my reasoning: what if the messenger is a jacked up terrorist asshole with a huge bomb strapped to his chest and a huge gun in each hand whose message is: "i hate all of you, and you are all going to die right now." and probably something about allie allie in come free and virgins or some shit. I SAY SHOOT THE BASTARD. i'm not particularly fond of him OR his virgins, and just because he said allie allie in come free does NOT mean he's safe. i called no bases at the beginning of the fucking game. SHOOT THE MESSENGER.

even worse: what if the messenger is a cute little baby kitty with great big eyes and an adorable bow tied around it's neck looking all oliver and company? SHOOT. SHOOT ON SIGHT. think about it...who is going to take the time and effort to send a GOOD message that way? wouldn't they just call you up and be all: "DUDE! I HAVE THE BEST NEWS!" i mean...only horrible news is worth finding some stupid kitty, starving it for a week to get the proper oliver look, tying a bow with a message on it, and making sure the stupid thing finds it's way to you and doesn't get lost or eaten by a pack of wolves on the way. that's a LOT of work. that's someone that REALLY wants to avoid telling you something for as long as possible. if a cute little kitty with a bow and a message shows up on your door step, don't even think about it: SHOOT THE MESSENGER.

also: i probably shouldn't be allowed to write after a certain time of night. that is all.

hoppin down the bunny trail...

i hope ya'll are ready for this one...it's going to go around in one of the strangest circles. you've been warned.

SO. i've been working on losing weight...we're all aware of this fact. i'm lost 20 and counting...not that you could tell by looking at me. seriously: was i carrying lead in my pockets before? I LOOK THE SAME. you'd think 20 pounds would be NOTICEABLE. but it's not. ~sigh~

we all also know that I AM AWESOME. i love me and therefore everyone else should too. i'm a chubby bunny. and i've been okay being that. because i'm a HOT chubby bunny. i clean up GOOD. think of thumper's girlfriend- fluffy, cuddly, and CUTE. and she snagged a great guy using her fluffy little curves. i don't know what the bunny version of ME.OW. is...but..ME.OW! saucy little vixen!

so. i've been okay with this. but the last few weeks, my son' has been working on a science project at school with caterpillars growing up into butterflies. and it got me thinking...what do _I_ want to be when i grow up? what does a chubby bunny morph into? the only thing that came to mind at first was the boiled baby bunny in the pot...i don't want to turn into the crazy chick boiling baby bunnies! so then i REALLY thought about it...and DUH: chubby bunnies grow up to be jessica rabbit. umm...DROOL. are you kidding me? it should have been SO OBVIOUS. so that's my new goal: chubby bunny needs to morph into jessica rabbit. from saucy little vixen to smokin ridiculously hot siren. so...there you have it. in place of the red dress, i already have my vintage dress that will look just as crazy hot...so...GOAL. SET. GO.

but you know that can't be all with me. i got to thinking about bambi. and like all classic disney characters he didn't have a mother for most of the movie. ps: THANKS FOR KNOCKING OFF ALL THE MOMS DISNEY. anywho: bambi grew up, thumper grew up, flower grew up...and what did they all do? SNAGGED A CHICK. now thumper had a mom, and she was always correcting him and teaching him things. and being a classic bunny family, i wonder if she ever had the reproduction talk with him. how WOULD a reproduction talk for rabbits go? umm..."we reproduce. A LOT. go." or would it be like any classic catholic family: "no sex, but if you do, we don't believe in birth control. that's why there's so damn many of us." (i'm not a catholic, but i'm guessing this is their talk). or would it be like "dude, it's the animal kingdom...have at it!" you know? what would a good bunny mama say? especially when she sees her son...*ahem*...getting a little...umm...worked up shall we say? over the cute chubby bunny above (can you blame him?). how could a mom NOT notice how *cough* excited he got? and then i started to wonder...she knew that bambi was an orphan...and going through the same things. did she try to have the talk with him too? how would that have been? "well bambi...i noticed you're starting to get horny now...i mean...get your horns...i mean...you're growing up..." and how do you give someone else's kid "the talk"? it's awkward enough with your own! and you KNOW bambi's dad didn't give him the talk...all he did was nod at him once or twice from a distant hill...unless that's boy code for something...could be...i will never understand boys...that could have been all he ever needed to know in those few nods. stupid secret boy language.

*awkward transition*

yeah...really didn't know how to jump from having the sex talk with disney characters into the next topic. go ahead...YOU try it. i'll wait...

NOT SO EASY, is it? back to the chubby bunny thing. i know i'm losing some weight somewhere because i'm having wardrobe malfunctions. not quite janet and justin, but you know..close. so. i always, ALWAYS wear a camisole under my shirts. started a few years ago...just a thing i do. well, it's never been a problem before. but apparently now: i have a waist. you know..that indent above your hips instead of it being a straight line (or a bit of an out-dent...what? it's a word. shush.) so now, i wear these camisoles, and i walk around and suddenly the camisole isn't where it started. it's crawled up under my shirt, wiggled, scooted, and is now sitting in a contented little lump at my natural waist. NICE. nothing like having an extra lump or two under your shirt.

so.

*depressing*

i've started tucking in the camisoles. which doesn't seem like a big deal. but it is. for some reason, the minute i tuck in a shirt it seems like i'm suddenly wearing mom jeans and the pants are now one with my bra. NOTHING HAS CHANGED. the jeans are still the same low cut they've always been. i don't pull them up any higher. but the minute you tuck something in they may as well be high rise, tapered leg, "faded" (white) jeans circa 1989. it's the strangest phenomenon. and it makes me feel a bit like i'm wearing a body suit circa 1995 (don't pretend you don't know what i'm talking about). the odd thing is that my pants are falling OFF. so they're really not mom jeans when they're barely hanging onto what's left of my backside. EVEN WITH A BELT. but i just can't shake this feeling...and it's CREEPING ME OUT. i don't want to tuck my jeans into my bra!! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THAT!!

~sigh~ it's so hard being me! do you see the HUGE problems i have to deal with? i mean...it's amazing i can function from day to day. i'm a hero. i know.

i think that's all for now.

umm...yup.  that's all.

quick and dirty

#1: drinking wine while laying down it’s the liquid equivalent of a sleeping dart to the neck.

#2 drinking wine on the new couch is NOT recommended. especially red. not that i did this. or spilled. you know…i would never waste wine like that…(thank heavens for DARK pillows).

#3 it’s very hard to be depressed on the new couches. i had to work REALLY HARD to mope all weekend. EFFORT.

#4 i LOVE LOVE LOVE high heels. but i have done some math recently. 5’8” + 5.5” heels = GIGANTIC. so. i’ll be wearing smaller high heels to avoid being cast as an extra in monsters vs. aliens 2.

#5 mac and cheese + sour cream = CHUBBY BUNNY MAGIC.

#6 I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE my friends. i love how no matter how many times i’ve bitched about the same thing, they still love me, and still listen, and still plot…i mean bitch with me.

#7 i HATE being proven right when i wanted to be proven wrong. quickly moving up the charts to top pet peeve. currently tied with co-workers that clip their nails in their cubicles.

#8 oh crap…i’m out…umm…super excited for hamburgers and hotdogs for dinner. that is all.

the inner raging bitch has broken free:

i tried. double shot latte. costco chocolate cake. midol. deep breathing. it just aint workin. the inner bitch is FED UP and breaking free. i've hinted at this. i've mentioned it in a round about way. you know that build up/explosion i was talking about? it happened. in the form of dear john letters. fuck you if dear john letters annoy you. i’m doin it anyway. i know it's passive aggressive. i know it won't fix anything. but it gets it out of my head.

**EDITED**

as you can see, the rest of this post is missing. i stand by every word i wrote. they were and are my true feelings. however, i have reconsidered what feels to be airing my dirty laundry in public. my purpose in publishing was to accomplish several things, and they have all been fulfilled, so the post is no longer needed. first and foremost the purpose was to finally get the feeling and thoughts out of my head so they would quit rolling around. thoughts such as those posted seems to have a snowball effect if you keep them in, they gain mass and momentum until that is all that you can focus on. unfortunately when they are as poisonous and vomitous as these were, it can be damaging to self, life, others. i was to that point. publishing was able to release that venom, purge my system, and can now be removed. it was also to know that what i felt was right and valid. through the support of friends who have read the post, and those i have had a chance to speak with i have learned that i was right, my feelings were valid and justified. having that reassurance and support has been amazing and strengthening and healing. so, again, the purpose has been fulfilled and the post is no longer needed.

long and short: i apologize for the dirty laundry but thank you for the support. i'm struggling with the line between being truthful and real and going too far. i don't believe i crossed the line here, but i definitely had my toes on it.  it has been helpful, it did purge some poison. so. success.

the funny shall return now....stay tuned.

a chink in the armor

so. you know those serious things rolling in my brain that i mentioned last post? turns out they won’t go away, so here i am writing about it. you know what that mean…prepare for serious with only a small side of humor. ~sigh~ stupid serious thoughts. why can’t they just take a hike? oh wait…this is me…and NO part of me is even remotely interested in anything that has the word hike associated with it…so…yeah, guess that makes a little more sense. dang.

dear readers: i have a flaw. I KNOW! it was a shock to me too. i mean _ME_ the epitome of perfection. a flaw. ~gasp~ a chink in the armor. a weakness. an achilles heel. i’ll give you a moment to absorb this. it was earth shifting for me as well.

ok…so. i’ve learned a bad habit or behaviour over the years and i need to UNLEARN it. not so easy after 30 years. especially when i’m just now admitting to it. i’ve known it was there for a year or two, but i hoped it was something i wouldn’t have to learn how to deal with. but…as goes life…it happens to be in an area that you can’t really ignore. or i should say the ignoring is half the problem.

so what is this tragic flaw? i have no conflict resolution abilities. as in NONE. as in the mere idea of talking about a problem sends me into a PANIC. having a serious discussion with someone TERRIFIES me. pee my pants, curled in fetal position in the corner, sucking my thumb, humming to myself TERRIFIED. throw up nervous. snakes on a plane FREAKING OUT.

i know. ME. of all people. the loud mouth, bitter, sarcastic bitch of all bitches. scared of an argument. of a discussion. of talking about ANYTHING that bothers me.

“but you’re doing it right now” you might think. well…yeah…BUT YOU CAN’T TALK BACK. sure, you might comment, you might mention something LATER, but right now in my little bloggers bubble it’s safe. see…this is a learned behaviour. and it goes WAY back. growing up we never talked about anything, let alone ARGUE. that was just something that was never done. my folks split before i knew what was going on, so i missed the battles there. and then when my mom remarried they NEVER, EVER let us see their problems. partially because my mom is 90% ostrich and will never admit that there ever have been even a hint of problems, and partially because the other 10% of her thought it would be damaging to us kids to see that. GUESS WHAT: ~shock~ i disagree. i believe it’s VERY HEALTHY for kids to see arguments between adults but even more than that SEE HOW THEY WORK IT OUT. so that way they know that not every discussion is the end of the world. things can be a huge problem, but it can be worked through. see that even if people get upset, or can’t agree, or have an all out battle it can be fixed and over come and it doesn’t always have to be an ugly, abusive, hurtful train wreck. it’s in the combination of the two words: conflict AND RESOLUTION. there’s going to be conflict at some point in life. GUA.RAN.TEED. it’s the RESOLUTION part of it that people need to learn/teach. and i have NO CLUE.

after growing up with my mom in the no conflict world, my oldest sons dad and i had a *ahem* few problems. we were 17 and pregnant. we had NO CLUE about life. there were some EPIC battles. hard core, all out BATTLES. and i usually ended up in tears (hormones…i totally blame the hormones) and nothing was ever resolved or worked through. after home, and baby daddy, i moved on to a horrible marriage. in my marriage i not only learned that i can’t talk about things that bother me, i can’t talk about ANYTHING. no opinions, no thoughts, nothing that wasn’t pre-approved. hell…the most epic/memorable battle was over green beans in the tater tot casserole. it turned into a SCREAMING fit of terror (him at me) to where i ended up in tears, on the kitchen floor, in emotional shreds. OVER GREEN BEANS PEOPLE.

so this has turned into me: unable to talk. try wrapping your head around that. ME: NOT TALKING.

i have things that bother me. i have things to talk about. things i NEED to talk about. they all start out as things that WOULD BE small issues, but i stuff them deep down and ignore them until i can’t stuff anymore and then there’s this huge earth ending explosion. and let me just say: not the best results. theyre small things would have been easy to work through and get over. but because i’m TERRIFIED of how it will go, i’m TERRIFIED of being torn down, i’m TERRIFIED of being walked away from…i just can’t do it. i can’t talk. and to me, it’s a very real fear: even in the last few years- the times i’ve tried to overcome this i’ve been gut kicked, torn to shreds and walked away from for MONTHS by close friends. sure, things usually (not always) cool off and come back around, but if this happens even over the little things…how on earth could i ever talk about something BIG? and so i don’t. i just push it all away to a back, dark, quiet corner and HOPE that it never reaches that boiling point. and it’s NOT healthy, by any stretch of the imagination.

and i know part of it is a shift in thinking for me: these can be discussions, not arguments, not battles. but history has taught me there are no discussions, ONLY arguments. and how do you unlearn that? you need someone you can argue in a healthy way with. someone you can DISCUSS with and not have it turn into a death cage match. and i haven’t found someone like that yet. friend, partner, family…anywhere. i have people that like to tell me i’m wrong for what i’m feeling. i have people that tell me what i can say and how i can say it. i have people that only want to say their side. i have people that laugh at my side.

why did this all come up? well: two reasons. there are a few parts of my life that i can feel reaching that boiling point again. and i’m TERRIFIED of when that will happen. if i can’t find another way to deal with it…i’m scared of losing people. also: i know that i never learned the right way which means i won’t be able to teach the right way. my kids are getting old enough and we’re starting to have different opinions and voices at my house- i need to learn SOON so i can show the HEALTHY and GOOD way to work through things. i don’t want them to go through life with this feeling of having no voice or being scared to say what they feel/think. i want them to know they can come to me and it might get ugly depending on the topic, but we WILL find an answer, and we WILL make it out the other side TOGETHER.

~sigh~

i’m done now. anyone wanna fight?

umm...random

oh my. has it really been two weeks since my last post?

well. first things first:

LIFE SAVERS ARE AWESOME. seriously. when is the last time you enjoyed a good old fashioned life saver? i raided my kids left over stash of easter candy (not so much a left over stash as the stash i never let them have to begin with) and found a four pack of life savers. they’re awesome because a) THEY’RE LIFE SAVERS, and b) they keep me from munching on crap all day at my desk. BONUS!

ok. now. back to life: if you haven’t hear my curiously odd wonderings lately: i’ve lost 20 pounds. not sure how or why or from where, but according to the wii the last time i checked it i was in at 208. so. either the wii got tired of me yelling at it and decided to be nice for once, or this eating healthy, not eating out, eating smaller portions, not drinking crap soda all day thing is working. now just to solve the mystery of WHERE the 20 came from. SOME clothes fit better, some the same, some worse. so…i have no clue. it seems to be my thighs/hips since MOST (not all) of my jeans are feeling much baggier…i really have no clue. but the wii says i’ve lost it, so DAMN IT, i’m taking it! now imagine if i got back off my ass and started working out again…might have to actually do that. it was fun…but it takes energy…hmmm…

and now for the rant portion of the blog: I EFFING HATE BIKERS. this week is bike to work week AND I HATE BIKERS. seriously. i want to run them all over. and by all, i mean the two that encountered this morning on my way to work, but this is a rant, and a rant includes over generalizing, usually some form of stereotyping, and over all blaming the mass for the few. also: ITS MY RANT, MY RULES, SO BACK OFF. also: notice the word “effing” instead of dropping the REAL f bomb which i cherish and adore and use regularly. i couldn’t pollute my favorite word by including it in a sentence with bikers. THAT is how much i hate them. since when do they get to ignore all the traffic laws? SERIOUSLY? you want to run a stop sign AND a stop light? enjoy my bumper bitch. also: riding a bike DOES NOT mean you automatically get to wear spandex. thanks for visually assaulting my eyes that early in the morning. AND: really? you want to glare at me for driving a car during your effing bike to work week? I’M CARPOOLING THREE KIDS TO SCHOOL JACKASS. how the eff am i supposed to do that on a bike? I’M CARPOOLING. reducing emissions. reducing cars on the road. AND OBEYING TRAFFIC LAWS. suck it you effing bikers. this may be a long week.

i have a confession to make. i am the worlds WORST shopper. worst as in WORST. as in i can’t remember a damn thing when i shop. ~sigh~ it’s shameful. so. i went to walmart yesterday for basics: ended up coming home with the wrong…EVERYTHING. what is it about toothpaste? WHY CAN I NEVER REMEMBER WHICH BRAND? seriously. every. single. time. i come home with something different. crest? colgate? total? plus whitening? long lasting? plus scope? gel? paste? the only reason we ever have the same toothpaste twice in a row is because i notoriously shop in twos. so when i DO buy the wrong (different) thing, i buy TWO of them. and i try to remember what the box looked like…BUT THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME. and then just when you think you have it figured out you realize there’s a NEW and BETTER version of everything….holy crap people. just clean my teeth! and i try to remember which brand…i know i should write it down, but i never do. toilet paper: SAME THING. you get to the end of the package after a mega walmart pack and can’t remember which brand it was! why can’t they write the brand on the paper tube or something? seriously. after twelve DOUBLE rolls how the hell am i supposed to remember if it was the dog or the puppy or the creepy baby or the old quilting ladies? and there are some that are TERRIBLE about disintegrating half way through a wipe- YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, and there are others that you only have to use one sheet to sop up the entire pacific ocean…BUT I CAN NEVER REMEMBER WHICH IS WHICH. until i’m half way through a wipe…and then it’s too late. trash bags: wrong ones. paper towels: different brand. the only thing i CAN remember is laundry soap. tide. easy peasy. the orange bottle. DONE. oh crap…but is it the tide with febreeze? or the sports brand? or the cold water one? YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN? no wonder i’m always stuck at walmart so dang long. it’s because i’m a complete and total shopping idiot. ~sigh~ i need a wife. isn’t that what they’re for? they remember all those details? and to do the dishes. which i also hate.

wow. two rants today. aren’t ya’ll lucky.

final thought for the day: PEPPERONI STICKS. yum.

Femme Writes: Reproduction

About Women's Writes:
When the Criminal Homicide and Abortion Amendments bill passed in Utah at the beginning of March, both Shine and Marie reached the end of their rope when it came to women’s rights and issues consistently being pushed backwards rather than moving forwards. They decided to create Women's Writes, the fifth day of every month in which any blogger could write about women’s rights and issues and bring them to the forefront so that we could speak up and make all of our voices heard.

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of May, we’ve chosen to write about Women’s Reproductive Rights and Issues. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis.

ok kids. serious topic here: women’s rights: they’re being trampled. they’re being adjudicated. they’re being controlled by everyone else BUT THE WOMAN.

holy crap- i’ve written and deleted 5 different openings to this blog. i know what i want to say. i know what my opinions are, i just can’t make them come out right today. i’m trying to be all professional and smart…i guess i just need to be me…so here it goes:

reproduction:

i got knocked up at 17. first time out of the gate. BAM. october 5, 1997. yeah…i know the EXACT date. not really something you forget. i, obviously, was not the sharpest crayon in the box. i didn’t know about sex and birth control back then, and i didn’t know who to ask. add in the 17 year old thinking: “it’ll never happen to me” and 9 months later you have me popping out a 9 pound 11 ounce spawn. NICE. see, i was raised in a SMALL town. small as in 7000 people. small as in when my brother got an MIP in high school my parents knew about it less than 5 minutes later cause they ran into the cop at the gas station. and, as it usually happens in small towns, it was (still is) a VERY religious town. i grew up in church. and i grew up with a very strict mom. you did NOT talk about things in our house. anything. when i got my first visit from aunt flo i left a note on my mom’s pillow because it just wasn’t something you talked about. it wasn’t questioned that when it was “sex talk” time in school i automatically went to the abstinence classes. no way did i need to hear “that filth” about sex ed. sex was never discussed. birth control was never discussed. to make things SO MUCH BETTER, my mom worked at the local health clinic so i couldn’t even sneak in an appointment to talk to someone else about it. and then i go and get knocked up…ironic? or just lack of education? i think both…even better? NOT EVEN KIDDING: after i got knocked up…i STILL had to take the abstinence class that spring at school. that’s right…EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT in the abstinence class. you can’t make that shit up. q.u.a.l.i.t.y. i swear to heaven my mum is half ostrich with her ability to stick her head so far and so resolutely in the sand.

~sigh~ EDUCATE YOUNG WOMEN. that’s my first issue with women’s rights. before you can discuss abortion, before you can discuss parenting, you have to be able to talk about HOW it happens in the first place. parents: you’re not doing your kids favors by keeping information from them. hell, my kids and i are ALREADY having sex talks at my house. i DO NOT want them to go through what i have. and i’d rather them hear it THE RIGHT WAY from me than from some kid with half ass knowledge in the locker room at school. puberty: covered it. birth control: covered it. stds/aids: covered it. and my oldest one is 11. is it too early? i don’t think so. the school he’s in goes up to 6^th grade…and you KNOW those kids are already talking about it (and some doing it! YIKES).

EDUCATE. please. for the love of all that’s good and right. EDUCATE. if these girls knew about birth control and their bodies and their personal rights, 90% of the abortion issue would go away. it wouldn’t be an issue any more. EDUCATE. TEACH. TALK. get over being embarrassed. it’s how we all got here. EDUCATE.

my case was lucky: i’m a fighter. i didn’t get knocked up and give up on life. i got knocked up in october, graduated high school that june, had my son in july, and started college that september. i got a job, got my own apartment, graduated with an AA degree, and then was offered a scholarship to attend a 4 year college. AND I DID IT. i worked through college doing classes/work during the day, doing the mom thing in the afternoons, papers late into the night, and repeat DAILY for two years. but i graduated with my BA degree. and you’re damn right i’m proud of that.

well, about the time i graduated college i was set up on a blind date. four months later i was married. three months later we were pregnant- on purpose this time. my son was 4, his son was 9…didn’t make sense to wait and have them too far apart. well…a few months after that, things started to fall apart. we were married in march, pregnant in june, and i moved out the first time that september. talk about a FAST TRACK in life. we ended up back together because i had already done the single mom thing with one kid and REALLY wanted to make it work “the right way” the second time around. well, by march when the baby was due it wasn’t going well…to say the least. and here’s where my second issue with women’s rights comes in: i KNEW things weren’t going well. at that point i KNEW i would be a single mom again, this time with two kids. so i asked my doctor to do a tubal ligation during the delivery. i did NOT want to pull the small town hat trick and end up at some point being the girl with three babies and three baby daddy’s. i was DONE. single mom with one was hard. i knew a single mom with two would be an even bigger challenge. three? NO THANK YOU. so, at 22 years old, with one spawn and one on the way, i asked to be done. no more please. hell…take it all out and donate it to someone else…obviously mine works fine…give it to someone that had hers removed or whose doesn’t work. FINE BY ME.

but…

not fine by the doctor. well, fine by MY doctor, but not fine by the state of washington medical board. see, my doctor was great. he understood. he had been through both pregnancies with me and he backed up my decision. turns out: he had to FIGHT for my decision. in the great state of washington, if you are under a certain age (26 WITH kids, 30 without i believe), you MUST have a board of doctors approve your decision to have a tubal ligation. yes. that’s right. i had to have a board of doctors approve my decision to NOT have any more children. i had to be approved to limit my reproductive abilities. i had to ask permission, from a board of people. a whole board. so my doctor went to the board and had to fight for permission for me. he had to explain that i already had two kids. he had to assure them that i was fully aware of that the decision meant. he had to battle with them to be allowed to perform the procedure on me. and this wasn’t on the state dime- this wasn’t some extraordinary medical procedure at the tax payers cost. i was working full time, my husband was working full time, we BOTH had full medical coverage. but still, my doctor had to battle with the board to have the procedure approved. and it was. and he did a good job. i warned him that if i had another kid after that HE was going to raise it…so he ended up doing TWO cuts in each side, just to make sure. thank heavens in that small town i DID have a great doctor that was willing to got to bat for me. here i am 7 years later and i DO NOT regret my decision at all. i DO regret that it was such an issue. i DO regret that it wasn’t a decision i could make on my own. maybe regret isn’t the right word there…pissed off? is that a better word? i am still PISSED OFF that it wasn’t a decision i could make on my own.

i didn’t realize at the time what a big issue it was…too many other things going on at that point for that to be a focus. but now, looking back…who the fuck did they think they were? making me ask permission?? FUCK THAT. it’s MY body. who were they to have rights over MY body? did they consider what would have happened if they HADN’T allowed the procedure? i shudder to think of that path: how do you tell your abusive (oh…did i forget to mention that part?) husband that you want to go on birth control or have him start wearing condoms? what would have happened if i had gotten knocked up by him again before i could get out of the situation? where would i be now if i had THREE kids to take care of? OH HELL NO. _I_ knew the factors. _I_ made my decision. who were they to second guess or make me argue my own experiences?

and now…with all the battles going on, with the abortion issue so present, with our own rights to our own bodies being controlled by courts and lawyers and opinionated doctors…you know…what’s next? they won’t tell these girls how NOT to get pregnant. they won’t tell these girls the options they have once they ARE pregnant. they make girls ask for permission to not get pregnant again- and not just a tubal…around here you still have to get a parents permission to get birth control even AFTER you’ve had a kid if you’re still under age (or at least i would have had to after the first one).

these are OUR bodies. these are OUR lives. WE have to live with the decisions. no one else. so why should anyone else be able to tell us what’s right for us? why should some senator or judge or doctor be able to tell ME what to do with the rest of my life? why should someone who reads about my case on paper or checks me in an exam room for 5 minutes think they know better than i do or can make a better decision than i could?

GIVE ME BACK _MY_ RIGHTS TO _MY_ body. or…you know what…if they want to make my decisions for me? FINE. but they also get to deal with my PMS, my mouthy kids, my empty checkbook, my single parent life, my lack of a social life, my depression, my EVERYTHING. you want it? you get it ALL. bastards. and NO, i won’t go get more tampons for you. no one gets them for me. STILL want the rights to my body? oh yeah…and you’re bloated this week and nothing fits…and aunt flo showed up a week and a half early with NO warning. deal with THAT.