Taking Responsibility!

A life of reaction is a life of slavery, intellectually and spiritually. One must fight for a life of action, not reaction. – Rita Mae Brown

That’s it!  I’m taking responsibility!  I admit it!  I did write my last post about chickens.  Some may have perceived it as disrespectful to chickens.  Some might even believed that I speak disrespectfully about chickens in front of my children and that this makes me a poor parent.  I also feed my children chicken and sometimes eggs!  Now, I know that there are those out there who disagree intensely with this approach to parenting.  There are those who think children should not be fed chicken or eggs and that by even mentioning it here on this blog I’m a wicked vile person.  I don’t know, maybe they were a chicken themselves in a former life and therefore they take my approach to all things chicken as a personal affront. 

I can’t take responsibility for their issues.  All I can say is I did write that last post about chickens. 

Furthermore, I’m not going to allow myself to live a life of reaction. I’m not, I tell you, not going to stop writing about chickens (or anything else I want to write about in any way I choose to write about it)  just because a few, who presume to know me, but really don’t,  malign me for doing so.  In fact, just to prove my integrity I’m going to post pictures of chickens.  I want to do it, so I am!  If this is too painful for you, feel free to click off!

Here we go.  This is Chicken Youth. Hopeful, cheerful, always outgoing.  Loves to learn new things, especially how to be a good little pecker.

 

 

 

 

 

This is Kelly Rooster.  He’s a handsome and proud cock.  However, he treated his last wife a little fowl.  He’s single and not in a relationship yet…but I dare say he soon will be. He might be in several simultaneously.  He is a fowl, skanky bird.

 

 

 

 This is the poster art for the new movie, “Poultrygeist”.  I haven’t seen the trailer for it, but I hear there are a bunch of sexy chicks and hot cocks running around killing each other and basically screwing up the set.

 

 

 

The chicken below was on the front page of our local paper last year.  Apparently, this chicken went postal!  Caused a lot of damage, as you can see, to the mailbox there.  They caught him in the act.  He plead guilty.  Now he’s cooped up in the state pen forever. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The chickens pictured to the right are petrified.  They were discovered on a dig a friend of mine went on last summer as a part of his graduate research.  He has a lot of pull so he was able to bring these back.  Don’t they look good for being buried beneath the earth for a kazillion years? I think this proves which came first.  They’ve yet to find any chicken remains that date older than these eggs.

This concludes my chicken activism for today.  There, I’ve taken responsibility for the last post I wrote and I’ve taken action by allowing the negative comments in prior chicken posts to deter me from writing about a subject of my own choosing. 

I do feel better now…and maybe…just maybe I can let this chicken obsession go forever.

Dreaming of Chickens

April is National Poetry Month and I’m enjoying it.  In fact, I’m enjoying it so much I had to share this poem, which means so much to me.

 

Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens by Jack Prelutsky

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.

They were on the chairs and tables,
they were on the chandeliers,
they were roosting in the corners,
they were clucking in my ears,
there were chickens, chickens, chickens
for as far as I could see…
when I woke today, I noticed
there were eggs on top of me.

 

 Now, that I’ve published this humorous poem by Jack Prelutsky, I am sure I am going to be bombarded with concerned and distressed comments and emails by those of you who actually believe that I am dreaming of chickens simply because I posted this post.  Furthermore, I am certain there will be many of you psychologists out there just dying to analyze that dream as if it were one that I really did dream.  It would probably disappoint you to no end to learn that in real life, I’ve never once dreamed of chickens, however, I sometimes dream of flying and I always dream of Tahiti or Australia.  Whatever you decide to believe about my existence off blog, is yours to believe.  Just understand, it might not be accurate and it might not be anywhere near factual.  You’re still welcome to have all the fun with that your little heart and mind desire!

 

 

 

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The Nice Thing About A Blog Is You Can Screen Comments, Approve Them, Refute Them And Then Delete The Whole Bloody Mess!

No.  It was not your imagination.

Yes, there were two posts here with comments from two people and I deleted them.  I deleted the initial post, the comments on that post and my subsequent response in a separate post, not because I felt the comments valid and worthy of consideration. Also, not because I had any remorse about anything I posted.  I said what I said for reasons of my own and was sorely misunderstood by those who would judge me based on their experiences rather than my reality.  Had they been informed comments based on actual data delivered in a thoughtful considerate way, instead of  being personal experience projected onto me, I might have thought differently about it all.  In the end, I decided to delete both posts and the comments because no one cares to read family laundry aired in a public forum.  I don’t feel good being the target of a family misunderstanding especially when those family members neither know my whole story nor have they walked in my shoes.  Not even close.  I might add they were also not exactly present when I had to extricate myself from my own personal nightmare nor have they quite had to go it alone completely without family support in the way that I have.   Bottom line, they made judgements that doubted my character and integrity, without knowing all the facts.  Had they known all the facts, had they been there in support of me during my nightmare, had they spoken from an informed postion, in a far more loving and less accusatory manner, I’d have eaten crow had I needed to.  I’m so not afraid of admitting I made a mistake.  In fact, that is my strength as an individual.  I’m not afraid to look honestly at myself in order to learn and grow and do life better in the future. I can admit I did something wrong and own my mistake. 

This doesn’t happen to be one of those times.

This also doesn’t happen to be one of those times that is worth defending and fighting for.  Therefore, I’ve deleted the whole entire transaction as if it never were, because it simply isn’t worth spending any more time or energy on.

But just as an F.Y.I. to other readers:   I’ve been accused of screening my comments since I have comment moderation on both my blogs.  Think what you like, that is simply an accusation that has no basis in reality.  I screen posts to make sure that those who comment don’t inadvertently reveal the identities of those we mutually know and might write about.  Other than this, all my comments, unless they are spam, go through unedited.  Comment moderation only makes sure I read and thoughtfully attend to each one, which I do, contrary to recent accusations that indicate otherwise.

The Online “Meet” Market

Last weekend, I made arrangements to meet a guy from online for the first time for breakfast.  Not usually my preference, since weekend mornings are usually sacred time for me.  It’s the time of the week where I get up and move at whatever pace I feel like which is unhurried, unrushed, unpressured, slow and relaxed.  This is important to me, since the rest of my week is usually packed so full with deadlines, activities, demands and noise.

Saturday, I woke early and was on the road for a three hour drive to an  All Tribes Pow Wow.  I attended with a friend who is very good looking, very intelligent, well educated, okay beyond well educated,  funny and basically almost perfect and who is someone I will never date.  He is a very good friend and like a brother to me.  Dating him would be like, well, ewww!  But I could attend a Pow Wow with him and did. I can also travel with him, and have, with no concern for my safety or well-being.  Boundaries are firmly in place and were clearly discussed. In many ways, I think a good romantic relationship has to have these elements of a good friendship in order to be successful.  When we get together, we talk like schoolgirls.  He, about who he’s dating, me about who I’m dating (I was pretty quiet this time, well, okay, maybe not so much) so it is no wonder that after leaving early in the morning to drive up to the Pow Wow, it was sunset and I’d not started on my way home.  By the time I did arrive home I was just not in any way willing to get up and rush out to meet someone I’d had two conversations with on the phone.   I cancelled, with the plan to resechedule if he wanted to.  I left it in his court not really caring one way or another if he persisted or not.  Well he persisted.  *Places a check in the “Good for him” category.*

That reschedule occured this afternoon.  It was the most agonizing ordeal I’ve experienced since the first time I met someone from online.  I really hate it when I have to carry the conversation.  I am plenty capable of it, but I am not comfortable doing it.  I’d rather listen to others share their story.  But, this person had no story.  He’d never been married.  He didn’t travel, didn’t do much, except take walks with his dog. Of course, he put on his profile he was trim and fit…but he wasn’t…not entirely.  And, of course, he’s looking for the firm little body, but yet he didn’t exactly sport the male version of that.   I totally don’t mind guys going for the firm little body…don’t get me wrong…I get how men are wired…but what’s good for the gander is just as good for the goose.  Don’t expect what you’re unable to provide yourself. That’s all I’m saying.  Anyway, it all makes ya wonder. 

And, here’s another thing.  I hate going for walks on the first meet up.  Here’s why.  You can’t size up the other person too well because you are too busy walking and watching where you are going.  So much of me taking a person in is sizing up how they move.  How they roll.  What their demeanor is like.  The eyes, the smile , all this is important.  This is difficult to observe on a walk especially when your are as uncoordinated as I am and must concentrate carefully on putting one foot in front of the other on level ground.  You also can’t really talk face to face to them.  So, while I think a walk is an ideal thing to do the second or third time around, it isn’t my pick for a first date. That being said, I got enough information in the first three seconds to know this was not someone I was going to spend much more time with.  So the walk really was a non-issue.

The online meet market is just not that fun any more.  It’s still every bit as busy…just more exhausting than anything…these days.  I can see myself folding this hand for good pretty soon.

The Wild Mind’s Latest Up “Dates”?

The Wild Mind Meets the Aztec Dancers - April 2009

Look at my most recent date(s)!  LOL!  Just kidding!  These really are not people I dated. They are also not contacts I met from online.  These are two of the Aztec Dancers I met when I attended the All Nations Tribal Pow Wow this weekend in a city nearby. 

These men were amazing!  (Oh, I could go so many places with that, but no, I’m going to play this one straight.)  There were 5 of them in the group; one drummer, four dancers. These two ictured were dancers.  They were in incredible shape and they danced constantly for thirty minutes.  If you’ve ever seen anything like this you know that this kind of dancing is very physically active and strenuous (again, the places I could go…but…I’m containing myself here). 

The headdresses were easily three feet across and just as tall.  Every one of the men had different regalia on (don’t call them costumes…they are not costumes!).    Anyway, I’m including a video, which is not the video of the group I saw, but it is the most similar to the dancing I saw including the lighting of the fire at the beginning and the positions (Hee!hee! Okay, I won’t go there) of the dancers.  The dancers I saw were much more precise in their movements and much more energetic as well.  Enjoy! 

You Know The Honeymoon Is Over When…

Seriously, you know the honeymoon is over when life with your significant other begins to feel less like fireworks and more like you have a “Bear In There”.

Bear In There by Shel Silverstein

There’s a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire–
He likes it ’cause it’s cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He’s nibbling the noodles,
He’s munching the rice,
He’s slurping the soda,
He’s licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he’s in there–
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

Just something to think about.    There are so many places I could go with this, but I’ll just let you think about it…for now. 

On The Line Again!!!! What Is Up With These People?

Here are some of the messages I’ve received lately at that online dating site that I’m on.

MrBigFinger: WOW…Your a very very pretty lady…And SoooooooooooooSEXY!!!!!! 

Okay, now there is just something wrong with the MrBigFinger username and he can’t spell and he’s objectifying me.  Okay, so I don’t really mind that he’s objectifying me but he needs to learn to spell and the big finger thing scares me…of course…if he were MrSmallFinger, I’d laugh.

Stilltrying says he has “a few extra pounds” (and judging from his pictures he certainly does) but he’s looking for “small petite women with brains” or “tall athletic women with brains”  but remember, he’s got a few extra pounds so he can’t accept in her what he’s ready to settle for in himself.  He also goes on to say he “despises stupidity” but most of the words in his profile are misspelled and the punctuation and capitalization are wrong too. 

Then, of course, there is one in every bunch…the guy who totally looks too good to be true.  Fun looking, great pic, all the “right” interests and seems to be able to write a complete sentence…but he just sends a flirt.  Lame ass.  Is that what I can expect in the relationship too?  I gotta do all the work?  I gotta set everything up?  Next!

Then, and I’ve received this more times than I can count, there is the email message, “Hey!”  Nothing else, just, “Hey!”.  It’s one step up from a flirt but still gets the same “lame ass” rating as a flirt.

Then there’s the guy who after one initial “Hey thanks for contacting me” response to his email tells me he told the kids about me, showed them my pics, and then proceeds to bleed his whole life story out sans puctuation and conventional spelling. 

My thoughts?  “Uh, next!”

I could go on.  It just makes me tired.  In fact, it makes me so tired, I’m going to bed…alone…and that is just dandy with me if those are the options!

His Heart Rate Was Dangerously High

I suppose it is about time to tell the story of Monkey Sex Man.  I met him the very evening my divorce decree was signed by the judge a year and a half ago.  I’d just signed up on one of those online dating sites that I was investigating out of curiosity.  He contacted me initially and I checked out his profile.  He listed his ideal first date as, “wild rampant monkey sex then we order out for Chinese and get to know each other”.  I thought this was humorous so I agreed to meet him for drinks at a local little pub.  What I didn’t know was that he wasn’t kidding about his ideal first date.  I quickly learned this was a relationship best kept at a very safe distance. We ended up talking over the phone a few times, but each time we did, he made these broad generalizations about people and types of people as he saw them.  These sweeping generalizations were seemingly based on very limited data.  For example, he dated one woman from the same town I live in and now his opinion about women from my town is that they are all shallow, stupid, inconsiderate and materialistic. That’s just one of many such examples of the way Monkey Sex Man approached and categorized life.  After about three or four phone conversations, with the last one ending last year about Valentine’s Day with him being so upset with the fact that I just wasn’t going to go out with him when he called me up with very little notice, he hung up on me and then blocked me from contacting him.  I didn’t hear from him for a year. 

About a month ago or so, I put up my profile at an online dating site.  I added some of my more recent pictures.  Two days later, I was contacted by Monkey Sex Man.  He commented positively on my pictures saying I looked soft, feminine and sexy.  I kept waiting for the caustic insult that usually followed statements like this (sarcastic humor he called it).  There was nothing negative.  I thanked him and that was it.  He responded with some conversation.  I responded back but not in an encouraging way.  Somehow, we ended up meeting at a fairly popular place on a weeknight for cocktails. Well, it really wasn’t somehow.  I was going to be over in his area anyway.  I had 45 minutes to burn between appointments (do not read dates!) and I didn’t feel like going into a pub by myself.  Besides, I was curious and needed a blog post. We talked, I stayed an hour and left. 

He called me the following Sunday as he was barbecuing and invited me to come over for barbecue.  My how some people just don’t change.  He knows I’m driving the Titanic here with my single motherdom of  dependent children and everyone knows the Titanic just doesn’t turn on a dime.  Besides, knowing what he was about, I wasn’t going anywhere near his house.  I politely declined and I thought that’d be the end of it.

He called me again last Saturday.  There was a big parade in my town and he was in town for it.  So, he stops in at a bar, uses their phone, calls me up to tell me he’s in town and was wondering if I was out at the parade.  I wasn’t.  He called later from the grocery store said he was sorry he missed me.  Later that evening he called me up again an that time we ended up talking. 

He told me how the stress of the parade, and how stupidly designed the on and off ramps in the community were. Everything about that experience was awful and he tried to go into it with an open mind. Then he told me that while he was at the parade he stopped at one of the free blood pressure check stations they had and the nurse told him his blood pressure was “dangerously high”.  Ya think?!!!!  He was seriously orbiting out of the galaxy just telling me about it. 

Somehow, we got onto the topic of game playing and whether women should call men.  He asked me if I was one of those who always expected the guy to make the first move.  Loaded question and I was so not going to go into my whole “When A Man Is Really Into A Woman” philosophy.  I answered his question with a “that depends upon the context” sort of answer.  This sent his heart rate and his emotional state right around the twist.

“I can’t believe this,” he fumed. (Seriously, why should he be fuming?  I mean, that’s even more drama than I could muster on a good day.) “I’ve got to go.  My heart rate is dangerously high!”  And he hung up. 

And that’s pretty much all there is to the Monkey Sex Man story.

The Tool To Have On Hand

Now, here’s a tool everyone needs.  The Rubber Finger Tip.  Yep.  Good for what ails you or her.  They even come in bulk quantities so you never have to go searching for where you left it last time you used it.  I mean, really, look at the texture on those babies!  Run out today and get yourself a box.  You’ll be glad you did.