Violent husband and the Light Sleeper

Been in Berlin and its this trip that has pushed me over the edge. I had no internet access as Vista deemed it unsafe and I had no way around it in my limited skill set. I am going Apple and for those of you who know me and the god damned argument Sparky and I have had over this Apple crap, you know its got to be bad.

I made an unwise choice going with Vista and I will suck it up and deal with the MacBook that we shall soon purchase. In fact, i’m going all Apple. I’m even turning in my Sony MP3 player for an ipod. Sparky was right, Apple appears to be a breeze to use. However, I knew that Jefferson Airplane and Jefferson Starship were related so we’re even right?

So Tink memed us and by us, I mean me and Sparky. And this morning Tuesday morning at breakfast, we discussed it. It was interesting breakfast conversation as the first place Sparky went was what we do IN bed. Our breakfast neighbour was a bit shocked, especially since we’re in a marriage renaissance of sorts. And if you know Sparky, you can understand the intermittent choking sounds of our neighbour.

J: So, what is something you do weird in bed?
S: I don’t know, but you have to have your toes tucked into something.

This is true, I need to have my toes tucked into something constricting, like between the mattress and the bed frame. But this is only after I have rubbed my toes against Sparky’s feet for an indeterminable length of time. There are times that I just have to hold on with my toes. I have monkey feet, a family characteristic, and they are quite useful. I pick everything up with my toes.

S: And we both have to sleep naked.
J: True, but is that weird? Don’t most people sleep naked?
S: Nope.
J: Come on. I haven’t met anyone who didn’t have kids popping in in the middle of the night who didn’t sleep naked. Clothing is too constricting.
S: Look at Tink she has to wear clothes and Underwear is totally common.
J: If anyone should sleep naked, its Tink. But I guess since she’s been with G for so long, its old news.
S: And I have to have “scratchies my backies” for at least fifteen minutes.
J: True. Good thing I don’t mind or you would be good friends with our wood beams.
S: True. Thank you for your scratching skills.
J: No problem.

I sipped my coffee trying to think of more weird shit we do.

J: Does it count that you’re a violent sleeper?
S: Probably.
J: You beat the shit out of me if I don’t build my fort. Good thing you don’t sleep with a pillow. I need the extra fluffiness. Dude, even the cats have learned to sleep out of fist range. I still think it’s your sub-conscious acting out in your sleep that which you suppress during the day which explains why you always manage to pop me in the face or on the back of the head. You’re really a wife beater.
S: You love it.
J: No, I would love it if you were awake and left my face alone. Remember when we were having sex that one time and your forehead and my nose connected and I was sure I was going to need stitches. Dude, I was so pissed. My nose is the only decent part of my face, if you had fucked that up along with my twat after you decided fisting was the way to go, man, you’re just trying to ruin me for other men. Kegels work for twats, I’m not sure if I can do exercises to keep my face in working order. I’m going to go home this year looking like Farrah Fawcet. Jesus, it’s like that Natasha Thomas song. Sparky, Why does your love hurt so much?

(That was part of the conversation spoken solely for the benefit of our breakfast neighbour and it had the desired effect.)

On that note, we were both silent for a couple moments.

J: And you can’t fall sleep if there is the slightest noise. Dude, you can sleep through lightning storms and my screams of terror. Ya know, if a killer came in and killed me in the night, you’d sleep right through it. It would be like that Jane Fonda movie where she woke up covered in blood next to a dead guy. You’re lucky we’re in Germany or you’d go to jail for life.

S: True. But as that scenario is really only viable in your head, I think I’ll be okay. And I can fall asleep with noise, it just can’t be that barely audible noise that drives me insane. Like the buzzing from the TV or the droning of the media center. Man, that drives me nuts.
J: You’re psychotic. That drives me nuts because then you’re up trying to figure out the buzzing. “Do you hear the TV today, ITS LOUDER THAN LAST NIGHT.” Honestly, you make it up. Maybe not consciously, but the buzz level never changes.
S: You do it too. You always look at the misplaced ceiling lights. And then you complain bitterly.
J: Fucking Olf. Why didn’t he measure before placing permanent fixtures. Measure twice, cut once. Do they not teach these things here in Krautland. Don’t get me started.
J: And I wake up immediately and usually a minute before the alarm goes off, ready to start the day.
S: That’s really annoying. You wake up and expect me to get up too. Sometimes I wake up to you staring at me with that crazy-ass look in your eyes. I would not be surprised if Iwoke up and YOU were that psycho killer you talk about. That’s IT. You think of psycho killers because you ARE a psycho killer.
J: Hit me again in the night and you’ll find out, buddy. The problem with me waking up so quickly is that you always need ten more minutes and the next thing you know it’s been three hours and you still want ten more minutes. Maybe you can tell that the psycho killer “Just give me ten more minutes and then I’ll try to fight you off.”
S: Nice. I woke up the night the tree fell in the backyard and you freakishly slept through that. You thought it was Arrested Development.
J: That was what you were watching when I fell asleep.
S: Still you slept through a huge tree falling down the side of a hill. A serial killer totally could have gotten you that night.
J: Hmm. Whatever. What else. We need a couple more.
S: You have to sleep with a sheet or a blanket. And you like it tucked in tight.
J: Maybe I was swaddled as a kid. I do like to fall asleep tightly bound. And you, Mr. Volcano of a Thousand Passions, you radiate so much heat in the night. I really don’t understand how we manage to sleep in the same bed. You are so hot and I mean temperature wise so get that look off your face, if it wasn’t the flying fists of suppressed rage, it would be the actual inferno-like heat that pushes me to the other side of the bed. Other than the romantic reasons, we technically, should sleep in separate beds. I like soft mattresses, you like hard. You sleep without pillows and I sleep with four plus a pile of clothes. You’re hot, I’m cool, you sleep late, I wake up early and alert. You’re violent, I’m a lamb.
S: You wake up early and alert because you’ve got control issues. Same reason you wake up at the slightest noise except falling trees, of course.
J: Dude, I must have been exhausted. You wore me out dodging fists.

So I’m not really sure if I got all six for both of us, but the conversation moved on and then Sparky had to go to work.

Vista is not letting me access the free wlan in our hotel. I love Microsoft and its protective nature. So protective that its useless. I might be trading this beauteous machine in for an Apple. Seriously, Vista is crap. So, I have NO e-mail access, however, I do have ample time to respond. If I owe you an e-mail, it’s on its way as of Thursday when I’m back.

Boxing Helena

I’m baching it again. Sparky is gone for the week. Dortmund-Düsseldorf-Berlin-Hamburg and Friday night he’s home again. Next week we’re in Berlin so if you’re in Berlin and want to hang out, let me know. I’ve got four days of shopping, waxing and hanging out. ( I still think it’s ridiculous that I have to go to Munich or Berlin to get a bikini wax. Fucking krauts.) Sparky is speaking at a conference so I’ll have my days free.

It’s nice, sometimes, to be alone. There is a quiet that comes over me that I can’t achieve when anyone one else is present. It’s like coming home in a way, coming home to me. We’ve been thinking of having kids and there were a few days when we thought we were on our way. But we’re not and you know what? I’m pretty happy. I mean, and we girls have all talked about this, there is a great deal of accessorizing that goes with kids that I would love an excuse to indulge in, but other than that? I feel the push of my age and we no longer have a lot of excuses not to. If we are, then we really should just get on with it.

But after finding a false alarm, I realized what I was feeling was relief. I can now do all those things I couldn’t do when the possibility was real.

Every year, I do a treasure map. On June 21^st, I sit down and plan out my next year in terms of goals and what I want out of my life. Last year I was totally focused on losing weight, getting healthy. And I achieved it. I have never been so healthy and… what is the word I’m searching for? I can do anything I want. I can travel, hike, I can run up stairs (sort of), I can wear high heels, I can wear cute sexy outfits, I can walk with confidence again. I can take on the Kama Sutra like never before. I can have skinny sex. I feel so much more free than I ever have in my life.

I had that visit to SF where I got my power back. The confidence I lost when I moved here and lost my identity to the point that I didn’t know how to function like the woman I used to be. When I left Germany last November, I had no idea who I was and where I was going. I was unhappy to the nth degree, but had no clue how to either break free or accept it.

I came back and broke free. I took responsibility for myself and freed Sparky from the responsibility of making me happy. He’s a good guy, but really, it’s not his problem except when he has to deal with the rage of impotency I felt.

So I got my shit together. I analyzed and acted. I changed. I changed that which I could about my life and now I sit here, on my balcony, looking at a blue sky and the scent of some unrecognizable combination of flowers wafts through the air and I’m content.

Sparky asked me once if I was capable of being content. I replied, “Only in moments.” I have never seen such sadness in his eyes.

Cows are content. I live in a country of cows. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. People here are content enough that they don’t change what is bothering them. They tend to their yards, their social circle, they water the flowers planted on graves dug decades ago. They live in the past or they live in the present, but the future is only making sure there is enough for retirement. Don’t get me wrong, but isn’t there more? I want more. I ask for more, but before I ask, I have to know what more is.

Sparky isn’t like that. He’s more capitalistic and American than most Americans I know. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. But to a certain extent, that applies only to his work and his thirst for knowledge. It doesn’t apply to other areas, like my personal growth. Gee, I wonder why not. As someone whose sole purpose since moving to Germany and getting married was to do laundry and serve dinner with a smile, this was upsetting. These were the times I wished my mother were alive so I could ask her if this was all I had to look forward to because really, hand me the razor blades, this was shit.

Then I changed. The same spirit that moved me from the ghettos and low paying jobs to better ghettos and better jobs, stood up and bitch slapped me. She was tired of gentle whispers, I suppose.

I have a job now. It brings in a little money but a lot of satisfaction. Its freelance and its steady and when anyone asks what I do, I know longer have to play off the lady of leisure aspect. That got old.

I no longer think of kids as the only option, the only reason to live the way I live, the only excuse for doing nothing.

I do my own thing more and more. I enjoy my time alone. I have my own goals and where Sparky’s goals used to be Our goals and our goals were my goals because he made the money and didn’t I owe him that, my separate goals have a place. Side by side.

I have always feared selling my body and soul for room and board couched in the idea of security and there was reason to fear. I am a someone who craves security, never having it in my earlier life. But the cost? Wow.

I was not stupid in my choice of husband. I could have been; the opportunities were there. Thankfully, my idea of security was set high. I might have sold my soul, but I didn’t come cheap.

These changes are not easy. Not personally and not in my marriage, but I am lucky. Sparky might not like the work that has come with the change, but he’s willing to do it and he’s happier when I’m happier. He didn’t mean to Box Helena, but he did. I allowed it and then raged against it. Rage comes easily to me. Sometimes I think that when I was a baby three fairies came to my crib and blessed me like in Sleeping Beauty, but instead of grace, patience and beauty, they blessed me with wilfulness, rage and an unquenchable thirst for something that I will never be able to put my finger on.

So now what? Now I want more. And more might include kids, but in this moment, it doesn’t.

War of the Roses

When Sparky and I had been dating for about six months we got into a fight about roses. He brought me roses. A lot. Almost every-time we went out. And I got mad.

Not at first. At first I was delighted. But then I told him I liked irises, that irises were my favorite flower. I went into vast detail, no doubt boring him to tears. I can only imagine now how his thoughts must have turned to online porn as I sat there discussing the merits of irises to roses. Irises are common, but I like the flower and the whole structure of the stem. I really liked a few dozen in a vase, all purple on the top and green on the bottom.

I went into details about my love of irises and of other flowers. I did this many times because you see, I was looking for him to “hear” me and perhaps bring me irises. However, his mind must have switched to the gangbang channel in his head because he never got it.

And he continued to bring me roses.

It started to bug me. Soon the roses became this symbol, a symbol that he wasn’t listening to me, a symbol of laziness. I meant to start as I meant to go on and I was not about to have a boyfriend who took the lazy way to romance. I had ponies for that and they brought good stuff like coke and beer or leather and silicone.

I wanted Sparky to “know” me and know when he picked up flowers which flowers would particularly tickle me. I wanted to be tickled. I did not want him to just pick up any old bouquet and think he could get away with just the idea of thoughtfulness. I wanted real thoughtfulness.

It was a pretty big fight and it was mostly me, a complete and well rehearsed drama queen yelling and Sparky just standing there shell shocked. He really had no idea how to respond as he had been mentally organizing his online porn collection every time I spoke of flowers. His lack of response just gave me more venom. At one point I remember he just looked at me vacant eyed and stunned, unsure as to how roses got him into so much trouble. He was not unlike a deer in the headlights without any clue as how to move out of harms way. I know, I know. It was obnoxious. But in my defense, I didn’t have the knowledge about subtlety and careful manipulation of situations. I have always been pretty direct and know one could accuse me of not asking for what I want. However, I feel a little bad looking back on it. But it worked. He never, ever brought me roses again. He always looked for something uncommon if he couldn’t find irises.

I think we had been married for about a year when he noticed I had bought some roses for the house. He asked me why I bought them. I hated roses.

My response? Oh, who could hate roses. That’s like hating puppies or kittens.

He got that confused look on his face again, threw up his hands and walked out.

The picture above is what he brought home yesterday (I can’t load the picture for some god awful reason). Gorgeous flowers. I have no idea what they’re called, but I love them. They are literally four feet tall.

I asked him this morning why he bought them for me, out of the blue. he said, “To get into your pants.”

Hey, what can I say, I’m easy.

Lead on With Light

Had my book group over tonight.  Thirteen women discussing American Lit.  It was successful.  How do I know?  Because I use this one particular lady as my guide post.  If she likes a book, I’m in like sin.  I know that is supposed to be Flynn, but I like sin much better.

The only sticking point was when I made a comment about bagels and one lady asked if that was a Jewish food.  I said yes and that was probably why I couldn’t find them here in krautland.  It took them a minute to get that one. Guess I should knock it off with the whole jewish thing.

Anyway, I am really wrecked.  I’m only blogging because “I promised my sister.”

So, go read “Mama Day” by Gloria Naylor.  Its fantastic.  Even Inge liked it.

later dudes.

“Fuck you, I’m not angry. I’m Pissy.”

Wake up: The alarm goes off at 6 am and Sparky wants to snuggle. Translation: 6 am and Sparky wants to sleep so he says he wants to snuggle only disguise his lack of willpower in the sweet scent of early morning marital bliss. He will then fall back asleep and start twitching and hit me in the face with his weird thrashing. Just 10 more minutes and I’ll be late and have a black eye.

Shower: Snuggling and dodging flying fists translates to no gym. No gym translates to cold shower. Nice.

Driving: I know I’m an asshole when I drive my black BMW. You know why I’m an asshole? Because I can be. I have 296 horsies at my disposal and a sport mode. (Sport mode is cool.) However, my being an asshole is fleeting. I just want to be away from you. I’m trying to get somewhere. That why I use a car. To go from point A to point B. And I don’t need a lane monitor or a traffic mother to help me learn my limits. I had a mother, she’s dead. Learn from that and get out of my way.

Mr. Seat Driver, I know what a speed limit is. Do you? It means that is the speed you should be travelling at. I fully agree with and follow the 30 kph limit in inner city zones. I’ve read the studies and I want to save kids lives too. HOWEVER, if we are in a 70 zone and you are driving 50, me and my black machine of power will get antsy to get a move on. In fact, if after assessing the situation we decide to over take you, it is in your best interest not to try to prevent it. Sport mode will blow your pissant ass away every time.

Oh and that thumbs up sign? That is my way of not insulting your human dignity with my middle finger and yet allowing me to release my bile. Yes, its meant ironically. Fucking krauts and their sensitive feelings. Stop crying, learn how to drive or get off the road.

Oh and Mr. Seat Driver, you are allowed to pass tractors.

Tractors: This is so common an occurrence that I sometimes have to pinch myself to really believe that I am trailing a tractor. I get stuck behind tractors all the fucking time. What happened to me? Why am I living in a place where farm equipment is more common than not. And chickens. Jesus Christ. Chickens are not the type of bird I am used to seeing when I drive. And they had better abide by the contract. I’m not gunning for them and I might slow down, but one never knows what a chicken is going to do. I will crash my car for fur, not feathers. Just kidding, Sparky. Ha ha…ha?

Bees: Listen. You are only allowed one sting do you really want to waste it on someone who ushers you out of the house all nice and stuff? I was not even bothering you. I was walking all nice and quiet when one of you decided the underside of my upper arm was a threat. It is, but only to my brother. There is no excuse for that behavior. No wonder you’re dying off. You sting like Krauts drive.

The Dentist: Six month cleaning appointment = 2 cavities in the very far lower back. This translates to a very big needle popping into my facial nerve which translates to a lot of crying and flipping out because no dentist has been able to give me a shot on my lower jaw without hitting that fun facial nerve. You know the nerve that runs all over the side of your face that when hit feels like someone took jumper cables to your face? That nerve. Its a real beauty, that nerve. I tell my dentist he will have to give me drugs so that I am drooling by the time he tries to hit me with that needle because frankly, that is the only way he will be able to get near me. Roofies would be a good idea. A lot of roofies. He recommends an herb. An HERB. Do I look like an herb type of person? No. I am a synthetic drug type of person. I’ve tried them all. Better life through chemicals. I need the strongest drool inducing pharmaceutical to get through that appointment.

I am not an herb sort of dental patient. He knows this. The last time he fisted my mouth, he popped that big long needle into my facial nerve. He had to hold me down for three minutes while he worked the needle out of the side of my face. And I was skiddish before that happened due to a Siberian dentist and a root canal. I’m really not kidding. He was Siberian. Siberians have a whole different approach to pain management and I think it starts with “Stop Crying. You don’t know pain until you’ve experienced a Siberian winter. “

Now? Now I brush and floss religiously. Why? Because genetically, I got screwed. I got my dad’s big teeth and my mom’s small jaw. This prompted the pulling of 10 teeth and 4 years of braces. Oh and wonders of wonders I got the “get a cavity if you even think about not brushing” gene. The Wonder Twins brush so seldomly, they were nicknamed Moss Mouth. And you know what? Not a cavity between them. Bastards.

After the bad news was delivered, Dr. Pain asked if I had had my teeth bleached. Uh, yeah, if by bleaching you mean loads of coffee and tons of cigarettes, then yes, I bleach every day. I think he was just trying to be nice. Huh.

I think I’m done now. I have to go finish my book. I have my group here at the house tomorrow night and since I’m actually leading this one, I should probably finish it this time.

Bunny Ranch

I found out over the weekend, via a drunken cell phone call from a strip joint, that my brother, OUR friend Steve and Steve’s friend Tom are all moving in together and looking for a place in Oakland, Montclair to be more specific. Close to GBF, I hope! Steve got a fantastic new job and he is the glue in this up and coming boy band.

This is good news and bad news. As this year I’m leaving for my yearly trip back home mid-November( a Thanksgiving dinner I don’t have to cook. Yeah!), I will be bunking down with the boys for oh about six weeks.
Jeff currently lives with Monika. Can you see where this is going? Living with a girl, a cool girl at that, affords Jeff’s sister, me, a little bit more comfort and a much cleaner environment. She also has the cutest cat in California. Steve is allergic to cats and I find this to be an obstacle to getting my brother a cat for christmas. Jeff is secretly a cat person and NEEDS a cat and I need fluffy love while in the Bay Area.

However, Oakland is a good location for me to be based as I am in and out of the city like fog.

So I’m wondering how this will work out. It’ll be three eligible bachelors living together ala Three Men and a Baby minus the Baby plus a married sister. I was told that I’m to help lure women to the pad, but really boys, I’ve been married for a while and my female luring skills aren’t what they used to be. And actually, my female luring skills weren’t exactly boy based so I’m not sure how that is going to work out. I’ll probably be more successful at finding you a decent housekeeper and making you dental appointments.

It will probably be like Wendy and The Lost Boys. Twill be interesting.

And on a completely different note, Tat did the meme thing. Go find out more about her.

Call Me Patty Hearst

Today begins a two day process of trading one boiler in for another much bigger boiler in our building. This means no hot water for two days. TWO DAYS. I’ve known about it for two weeks and for two weeks I have been planning my coping strategy. But really, what do we use hot water for? Showering, washing our hands and cleaning. I shower at the gym, so that’s not a big problem. I can wash my hands with cold water as long as I have soap. Cleaning. This is what would not normally be a problem. I can do it all ahead of time and sit back for a few days with a legit excuse.

No dishwasher running, no laundry. Normally, I don’t run the dishwasher or the washing machine more than every three or four days. We are a family of two adults and two cats and unless I’ve been drinking A LOT, the cats don’t tend to use silverware. And the cats also do their own laundry. Nice thing about cats.

Yesterday I did all our laundry. Even stripped and did one last load before bed to throw in the last possible remaining bits. My laundry basket was empty. And I mean totally empty. I even did all my hand washables and took in all the dry cleaning that usually rests on the bottom until I can be bothered to take it in or Sparky’s not around so I can soak it in the sink. He gets a little antsy when water sits in a sink. I think he thinks it’s going to spill. Really, we can only imagine the kind of household he grew up in to cause this type of anxiety. I’m just sayin…

Anyway, I was so satisfied last night that I had cleaned every pot, pan, glass; every panty, t-shirt, pair of jeans and I was totally prepared for these days of hot water drought. I was so incredibly satisfied that really, there is only one way for this story to end.

I have been undone by a single black sock hiding by the rug in the laundry room. A SINGLE BLACK SOCK MARRING MY PERFECTLY EMPTY LAUNDRY BASKET. All our laundry is done, the basket empty, the house vacuumed, mopped, the dishes done and put away and the only thing out of place is one black sock.

I was tempted to just stick it back in Sparky’s drawer, but I would know it was there, unwashed, getting all the other socks dirty and I would be forced to wash the entire drawer and I absolutely hate matching socks not to mention it would be a little crazy to wash an entire drawer of clean socks just because one was dirty, right? That would be crazy. Dude, is this not proof of Stockholm Syndrome?

Just feed the poor and get me released already.

You know the thing is, I do have a life. I am busy all the time. I have people I see and book groups to lead and places I go. I am always busy these days (very different from this time last year). So why I am I obsessing over this one sock? Because I no longer have the option to wash it. And I’m fucking nuts.

I’ve been Memed

So, since I’ve gotten memed twice, once from Jess, whom I had actually not read before, but will be, and the other from Maria whose dog I want to steal. No really, I want her dog.

I’ll just double it and call it a day.

Here I go.
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. I don’t tag people, but if you are so inclined, take it. We all like knowing more about people we read.

• My eyes are green, but most people tell me they’re blue. Look closer, dude.
• I like looking at nature, but I hate being IN nature.
• My brother broke my front tooth by sitting on my head when my head was on the side of the pool. He claims it was some jump-into-the-pool trick gone bad, but I don’t buy it.
• I am terrified of raccoons. They’re big and mean and have really sharp claws. There is a story behind this one, but I’ll save that for later.
• I anthropomorphize everything. It makes getting rid of stuff really hard because I tend to make everything my friend.
• I read too much celebrity gossip.
• I once had a cat named Serendipity. She was blind and deaf and oh so sweet. My family called her Dippy. She eventually got out of the house and as the story goes, found a nice family on a farm.
• I did not kill my brother’s dog, Bonkers.
• I get up really early in the morning, like 6 am early. I really like getting up at 4:30 or 5, but I have to go to sleep earlier and its hard when you’re married.
• The magical side effect of getting up so early, is that by 1 pm, I’m ready for a nap. My energy is pretty much shot by then. However I can do more in that period of time than anyone I know all day. I’m a fast machine.
• I love schedules. I live by them and try to make those around me live by schedules. This rarely works.
• I like to bite, especially Sparky’s shoulder because when I hug him that’s where my mouth rests.
• Sparky is not allowed to buy a Lotus Elise until I’m ready to be rid of him and make loads in insurance pay offs. It’s the official “I should divorce my wife” signal.
• I hate that there is usually a logical explanation for things.
• I wake up every morning thinking about coffee. Every. Morning.  Might have something to do with getting up kinda early.
• If a think about where “meat” comes from, I can’t eat it. I would be a vegetarian if i had to… uhh, gather said food myself.

Alright. My sister has loudly complained that I haven’t blogged in a while. I hereby promise to blog for the next five days in a row. Then I’m gone for the weekend and can’t promise.

It’s also death march time in our household in regards to birthdays and father’s day. My sister, my step-mom and my dad have b-days and then there is the duplicate fathers days for both my dad and my step dad. Its worse than Christmas as far as tossing money around. Lots to do.