Let's talk about some dolls.

I *love* my hobby. Asian ball jointed dolls (ABJD) are so much fun to play with. You can customize them like crazy, from their wigs to their eyes and even their hands. In simple terms, they are pieces of resin (a certain kind of plastic) that are strung all together with elastic. Most of them are VERY posable.


(Doll beongs to Uninsomnia)

And some of them not so much due to how they are built. I have a few and I love them all. My very first one is from a company called Bobobie. He's a Tony mold, and he's changed through the years via face-ups. That's the doll term for painting a new face onto a doll. What you do is first spray the doll head with some MSC (or Testor's dulcoat for USA peeps), then use acrylics or pastels to paint on the face. There are some *amazing* face-ups out there. Mine are alright, definitely not as impressive as others. I've redone Samuel Jones's face-up over the years:






And now he has a Halloween face-up, that I *love*.




So I'm not too sure what I'll do with his next face-up. Maybe keep it like that for a while? Though I think it'll really creep out some people.

Ah, creepiness. A lot of people get creeped out by the doll hobby. Probably because they're anatomically correct. Perhaps because they are small human-like figures? Who knows. I know I was creeped out when I saw my first one, and now I have almost eleven dolls! (ten dolls and one doll head)

And that is my dorky doll post for today.

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Haven't posted in a long, long while...

That's the trouble with me. I start a blog, and then ususally ignore it. Problem is, even though I spend a lot of time online, I rarely make big comments. I generally like to read and watch things. I interact by being a bystander.

And when I really do wanna express myself, I'm unable to. Nowadays, much to my dismay, every single one of my fucking personal spaces online is linked to someone who I don't want to read about my personal emotions.

Okay, that sounds weird, but bear with me. I have a DA page, but that is able to be seen by my sister-in-law and one of my "real life" friends (rofl, I love that term). I love them a lot, but there's somethings I'd like to bitch about online that I don't want to eventually have to talk about face-to-face.

Then there's my FB and my IJ; both of which are read by my husband. So when I have problems that I wanna keep to myself and don't wanna share/broadcast to family (namely him, my sis-in-law, sister, etc...), where do I turn? D:

Yeah, yeah, I know. He's my husband, if I have problems, then HE has problems! I'm to use him as my rock and share with him all my troubles!

I'm not that kinda person. I'm the type that likes to keep it to herself. I don't like spouting off my mouth about my problems. Okay, wait. My REAL problems. If my back aches and my knees are bent out of shape? I'll complain about that loudly. If I'm irritated about some customers, then I'm all over bitching about that.

But feeling of insecurity? Of this horrible dread that I'm no different than I was ten years ago? Of shit that I'm getting wrong and that I feel like shit because I'm getting it wrong?

I'd rather broadcast that out to the internet, as an anonymous person. As just another blogger online complaining about their life. Back when I was 16, that was my life. I had Geocities and Yahoo!Chat rooms and AIM. I had anon online friends that I could bitch things about to. I didn't have to worry about seeing their faces the next day or possibly offending one of them by accident. They were miles upon miles away, how would it hurt them? Rather, we formed a comradeship through our mutual hatred of life/ourselves. It was comforting to have a kinship with girls/boys who went through the same as me.

Now I don't feel I can do that as easily. I have to keep up a front, a brave one, to show my family that "I'm okay! I'm not like how I was before! I'm not full of insecurity!"

Yeah... Seeing that typed out really makes me out as the liar I am. It's not healthy to keep my emotions to myself and I should talk to someone about them (namely my husband, who is my biggest emotional support; right after him is my best buddy who's like a brother to me).

But I'd rather just post this drabble onto the internet, for one or two bored passerbys to glance over and then forget about it five minutes later. For some odd reason, that's more soothing to me than to have a heart-to-heart with a live person.

Oh Internet and your cold, cold bosom. I will always find a home in it. *snuggle*

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It gets really frustrating sometimes.

I've been married now for almost ten months now. I've been insanely happy. We've had fights, we've had amazing sex, we've solved problems, and created new ones. The main thing is that we're in it together and loving each other every day. It's amazing to have someone to love and for them to understand/want some time away from each other.

It's everyone else that's making it frustrating. Read: our families.

I have no clue how much pressure Mike's getting, but with me, my parents bring it up almost every time we're together. My brother and sister roll their eyes when I deny it. My BEST friend tells me that I'm full of shit and will get over it some day.

What's this "it"? It's the act that humans have been doing since time immemorial; bearing children.

I like kids. But I also like kids that don't stay with me. I'll talk to them then they go on their merry way with their parents. I think kids can be quite disgusting when they eat food or have snot on their faces. It makes me gag thinking about changing diapers and dealing with bodily functions. YUCK.

Not only this but when you have a kid, you have a giant responsiblity. A responsiblity I DO NOT WANT. I don't want to be responsible for someone's upbringing. What if I screw up? What if I become a giant bitch and make this kids life miserable? What if I do everything right and somehow the kid turns into a giant asshole and will tell me I'm a terrible mom? (Kinda like how my jackass brother treats my mom, which is another post sometime.)

Then there's the finances, the time, the effort... So much. I'm a selfish person. I like having my alone time. I like having hobbies that I can play with by myself. I like making money and spending that money on what I want (pfft, like I do that anyway. Fuck you car/house bills. >____< )

Kids are also insanely noisy and will shout or scream or cry or, worse, throw tantrums. I don't nearly have enough Dodges or Blocks to avoid that shit!

To people who are parents (my best friend, for instance), everything I list probably sounds like an excuse or whatnot. But I feel that they're valid complaints since, after all, IT'S MY LIFE. What's also frustrating beyond all belief is what they tell me.

"I don't want kids."
"Oh, you'll want them one day." or "You'll grow out of that thought."

Oh, really? So you believe in god, right? Don't worry, you'll grow out of it one day. :D <- what I wish SO BAD that I could tell them ( donated to me by my awesome Random friend )

That's what's so fuckin' frustrating. When someone doesn't want kids, immediately they're told that they're being silly and OF COURSE they want children! If I said to them that I wanted ten kids, they'd give me a slap on the back and say congrats. Grrrrrrrr!

Despite my reasons and my very real desire not to have them... I have promised my husband the opposite. But for a few reasons, which are pretty valid to him.

He wants kids. I don't know why, but he says it has crossed his mind once or twice. And Mike, being the silent I-don't-share-my-inner-thoughts-'cause-I'm-a-MAN'S-man type, speaking up like that is a big deal. Also, he's the last of his line and I'm not shitting you. His grandmother only had two sons and Mike's the only male from both of them. So he'd kind of like to see his family heritage preserved. As someone who has massive family pride, I understand that desire.

So I told him that if he truly wished for a kid, I'd give it to him. But under one condition; twins. If I'm gonna be fuckin' pregnant, I wanna do it ONCE. And I can't stand the thought of bringing up a kid without a sibling. I have two siblings and I love them dearly. I can't imagine growing up without someone plotting with you against the world. I know that there's plenty of only-childs out there who are amazing, but as someone who's grown up with siblings, I can't say I can fully understand how that'd work out.

In a way, I also frustrate myself. My desires are just as important as his, but I also love my husband dearly. I'll do anything for him and I know he'd do the same for me. Seeing as he's always sticking his neck out for me and helping me when I need it or giving me the emotional support that I need, then I think I can bear him his children.

Part of me really, really, REALLY hopes that he'll eventually "grow out of it" and not want the little brats. But I have a sinking feeling that he'll want 'em. Which leaves me hating myself a little and feeling uber anxious about the future.

I'm sure I've made a few heads explode from this post, but it's my decision in my life, y'know? At least I made it of my own accord and wasn't persuaded (not once did Mike look at me and go "I really want you to have my kids." or "I expect children some day.") by Mike or, worse, forced into it by sexual violence.

I heart Jen Lancaster!

To be a proper nerd, you must love to read. It doesn't matter if it's comics or manga or young adult novels or instruction manuals. I take three out of the four subjects, btw.

Reading is always different between each person. With me, I like to think of it more as an experience. When I read a book, the book EATS ME. Literally. I can't concentrate on anything when reading. If someone calls my name, I won't hear it. My ears hear what's being said on the pages before me. Hell, even the pages don't register.

When I get deep enough into a novel, I'm not sitting on my couch/laying on my bed/in my work break room- I'm *there*. I'm in the forest following the fairy trail. I'm riding along in the car, listening to two friends bicker over their favorite band. I'm in China alongside a woman debating if she wants to adopt a baby (That book? SUCKED HARDCORE).

So when I get a reading kick, it's a giant fuckin' kick. A year ago it was fantasy YA novels. Sporatically here and there, I'll read ten manga volumes in a row. I'm obsessed with memoirs right now. Have been for the past few months. It all started with an innocent book titled Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster.

Skimming the back cover, I found myself kind of interested, but not ready to read it. Until I read this line:

In other words, the bitch had it coming.

I barked out a laugh that startled the customer next to me. I had quickly apologize and immediately went into the back room to spend the last half hour of my lunch devouring as much of the book as I can.

She is HILARIOUS. In a "Wow, I would NEVER have the balls to say what you just said, but then again, maybe it wouldn't be so good to say that anyway. >__>;;" way. She feels like one of my friends who doesn't know when to shut up. HELL, she sounds like ME when I don't know how to shut up. Fer instance:

Me: Mrow!
Co-worker (Let's call her Anna) : ...? Did you just meow at me?
Me: *chesire grin* Meow!
Anna: ...Ooookay.
Me: What? Don't you meow on a daily basis? Everyone does. Don't you want to be like everyone?
Anna: Not if they're meowing.
Me: Pfft! Then, obviously, you're missing out. Also, your face.

>_________________< Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Until recently, more than half of my conversations would end with "your face".

(Hey, wanna quickly say, I may be happy with myself and proud of who I am, but when it comes to conversations 'n at, I may not have all my crayons, if you catch my drift.)

Ah, fuck, was about to go off topic about my terrible conversations skills that I will probably never be able to truly develop because somewhere in my mind I think I'm funny and witty when I reply to a serious moment with "Well, your face." and then am puzzled as to why no one really likes to have conversations with the little tubby gal anymore...

So, yeah, back to Lancaster. I have NO idea how she managed to get not one, two, or even three but SIX books published. What she writes isn't exactly earth shattering or even all that insightful. Perhaps it's because the material's not insanely insightful. Maybe because she's kinda like the rest of us (lazy, self-absorbed, falliable... I think I'm using that last word right...) that we wanna keep hearing what she has to say.

Plus it's damn funny.

When you can point and laugh at yourself, then usually you have a pretty good sens- OMFG I CAN'T TYPE WORTH SHIT WHEN IT'S 2 IN THE FUCKING MORNING. Here! Here! I'll show you! From this point forward I will NOT edit what I'm typing at my 60-70 GWAM a minute with no real sleep and my paranoia on the rise (Mike's out of town 'til 3 am and I'm throughly afraid that some dude's gonna come kamikaze-ing out of a window and stab me in the face. IN. THE. FACE.)

Anyway, wereh was I? Oh, right, so if you can lagugh at yourself then I think tyou that you havea pretty good sense of humor which means that you'll probably garter a lot of people who'll laugha long with you.

I'm not ususally one to go on aoobiovhs (Okay, that was me hitting the keys really hard) to go on book signigns or tours or whatnot, but I wouldn't mind going to one of hers. it seems like it's be IT'D be super fun times! :D I'm reading My Fair Lazy right nwo, and apparently some of it has '80s theme or whatnot?

Also the nice lady over at Epbot aka cake Wrecks seems liek she'd be nice to check otu with too. :D She even posted up my wedding pics!! I sahall link you to them!

You have to make a guestbook, but trust me, it's wroth it. This super awesome nice guy naemed Terry Clark photographed out wedding. I LOVE HIM. he was s omuch fun to work with that I really wished we could'vve told teh DJ to screw himself and took more pics.

Serisouly, guys? NEVER EVER hire Gordon Slaegal if you're in PA. He sucks, will play the wrong songs, will play anniversary songs without YOU in it, and over all rushes everything .D: Unhappy bride I was with him.

And now I'm gong to go to bed and wait for the invevibtablgdsakj;hreuioghjaerio;gf j;ahaj;je

FUCK YOU WORDS. FUCK. YOU.

This is why reviews are insanely important when choosing your honeymoon vaca...

Argh, haven't updated this in a long time. Although I'm pretty sure no one really reads this, it's still very liberating to simply say what's on my mind and launch it out into the internet. Perhaps somewhere in the vast empitness of spam and porn, these words are read by at least one individual and understood. Even if that person doesn't comment (as I often don't comment 'cause of laziness), they might agree or disagree. It's all good, either way. X3

Since this journal is all about how I vive to prove that fat women can be just as happy as skinny women, I shall talk of happy times!
(I've also had to get home from work due to sickness and after taking some day quil and *stupidly* shovelling the driveway, I want some happy in my life right now.)

Behind me, Tubby sits on the couch, content. I've had to turn off the heat 'cause the house is nice and toasty. I'm wearing an awesome Star Wars shirt that I got in Wal-Mart for five bucks (yes, yes, Wal-Mart is the ultimate evil with all the great sales). Luka is singing "Just Be Friends" on the computer's speakers.

Yes, happy times... *le content sigh*

Past happy times includes Mike's and my honeymoon in Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. You know how most honeymooners go in a cruise or visit far away countries 'n at? We thought about those options, but instead finally decided to stay in America (mainly for monetary reasons).

We also decided against the hotel and made our reservations at the KOA campground nearest to all the attactions. That's right.

For our honeymoon, we went camping!

And man I can't even begin to tell you how much fun that was. Ever since I was little, we've gone camping. Mike's family, too. The only difference is that we camped in a pop-up while Mike's family used a tent. Because of this, he mocks me and camping, but I've always felt that the mock was not needed for several reasons.

Number one- I loathe technology while camping. When I'm camping, my cell phone is for emergency uses only. I do not bring a laptop nor do I bring a TV. Hell, I'd leave my cell phone at home if I could! All I require is a CD player/radio. Music is a main part of my life, I simply can't leave it behind.

Number two- A pop-up is pretty much a tent with hard-sides. When we first started camping and it was cold, we had to go out in the middle of the night and buy a space heater and then cram in together to keep warm. When it was summer and insanely hot, we'd have to open all of the windows and sleep almost-naked. We didn't have the heating/AC that most pop-ups now have.

Number three- As with most tenters, we had to use a gas stove. Granted, the stove came attached to the side of the pop-up, but it was still fuckin' gas. Not these high-tech kitchens you see in most hard-sides nowadays. And we primarily used Mom's cast-iron skillet for cooking over the open fire anyway!

There are tons of other reasons, but those are the top three. Granted, my parents, now elder, strive for more simplistic camping times and have bought themselves a hard-side, complete with one of those high-tech kitchens in it.

Bleh, gimmie simple camping any day. Now, I said SIMPLE, not rough. 'Cause I know what rough camping is and NO THANK YOU. This fat ass at least wants something soft to sleep on, a hot meal, and some music to listen to.

Also a decent bathroom.

That is one thing I will NEVER camp without. If the campground has piss-poor facilities, then fuck 'em, movin' on!

Such as with the first choice of our honeymoon spot. We scoured the links online for the right campground for our honeymoon. The first that popped up at us was Williamsburg Pottery Campground. Go ahead, look at the pictures on the page. Like, seriously, take a moment, let those sun-soaked images settle into your brain.

Done soaking?

'Cause lemme tell you, NO WAY IN HELL THE PICTURES AND THE REAL PLACE ARE THE SAME.

After reviewing the few reviews that best described the place as "It was great in the 80s!", we eventually decided on the above mentioned KOA campground (cute as a button, btw, and almost totally empty in late August, perfect for newly weds and all the alone time they want during the night, hehe~ ). Still, we were curious about Williamsburg Pottery and when we had a free day, ventured towards an adventure!

When you first pull up to the campground, an age-old sign is there to greet you. In the '80s it probably looked beautiful. And nowadays it might've looked nice too, had it had any kind of TLC.

Once you get past the sign, you drive along a road that's hardly a road. More like tire tracks in grass. You pass two creepy buildings; the one on the left is a ramshackled old barn, weathered to the point of DANGER WILL ROBINSON. To your right is a decrepid house, most of the broken windows boarded up and ivy crawling up the sides.

"Lovely!" I piped to Mike, to which he arched his eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

We emerged from the trees to see a tree line facing a field of NOTHING. No lush grass, no nice shady trees, just a bunch of trodden looking sites with markers springing up randomly. There were a few RVs pulled into some spots; otherwise, it looked like an abandoned field. Sure, there was a tree here and there, but they barely had any leaves on 'em. And the two, maybe three, peach-colored concrete buildings we saw? Absolutely run-down, nasty lookin' pieces of shit. The office, if you could call it that, had a lock over the front door and a broken window.

"Hm, I bet the tent sites are under the trees," Mike said and bravely drove into the shade.

When we saw the "sites", we both made bets that the person deciding where the sites go walked 20 feet, planted a marker, then strode on for 20 more feet, then planted the next marker, etc. They were all over the fuckin' place! One site was on a sloping hillside. SERIOUS. T___T

There was only one bathroom facility within the woods for the tenters and lemme tell you. Jason Voorhees wouldn't touch the place. I mean, it looked scary. As far as you're concerned, this is the fuckin' Hampton's to that place.

So we left the campground feeling more secure in our choice of the KOA for our honeymoon.

Other than that horror, the honeymoon went splendidly!! The KOA was nearly empty due to it being the end of summer (getting married in August? Best decision EVER) and Colonial Williamsburg wasn't too bad because of it. It was very quaint and inspiring- most of the people who do the play acting freakin' LIVE in some of the houses. How bad ass is that?

"Say, where do you live, Mark?"

"Oh, y'know, just over there where most of the buildings are original historic buildings from the fuckin' 1700s, bitch!"

Okay, not that bad ass sounding, but still insanely nifty!

We also went to wonderful Busch Gardens!! :D THAT was fuckin' AWESOME. The lines weren't bad at all and the longest we had to wait was maybe 30-40 minutes. The attractions were a blast, but I felt bad for Mike who got a pretty big headache during out time there. D: But the food was at least really good (Although, lemme tell ya, it's better to walk to the fuckin' parking lot and eat your own 'cause DAMN the food's expensive!)

Water Country USA was fun too, but neither of us are big water park fans. We had fun, it rained a lot, which made it more fun, but then the park closed due to a storm. Which we were fine with anyway.

There was other small adventures we went on (including a midnight trip to Wal-Mart to get Mike a fan as he did NOT do well with the heat) (ah, for those confused, he also brought his own battery to plug-in devices for a "just-in-case" basis, pretty cool, huh?), but nothing major. Just one of the best vacations I ever had with the love of my life~

And all for under five hundred bucks! :D

Price check on reality, please.

(The OP is aware that lame title is lame.)

Perhaps if I had some nifty crafty side to me that I'd be willing to expose to the internet I'd have something with merit here.

Alas, I don't. Mostly what I made are small top hats and Martha Stewart-esque decour for our home.

Lately I've been dabbing into jewelry for my dolls. They're... pretty middle school looking. *laughs* But it's better than forking over fifteen bucks for some beads on a string. Seriously, people, stop over-pricing yourself.

That's one thing I just don't get. If the string costs you fifty cents for a spool and the beads are a buck a bag and it takes you maybe half an hour to complete the thing, why do you charge so much!? I understand when it comes to the pieces of jewelry where it's crazy with wire, the person used really expensive beads, and it took them two hours to put it together. That, I can respect.

But then on the other hand I understand that in order to make money that you gotta raise the bar slightly.

For instance; my friend and I run our little Etsy and we make little hats. *link in title* The particular hat is called Flowers Are Me, and I'm very proud of it. I think it's worth twenty dollars 'cause of the materials and time put into it.

Now if I had whipped up a hat with a simple ribbon and a big jewel? Fifteen, and even then I'd feel squeamish about it.

I've seen people put up hats a lot more plain than that and charge twice as much. (Oh, let's say, Hot Topic The HT site doesn't have the little top hats online, but they have A pretty sweet Kingdom Hearts blanket. WANT.)

And I just searched through Etsy and it gave me the chills... I mean... You're not even gonna bend the computer parts and make it special? And I can still see your glue! And those feathers, are... Ugh. >___<;;

*coughs*

We're just gonna get past that...

...Where was I? Oh yes. I'm hungry. I haven't had dinner yet. BLEH. But yeah, y'know, twenty's a good fair price. I mean, we do put in a lot of effort. We make sure to, y'know, NOT LET OUR HOT GLUE RESIDUE SHOW. We use spiffy ribbons and put in lots of gears, which can get expensive, and we make sure the hat actually fits. And if it doesn't, then we will change it for you!!

Ugh, why does this feel more like I'm pimping myself out...?

With that said, how 'bout I pimp out some others? :D

A Case of Random makes beautiful jewelry~

Ryaven makes the most adorably quirky crochet dolls! Want!

Monstro Designs has a LOT of cute stuff, especially bunny had for your BJDs!! I bought two for my SD and my MSD~

Simply Willow had GORGEOUS Steampunk jewelry~

/pimping

Eeeeeeh, lazy... D:

As I look across the kitchen, I see my calico/tabby mix. She's my inspiration~ Her name was Mama, but when I adopted her I didn't know that. My sister and I strove to find a right name for her.

At the time, she was incredibly heavy. I mean, when the man I got her from pulled her out of this tiny container, I didn't even know how he fit her all in!

My sister, ever loving, wanted to call her Fatso. I was appalled at the name as it was so derogative sounding. I wanted to call her Pumpkin 'cause of the orange bits.

We finally settled on a name that I felt is adorable but at the same time fitting for her.

Tubby Pumpkin.

She has various nicknames (TubTubs, Tubbychibchubs, etc...) and it got me thinking. She's a pretty round individual, and so am I. If she's a Tubby kitty, then I'm her Tubby owner.

And right after I thought that, I felt a piece of my self esteem settle into a zen-like place. Yes, tubby is a bad word, it just describes who I am. Like how skinny people give themselves high-fives for their weight. Well, damnit, so can I!

Though as of late I've been feeling insanely unmotivated. I just sit in front of the computer and browse the internet for hours. It's just like how I was when I lived with my parents. I could honestly spend 10+ hours daily online.

(Yes, writing this blog is also being lazy, but shush you.)

I haven't walked a lot either. D: This must change before winter settles in. 'Cause I think it'd be only SLIGHTLY hard to walk on ice for exercise. *shudders*

Alright! After I'm done writing this, y'know what I'm gonna do? The laundry! Then get dressed and go do shit! Maybe make a dress for my dolls. I don't know! I don't care! But I vow to do something!

:D

I is now a wife!

So I constantly get the question "What's married life like?".

Now, if this were 1950, the question might have some weight (dur hur, see whut I did thar. Weight journal, weight? OH HO I'm clever.). We certainly wouldn't have lived together for two years before getting married. And we most definitely wouldn't be bangin' each other's brains out on an almost daily basis (Honeymoon phase? HAH!). We also wouldn't have had the arguements we've had and gotten all of that awkward stuff out of the way, 'cause we'd be squared away in our respective family's house (complete with our very own Leave it to Beaver neighbor. Boy howdy!), only seeing each other either at school, the Sadie Hawkins Dance, or the occasional date where we'd drive up to Lover's Lane and he'd get to feel my fat rolls.

Whoo, memories!

Oooh, now, if this were 1980, it'd be kinda different. People would pop that question at me and I could reply snarkily "It's the same when your brother married your mother!". Then me and Mike could laugh at them and turn to walk off to go to some snazzy club where I'd managed not to trip in my spikey heels and Mike'll get to show off his awesome MC Hammer pants.

Yeah, that's the life!

Hm. I wonder how important that question'll be in the future? In 2020, when people ask me that question, how would I reply? Perhaps people would've started to live together for decades before marrying? So then when they turn fifty and decide "Eh, might as well for some good tax cuts", it won't be such a big deal. I mean, sure, we can get ourselves RoboStegosaurus to officiate the wedding, but after the light saber duel and the epic cake that's two stories tall? And don't forget the tradition of having old-washed-out actors from Star Wars or Star Trek come to the wedding to rip the heart out of a chimpanzee, then implant the heart into a new cyborg monkey. Then the monkey becomes your little pet and you can take him for walks all over. But just make sure he doesn't fling his cyborg shit at the kids, that'd be mean. Yeah, after all of those festivities, married life would be the same as those decades of living together.

Man.

I want a RoboStegosaurus now.

So yeah. I like to smile to the people and reply "It's the same... just happier.". Which it is~ I have a pretty ring on my finger now, and Mike has an amazing ring on his that I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous. It's silver and it's made out of some kind of metal that is so tough, it's second to diamonds. Mike has told me what it is (other than pretty)! Tungsten Carbide. Spiffy!

Like, my ring is beautiful. It's thin, gold, and has a small row of tiny diamonds on it. It's to compliment the gorgeous engagement ring Mike got me (I love this ring more than anything in the world, dolls and cats included.). But part of me looks at his ring and thinks "Oooooh, it's so cool and silver and big and heavy and you can't even break it!! Spiffy!".

Ah well. Ce'le vie. ... Cie la vie? Say lah vee? ... *googles* HUH. C'est la vie. Never would've guessed there'd be a 'st' in it.

So yeah. Married life is the same but happier. And let me tell you... The woman has it rough if she decides to change her name. It's taken me three days and a shit ton of calling and driving to finally get it finalized. I'm actually about to head off to the local social security place to get my soc card changed and THEN to the DMV to get a new licsense. *throws up the horns* Yeah, complications, here we come! This will be my second attempt at this due to the DMV in Penn Hills being incompetent.

"DUR HUR. There's about fifty people here. Let's only have ONE person take care of them while two jokers over at the camera counter mill around and the other FOUR people here walk around with clipboards doing NOTHING constructive what-so-ever! Yeah, go us!"

Yeah, not so fun. Tickets done in the one hour I was there? Ten. TEN. And I still had FORTY more tickets before mine would've been called. Kthnx but no.

And now I'm off to play me some Tales of Vesperia before I go with my friend to wait s'more. More on this game later, as I'm still on the fence about it.

(Also? LOVE YOU BLOGGER. The post I just spent 45 minutes typing wouldn't post and when I hit 'back', the white box was blank. I was ready to kill things when I saw that a draft was saved. Blogger, you have saved lives today.)

So I have a few peculiarities... is that a word?

HAH! It is! :D Didn't even know that.

As with any warm-blooded person on this planet, I have a few things I'm peculiar about. The lesser ones aren't a big problem. Such as if I kiss my fiance's left cheek I have to kiss the right cheek.

I have to stretch in a certain way or it'll drive me nuts.

If I rub my hands with lotion I have to really get in between the fingers at least ten or more times in a certain pattern.

Certain areas on my back, when rubbed, force my body into a weird episode of shivers/convultions.

See, small things. The bigger ones are the more irrational ones. Such as when I refuse to eat red spaghetti sauce becaue it reminds me of the monsters I killed while playing Doom 64 when I was younger.

I hate reheating ground meat beause it looks like cooked brain matter. Though I'm getting better by starting out slow. Today, reheated hamburgers. In the future, Meatloaf, my Arch Nemesis!

There's lots. But the one that amuses/irriates my fiance the most is because of that scene from The Cell. Y'know the one, where a creepy dude takes out what's-his-face's intestines through a hole in his stomach? Yeah, that scene? Creeped me out to the point where I do NOT let anyone NEAR my belly button for fear that their hands will somehow sprout giant drills and make a hole to rip out my insides.

I'm not even kidding. When Mike (that's his name) (okay, yeah, that was probably a "duh" moment) first tried to touch me there, I flipped. Shrieking and hitting of the hands were immediatley had, followed by a growl and a threat of "If you EVER touch me there again I'll... I'll... I'll do something to you!"

Okay, perhaps it's less of an irritation and more amusement for him. Because he keeps doing it. And it really gets on my nerves 'cause I'm seriously afraid! I used to try and overcome this insane perculiarity by slowly touching the inside part of my belly button (gross) or just resting Mike's hand on top of it.

Nope. Not workin'.

Within seconds of having his hand on top of my belly, I can feel that cold pointy point of the drill and immediately have to shove his hand away lest it burrows deep into my tubby flesh.

Yeah, I'm a special girl. :D

Though now that I think about it, there is my one peculiarity that really bugs him. And unfortunately I can't really do anything about it 'cause, well... Here, backstory.

So when I was younger, and unfortunately much like other girls, there was an "incident" with a boy. Granted, mine was a LOT less severe than others. Which makes me feel more like a wuss because of my aversion to certain kinds of movies/tv shows/entertainment things.

See, I have an insane amount of hypersensitivity when it comes to sexual violence of women in entertainment (to the point where I can't even type or say the r-word as you can see here). Most of the time it doesn't interfere with anything, but there are a few points when it does.

Such as when friends come over and we rock out to Rock Band. I refuse to sing the one song (which I've forgotten the name and have scoured the playlist for and now can't find, UGH) because you bellow out for at least 15 seconds the r-word. Yeaaaaah, that's kinda awkward.

Or when a new movie comes out that looks insanely interesting, but because it has scenes depicting the violence I can't watch it. Such as Clockwork Orange or Push, two movies with terrific reviews and highly regarded as good movies to watch that I simply can't bear to see. It's also bothersome when someone talks about a movie and I have to ask if it has sexual violence towards women in it. Then they ususally give me a weird look. >_<

Or when Mike and I are laying in bed and watching Star Trek. Well, the title Violations should've been a tip-off for me. Nope, Captain Oblivious right here. When Deanna Troi begins to remember scenes with Riker and he becomes forceful with her sexually, yeaaaaah... The night went down like this!

"Okay, we're done!" I immediately chirped, lurching too quickly close the laptop lid and buried myself in the blankets and pillows. Mike sighed audibly and we spent the next ten minutes in silence.

We finally talked about it and a long discussion ensured (of which I won't bore you of the details and I can't bring myself to share that much intimacy on the internet anyway. But our sex lives? I'll totally toot the horn about. *dur hur, "toot the horn"*).

So, you'd think I'd be hypersenitive to all kinds, right? Wrong.

During my teen years, I fell in love with online role playing. I'd create characters and people with like-minds would get on a chat system and we'd play together, being our respective characters. In my very early teens I surrounded myself with girls (and probably some boys, but it's the internet, you can never tell) who fell into a particular group- violent gay love between boys/men.

I thrived in this community and spent most, if not all, of my nights surrounded by males kissing, love-making, and, occasionally, raping each other. *headdesks* See, there's the word! I can say it when it comes to men, but with women? I stutter and feel a tightness in my chest.

It's terrible and I feel insanely guilty of it. I've become hypersensitive to women in violent sexual situations, but am desensitized when it comes to men. I know full well it was my way of coping with what happened to me (and to my sister). By hurting the gender that had hurt me, I was "getting back at them".

(I don't want to say heal, 'cause obviously I still have issues.)

What bothers me slightly is that my fiance doesn't quite understand. I mean, I'm not proud of myself. And if I found out a man was raped in real life, I feel terrible! Perhaps not as strongly adverse to it if it were a woman, but I don't go "Oh well, he deserved it". No one deserves that, I don't care what gender you are.

I've tried several times to take my hypersensitivity down a notch or two, but both times were dismal failures. Plus, a voice in the back of my head's going "WHY do you want to expose yourself to this?". I feel sick when I even catch a glimpse of it on the TV 'n at, so what makes me think I can endure it for more than two seconds?

Still not too sure on what I should do. On one hand, why would I want to be desensitized? On the other, I strive for equality in every portion of my life. Shouldn't that also apply to this?

Ugh! D: For once I have no clue how to wrap up a post other than to say I'm full of conflict.

I love my walking route~

Thus far I've been pretty okay with walking every night. Why night? 'Cause there's no sunrays pounding down on me and making me feel ten times heavier than I am. Walking in the horrible heat of summer? Not so much fun for a tubby girl.

Night time provides no sunlight, gentle breezes, and, most importantly, no traffic (of cars or humans).

While being a social-kinda gal (I live for parties in our house), I really prefer to walk on my own. No talking means I'm not gasping for air. I also tend to day dream and I've found walking is a fantastic way of fantasizing about a multitude of subjects.

-My fiance's ass
-My various characters and their respective novels that will never get written down I will write someday
-The home my fiance and I will own this time next year
-My goals (short term or long term)
-My sex life
-My career
-Worrying about my best buddy and the direction of his life
-Past friendships that have ended
-Etc...

And those're the tip of the iceburg! So walking alone at night (with a cell phone in case any creeps are around) is ideal for someone like me.

Unfortunately, my neighbor thinks otherwise.

I came home one night to find her outside. She's incredibly friendly and has an adorable dog. I really like her, as she's pretty much one of two social neighbors we have on our small block of townhouses. So we get along splendidly.

"I see you walkin'!" she greets me when I came home this particular night.

"Yep!" I reply. "I'm trying to keep in shape."

"Man, I see you walkin' and I just think 'It ain't right to walk alone, you need a walkin' buddy'!" she laughs. I laugh too, but inside I cringe.

Nooooo! I wanna walk alone! is one of the things I want to say, but I just smile and laugh. We end up talking for about an hour. And let me tell you. My big mouth moves fast and can talk about a variety of subjects from my cats to my dolls. But when it comes to like-mouthed people? I tend to shut up and let them do the talking.

'Cause it's just SO much fun!

Like, seriously. There isn't any sarcasm in that sentence. My neighbor talked about her job, her ex-husband, her brother, her sons, and her dog in this hour conversation. It was fantastic! I love hearing about other people's lives 'n at. It's just so interesting to me, 'cause it's like "Man, I wonder what my life would be like if it was like hers...", y'know?

So anyway, we had that talk about three days ago. *cough* And I kinda haven't been walking until tonight 'cause I've been kind of dreading if she was home and she'd go walking with me.

But I couldn't keep putting off walking. So I sucked it up and called her to let her know I was about to walk.

Ring, ring, ring, VOICE MAIL! Whoot!

And so I ventured forth alone with my thoughts, yes! My walking route is awesome~

It takes me twenty minutes all together. I work various muscles because it's not just flat surface (though I wouldn't mind that every once and a while). I start my walk going up a short 30-degree hill that curves to the left. The it slopes downward very lightly before flattening out. It's only flat for a few hundred feet before it goes to a gentle slope uphill, then a sharper degree.

At the top of the hill, I have two options;

1) Keep straight and go down a sloping curve before trekking up a steep hill to the original top of the hill.

Or

2) Go left and down the steep hill then take the gentle slope upwards to the original spot.

My usual route is the former. I find it's a great workout and I can feel my muslces working. If I'm feeling really tired that day or if I'm just not up to it, then I take the latter of the two. Either way, it's a great walk and I'm in love with it.

I'm debating whether I want to buy a scale or not. After all, this is all about me trying to get in shape and continue to BE my lovely shape, not loose weight. But without any kind of device to assist in keeping track of all of this, how am I to measure my success?

I do know that when I'm walking, my knees and ankles feel a lot better and I don't hurt as much. My breathing is easier and my emotional state is optomistic and happy times. So at least I can measure that much.

So here's to hoping I get to continue this alone and if I do get company it's only rarely.

PS- I keep my cell phone in hand the entire time I'm walking. The second I feel someone following me or if I'm noticing the same car passing me more than twice, I'm dialing 911, paranoia be damned.