Meds

So, the fury of "meds".... They're great, as you can kind of manage to just "roll" through your life. Problem is when you decide you don't need them anymore and you go off of them... Then you have to deal with all of the things you didn't deal whilst you were on the meds.

You wake up, and you're life is totally gone. But, really, it was gone over a year ago, you just didn't notice.

Worse yet, you've even _more_ problems... Like, say, your son is going blind. And that's not real good either.

And then you read books where characters die. (Mind you, even though they're only "characters," it's as if someone you actually know has died. But, you absolutely have to cry, because you were on meds while people you actually do/did know died.)

And then you get mascara on your carpet from crying.

Good thing you bought that case of wine.

FUCK

Feathery Strokers?
So, I'm reading some fun (read "trash") while I'm on Midwinter Break... It's called Anybody Out There? by Marian Keyes. A couple of years ago, I read practically everything that the woman ever wrote, and this latest bit of refuse reminds me why I so enjoyed the previous bits. Too many funny parts to list (and I'm only about 100 pages in), but I HAD to mention the concept of "Feathery Strokers."

To quote the novel:

Jacqui's Feathery Stroker test is a horribly cruel assessment that she brings to bear on all men. It originated with some man she slept with years ago. All night long he'd run his hands up and down her body in this lightest, feathery way, up her back, along her thighs, across her stomach, and before they had sex he asker her gently if she was sure. Lots of women would have loved this: he was gentle, and respectful. But for Jacqui it was the greatest turnoff of her life. She would have much preferred it if he'd flung her across a hard table, torn her clothes, and taken her without her explicit permission. "He kept stroking me," she said afterward, wincing with revulsion. "In this awful feathery way, like he'd read a book about how to give women what they want. Bloody Feathery Stroker, I wanted to rip my skin off."

Is your man a Feathery Stroker? Are you?
Is he afraid to eat nuts from the bowl on the bar? Feathery Stroker

Does he stay friends with all of his exes? Feathery Stroker

Does he notice your shoes and handbag? Feathery Stroker

Does he say that pornography is exploitation of women? Feathery Stroker

Does he say that pornography is as much exploitation of men as women? VERY Feathery Stroker

OR

Did he just do you last weekend over the kitchen table? Real Man

Does he eat red meat? Real Man


Admittedly, the whole "Feathery Stroker" thing is a bit subjective... and I'm not all together sure that my own man is not actually a Feathery Stroker. (In his defense, he plays in dirt and eats red meat.) But I will say that while women may not be disgusted by the men who loan them a t-shirt to sleep in the first time they spend the night, but they always remember the ones that rip off their jeans in one fatal swoop.

Yell Fire!
-- and I'm not referring to Michael Franti's new CD

A few weeks ago, I discovered that there really is a reason to have a fire extinguisher in your home. When I bought my place, I felt totally nervous about home-ownership. I absolutely has to have a fire extinguisher and extra property insurance before I could sleep at night. I guess my intuition was kicking into high gear or something...

--Fade into memory sequence--

So, there I was, getting ready to have a quiet vegetarian dinner with two girlfriends on a Friday night. I had just finished getting the place straight. The table was set. I decided to go get ready before I whipped up the appetizer. Whilst getting ready, I thought it would be nice to have a fire, so I went and lit up a Dura-log in the fireplace.

I had, however, not opened the flue.

So, there I am, getting dressed, and I hear an alarm going off. It doesn't even occur to me why that would be happening... after all, I'm usually so paranoid and careful that I put my hand up the chimney just to make sure the flue is open. But then I went out of my bedroom and saw the living room full of smoke.

Suffice it to say, craziness set in. I cut my hand opening windows. I called 911. I used my fire extinguisher. (Not necessarily in that order.) Total frenzy.

I felt like a such a dumb ass while I stood outside in the cold and explained everything to my new neighbors and watched three firetrucks and two police cars come to my "rescue." (Can anyone say "slow night?")

The funniest thing was that, as the firefighters checked the place out and blew out the smoke, the Grateful Dead was blaring out of my stereo and the visualizer was going on my Mac.

One of the firefighters even ended up striking up a conversation with me about my Mac. Hey, at least I provided good entertainment that night. (In more ways than one.)

And I did go ahead and have that dinner party.

And my house didn't even really smell like smoke.

So, go buy yourself a fire extinguisher.