Jinxie's Ravings

pedophile

duuuuuude. I can’t even tell you what I would do if I saw this motherfucker near my kid. All my fanatical belief in constitutional law goes right out the window when I think about shit like this. YUK. It is only correct that he should be continually run out of towns. Hmm.. watch this space for a blog about the difference between law and social contract…

Can't sleep, roller girls will eat me...

Today is the day of the big tournament. I was somehow entrusted with a position of responsibility in this extravaganza and it has turned out better than expected. Well, it hasn’t started yet. So…i guess it hasn’t turned out at all yet but I guess what I am saying is that I am ready. I am ‘league wrangling’ which means that I am responsible for making a sure a team is happy, has their paperwork filled out and gets where they need to be. This started out as a one day job but as we looked into the logistics of it the job description expanded and it has ended up being huge. This is awesome. For one, it allows me to geek out on my particular geeks which are seeing how far ahead I can think to anticipate other peoples actions/needs. I don’t really know of another way to describe that. I would be a stellar assistant to a movie star even though I am incapaple of organizing my own life. So I geeked out preparing packets, developing a system to track forms and making eveything not only efficient but aesthetically pleasing. Oh, the site of all those perfectly organized and coordinated folders gives me ladywood. ANother awesome thing about this is that my bestest friend in the world Jane and I are working together on this- we are in charge of all 10  wranglers-and damn we make such a good team. Seriously, we have it down. We have been inseparable for more than 2 years now so I guess we just know each other well enough that we just automatically take up each others slack. And we have this great good cop/bad cop thing going for management style. Best of all when I had to be bad cop for a minute, she totally backed me up. I don’t know that I have ever had a friend that actually backed me up when I stuck my neck out. Anyway, it’s 5 am and my efforts are about to come to fruition. YAY.

late night whine and cheeze

Fuck. I hurt.

I went to see the human bodies exhibit tonight with Jules and it was fascinating, really amazing. I love anatomy and physiology. It was my favorite subject in massage school. Some of things were really beautiful, incredibly intricate. I felt like it was a little safe, a little sanitized for midwestern sensibilities. I was also a bit freaked out by the fact almost all the bodies were asian males. When I asked where the bodies came from I was told they came from medical schools in China and possibly unclaimed bodies. Yikes. uh. Is it just me or does the idea of unclaimed bodies from China sound a bit sketchy? Human rights violations? hmm.. There’s a big sign that says “these bodies were treated with the utmost respect and dignity.” ….O..k…What about the live people? I mean before they were meat on display? Hmm. Points to ponder.  But it was certainly fascinating and beautiful in way and I am grateful for the chance to see it. I pray their spirits are finding rest.

I hurt though, and pain makes people selfish.  In my own selfish way I was going through the exhibit and looking up close and personal at the body parts that have broken or malfunctioned at one point or another in my life, the scars I carry on this earthly shell.   Hello frontal sinus, Hello, phalanges. Hello there pubic symphysis. Hello, there evil ovary from hell. Possibly I am projecting a bit. I am a bit tired of physical pain. I’m one big fucking joke of a medical mishap and I really would like to know why. wah. me me me me me. yuk.

anyway.

boundaries

I told him to get his stuff in the basement weeks ago, he didn’t- I said I would sell it. Friday, he threatened to come in the house again. He informed me that he would anytime he wanted and he had every right to

I told him to stay away from me and he said just because he shows up to my events and hangs around me, doesn’t mean he’s harassing me.

Friday, I broke down in tears in front of J. because the thought that he will be able to push me around forever makes me want to scream. He stands in front of me and threatens me when no one is listening and then writes these sappy emails about remaining civil for “our beautiful children”

I finally went to the police. The detective told me he doesn’t have the right to go into my house, regardless who is responsible for the rent. She told me I don’t have to take this and that it is not uncommon for men to use their kids to harass and stalk their ex wives. The detective said- just tell him that he must respect your boundaries.

I laughed and told her that was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. And it really is. The whole camp thing was a perfect example- I knew he was coming- I just wanted him to go put his tent somewhere else. It’s a hundred and fucking nine acres and he put his tent 10 feet from mine. “because I couldn’t find him a spot”  His whole point was to just make sure I knew that my boundaries were not respected at camp either.

I’m past doubting my sanity here, but it does give me pause. He writes “it’s hard for a rational person to understand your point of view”.  Is it? Is it that unusual for a person who went through an acrimonious divorce to want their ex husband to stay the fuck out of their house and stay the fuck away from their social events and just generally stay the fuck away?? Am I overreacting when he tells me he will come in my house anytime he wants? I have been raped. I have been beat up. I was abused by my own father. not much feels as violating as him telling me he will come into my house whenever he feels like it.

It’s not enough that I have drawn a line in the sand- now I want him to see it.

making sense

I am (we are) cleaning out the basement in preparation for the big move. There is so much history down there that I wasn’t really prepared to deal with. It’s just stuff- but- it’s my wedding dress, pictures of the house we built, furniture my grandpa made that reminds me of other pieces I left behind.

My grandfather made furniture, clocks, toys- all kinds of things. He died September 9th 2001- 2 days before the towers fell, and 75 years to the day from when he entered this country as an immigrant from Romania/Hungary. (the area was romania when he was born but hungary when he left) I was hugely pregnant with Audrey, and we were very close to moving into our new house.

In 2001 we were married for a bit over a year- we had so much hope for the future. We were building a house in a ‘suburban neighborhood’, Wes had a good job, I was finished with massage school. I had a fancy new volvo wagon. From all the instability and drama of our early 20’s we were moving toward the perfect family- the perfect life.

By 2006, he quit his job and started his business, our brand new suburban neighborhood turned out to be unfriendly and awful, our beautiful house was foreclosed upon, my fancy car was dragged away while I watched in the night by the repo man- while my husband was out with his 21 year old lover. I was depressed and in pain and the verbal abuse really started in earnest.

We had to leave our house and we left so much behind, furniture that my grandfather built pains me the most. When I look at the pieces that I still have it reminds me of the pieces I never should have allowed him to throw away. He didn’t like them, they were old fashioned, where would we ever put them anyway, etc. etc. I gave in because it was easier than fighting, and besides he was my husband- he would be with me forever anyway- why would I hold on to things-just in case? 

 I grieve the record cabinet he made for my grandma that I can see and feel in my minds eye, that as a baby, I ran my fingers over the slats in the doors and played with the white knobs.

So now I go through the boxes in the basement, preparing for another chapter in my life and I am ambushed by lives I left behind. There’s a picture of Shannon, smiling in a boat, there is a wedding dress, there are tiny baby clothes from a baby that is now tall enough to look me in the eye, there is terrible poetry from high school.

So many pictures, so much stuff, so many memories. I feel the need to scrapbook them all, although it would take me another lifetime. I need time to stop for a moment so I can make a narrative, a timeline, a story of my life that would somehow make sense of it all..

$

The cost of medication my body requires to run now has officially exceeded my monthly income. Ha. Anyone want to insure me?

ch-changes

This doesn’t seem to be as public as myspace, so I guess I’ll spill the beans here.

 J. is moving in. :insert lesbian uhaul joke here:

This is good. Yes. I am happy about this, although a bit stunned since her reaction to my initial invitation was pretty much no way, not in the foreseeable future.

Apprehension? Yes, a bit. We have been dating about a year, although it has been a bit rocky and on and off. It seems that most of the ‘issues’ are simply communication glitches and the longer we are together and the more we understand each other the less glitches we have.

Mostly I have become aware of the vast differences with moving in together at 30some vs. moving in together in one’s early 20’s. Wow. Just the amount of :stuff: is pretty intimidating. I find myself staring at my silverware-whose forks will we use? We both have fully functional grownup lady kitchens, how will we ever integrate cookware? What about my flamingos? She loves to cook- will my kitchen flamingos be replaced with cows? Am I ok with that? Um…

I guess my current preoccupation with forks and tupperware is just a defense mechanism against more serious, weighty issues.

I worry about sublimating my identity, again, in a relationship- giving up the things that matter to me, however silly. It’s so easy for me to do this, and I feel like I have really struggled in the last year to establish my own identity apart from being ‘coupled’.

I worry about the coming legal battles, the constant fights with babydaddy. I worry about her being dragged into a fight with asshole, if he decides to get shitty with me about being a queer parent. 

I worry about getting sicker and being a burden she doesn’t want.

I worry a little about being an obviously queer parent- and what that will mean to my kids in the comunity.

Mostly, I worry about getting my heart ripped out. I haven’t dated a girl to this level of committment since, oh ‘96. 11 years of hiding from girls.

But~

I have never, not once in a year, seen her act unethically, dishonestly, or with malice.

Her character is beyond question, I admire her intensely.

Her devotion to family, chosen and blood is amazing.

She is surprisingly great with my kids, and they love her.

We are compatible in the most unexpected ways.

And I simply adore her, and cannot imagine my life without her in it.

I’m a bit old to believe in ‘happily ever after’, but I’ll believe ‘happy for a good long time’, despite the fork-confusion.

neener neener you can't see me

I managed to break all the google links connecting my real name to my derby name and all my myspace drivel. Google me, I’m invisible. :)