Husband’s, Boyfriend’s, . . . Men

You know, as a member of the female species, there are often times I find myself looking at my husband or some other form of man and I find myself utterly and completely baffled. It may be something they said, did, didn’t say, or didn’t do but mostly I just don’t get how their brains find a way to function over that much idiocracy.Now before you get your britches, trousers, and/or panties in a bunch, I don’t mean this in a, “Men are assholes, I hate them, they can never do anything right, yadda yadda, bull,” it’s more of what I or I would assume most women just don’t understand about the opposite sex. Sometimes I find myself trying to figure our how were even the same species, or why hasn’t evolution killed more of you off yet; I’m just kidding with that last one, Promise 😉 But seriously though sometimes I just can’t wrap my head around the things that seem to make you tick or even the redundancy of their actions, sometimes I swear it would be easier to get along with a rabid wolverine.

• For me the first one I’d have to mention is Hypocrisy*. The reason I mention this first is because I had an argument with my husband over it last night. (Not really sure if I’d call it an argument as he just listened while I said my piece but whatever, we later had a talk like vampire contest). But at the very least I can saw men in general are hypocrites about one thing or another (not saying that I’m not guilty of this either) but what I’m talking about today is Health. ALL, and I do mean all the men in my family and even within my in-laws, act like theirs some kind of unwritten law or code that states one must have freshly severed limb or severe gouges before they’ll step foot into any kind of doctor’s office or hospital to get treated. The Hypocrisy of it is that he’s the FIRST one to mention and later demand either I or our daughter go and get checked out for I don’t know say even something as small as a paper cut. Granted over the years he’s calmed down a bit on this on my end, but he’s still the first one to suggest I need to go and get checked out. But I even mention the word doctor to him and it’s all, “Rwarr nar har humph gwar- I don’t need to go to no doctor, that’s what’s wrong with people today always going to the doctors instead of letting their immune system take care of it like back in the old days, that’s the way it’s supposed to be you know, natural selection and all that, blah, blah, flippity-f@$#ing blah.” Now point out this obvious hypocrisy and they will deny it out there ass, or just ignore you.

• Thinking you rule* the god-damned roost. Well guess what, you don’t, at least for sure not by your damned self. It’s called a relationship and a family for a reason, you know that thing called communication. So stop thinking you can make these decisions big or small without my input (and I mean things that are not exclusively his, things that belong to the family or things that will or even in the slightest have an impact on the rest of us). It’s more of a pet peeve I think than anything but I didn’t sign up for a gods-be-damned dictatorship and I am no humble 50’s housewife, it’s either together or not at all, or I mine as well be a cranky roommate. Now I know this is an accident a good percent of the time, but that’s the problem, we shouldn’t be that easy to forget about, I mean for men that complain as much as you do about us you think right before you did anything you would ask, “. . . hmmm is this gonna get me in trouble?”

• Redundancy!* There’s really not a lot to say here. You’ve been doing it since you were born but every time it happens I still have to stare in awe at the utter stupidity that you have yet again done the same thing that f@$#ed you over the first time. Honestly, how many times can you really complain about getting bitched at if you continue to do the same thing. I mean if we said nothing you wouldn’t know you did it, it just seems “slightly” counter-productive. Now I know it seems as if I’m reaming men here (there’s a post on women coming up), but I’m not. I love my husband and his many, many faults as well as all my male friends and relatives, but sometimes it just seriously boggles the mind. You and I both know that men could listen a bit more maybe even NOT dismiss what were saying as often. It’s not that what were saying is important (though sometimes it is, but you would’t know because you weren’t listening, were you, lol) but if were saying it and not on drugs or drunk off our ass it’s because we wanted to share something with you, and WE deemed it important enough to us to tell you. It’s not about us wanting you to care about everything we have to say (gods know I don’t) it’s wanting you to listen regardless of that fact. In the words of my mother-in-law (not kidding here) on the definition of redundancy, which I think she sums up rather well. “Redundancy is repeatedly slamming your dick in a window (feel free to change the object, that not the important part), without realizing it hurt the first time.”

•  Your balls*, your hygiene*, and your clothes*. I’ll start with the first one, balls. Why must you scratch your damn balls in public. It’s completely unnecessary, and mostly because we don’t want to see you do it. In case you didn’t know, it’s not very attractive. Plus it’s not that were looking, (okay maybe some are,, I can’t speak for all of us females) but we see movement & happen to look over, were not trying to get a peak at the shape of your junk and we know what your doing, we get it, you had an itch, so you scratched. Here’s a little known fact, women have to itch sometimes to, no it doesn’t mean we have an STD, just because your balls itch does that mean you do? No, that question was f@#king rhetorical. We just don’t do it, why? Because it’s some goddamn common courtesy and were not (not all of us anyways) completely disgusting. Men are the single reason why I don’t shake hands with people, I can’t help but think at some point that day their hands have been on their/your sweaty balls and of course just everybody wants germy ball sweat all over them. (No offense to those who may be into that kind of fetish, more power to ya).

~ Secondly, which goes in hand with balls is hygiene. Some men are better then other as is with all of these points, but others leave a lot to be desired. I’ll keep it simple: Wash your ass and get a damn shower. No one wants to smell you if you don’t smell good, and none of that spraying deodorant or cologne to cover up the gross, we can tell. Now lazy days every now and then, fine, but lets not try to win a world record okay. Also in hygiene are things you don’t think about, trim those damn nails and make sure that beard is crumb free, condition it even. Seriously about the nails though, not attractive and a bit serial killer, chop-chop, nom-nom-nom.

~ And Lastly but definitely not least, your clothes. Are you (or a man you know) the one with too many or too little, or are you the one (like my husband) who has a lot but wears only a few and refuses to get rid or throw away any of the ones he doesn’t wear? Do you have holy shirts, jeans, boxers, socks, that you still wear? Clothes from high school? Bad taste? Well stop, all of it. That goes for my husband too (though I’ve not had too much luck with some of those to be honest). As long as you don’t look like a hobo or the town grifter most women won’t care, save the hobo gear for staying in on days off or when your sick. This is just a pet peeve of mine, I really won’t care so much but I can’t stand any clothing with holes in it, (fine if their for “painting,” but you don’t need 80 different outfits for painting) just throw it away, look at me, throw it away; or eventually that item of clothing may suddenly disappear or the hole will suddenly just seem to keep getting bigger. The other thing I just can not stand nor do I get at all is why the hell do you jeans need to be below your actual ass. It’s called UNDERWEAR for a reason, to go under clothes. Pull your pants up. Sorry about that, but unless you’re a fictional character like Donald Duck or something there’s just no reason for this. So yea, human =pants pulled up, fictional character= do whatever the hell you want XD.

* I understand that all men are different and that NOT all men do any of these things, but a lot do. I just don’t get it, but it happens. If you were offended, well you’ll notice the number of fucks I give is at an all time low, Restocking Soon!

If you liked the post or have any insight to this quandaries please feel free to comment to tell me or rant about your own!

Setting myself up for failure? Indubitably! -NaNoWriMo 2013

So I’ve set out to do this before, possibly last November (I honestly don’t know-I blame parenthood . . . and guinea pigs, you know, just for breathing), THAT”S truly how bad I am at remembering things. I’ll admit to losing the memory contest, unless it’s a contest of remembering names of kids I went to school with in Kindergarten through 2nd grade,  because for some unnatural reason I can remember, and therefore makes me WINNER. And you may say well duh you probably went to school with them all you life. . . well you’re wrong, I didn’t. Why? Because I lived in Florida at the time and only went to school with them through 2nd grade, but I can still tell you there first and last names and even what they look like. BAM, I’m a freak, I know.

Anyways, back on topic. . .

So I’ve decided to give it another shot, you know, and actually participate this time. It may not hurt that I’ve kinda cheated a little, but only a little I swear! I started this novel ages ago (it feels like that anyway) and I’ve got like 17,000 words already, but honestly it’s not a lot (and it needs work as I put it down months ago), & I still need a  F@$#ing ton to meet my goal of 80,000 plus it’s a monster. And I may mean this literally, because even though I made an outline my brain only KIND OF follows it. Like it does hit the points on the outline, but it also creates like twelve more in between thus effectively pushing  my chapters further and further apart, or sometimes just creating whole new ones.

*Sigh, if your not into writing, don’t start, because it’s a bitch of a dedication.*

So I’m going to plug my own work here, feel free to not read it, or do–I don’t care 🙂 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working Title: Iridian Vein

Synopsis:    > I’m really quite horrible with synopsis’ so bare with me.

 

Winterclaw, one of the Four Queendoms is on the brink war, Queen Tyla Skywater has no female heirs and her people become more restless by the day, while neighboring Queens seem to care only for jockeying for the land that may become forfeit. But underlying troubles roam the land as the Alliance (the chosen) and Conclave (the religion) are warring over old hate and prejudices. 

~X~

Innara has been plagued with dreams her entire life, weird dreams, impossible dreams, dreams of the Casters, the Chosen, the Marked. They mean nothing to her, just like the scar that never heals on her chest, and even though she never had a family she knows who she is and the Chosen have nothing to do with it. She’s a rogue, thief, assassin, and with the help of her crew at her back she’s the best at what she does.

Life suddenly takes a turn for the worse when a client isn’t all that he seems and she’s thrown into a life on the run and not just for a crime she committed, but for who she is, and for the first time she finds herself wondering exactly the same thing.

Meanwhile in Castle Winterclaw Lynx can feel the tensions roaming high as prince,third born to his parents, and inexplicably born with the gift (or is it curse) of magic, he has his own problems and when the Alliance Arch Mage comes to the Castle he thinks this might finally be his chance to escape. Things seem to go from bad to worse for Lynx and suddenly he finds himself trying to fight off the darkness and insanity that plagues him.

Excerpt:

Debris was scattered across the floors of Lynxs’ rooms. The walls littered with holes, whole portions missing from some, and others destroyed to the stone. Books no longer sat on their shelves as their pages and bindings lay strewn across the top of the debris. Nothing had survived his rage.

Lynx sat in the center of his study eyes clenched tight as he rotated two balls of mage light around him. His clothing hung torn and tattered on his body—tendrils of the Iridian Vein emitting his birthright blue.

The sound of the door opening made his eyes snap open. He felt his mouth contort in a snarl and stood in a defensive position. His mind screamed at him to kill the invader, to destroy whoever dare enter his sanctuary. Nothing and no one was welcome. The mage light swirled faster around him as he gathered his energy and prepared to launch a blast of pure craft at the intruder.

An old man appeared in the doorway. A memory tinged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t grasp it before the anger reclaimed him. The man looked up in fear as Lynx shot a blast of craft from his palms. It flew from him with such force that it staggered him back.

The old man held out his hand and the blast ricocheted off an invisible barrier into the wall causing shards of wood and stone to rain down upon them. An enraged roar tore from Lynx’s throat. “GET OUT!”

NOW THAT ALL THAT’S OVER– ENJOY YOUR BLEEPING DAY!!

What the hell Brain?

Today. . .

Today was a day for brain malfunctions. I recently just hooked up the internet to my place, (we moved it was hell, and I’m slow at getting things done that aren’t of immediate concern). Well I now realize why I was always so bored, I had forgotten just how mindblowingly GREAT the internet is at providing distractions, at just exactly what is it I am/was supposed to be doing. Here’s how it went down:

Me: *Puts daughter down for 1st nap of the day.* Yess, I can get a shower, thank the gods! So I commence to turn on the water, adjust the temp, start the shower etc. . .

Me: Shit, I forgot something in the living room. (Gets distracted by something on the TV) shakes head, shit the shower “Bloop” (my computer) So I check the computer and it’s a stupid FB post that I don’t really give two-shits about, BUT it’s the internet, it somehow draws me into it’s internal vortex of procrastination and awesome and before I know it 15mins have gone by.

Me: OH BLOODY HELL-THE SHOWER!!! I go in get a shower and by the time I’ve washed my hair my shower somehow (I’ve not figured this out yet, so I decided to blame it on Unicorns, although cute their decidedly unreliable creatures) managed to summon glacial waters from Antarctica while I stand there freezing my bloody tits off trying to get the last bit of soap outta my hair. Needless to say (though I will) it wasn’t a very pleasant experience on my part. AND then on top of it all, you remember the part where I said I went to the living room to get something; yea, well that “something” was the towel.

*FacePalm*