Metamorphosis

I have always been afraid of cities. I'm not sure when the fear developed, or how it progressed, but it was there. Constant. Low Grade.

I would go to Boston, but only under certain circumstances and I always had to be with someone else.

New York? Hah! Scared the shit out of me. I had to be dragged there by a friend the summer I lived in New Canaan, CT. One of the reasons I turned down Columbia for my Masters degree? Yep. I'd have to live in the city for two years. I went and got pregnant instead. That seemed to end the discussion.

Terrance grew up in Detroit. He lived in New York for many years. He attended Howard in D.C. This was a man who thrived in cities. He adored the pace, the options, the People.

Then, he met me. The woman who refused to leave small towns. Small town New England. Because he loved me and wanted me to be happy, he stayed in small New England towns. Towns where there were no street lights. Where we JUST got home mail delivery two years ago. Where there were no people.

He waited. At every career change, my offers got better. Being the big fish in the small pond had it's benefits and I was able to attain access to levels that would have been harder for me to break into, where it not a small New England state. And the baby, I wailed. I want the baby to see Green, to know the country, to grow up on a lake.

And he waited. I got my master's degree. He waited some more. Then, he could wait no more. He had to go. His soul was being crushed. He could not live in this place any longer. I could stay or come with him, but he had to go. Wait, wait, I put him off. Till the end of the school year, until the dance recital was over. Wait just a little bit longer.

While my fear of cities had lessened, it had not disappeared. I would never be happy in a city, I just knew it. I would be lost. I would be afraid. I would be...nobody.

And then we got here. To Montreal. A city.

And I am blooming. As if the very thing I needed was that which I feared the most. The joy that sweeps over me as I walk down the street is so unexpected, so surprising that I am overwhelmed. I explore every day, walking or driving through the streets of Montreal.

In less than a week, I can navigate a good part of the city with ease. I know how to get from place to place. And today? Today, I found a place that made me so happy, I can barely write about it.

Marche Atwater.

See? Look.



I wandered the plant stalls, mesmerized. Blissful.

Then we found the fish shop, and the frommagiere, and the bakery, and the olive oil shop and the wine shop (where they had a young man giving samples out on the sidewalk).

I have become a Montreal shopper, now that I have my official wine bag. For citizens of Montreal buy lots of wine. They carry it in these bags.


Next to the wine, was the bakery, where the smell was Indescribable.



And finally we wandered the fruit and vegetable stalls, looking for tomatoes and avocados for our dinner tonight. For, unlike the country, where your market is 30 minutes away and you stock up for a week at a time, you purchase fresh every day. Because it's there.



Because I'm here.

My fear has evaporated. I can taste the lingering dregs far on the back of my tongue, like slightly burnt coffee. Julie said that my happiness is showing...And it is.

I hope you'll all forgive this giddy, gushing Dawn. She is not one you get to see much of, as the cynical Dawn tends to rule the roost. I have no doubt she will re-merge, as the PhD work comes down in August, and the reality sets in. But for now?

For now you get this Dawn. The one who lingers over her cup of coffee at de la Gare in the morning. The one who wanders the Marche Atwater, sipping honey wine in a small glass. The one who smiles at elderly French Canadian ladies as I carry my bag of wine and holds her daughters hand as we stroll through the flower market.

Sacre Bleu, Bitches

What do I see in my front yard?



THE GNOMES!!!! Did you think you could just Move? Did you think we would not find you? We told you. Once you have been gnomed, it is impossible to de-gnome yourself.




Oh yes, We know where you live.

Can Vlad be far behind?

That's Angry, Whiny Queen Bitch to you

Anger. Angry women. Mean bitches. Fat, ugly bitches. Hostile ho's. Man hating dykes. Skanks, skeezers, whiny sluts...do I need to go on?

These are all things that have been said about True Wife. While I have addressed a facet of this before in this post, I feel the need to explore some more.

The prime question: What is it about angry women that evokes such a strong reaction?

Is it purely because we have been socialized to think of angry women as "out of control"? That these women must be put down, or shut away? That a woman who speaks her truth can not simply be expressing an opinion or feeling, but is seen as a threat to womanhood?

The long and short of it is Yes. Angry women have historically been shut away, shut up, shut off. Sure a few get out. But Rarely. Rarely. The societal tide that keeps a tight lid on what women say and do in the public eye is still iron strong. Don't believe me? Go to your playgroup and announce that you hate being a mother. Better yet, tell a soon to be married friend what marriage is REALLY like. Everything. Even the night that you fought about why the toilet wasn't fixed. Or the fight about why you didn't have the common decency to leave me ONE bottle of Spring water. Or the compromise sex, so you can get back to what you were doing....

Dear God. The tide of women trying to sweep you out of the room and away from the true believers will be gi-normous. Nice ladies don't SAY these things out loud. They shouldn't even think them, let alone say them...or write them down.

Women's anger triggers something so fearful that it must be suppressed at all costs. If one woman breaks out of the fold, the rest are sent to reel her back in. If they can't do it nicely, they will do it dirty. The name calling, the insinuations, the out right smack down. Say you don't like your husband and you become a fucking whore who should have never gotten married.

Say you don't like your child? Why don't you blow your brains out before your child becomes a miserable bitch like you. She's going to be a useless waste of space - just like you - anyway.

Speak a truth and you become a whiner. Oh, and probably Fat too.

If the women can't reel you back in - the men start. Miserable bitches who don't deserve to be married at all. "I feel sorry for the poor guys who married these lazy bitches."

Geesh. Even Morphing into Mama got in on it. Asking why TWC didn't have a torch carrying mob beating down my door (referencing a confession about "since you gained so much weight I'm just not as attracted to you).

Oh, but I do.

The thing is? My mob is the mob of angry women. The torches they are carrying aren't against me - they're FOR me, and every other woman in the world. Every other woman who was sold these cults called motherhood and marriage and are standing up to say "Sometimes things Suck! Why did no one tell me! Why haven't I had a girlfriend lean in and say these things to me?" I'm not suggesting they let the cult down by gaining weight. That's why they aren't coming for me.

I'm not afraid of women's anger. Maybe this is because I do not fear my own anger. Yes, there are times when I read confessions and wish I could help someone process what she is feeling. There are times when I worry for someone I don't know. However, the truths that are being expressed in this venue are so potent, so gritty that it has taken on it's own life entirely.

Life is about choices. My shitload of therapy has illuminated that I have a series of choices both before and behind me. I am where I am through my own choices and it is my future choices which will lead me to where ever I land.

I did not start at this place, however. At first, it was all my parents fault. They were the reason I was unhappy. Then, it was my boyfriends fault for being so controlling. And when it stopped being everyone else's fault, I saw it was my choices - my ownership of the place I was choosing to be now. You can't be a victim if you choose to Not be a victim. You become, in that moment, a survivor. The power dynamic shifts.

For some of the women writing to TWC, I look at this as a step in the journey for them. Some call it whining, I see it as testing an unused part of their inner voices. The part that will some day awaken to the choices they have both before and behind them. I will have been honored to have even the smallest part in that awakening.

Try to catch him ridin' dirrrtyyy

With less than 24 hours in Quebec,

Terrance gets stopped for DWB - That's "driving while black" for all my cracka friends out there.

Being the helpful spouse that I am, I pull up behind the cop and take pictures while he searches the truck ...to find it empty. And my husband with legal visa papers, drivers license and every other form of documentation under the sun. I then call my husband on the cell phone and say:

"Are you being racially profiled?"

You've never seen such a sad, dejected police officer as this one. He was sure he was hitting the mother load of drug smugglers.

The possibility of having the wife of the driver pull behind him and start taking pictures for her blog never crossed his mind....

Reasons why I am falling with love with Montreal

1. Yesterday morning, as I did Yoga, I watched an elderly woman walk down the street with a loaf of French Bread and a bottle of wine in her bag.

2.I can walk to that bakery where I can get fresh bread every day. The five block walk whets my appetite for the scones and heavenly coffee. My daughter and I sit and have breakfast. Then, we walk back.

3. There are small grocery stores along the route we walk. Yesterday we picked up a pint of freshly picked strawberries, and Emily carried them home, along with the petit rolls. Later that evening, this is what I had for dinner. Roll, cream cheese and those strawberries...



4. Canada Day was the 1st. EVERYTHING closed even the Wal-Mart. These people take their holiday's seriously. They had fireworks and everything.

5. Speaking of Walmart, I wander through the aisles, FASCINATED by the products. Things I have never seen in my LIFE. Oh, and this. It's right on the shelf. HAHAHA. Suck that, New Hampshire!

I'll never be stuffy again!



6. No one has been mean to me for not speaking french. And let's be honest, their accents make everything sound alot sexier than it has a right to sound.

7. The men. Dear Lord. There are some good looking men here. Everywhere. I've been in New Hampshire where the best ones didn't wear Nascar T-shirts. Here? Oolala, indeed. With the accents?

8. Even Cough Syrup sounds better


9. I have become a fearless city driver. You should see me. I rock. Do not fuck with me.

10. You get to see this sign as you drive into Canada.



11. Canada has allowed my daughter to discover the joy of the KinderEgg. Sadly, American children will never know the joy of this treat due to the mean government restrictions on them due to the toys inside. But, yes. German Chocolate and a Toy. What could be more wonderful?


12. We seem to have been adopted by a cat that may have lived here prior to us. In spite of it's stumpy half tail, I consider it to be a karmic sign of good things to come. I am officially an expatriate. And it's nice.

A-L-I-V-E

It's true, I am alive. I am in a lovely cafe and frantically typing all three blogs. I am hoping that our internet will be up in a day or so. I've stopped twitching, at least.

And don't tell anyone yet, but

(whisper -I'm happy)

Here is my study/yoga space. The sun is fabulous in the morning.



Here is the bakery that we walk to every morning to get fresh croissants and cafe au lait. Five Blocks away.



Here is the kick ass grocery store. I WEPT as I viewed the cheese selections. WEPT. Plus it has a kosher butcher, for my jewish peeps. I photographed the pate.



So yes. I am alive. and here. and happy. I'll check in more later. Have lots of stories...Miss you all

Break on through to the other side

This is it. The final post from the old house. Terrance is taking the modem down in a couple of hours and despite my crying and pleading to Not rip me away from the internet...he is. Prying the modem from my weeping hands.

The Hugh-Manatee!

So, I'm not sure when I'll be able tp post again. It may take a few days for us to get the new network installed ( cause they wanted us IN the country to meet them an all - Geesh!) I may also wander around the streets of Montreal , laptop in hand looking for wireless zones. If you see me, offer me a cup of coffee and point me to a place where I can log on, for the love of St Catherine Street.

I expect High-larity to ensue at customs, as they search our truck and vehicles. Perhaps I will be inspired to re-visit the story of the I-2 pills. I will also tell the story of Terrance turning in his gun yesterday to a VERY suprised New Hampshire police officer who couldn't quite figure out WHY this dreadlocked black man was GIVING him a gun, despite copious explanations.

But now, I have done my yoga and I must shower and take my Prozac...and chinese herbs.

See you on the other side, bitches.

Lessons Learned while packing

I can stop buying floss for awhile. You can see by this that both Terrance and I are chronic flossers. We stash it all over the house, and car and in the pockets of coats. (This is So for you E.)



Um. I'm a little "anal" about the shoes. These are just the ones in the boxes.



And here are the J Crew boots, and strappy wedges...



If you no longer own a cassette player, then it is time to give up your collection of cassettes. Yes, I know that these represent the 80's and 90's for you, but let it go, baby, let it go.





Now I must go untangle my bizarre love for saving National Geographics.

Defending my baby

Well, holy shit. This must be what it feels like when your child grows up to be a mega super star and you're sitting on the couch thinking, "I am WAAAYYYYY more fun. And witty...and intelligent, and better looking, too."

Yeah, I'm talking about True Wife Confessions. The baby blog that could. My little "ha-ha, wouldn't it be funny to open this up to the world?" blog.

And now? Friends, it gets thousands of hits a day. Which is fine. It is what it is - entertainment, for some. But for others? I think it is really cathartic. Cathartic in the way that talking about post partum depression has been cathartic for me. The realization that everyone has issues that we don't talk about. That marriage and relationships are HARD, much harder than most of us ever thought. That over time things build up. Hurts develop. Needs and wants change. The person who you married is no longer the same person, but neither are you.

What has upset me is the "holier than thou" shit that I have seen come up around the entries. Partly, I should stop tracking back in Sitemeter to see where people are coming from. Then, of course, I wouldn't have to read the comments. The "These women are so sad" kind of things. The "Don't they know that communication would solve all their problems instead of posting them on the web, Don't you feel so SAD for them?", "My husband is the best cause he changes diapers and gives me orgasm's every night."

Ahem. Fuck you. You are the future Uber-Mom's and to you, I say again. Fuck you. Keep your marriage and motherhood smackdowns to yourself. Did I mention the fuck you?

I have been with my husband for 15 years. I can assure you all that I - and every other bride on the face of the earth - did not look at their spouse that day and think "Some day I will want to stab you for sleeping through another night of endless screaming of the baby". That some day will come and you think, "Is this it? This is what is has become? Dishes, meals, laundry, getting kids to school, starting over again in the morning."

If every day of your married life is sunshine and joy, than I call you a liar. Or the possessor of VERY good drugs. Or Katie Holmes.

The women who are sending in their confessions don't need another woman's pity. We have enough of that shit from every other corner, and it is just another facet of the woman against woman relational aggression we have been socialized to perpetrate.

They don't need solutions. They are pretty clear about the issue.

They just need a Space. A space to say it , out loud. To set it out into the world and release some of the power from the thought. Kind of like my visits with my therapist. I can say outrageous things. I hate being a mother. I hate my mother. I hate my husband. I sometimes hate my child.

And then, I can get on with it. Once all the dark shit is out, the light can shine in and you can go forward.

That is what I wish for True Wife Confessions. A place to purge the dark so the light can shine in. That is why I want it treated like a sacred space. A therapists office. A place where you can say the things that are eating away at you, so that you can move forward.

And Uber Mom's and Non-Mom's. Stay the fuck out of the sacred space. Until you need it. Then come on in and pull up a chair. We've already forgiven you for not knowing how hard it all is.

Parting is such sweet sorrow...or Not

4:32 p.m.



"SO LONG BITCHES!" * said as requested by Nancy


4:41 p.m.

Friday Fun with toys..has been postponed

Cause most of the toys are packed or otherwise engaged. I survived my "goodbye" luncheon. I kept my eyes down on the table most of the time and tried to avoid the fake small talk. I told no one what pathological assholes and fake, simpering bitches I think they are. I did, however, think it.

One...More...Day... which I will spend doing nothing but surfing your blogs on company time. Suck on that, "the Man".

New True Wife is up - keep those a-comin ladies. The ninth edition is almost done, so we're soon to hit 100.

Big ups to Troll Baby, who graciously and spontaneously made those awesome graphics. We all know that I had nothing to do with that, except to say "Hell, yeah" when she offerred them to me.

Em's Dance recital this weekend. Drinks will be in order. I'll keep ya posted...

Saffron Sentries

I had acupuncture Tuesday. Once again, it was lovely. I can't tell you all how much more centered and focused I feel after these sessions.

So in honor of my newfound love of acupuncture, I dedicate this post to my transformative experience at the Gates in Central Park in 2004.

I was strangely drawn to this project during its buildup. I would watch the news coverage as it moved from a conceptual idea, to the mounting of the posts, to the planned unfurling of the silk. There was something about this exhibit that called to me.



I saw the pictures of the artists other installments. Didn't do much for me. But this? The color? The scale? The juxtaposition of the saffron silk against New York City in February? There was something fundamentally different about this project. They called,"Come see us, Dawn."



So we did. I convinced my husband that we had to take a trip so that I could see these Gates. I needed to walk among them. I needed to touch the edges of the silk. I needed to stand and gaze upon the miles of saffron in February. My soul needed this.




It was the first thing we did once we got to the City. It was late, a cold February afternoon. As we walked toward the Park, it began to snow. Fat, silent, snowflakes covered our jackets and hats. The Park, and City were oddly quiet. The hush of the streets before a snowstorm, the silence of people trying to get home before it got worse. This was not me, though. I was moving towards a different home. I was walking towards the Gates.




We entered the Park near the Zoo. The wind was whipping the saffron silk, and it made muffled snapping sounds as they flowed back and forth. I held my breath and stood under the first ones, looking up at the silk as the snow fell on my face. I took off my gloves and reached up to touch the silk. I felt utterly alone with the Gates. They welcomed me, bright saffron sentries in the cold, gray, silent snowy February twilight.




I wandered up and down the path, touching each silk as I passed. I watched other people do the same thing, almost as if they weren't conscious of their intrinsic need for prayer. The need that these towering structures fufilled, standing watch over the City.

I walked until my family called me back. They were cold. They were wet from the snowflakes. They wanted to go back. I did not want to go back. I wanted to live within the Gates. I felt utterly at peace, as if my place in the world had been revealed. Unspeakably happy standing in the snow among these structures, a woman in a long brown coat and hat, staring raptly at swirling saffron silk.



I touched the last Gate and returned the gloves to my now raw hands. I looked back at them. "I'll be back tomorrow", I promised, inside my head. And I was.

How to Survive a Heat Wave

Step One:

Decide that you don't fucking care anymore about your "professional appearance". Decide to forgo cute Mary Jane heels for Birkenstocks all day at the office. Admire your repaired pedicure. Feet swell cause the AC is broken in your office. The all-brick exterior, former mental institution. It gets hot in there. And these are not people I want to see with LESS clothing. Believe me.





Step 2:

Drive home with all windows open in car. (remember - no AC). Get home. Walk into house. Announce "I'm going swimming". Take off clothes as you walk to the bedroom. Change in less than 8 seconds. Walk to lake and submerge yourself. Like a Hippo in the savannah... Have picture taken by child as you yell "Stop touching my camera with your wet hands!"



Step Three:
Come back to house and do Yoga. At least now your body temperature is almost in normal human range, and you'll have to take a shower afterward anyway, so let's roll it all into one. After Yoga (for Abs) and Shower, decide a mud mask is in order. Oh yeah. Imagine this on Terrance...as he walks...unawares...in Montreal.... Like the rack? Oh yeah, I kept the girls in the suit this afternoon. Although, I have embarrassingly muscular shoulders from the Yoga. Terrance teases me about looking like one of those 'roid body builder dudes with the necks... Let's see who laughs when I crush his windpipe.



Step Four:

Post Yoga mellow. Body cool from the swim and shower, skin refreshed and toned from the mud mask. What could wrap this all up? A less than romantic suggestion from spouse that he "get some" tonight? No Thanks, say me and my muscular neck. How about a cool beverage?

Weeeeeellllll. I could be persuaded. What have you got?

Homemade sour mix? With Mint from my garden? And Vodka? Over lots of ice? In large glass from Redhook Brewery? As a thunderstorm breaks the heat and cools off the air?

Perfection.

The H is O

It's HOT - FUCKING HOT in New Hampshire. Laying in bed at 2 a.m., considering how fucking hot it is and if you can lay wet towels on your body to cool off? Not conducive to getting up on Monday Morning. Neither is the new video game crack that is Harvest Moon - Magical Melody. DAMN YOU CUTE ANIME CHARACTERS!

New True Wife is up. Recruiting for Chapter 7 - Deep Dark edition. And of course, anything else you want to spill.

And I don't mean "Spill" like me spitting my mouthful of water all over myself this morning in the car. Thank god it was water. I am truly a classy lady. But you all already knew that.

When my brain stops boiling, I will have a more "wit it" post. Yes, the leaving off of the "h" was intentional. I'm being "urban", not to be confused with "urbane" - which I can also be - but not right now.

And who ever can give me the reference and context for the title. I am SOOOOO buying and sending you something. A CONTEST. A BALEFUL CONTEST!!!

Friday Fun with Toys...on Sunday

When the grisly scene was discovered, doubts were raised as to the identity of the murderer.

Was Sleeping Beauty just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there more to it? And why arrange the bodies on a bed of crayons?










PS - Sorry about the bitchy quality of the last post. I'm fine, Really.

Not so moving experience

Because I am fated to be the Bitch of Karma, my period arrived yesterday. Not that this, in and of itself, is surprising. No, It is simply because during one of the most stress filled two days of my life, I was pre-menstrual. It SOOOOOO-fucking-figures.

I am home from Montreal. The trip to register Emily for school and show us the new homestead is over.

Here are some handy tips I'd like to pass on to anyone moving.

1. Don't. Hahaha. Moving sucks in a way that I could only previously envisioned during the highest suckitude times of my life. And I have experienced some very high suckitude times. But this reigns supreme.

2. Don't allow your spouse to go and choose the home. Alone. By himself. Yes, this may seem a good idea at the time, cause you don't want to be bothered with the "details" of moving. You really don't want to move anyway, so if you pretend it isn't happening, it won't. This will not play out well to you in the long run.

3. Control your facial expressions better when you see something that is concerning. Like the fact that every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen has not been cleaned. Ever. Or the fact that there doesn't seem to be hot water. Or any electrical outlets in the bathroom. Or the stove doesn't seem to have been cleaned. Or there is No toilet paper dispenser, and the walls are a unique pink and green tile. You should smile cheerfully and happily - AT ALL TIMES. Do not contemplate locking yourself in the outlet free bathroom and crying.

4. When the school charges you 220 dollars for 10 shirts and 2 cardigans and 1 hoodie, you should also smile cheerfully. Because you LOVE your daughter in white shirts and blue pants. LOVE IT! You are all about suppressing individuality into the same kind of ugly set of shirts. WOO-FUCKING-HOO!

5. When, after being lost for a real long time, your spouse finds a restaurant and pulls in, express nothing but Joy. When you order ice tea and are told that it is "Sweet tea" and that is all you can get in Montreal, even though YOU can't drink sweet tea, so you go for water. Then your peruse the menu ( ALL IN FRENCH - which you don't read) and figure out maybe what you would like to eat ( even though you want to cry - cause you just want some tea) and then are told "No, madam, you can not Have medium rare hamburger - all must be medium well in Montreal".

Smile, dammit, smile. KEEP SMILING. You have now entered into some no plain tea,no rare meat eating world where you can't read most of the menu AND you are a day away from your period but don't know it - DO NOT CRY. For the love of all that is holy, do not burst into tears and try to avoid eye contact with the hostile black man staring at you from across the table. Trying to avert your head as you attempt to wipe up the streaming tears with the napkin will also not be acceptable. You are supposed to look HAPPY!!!

6. When getting home at 9 p.m., remember to offer to start cleaning. Do not walk in and try to access the net with your laptop. For it will go badly as you begin to laugh at email and then look up at the increasingly hostile black man who says "Did you even THINK about offering to clean?" as you express amazement and lack of knowledge that you were supposed to be cleaning at 9 p.m.

7. After driving home in the "no air conditioned car, cause someone refused to pay the 150 bucks to have the AC repaired and that someone is not the female of the house" for five hours with non-medicated ADD child and the DVD player with a dead battery, develop a migraine. Yes, a migraine that is most likely a result of the toxic fumes from the poly-urethaned floors. And your period. Have the other person not believe that you have a migraine.

8. Fall asleep after ingesting an Obscene amount of Advil. Wake the next morning with the same migraine. Have to get up and take the non-medicated ADD child to dance rehearsal at 10 a.m. Return at 2 p.m. Have partner who has had THE WHOLE MORNING TO THEMSELVES, act really pissy and irritated at you. Since you weren't here packing. Have that person not speak to you until 6 p.m., but instead walk around glaring and stomping meaningfully. Consider developing real alcohol problem.

9. Clean out your car (commanded by Captain Angrypants) as you begin to plan for your divorce in 3 to 4 years. Realize that you will most likely end up paying support TO your future ex-spouse. Inwardly laugh at that. Realize also that the new neighbor was seriously flirting with you down at the beach this afternoon, even though you didn't catch on for most of it. Yes, it could have been the tankini top. But maybe you are cute still.

10. Make the maple martini with dark rum. Think about what you will tell your therapist on Tuesday Morning and your acupunturist/Chinese herbalist on Tuesday afternoon. Laugh at the fact that you have a "Team" of therapists. Finish address change cards to mail to friends and family

***edited to add -I'm Ok really - it was just that all things seemed to collide in some awful big god damn bang of rotten ness. The place will be fine once it is cleaned and I have gotten settled. My hormones will settle down and i will return to my snarky self. Terrance could have brought me to the Taj Mahal and I would have been all "So much stone? WTF? and these gardens? Who is going to take care of These?"...

Do Not Divert Your Eyes...

You pathetic mealworms. It is once again, I, Vlad. You have come looking for the simpering, acupuncture having, chi feeling woman? Bah. I spit in her general direction.

Last Vlad spied her, she was eating a pound of pecans and muttering something about "packing" and "customs". When Vlad thrust his manly visage in front of her, she barely looked up at him, but continued chomping on the 'cans and gesturing with her hands in the direction of her car trunk. Normally, Vlad would have put the woman to death in a most unkind way immediately, but Vlad actually feels a little sorry for the woman. Or maybe it was the pecans she offered me in passing. Although after Vlad accepted this noble tribute of pecans, the woman was heard to giggle and say something about "eating my nuts" as she wandered off. When Vlad discovers the root of this jest, some additional impaling may be in order.

(The woman was just heard laughing again and saying "You said root...")

Vlad continued to leap out at the woman during the evening, often paired with loud "AAAAHHHHHHH" war cries, to no avail. Vlad can only deduce that there is some sort of trip planned, as bags and boxes are leaving the palace. The woman does not look as relaxed as when she went on "vacation", so Vlad is troubled.

Truly, Vlad loves this woman, useless flesh puppet though she may be, and is concerned for her. That is, if Vlad had any human emotions. Which he does not.

Ah. Wait. I hear something. The woman is saying something about "school registration" for the Spawn. Now, in Vlad's humble impaler opinion, the woman would do best to sell the Spawn as a girl bride of the Dothraki, but who is Vlad to tell her what to do? Girl spawn do not need "schooling". Vlad knows, if he fathered girl children - which he does not, that he would have done this Years ago. Ah, the word "Montreal" was just used. Vlad senses that there is a journey in the making for the Woman, the put- upon Dark man and the Spawn. Vlad will humbly guard this castle and make it safe for their return. I feel the need for a bath of the blood of newly birthed lambs. It goes without saying that they shall be impaled.

Meanwhile, Vlad commands you to look HERE and weep, for no mercy shall be shown.

Acupuncture

Well,I am home. I have been acupunctured.

And may I say, If I was a lesbian, I would have proposed to the acupuncture lady afterwards. I'm serious. I think it's love.

(Let me put a disclaimer out that I have been drinking the maple martinis and damn, they ARE good - and listening to my FAVE Nancy Griffith CD, so let the good times roll, baby)

So, I go to her office. I have had lots of "treatments" and "therapies" in my life. Reikei, Spa, massage, Psycho - I am, if nothing, adventurous. I fill out the LONG ASS questionairre. Man. These Chinese herbalists don't fuck around. They want to knowEVERYTHING.

I walk in, and sit in a lovely sitting area. The natural light is gorgeous and the sun feels amazing. She asks me why I am there.

I burst into Tears. Gulping, sobbing Tears. I tell her all about why I am there. I tell her it is going to sound crazy.

The dreams that started in April, the re-connection with a long absent person in my life, the sadness, the longing, the fear, the desire - my anger at myself for not being in control and hiding these emotions.

I cry and cry. I try to explain that This Isn't Me. I don't behave like this. This is crazy and illogical and doing me no good. That every time this person thinks of me, I get tingles in my limbs, and a pain in my heart. That I love this person, but I can't make decisions for them. I can't help them to know what is right for them, that while I think it may be This lifetime for me, it may not be for them. I have to wait and be silent and that this kills me. I cry, and cry, and cry. I empty myself in her office.

She smiles. She reassures me. She examines my tongue and pulse. She tells me that I have a blood deficiency - a Chi issue. There are blocks in my energy. My liver is overflowing and my pulse weak. My tongue shows "dampness" - there is a fog over my brain.

I smile at her. I know all of this. I am ready.

I lay on her table. There is water flowing and music. She tells me where she will insert the needles - My palms, My feet, My ears, My ribs, My forehead. Am I nervous?

No. I am hopeful. I need this.

She taps the hollow tubes that hold the needles on the spots where she will insert them.

"Take a deep yoga breath in and then exhale."

On the exhale, she taps the needles into the spots. It pinches, but doesn't hurt. She explains that I have alot of emotion blocked around my mid-section,. That explains the pains and the hot spots around my torso. When she taps the needles into those spots, waves of energy flow up and down my spine. It tingles. It tickles. It releases.

I cry a little more, but not much. I lay there and feel the energy move through my body, up into my head. I breathe in and out.

After a while she comes to take the needles out. I feel incredible. She has me stretch. I come to reclining Mountain pose and laugh. She laughs.

"This is me", I say. I laugh some more.

She tells me to be gentle with myself. Drink water and don't be suprised if the energy unblocking does unexpected things.

I am Queen of the unexpected. I expect nothing less. My energy flows out of me and back in. I am fluid again. I have nothing but time. I laugh again.

Meme for YouYou

I'm a little..um...distracted. So I am ripping this meme off from both Jenn and Jess (and every one else who has done it). I know they want me to have it as my own.
Forgive my absence in the blog-o-sphere. I will be around soon.

I have an acupuncture appointment this afternoon, which I am REALLY looking forward to having. Not to sound too "new age" on all of you, but I have been having this issue where I can feel someone specific thinking about me. It has been happening since April. It's like being jolted with electricity. On one hand, I am thrilled. On the other, exhausted. My grief and longing starts anew every time it happens and I can't, I just can't. Other things need to be attended to at home and work. So, I go to acupuncture and try to close my Chakras to this energy. I need to protect myself, for I am too vulnerable right now. There will be a time for this, but not now. Until then, I do what I hate to do - wait, and watch and stay silent.

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I am a bundle of contradictions.

I want unmitigated inner peace and happiness. And flat abs. Sigh.

I wish for the perfect Creme Brulee. I had one once in Quebec City. It was a revelation. Most Creme Brulee's are Awful. Like cold flan with burnt sugar.

I hate crusty feet. And shitty people. And lima beans.

I miss very little. Except in a few rare instances, then I miss Alot.

I fear the unknown. Since everything is unknown, it's a rotten fear to have.

I hear Anna Nalick's CD Wreck of the Day

I wonder where I will be a year from now.

I regret not having my depression diagnosed a long time ago. And taking the med's. That was a good idea I resisted for far too long.

I am not a shy person, but I am an introvert. I talk more when I am nervous. If that is possible, which it is.

I dance with abandon. I love to dance. I'm not fabulous, but I love it.

I sing also with abandon - constantly. And I'm not bad at this.

I cry more easily than I used to. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I make with my hands Quilts. Beautiful quilts and wool rugs. And words.

I write to keep myself sane and to empty my head. It's a busy place in there.

I confuse my right and my left hand all the time. Don't ask driving directions.

I need a home base from which to be tethered. I can do anything from that home, but I need it in order to refresh my soul.

I should not fight every change so hard. Even the good changes, I fight. It's my nature. It's exhausting.

I start a Ph.D. program in August. I'm terrified. I'm thrilled. It's like I'm being let into a secret club, but I'm not sure I know all the passwords.

I finish what I start. Through sheer stubborn force of will, if necessary. When things go unfinished, it works at me until I finish it. Unfinished things cry out for completion. Some may call that obsessive, I call it tenacity.

A New Blog - Cause Two isn't Enough!!!!

You guys are so inspirational.

It occurred to me how much you ALL love my true wife confessions, so, because I have nothing else to do, I have started a new blog:

True Wife Confessions:

http://truewifeconfessions.blogspot.com/

Here's my idea. I put my first two posts up, but many of you WISH you could add your own, but know that you have people in your life who read your blog, or would be upset if they read your "confessions". Now, my husband NEVER reads my blog(s), so I can be relatively fearless about my own confessions.

In the sanctum of "True Wife Confessions", I will take anything that is emailed to me as a True Wife Confession, compile it once a week (my goal is Friday) and post them. My fingers are crossed that I will get at LEAST ten a week.

All email confessions will be held in strictest confidentiality. For real. May Vlad come and impale me if I divulge. Plus, you read #18 right? You are my girls and the girls get the Iron Curtain.

I am going to work on a new email address for just these:

truewifeconfession@gmail.com

or you can always get me at the balefulregards@gmail.com

Come on ladies, help me pimp my idea to the other women of the world who want to admit all sorts of things. It will make us all feel SOOOO much better.

And yes, this is open to girlfriends, partners, etc, etc, etc.

Let the Confessions Begin!

Added to say: Every thing will remain anonymous. I am going to cut and paste the confessions in a numbered list (like the first two) - no particular order. This way, the confessions will never be traceable to a person. I will also delete the emails after I transfer the info. I got enough of my own shit to cover up, believe me.Folks can either pimp the new blog on their site - or spread via word of mouth. This is meant to be anonymous for you, entirely.