Friday, May 21, 2010

Something I Stole...

After writing my Gemini blog this morning, I came home to find an article about Geminis on the MSN homepage. I thought I would copy and post it, because in many ways it sums me up well.
Versatility is a great keyword for this dual sign. Expressive and quick-witted, the Gemini presents two distinctive sides to his or her personality, and you can never be sure which one you're going to come face-to-face with. On one hand, Gemini can be outgoing, flirtatious, communicative, and ready for fun, fun, fun! Yet when the other twin is present, you can find this Air Sign contemplative, serious, restless, and even indecisive. Both Twins are able to adapt to life's circumstances well, making them wonderful people to know. Things are never boring when a Gemini is on the scene.

Friends and Family
Geminis are social and love spending time with friends and family. There will be times when this outgoing sign will want to go bungee jumping, and there will be times when sitting at home playing cards will suit them. Either way, friends are plentiful. Those who can match the Gemini intellect and love of variety will go the distance. One quality they seek out in others is communication. Gemini loves to talk and gain insight from others. Without a clear flow of talk, Gemini will lose interest pretty quickly. Family is important, especially to those of like mind. Friendship with siblings is quite common for the Gemini, and time spent together is cherished. Meeting responsibilities with family can pose a challenge at times, but almost always, Gemini comes through.

Career and Money
The best-suited careers for a Gemini are those that stimulate the intellect. "I think" is the key phrase for this sign. Geminis are inventive and often literary. It's important that the work they commit themselves to is dynamic and challenging so boredom doesn't set in.

Careers as a teacher, debater, reporter, writer, preacher, or lawyer are all well-suited to this sign. Any platform that gives the Gemini room to talk is best! A sales profession is another excellent choice. You can expect to see many tools for communication around this sign, such as PDAs, laptops, and cell phones. Generating new ideas and problem-solving are other areas where a Gemini will shine.

Deciding between practicality and pleasure can be a tough thing for a Gemini. While money is a necessary evil, most don't spend a lot of time worrying about where their next dollar is coming from. They don't put much thought into balancing their checkbooks, yet they manage to get by just fine. This is largely due to the flexibility Geminis have.

Love and Sex

Fun-loving and always up for an intellectual challenge, the Gemini is a spirited lover. The talk that precedes the interlude is just as important as the actual physical contact for this sign, and when it comes to wit, this sign holds nothing back. Flirtatious and curious, the Gemini must find one that can match their intellect and energy level. The Gemini needs to experience excitement, versatility, and stimulation to feel fully satisfied. Once the perfect match is found, though, a Gemini can settle into a lifestyle for two for the long haul.


Each sign has a part of the anatomy attached to it, making this the area of the body that is most sensitive to stimulation. The anatomical areas for Gemini are the lungs, collarbone, hands, arms, lower back, shoulders, and the nervous system.

Ruling Planet
The ruling planet for Gemini is Mercury. Representing intellectual urges and the avenue of expression, this planet rules reason, rationalization, words, awareness, and communication. Its action is quick, and it deals with travel, speaking, writing, trade, and emotional capacity and technique.

Lucky Numbers
Gemini's lucky numbers are 3 and 7.

Geminis are most compatible with Libra and Aquarius.

Opposite Sign
The opposite sign of Gemini is Sagittarius.

The Perfect Gift
A surprise party, gift certificate to a bookstore, any activity with friends, Scrabble or another intellectual game

Music, magazines, books, music, blogs, chatting with nearly anyone, short trips around town

Repetition and routine, being alone, being confined

Curiosity, ability to share ideas, adaptable, affectionate, kind

Scattering energy in too many places at once, fickle in love, nervous, short attention span

Charismatic marks
Expressive eyes, quick, bright, often small-boned, refined features

The Reality Of It All

Geminis are known for their split personalities. Being a Gemini, I am no exception (much to the chagrin of my husband and a few of my friends). I am very much "what you see is what you get," unfortunately, you just never know what you're going to see or get. I use this in the broadest sense of the definition.

In my last blog, I mentioned how Michael, The Workout God, voiced his concern regarding my gym vs. drinking habits. I've been thinking about this a lot the past couple of days. Michael is one of my oldest and closest friends, he knows me better than nearly everyone else on the planet. Yet this is an excellent example of the confusion of the Gemini personality--Michael has seen me have a glass of wine exactly twice in the eighteen years that I have known him. Once when having dinner at his house, once when he was up visiting me in Richmond. Michael knows that I am somewhat obsessed with being healthy--working out, eating well, managing my diabetes, caring for my body. He knows that I am frequently essentially a single parent because B is always working or at school, and that I am responsible and dependable to a fault. But all the joking and FB statuses and references to happy hour led him to confuse the two of me. How can this be? Am I THAT good at portraying myself as someone else? Does anybody really know ME?

Most people I know cannot tell when I'm being serious and when I am not. They do not know when I am lying and when I am not. They do not know when I am happy or sad or angry. I like it this way. It has been said that being like this makes your life less full, and perhaps this is true, but if it is, it's a fullness I have little interest in obtaining. I enjoy being a force of one. But I can't help but wonder--those few whom I have chosen to enter the circle, do they have a decent grasp of who I am? And why does it sting a little to think they may not?

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Perception Deception

Tonight, I had a telephone conversation with one of my dearest friends, Michael. Michael is a workout fanatic. He has been this way for years, and has the body of a Greek God to show for it. Women fall at his feet, weeping and begging for attention, because he's just so damned good looking. Fortunately, I am immune to Michael's hotness, which means for the past seventeen or eighteen years, we have been able to love one another without our otherworldly hotness getting in the way of our relationship. (Yeah, okay, so I'm not actually as hot as Michael. Not even. But that doesn't stop me from claiming to be, nor telling him that he's actually not all that good looking and should get over himself.)

As usual, our conversation turned to the gym at some point, as the gym makes up a large portion of Michael's life (because he likes to lift) and because I am there quite often myself (because the gym provides childcare and it's the only free time I get some days). After a brief discussion about my extensive cardio pursuits, Michael says, "Well, I hope you aren't binging on alcohol and then doing all that cardio just to burn off the calories."

Dude. Why the fuck else would I be there?

Hey, Michael--do you have my kids? YOU HEARD ME, YO. DO YOU HAVE MY KIDS? No. I think not. Last time I checked, your life consisted of a hell of a lot of peace and solitude and zen. How long has it been since I have had peace, solitude or zen? Hmmmm......let's see.....Bellamy will be seven on June thirteenth, so NEARLY SEVEN FREAKIN' YEARS. I can't even shower in peace, as there is always someone ripping open the curtain saying, "Hey! It's boobies!" or "I spilled my cup of juice in the fridge!" Dinner, with me frequently the only parent available, is high drama ("I don't like shrimp on Mondays!") as is breakfast ("You cooked my oatmeal! I don't like it cooked! I only like it in the microwave!") as is EVERY DAMN MOMENT OF EVERY DAMN DAY. So, hell yeah I drink. We're lucky I'm not also addicted to Oxycontin and Snickers bars, weighing in at four-hundred pounds and with a raging reality tv habit. I eat super healthy, I go constantly to the gym, I manage my diabetes and pay my taxes and make sure my house is clean and my children are safe. Additionally, I know all the words to "My Country 'Tis of Thee" and make regular donations to Goodwill and the Humane Society. I'm square with Jesus. I'm good to go.

If you have to have an organ give out on you, I think the liver is your best bet. I've already got a dead pancreas, so why do I care if I kill off another body part? I don't. And at this point, it's my liver or my sanity, and my sanity is giving my liver the finger, as it holds a dirty martini in the other hand.

And that, my friends, is just how it is.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Roses Are Not Always Red

Today I went rose shopping.

I am not one of those girls who is hung up on roses. In reality, they do not even make my top five favorite flowers (gardenias, hyacinths, tulips, poppies, hydrangeas). However, I wanted something that would bloom for a long time during the summer, and so my step-MIL directed me to a particular variety of rose, named the Knock-Out Rose. So this morning we headed out to the Smithfield Garden Center in order to seek out this Knock-Out Rose.

(This is the point at which you may think that the story will continue with a tale of rose shopping, with two children in tow, choosing from all the colors and varieties of the Knock-Out Rose. You are incorrect. We did purchase a double pink Knock-Out Rose, but that is not what the story is about--bear with me.)

You see, as many of you may know, the color of a rose is important. Different colors mean different things. White=pure love, Red=lust/true love, Yellow=Friendship, Pink=Happiness...there are likely meanings for orange, lavender, etc, although I am not savvy enough to be aware of them. Yellow roses remind me of my Dad--he bought me several when I was young, to plant in my rose garden in the yard, and a gorgeous one of the climbing variety as a housewarming gift when I built my first house. I planted it outside of my bedroom window and loved it completely. When I moved out, it was the only thing I regretted leaving (one might note that I left everything except my dog and some clothes, including my husband, so this is rather telling). When Daddy died, there were several arrangements sent to his service that were nothing but yellow roses. No one sent white. No one sent pink or red. Only yellow. I like to think this was because my Dad was a good friend, although I suspect it had more to do with yellow being the most socially appropriate rose color for a man.

I do not like red roses, though I keep the reason why to myself. I've only received white roses once, in high school, from my long-term boyfriend, because he "wanted to be different." No one has ever sent me pink, which are my favorite.

The point is that you can say a lot of things with nothing more than a color, a simple gesture, something that people seem so often to forget. I saw a bunch of irises today at the supermarket and thought about how lovely it would be for someone to give me one lone iris, just because they knew I loved the color purple. A Post-It that says, "I love you the way you laugh," or "this song reminds me of you because the tune makes me feel happy." The best things cost us nothing at all, except the price of a piece of our thoughts, a sliver of our emotions. These are the things that mean the most.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The Remains of the Day

Lately, life has been busier than usual. Spring soccer started for Sutt, B has been traveling for work and trying to wrap up the end of his semester at school, and Bellamy wants to become legally emancipated and purchase her own home so that she can leave her Barbie Diamond Castle in the middle of the living room indefinitely without losing computer privileges. There hasn't been much time for blogging, and what little time I have had I seem to spend lost in my own thoughts. Therefore, to play catch-up, I present you with a list:


1. Angelic Belly~ One evening, while brushing Belly's hair before bed, she asked me, "Mommy, why do they talk about GOD so much at church? It's all God this and God that ALL THE TIME." Despite being noticeably absent from church myself most of the time, I still felt fairly confident that I could answer this one appropriately and knowledgeably for my six-year-old. So, stroking her soft little brown curls I said gently, "Dude. Church is God's freakin' house. Methodists are ALL ABOUT GOD, that's what they talk about. It's SUPPOSED to be "God this" and "God that," because CHRISTIANS DIG GOD." After a moment of contemplation, Belly sighed deeply before saying, "Well, I wish they'd knock it off for a while with the God talk and just talk about angels. I LIKE ANGELS." I'm still awaiting the lightning strike that will take us both to the angels.

2. Noticing that Sutt had been quiet for approximately two and a half minutes one day (which is two and a half minutes longer than normal), I wandered through the house looking for him. I finally found him in the kids' bathroom. Naked (except for a pair of black dress socks, but that's really irrelevant to the story) and sitting on the floor, legs akimbo, getting up close and personal with his junk. Uncertain as to whether I was going to interrupt some monumental Freudian moment in his life, I hesitated to question him, before my curiosity got the best of me. So I said, "Hey, Sutt. Whatcha doin' there, buddy?" Unfazed by my presence, he continued his examination, saying, "Why don't I have any HAIRS down here? Daddy has HAIRS on HIS boy parts." Fighting the urge to make something up (it's because you don't put your laundry in the hamper! it's because you won't eat zucchini!), I gave him a brief but apparently satisfactory lesson in adolescent development. He is currently at least temporarily appeased with his lack of pubic hair.

3. On a particularly lovely spring afternoon a week or so ago, I needed to run to the library and pick up a book that was being held for me. Because I felt as if I had been neglecting my poor somewhat geriatric Yorkie, Mad Madame Mimipants, that day, I offered to let her ride along with me, a huge treat in Yorkieland. En route, she hung her head out the window, let her ears blow back, and all was right with her world for the whole three-minute ride. Arriving at the library, I told her to stay put, made sure the windows were rolled down halfway, and dashed into the library. I was gone for three minutes. No exaggeration. Three fucking minutes. When I got back, I pulled open my door only to discover that my seat was full of dog shit, and Mimi was nowhere to be found. Taking a quick moment for a creative swearing tirade, I looked the car over and found Mimi cowering in the very back of the Xterra. I scavenged up some dried up baby wipes, cleaned up the mess, and took the car home to scrub the upholstery. Now, Mimi had just gone outside. But Mimi, she is a crafty one. She is not the sharpest tool in the shed (you may remember mention from a former blog about how it took her two years to learn how to sit), but she knows revenge like the back of her paw. And that bathroom break on the driver's seat, that was all revenge. Mimi does not like being left in the car.

4. I got my nostril pierced by a man named Bones who told me he was going to make it hurt, because "if it doesn't hurt, it doesn't count." Yeah, okay. I'll agree with that.

5. Yesterday, while waiting on Belly's bus to bring her home after school, I wandered up to my neighbor's house. Betty, my neighbor, is a curvaceous black woman with an attitude the size of Texas. I love her. For some reason, however, Betty was in a mood, and kept trying to wrestle me. (Yes, you heard me right. WRESTLE.) I was having none of this, however, as I do not wrestle other women, unless we are liquored up and in a kiddie pool filled with Jell-O. Politely inching away from Betty, I started making my way down the sidewalk back to my house. One minute I'm walking, the next minute, I'm flying through the air in a crumpled wad, then rolling down a hill towards the pond (which is, coincidentally, known for its poisonous snake population). Alas, it wasn't Betty pile-driving me. It was Chloe, the special needs kid next door, fresh from the handicapped bus who had mounted her bicycle and decided to fucking mow me over in an attempt to get to me as quickly as possible so she could get a hug (and perhaps, a Popsicle). I have a bruise on my leg you would not believe.

And THAT, my friends, is pretty much what you've missed as of late. I'll try to stay more on top of things in the future.