Sugared Harpy

This morning Christine reminded me of our night at the Dresden Doll’s concert…and about Gravity Plays Favorites.

They are phenomenal. With real woman bodies and sexy moves that make this girl drool (I think at the show I audibly gasped about every five seconds, with my little hands clasped at my heaving bosom), Katrina and Michelle are gorgeous and so in control. Hot, strong women. Pant. Drool.

They performed to several songs, but for a lot of us, “I’m Afraid of Americans” by David Bowie and Nine Inch Nails stuck out as perfect to move hips and waists to. Christine emailed this morning about what the hell song this was that was stuck in her head, I knew exactly which one she meant and my dear sister knew the title…another piece of hotness for you. David + Trent + Katrina + Michelle? Oh my god, delicious.

Now that you are all hot and bothered, enjoy your day.

Bought: Dresden Dolls debut cd.

It hasn’t arrived yet but I can’t wait. I can’t fucking wait for it. I didn’t buy the newest one because this one has “Missed Me” and “Coin-Operated Boy” on it. For Anne’s birthday we all went to the Dresden Dolls concert at the Pageant (with Gravity Plays Favorites, oh my my). They were amazing. Awesome. Loved them. I can’t wait.

Bought: Fat order from Sock Dreams.

I bought the lovely top-striped over the knees (OTKs): in Lavender. They are delicious.

I bought the O Chevrons: in Charcoal. These are truly thigh highs on me and are super comfortable.

I bought the Sock It To Me Argyles: in White/Grey. These are lovely and soft and will go over my knees easily but when I’m walking around will sit perfectly just under my knee.

And lastly, I bought the O Basics: in Dark Brown. Another really soft pair that stay up perfectly. These also go over my knees but sit nicely right under them.

I’m working on my second order right now…my last year’s addiction has been renewed.

What are you buying up right now?

I often feel like everywoman and sometimes like no woman I know. I am aware that the goings on inside my head are not unusual, not atypical, not unique since this is a girl who studies art and history for a living. I see things in pictures that tell me, oy, the human condition is complex and I am nothing if not flawed and human.

It’s nice to feel yourself in another’s work, it’s comforting. That overwhelming sadness, passion, hurt, sexiness, playfulness, love, hate, and fear that I see in art fills me with the feeling of “me too.” This is why I do what I do. Bosch fascinates me, tickles my fancy. Gentileschi scares me, rocks my very being. Fragonard makes me giggle.

I know my life isn’t inherently different than yours. In that regard, I also think many of us squish those feelings, beliefs, and experiences down into our bellies, keeping them to ourselves.

At least, I seem to.

And now, when so much of my life is plastered on the tongues of friends and family, I find myself on the end of something new. The human condition that I am so used to seeing in the creations of artists has come off the canvas, the weirdness and warts included, and is now out in the open. And everyone is suddenly worried about me. I’m now relegated to the ranks of those mildly off their rocker. But dudes, I’m fine. I’m just not being as quiet as I normally am, I’m not denying my feelings and my actions, I’m not pretending I’m not here.

I’m okay.

I am okay.

So far. Mostly.

You been fully captivated by that funky ass bass…

I’m ordering DSL tomorrow for my mama’s house. Because dear god, I think I’m actually bleeding internally from waiting, waiting, waiting.

I say, “Go here, Internets!” It gives me: blink. blink blink. ???

I say, “Go forth! Tally Ho!” It rolls over and whines.

I say, “Motherfuckermoveitohmygodwhatinthedevilsnameiswrongwithyou!” It just gives a sigh and dies.

Then, in the bleary moment of death, the angel of Internet mercy shines upon me and a ha! The beginnings of a webpage! Without images! Or wallpapers! My own site looks like ass!

More waiting.

Finally after god knows how long, the whole thing appears and guess what? No new comments and now I want to visit your blogs…and a little piece of me dies each time I tell the browser, “Go here, Internets…please please please?”

Choke kill maim CRY.

In other news, my mother’s boyfriend is also here. Sitting in the kitchen table, whilst my mother makes him French Toast and coffee at one in the afternoon*. He gives off a loud grunt and sigh about every 30 seconds. I may just choke him instead.

*Oh wait, I just got French Toast too. Score!

There has been twittering around town about my martial problems and this blog. Okay, so the twittering is basically coming from inside my house, from my spouse, but whatever.

I feel pressured to tell you all, I am probably not worthy of the kindness you have shown me.

I am a bad wife. My marital problems can be laid at the feet of both of us and a need for privacy dictates why the entire story will not be on the business end of the “Publish” button. Yet the reason as to why our problems are being discussed right now is squarely my fault. Yes, I suck. There’s your truthiness for the day, as much as I can give in this very public forum.

But.

But. But.

But this is MY motherfucking blog and I’m telling my side, my feelings, my end of things. As much as my marriage sucking right now is my fault, it doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it. It doesn’t mean I am not human.

If a less-Melissa-sympathetic stance is needed, go HERE.

Last night, I moved back to my mom’s. I’m sure the moment I walked in the door, my grandmother sat straight up in bed, elbowed my papa in the ribs and said, “Melissa just moved back home, right this very minute.”

I not so much moved back as I took an overnight bag and two kids, stayed twelve hours and came home.

We are yes, moving in with my mother but partially living at our home due to work/school issues. Two nights a week we’re just sleeping at our normal house with Mike, it’s easier on the kids because of the next morning and it is hopefully good for talking and reconnecting. We hope it will help anyway. That, and therapy. I hate therapists. Please tell me you’re not all therapists.

Tonight, we’ll be home again and then Thursday we’ll attempt to get the ball moving by hauling crap over there and buying a big girl bed for me. Don’t tell me if living partially at our house is a bad idea, because I’m really just going to stick my fingers in my ears and recite Dante until you cry.

An unexpected feature of moving back home is that apparently, my mom lives with her boyfriend most of the time, the super creepy one, which means I just landed myself a lovely three-bedroom house free and clear a lot of nights. Score. This is most fabulous but when you pull into someone else’s garage and they aren’t home, even if you grew up in that house, it still feels weird.

With no grande dame around, the boys and I immediately set about cluttering up her clean home. There were towels strewn around (which I washed, dried, and folded by this morning), dishes dirtied (washed and put away), clothes thrown carelessly willy-nilly (removed from the floor), and beds all asunder (made).

When all was said and done, I realized that I do not know how to hook up my laptop with her dial-up internet access. That’s right, mom has dial-up.

It hurt, people. It hurt.

I’m calling for high speed installed over there. I can’t handle this “unhooked, better off, peace and quiet” thing. I do much of my work online when I’m not teaching and no, I’m not doing it on dial-up. I’m an art historian, there are IMAGES to be uploaded. Whine. Bitch. Moan.

My kids go to school out here still and I’m driving them the fifteen minutes to school anyway, I figured that I may as well just cozy up to my laptop at my house and purr at it like the tech junkie that I didn’t know I was.

Hello, cable modem. Hello, wordpress dashboard. Hello, blogroll…

I never expected this. A thousand times I’ve expected this.

But either way, here we are.

The boys and I are moving back to my mama’s house.

My mother is insane, fun, difficult to explain, loves questionable men (and not in the fun way), drinks her dinner every night, and loves the absolute hell out of me and the children.

It’s going to be interesting being in the same house again with the woman who not only notices that you lit a match at 7am, but who then screams at 6pm, “What the hell is burning?!”

It’s going to be interesting being in the same house again with the woman who vacuums the house before dawn to Prince blaring on the loudspeakers.

It’s going to be interesting being in the same house again, a house kept so cold frost has formed on the inside, in Lindy’s old room now painted bubbly pink, with my grandmother staring through the bricks into my soul.

And, I’m going to miss my husband so very very much.

A new Art of Motherhood is up.

Now, yes, we’re having serious problems. Like every marriage, these problems aren’t new but have been brought to the forefront and we have no choice but to deal with them full-force right now.

Love Margaret Cho. Love her. Love her for being the shiny spot in another suck ass day.

First things first. Thank you. Each and every comment and email has been read, cried over, and loved. I will get back to you, but I just have to thank you now. Thank you.

I have a new cell phone.

Which means that I had to haul my ass to the Sprint store and stare at the gallery of phones. And learn just how old I am. Because I had no idea…no idea that people liked so much shit on their phones. I want a phone. That travels with me. Period. I will not text you, email you, take your picture, or watch your video. Just, you know, let me call you sometimes.

I also learned that the makers of cell phones are thinking about you. By you, I mean you ladies.

Am I the only one who does not need a phone that reminds me of my uterus? Did the Sprint/Sanyo people really think that all you need is a girlie pink phone and we would swoon? Ohh! So ovary like! It reminds me of my insides! Ohmygod! I bet it looks like the inside of my boyfriend too!*

Really?

Several phones came in pink or had jangly ugly jewels you can hang on your phone or dear god, stick-on rhinestones. Is this all there is?

I hope not.

Because I’m bored.

*If you want a quickie on gender and color, see HERE. I have no idea how valid it is but it follows along with what I’ve always learned. My new phone is blue. I’m so 19th century.