How Many Topics?

There are sooooooo many things I could tear to pieces here today. There's soooooo many fascinating topics flyin' about today, it would be noooooo problem for me to grab one and rip it to a million wordy pieces.

Fundamentalism. Who's teaching which kids what. Appropriate knowledge for an eleven-year-old. Cousin-fu#king. Self-esteem. Looks vs. Brains. Moral character & values. Lying about your age on MySp@ce. HoMeSkOoLiNg. Sanctity of marriage. Respect for one another.

What constitutes "Psycho" and how does that relate to quality parenting?

What's the nicest way to say "Oh My Gawd, You're A Psycho And You Married A Psycho From A Family Of Psycho's Who Shouldn't Be Responsible For Children In Any Form Or Fashion!!!"?

Alas, I do know the story behind the term "Dooce," and I know that bloggin' about it can cause some crazy shit amongst families too...

For now, I ain't touchin' it.

Just be ready, 'cause if the shit gets any deeper, I'll type 'til I'm tired.

In the meantime, if it seems like I'm giggling for no reason, it's probably related to that scene in "Coal Miner's Daughter" where Sissy Spacek says "I caint read this book, it ain't got no pichers in it!" It could also possibly be a scene involving "Cletus The Slack-Jawed Yokel" (from The Simpsons) taking certain liberties with her skull, which is disturbing and sad, but still kinda funny in a sick, disturbed, sad way.

More later... _\,,/

In The Midst Of A Milestone...

No, Silly, not a Mill Stone, a Milestone.

I say "in the midst" because I tend to think of it in terms of the entire week instead of this date and that date. I guess I threw in the "Mill Stone" reference because I've been stressed-out these last few weeks while it's seemed like everything came at me at once. I'm calming down a bit now, thankfully, and instead of putting all my effort into keeping myself from coming unlaced, I can come back to putting a little effort into updates... I think.

Anyhow...

This week makes two years.

Two years ago last night, several things were different around here. Tulsa Speedway was still open and I was still racing close to home, very close to home. The big black race trailer was still relatively new and only in it's second or third week of haulin' The Twenty. The Twenty-Bago Idea hadn't even really been mentioned as an idea yet. TwentyCarlo.com and my MySpace Account had yet to come about, and I was still venting my feelings into a little black notebook instead of a blog. I was just a few weeks past my 10-year highschool reunion, and just a few months past the first time I'd ever ditched a guy because he sucked the life outta me (as in not because I met somebody else, I know that's kinda "ewww," but I'm bein' truthful here).

Two years ago, I was (finally) at that point where I'd learned that I didn't have to put up with a bunch of crap just because being "with" somebody was better than being by myself. Don't get me wrong, I'd put up with some crap, but I'd finally got to where I'd had enough, and then it was about like that "redneck divorce" joke; "Get out of my truck!" I hate to think "that guy who thought his shit didn't stink" got mentioned in two posts in a row, but here he is again. It was amazingly liberating to think that I, the girl who usually gets dumped, had been the one who decided being by myself would really beat the hell out of being with someone who was that hard to deal with.

Two years ago, I was by myself and it didn't bother me. Let me rephrase that, I was by myself, and it was good. Nobody was talkin' down to me about piddly bullshit, nobody was questioning my Christianity because I bought "Bad Santa" on DVD, nobody was bitchin' about my driving, nobody was askin' me what I was doin' or who I was talkin' to, nobody was tossin' their keys across the top of my car, nobody was lookin' down his nose at me and callin' me or any of my friends "fat," nobody was askin' me to loan 'em money for dog food, nobody was expecting me to "be polite" around his "mom" and her dog that I'd just hauled in food for, even though I hated the damn thing. Seriously, it was evil, they'd even named it "Memnoch." Oh shit, now I'm going to turn up in Go0gle Searches for "Memnoch."

Two years ago, I was amazingly comfortable with singleness; for the first time I could ever remember, I wasn't constantly on the prowl and wishing I wasn't by myself. I was gonna have my fun for the sake of my fun and I wasn't worried about anybody else. I was appreciating the fact that I could go where I wanted, do what I wanted and talk to whoever I wanted for as long as I wanted; at the races and just about everywhere else too. I was far, far away from being the girlfriend of the guy who bared his teeth and snarled at anyone else who tried to talk to me -- including track officials, my friend Donnie, and Craig, and even Craig's Dad. I was also quite happy to be far, far away from being the girlfriend of the guy who wouldn't come to the races, but would call my cell phone on race nights and say "What'cha doin'?" I was havin' my fun wherever it came from; hangin' with my friends, flirtin' with whoever, and not worryin' about it. Sometimes I'd spend time with an old boyfriend, even if it was a lot like harassing Sasquatch. I had my eye on a few interesting prospects, but I wasn't putting forth as much effort as I might have in the past; which was good, because sometimes spending time with those guys was like tossin' a football to a guy with no arms -- you can throw it all ya want, but he's not gonna catch the ball, and he's not gonna throw it back.

Two years ago last night, I was just hangin' out with my buddies after the races with nothin' goin' on...

And then Clay came along...

Clay came along and nothin's been the same since. It's been a fascinating two years with amazing Clay who knows all the right ways to make me feel like I'm the best thing ever. Amazing Clay who can drive me crazy without trying. Amazing Clay who knows he'd better not toss his keys or anything else across the top of my car. Amazing Clay who loves the races as much as I do, and even sprays "Shout" on my grubby racin' clothes. Incredible Clay who eats what I cook, picks up after me, fits in with my friends, lets me drive his hotrod while he's outta town, and doesn't just bitch-bitch-bitch all the time. Amazing Clay who doesn't mind helping carry armloads of yarn to the front of Hobby Lobby, and doesn't mind pushing the shoppin' basket, even if it's got "all that girly stuff" in it, and doesn't care that I leave tons of hair in the shower every time. Sweet Clay who wouldn't leave town on Valentine's Day without me. Sweet Clay who politely listens to my stupid ol' stories, laughs at my dumb jokes, and lets me fall asleep with his arm around me...

Happy "Anniversary," Baby!

_\,,/

Who's With Whom?

Yesterday, I was (once again) checkin' out a pattern for a very interesting top, and fascinated as I am with the sweater, I still wonder if my knitting skills are up to it, and I also wonder if it would knit up to be something I could actually wear. That's why I've been reading and re-reading the pattern but haven't took a shot at knitting it yet.

In my surfing, I clicked on over to the designer's blog (http://fathomharvill.typepad.com/fathom/), and found this fascinating little paragraph:



Geez, does it get any more true than that? If anybody ever hit a nail right on the head, she did it with that paragraph right there! I can't think of too many things more irritating than those guys who think they're better than everybody, those guys with the "my-shit-don't-stink" attitude, literally and figuratively. I always giggle when I hear people use that phrase, 'cause hey, I dated that guy a few years back, he seriously believed his shit didn't stink, and proceeded to bitch about his ex who stunk up the bathroom all the time. He didn't last long with me -- between my genetic predisposition for layin' logs and the fact that I ain't afraid to tell ya, shit stinks like shit, there just wasn't much comfort to be had between the two of us. I hope I'm not the first to tell ya this, but cake smells like cake, flowers smell like flowers, and shit smells like shit; just spray some air freshener and get over it.

I can't say enough about how nice it is to be done with those guys. It's great to be with someone I can see eye-to-eye with; I ain't sayin' we agree on every little thing, but we're on the same page an overwhelming majority of the time. I have no doubt that each of us sees the other as an equal; even though each of us has skills in different areas. Each of us has understanding of concepts foreign to the other; but niether of us looks down on the other, and I doubt that either of us would ever see any concept as "beyond" the other.

That's why I was so stunned to hear that I was being seen as "The Stupid One" Wednesday afternoon, not once, but twice. Mind you, it wasn't completely specific, but in referring to Clay as "the smart one in this relationship," it implies that there's a not-so-smart one, doesn't it? I can be totally comfortable with being the one who can hand-code html but is not good at math, and I am the one who replaced the faucets in both bathrooms. I have no problem with the fact that Clay's the one who changed the clutch in the S-10 and Clay's the one who climbs the ladder when somebody's gotta get in the attic. He's the one who cleans the birdcages, I'm the one who cleans the catbox. Niether of us is The Stupid One, and niether of us is The Smart One.

It's that comfort, that security of being happy in this relationship that kept me from getting too mad at someone I'd just met who indirectly referred to me as the stupid one. It's knowing that Clay doesn't see it that way that kept me from having a fit and storming away pissed off. The time I have with Clay is so much more important that how anyone else sees the situation -- and believe me, I know the difference, I know what it's like to get mad and not care enough to stick around, I know what it's like to not give a damn and just get in the car and leave. It's not like that now...

I am happy & comfy, I'm not worried about "where it's going," I know that whatever happens, happens; and it'll happen when it's time for it to happen, and nobody else has any say in how that timing works. That comment about "the smart one in this relationship" was in regards to us not being married yet. Hell, I read "Dear Abby," I know that the next thing people will bug us about is havin' kids, and trust me, that ain't happenin', it's just not.

I guess it's my age-old "third time lucky" theory, much like "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice," (gawd, I just made a reference to a crummy 80's movie) if he'd managed to bring it up a third time, I might not have been able to stay quiet. After all, it was the third dare that won me a gob of beads at that last ch!l! b0wl before I met Clay.

The more I think about it, the more I wish I'd engaged him in a little deeper, more serious conversation. If a husband who's also a dad of four meets a couple in their second year of dating and sees that guy as "the smart one" for not being married yet, what's that say? What's that say about how he feels about his own situation? Can those four kids sense that he feels this way? Has their Mommy figured it out?

It hurts me to think of how many people see relationships like a trap, and how they seem to seek to spread that vision to others. It hurts me to think of kids growing up in homes like that...

And it makes me thankful for my own situation, where nobody's the dumb one.

More later... _\,,/

Five Years Ago.

In the words of Meatloaf:

I Remember Everything;
I Remember Every Little Thing
As If It Happened Only Yesterday...

In 2002, the Eighth of May was a Wednesday when I discovered that the exhaust on my ol' black Pure Stock had been sawed off without much thought being put in as to where the ends ended up -- blowin' out right where they'd cook the floor under my feet. Stuff like that happened a lot back then; I had a hard time convincing Dave (and his crew) to take a minute and think things through first because he was always in a rush to do-do-do-get-it-done-now-now-now 'cause thinkin' about it first would take too much time -- and I had no idea how short that time was.

A little irritated, but calm because I knew to expect such things, I hopped in the truck to run down to the ol' race car barn (eh, storage unit) to grab the other set of manifolds & pipes we'd stashed away for later. Knowing full well that it would probably be the start of a shitstorm, I was as calm & careful as I could be, I parked the truck and walked right in there where Dave was workin' on the Outlaw Stock for his kid and picked up my manifolds so My Dad & My Brothers could attempt to fix what he'd done the night before.

The near-argument that followed didn't last as long as some had in the past; mainly because it wasn't closing time yet and I had to get back to the shop. Over the years, I've learned that when I'm agitated, I can only hold back and be calm for a certain amount of time; from there it edges over into crazy-ranting and then it's only a short slip into out-of-control-crying-like-a-little-bitch, ie, the part I don't really like to let people see.

I was reasonably agitated when I left... I vividly remember feeling myself slip over that edge as I was driving around the back side of the building to leave. Vividly. "Seven Bridges Road" was on the radio (it still seems rare for Tulsa radio), but it didn't seem to slow me down much -- I was just rowin' gears and tryin' to figure out where to try to go hide before I lost my composure completely. The harder I tried not to be mad, the madder I got. That sky-blue '98 F-250 had to take a lot of my wrath that summer; between my temper and the 5.4, I have no idea how that clutch ever survived. More on the magic of sellin' cars in a small town: I still see that truck runnin' around here; same guy who bought it later that year is still drivin' it right now.

I took the manifolds back to the shop and laid 'em down beside the car to make a break for the bathroom as quick as I could, and then finished out the day wondering if he'd come by when he headed home. I remember him standin' in the doorway askin' if I was still mad, and I remember thinkin' that I hadn't started out mad 'cause I'd seen it all comin' the night before and he was the one who'd blew up all mad 'cause I didn't want to leave the short pipes on there; but I didn't tell him that.

I remember standin' there in the cool sunshine between the wrecker and the North door talking; I told him that I couldn't see any reason to be all mad about it; he wanted things his way and I wanted things my way, so we're not so different, see? We're a lot alike and it can't be so bad for you to let me have a little say in some stuff, huh? And I finally got the feeling he understood me; he was so sweet and so calm and I just felt like I'd finally got my point across and everything got a little easier just like that. When he asked if I was comin' home with him that night, all I could think about was wanting to be close to him and wanting to get all I could get of basking in the new-found calm between us.

Curled up on the couch watchin' TV with my head in his lap, I really felt like we'd turned a corner and were headed in the right direction. I even talked to his mom on the phone that night, chattin' about gettin' ready for the wedding; and he had calls from both kids that night too. We just had a real nice evening; I met him in the doorway headed for the shower as he was gettin' out and kissed me soakin' wet; and he was waitin' up for me when I got out of the shower, his arm was stretched out across my pillow. I remember waking up cold in the middle of the night and snuggling up to him, pressing my back to his and feeling his warmth all through me...

The next morning in the glow of the sunshine streaming through the window, he woke me up to tell me he was headin' off to work. He leaned down to kiss me and he stayed just a bit instead of hurrying like he usually did. I've never been a "morning person," but looking into his eyes that day, I felt like I was right where I wanted to be and I could go right out and conquer anything. As he left, I rolled over onto his pillow and listened to the creaks and rattles as he eased the ol' six-cylinder down the hill toward the gate; and then I took my time getting up and going to work, not worried about a thing.

Looking back, I still wonder if I might have blocked out the idea that there might be somethin' about to happen.

--

Tomorrow, I think I'll go to the park, sit and write a while, and see what comes out... Maybe I'll publish that too...

More later. _\,,/

Superficial sends a Postcard; Real sends a Letter...

Y'all know how I love PostSecret, right?

Well, this one really caught my eye:



Dear PostCardExBoyfriend:

It's okay, I'm fine, don't worry about me. I met someone, a man, not a junior-high boy, and he cares about me enough to love me for who I am, not what I look like. He's a great guy who's mature enough to know that dumping a girl because of what his buddies say is not the right thing to do -- and his friends respect him enough to understand that who he dates is none of their damn business.

You'll be fine too, I'm sure it won't be long before you find a nice thin girl that your friends approve of; but don't be surprised if she doesn't like your friends and tries to make you stay away from them so that she can choose your friends for you. Hell, one of your friends might even have a nice Barbie-lookin' girl in mind for you; probably some skank he's already been bangin'.

Go on, have your fun, enjoy that thin girl, 'cause hey, it's all about makin' your friends happy with your choices. She might be irritating, scared of your car, hate your taste in music and never ever get along with your family, but as long as your friends think she's cute, I guess that's good enough. She may not ever cook you any food that's fit to eat, and her little dog will probaby jump out of her purse and piss on your couch, but as long as she's not "a fat girl," I'm sure that'll be alright, won't it? She might not really care about you at all, and she may have three or four bastard kids that'll tear up your baseball cards and wreck all your model cars and shove a peanut butter sandwich into your VCR, but as long as she looks good in her short shorts, that'll be no problem, huh? She may want to move in with you after a couple dates and bring her Mom to live with ya'll too, and then she might have shitty credit and want you to put her name on your checking account just so she can drain it like she did the last several guys she was with. Sure, she's tiny & cute, but If you broke your leg tonight, could she get your ass into the truck to take you to the emergency room?

If she irritates the hell out of you but you let her stick around 'cause she's that girl that your friends like, are you really doing something to make yourself happy? If you can't stand her, then what are you really getting out of that situation, besides the risk of diseases?

True Friends will try to keep each other away from those lifesucking relationships, but some people never seem to learn.

If your friends don't respect you enough to shut their mouths about what your girl looks like, are they really the best choice for friends? I'll let you make the call on that one.

If you're not mature enough to let your own feelings dictate your relationships, are you really the best choice for me? No. If you're not willing to stand up for me and tell your friends to look into my eyes instead of at my ass, are you really the best choice for me? No.

If you're willing to dump me just because of what your friends say, were you ever really in love with me? No.

If you're willing to dump me because of what your friends say, have I really lost anything here? No.

Thanks so much for letting me see the real you before I got in too deep...

Best Wishes;
The Fat Girl.

PS: It's not that I hate all the "Thin Girls," some of 'em have beautiful hearts, but you'll never get to see real beauty if you don't learn to look for it... I didn't write a letter attacking "Thin Girls," I wrote a letter attacking your superficiality.





Love is about what you feel when you look into someone's eyes; and that's all I know to say about that...

More later... _\,,/