Barbie's Feet

This morning I woke up early, got out of bed, had a shower, made coffee, washed a few dishes and now I’m sitting here comfortable in a nightgown, thick socks and housecoat while my hair dries. Barbie can’t do most of that. Why, you may wonder. We all know about her figure problems. But, have you considered her feet?

I wrote this for the Feminist’s in Make up community at BackWash. I’m not sure if anyone read it. So I’m sticking it here, cause I kind of liked it. Nothing fancy, just one of those ideas you get as you’re doing something else.

My old Barbie clone, the Barbie’s I see at the stores and the really old Barbie I used to have, spend their lives on tip toes. The feet are made to fit high heels. How does the woman ever feel comfortable in snuggly socks? How does she ever play sports?

I know they make a horse for her to ride, how does she do that in heels? Driving in heels isn’t as easy as driving in flat shoes either. Is it ok for Barbie to be a dangerous driver just for fashion or whatever reason women wear shoes that wreck their feet?

Mostly though, Barbie can’t just get out of bed and walk around barefoot until she finds her comfy socks. She can’t wander around her home, half awake, in the dark. You try doing that on tip toes! Stub a toe and you won’t get too far. She can’t enjoy feeling comfortable. It’s not fair. The poor girl will never get to first base if she can’t wear the right shoes for running around the bases.

Little Things

I like the little things. Like when he held my hand as we walked to wherever we were going. I liked when he offered (insisted) on carrying the watermelon in from the car. I liked lying in bed together. That time between conversation, reading or playing was sometimes better than doing anything else in bed.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever have that again. When I think about having a relationship I just don’t know if I could be that trusting again. Not in someone else but my own judgment of someone else. I picked wrong when I was so sure I was picking right. I picked wrong. All the nice little things drained away. I was left like the dregs, the clog in the drain.

What I feel doesn’t really matter, it doesn’t matter about finding a word to label it. I do want to try again, with someone else. It’s a matter of picking again.

I think about the little things. I think if I just pay attention to the little things I’ll know him. But, all the little things were misleading last time. They lead me into a hole I don’t want to have to claw my way out of again.

So, logically, you move onto the big things. I ignored the big things last time cause all the little things were lined up in a row so nicely. But, the big things do matter. Next time I won’t make excuses for them, under rate them or over ride them. Next time, if I can get that far, I won’t wear blinders or act soft hearted. Next time, I won’t walk into a brick wall at the end of the rainbow, right?

That much closer to 'over the hill'

Soon I’ll be 39. How does stuff like this keep happening to a nice girl like me? Isn’t 38 old enough? Someone should really put their foot down and stop this whole getting old thing. It’s a really bad habit.

Ok, back to reality. Thought I couldn’t find it, eh? Fooled you.

It still hurts to laugh. Have you ever puked so hard and so deeply that your rib area is sore two days later? I was not drinking and having a hangover. I woke up with what I’ve been calling asthma headaches and soon after I was puking over the bathroom sink. Couldn’t even keep the Tylenol I’d taken for the headache. After trying to distract myself with mindless cartoons on television I finally went back to bed. Donating the last of my stomach lining to the kitchen sink first. I’m sparing you more details but I had a shower to clean myself up after the first round. Aren’t you so glad you’re reading this now? Doesn’t this sound like some old lady talking about her hairy toes, her gout and her arthritis?

I don’t want to be old. People still say I look like I’m in my 20’s. I laugh. Then I laugh some more. Well, not today cause it hurts too much to laugh.

On December 19th, 2003, I’ll become 39. I’m trying to let it sink in a bit at a time now. Like getting tiny amounts of whatever you’re allergic to in order to become immune to it. Like poison. I’m not ready to be old. I’m not ready to be looking 40 in the eyeballs. How can I be this close to 40 already?!! I haven’t done even half the things a woman my age is supposed to have done. Instead I was lolly gagging around. I wasted time being afraid and intimidated, roiling in self doubt. I’m still roiling in self doubt, it keeps me imprisoned inside myself. Everything comes out in the words as I type them. Nothing comes from my eyes, my hands, or my mouth. People see me everyday and know nothing about me. People think they know me when they read what I write but they only know the bare minimalist details. How could they know more? I don’t even know it all yet. I never will, there’s just too much inside to sort it all out and find out where it came from, how it works and what the heck it wants from me.

Do you ever think there are aliens directing you? When I’m writing I sometimes feel like it’s someone else’s brain dictating to my fingers. My fingers just keep typing without caring what my eyes think as they see it all appear on the page in front of me. Kind of like a horror story where you lost all control and can only watch while strange and sometimes dreadful things happen.

Is that bloggish enough? Blogs are so full of dramatic poetry. It’s one of their attractions. To see someone else spin away on some tangent and maybe never quite make sense or even really care to.

So, I’m still here. Still going to turn 39 in just mere weeks. Life isn’t fair. I’m not ready to be one of those older women I used to watch when I was 16.

Cricket Sucking

I was going to write but I think I’d rather play a game until I have to go to bed. Working in the morning and Mom wants to make a big Sunday breakfast.

I sucked up a cricket tonight. It was chirping madly all night last night, it resisted all my efforts to trap it in a coffee cup and then let it free outside. So, tonight out of desperation I have sucked it up with the vacuum. Poor cricket, but it was in the wrong place and had used up all his lives. Do crickets get more than one?

Crossed the Border

Crossed the Border
12/12/00 11:50 am

Here I am, sitting in front of my poor email clogged computer in Illinois. Todd is off to work. My brother and I are supposed to meet him for lunch so we can pick up the marriage license. No sign of Graham so far. But after two solid days of driving he is likely sleeping late. I would have gone back to bed too but I have too much to do. Of course, that isn’t stopping me from putting most of it off. 🙂

The border crossing was not a problem. No one looked at my list of stuff and we had the back of the truck well packed with stuff. I crossed at the Detroit tunnel and was stamped without having to ask for it. I think the only thing I was asked was just a confirmation of Todd’s name and our address here.

In the interview at the consulate they didn’t care that Todd didn’t have 3+ years of taxes done. I brought it up when they were collecting the papers and I said we did have the letter from his employer and his bank. The man collecting the papers read the letters and commented that they really like him at work. They do. 🙂 Maybe my bringing it up first was good or maybe having the two letters was more important.

Nothing else about the crossing over stands out in my mind. The customs person in the booth said Graham, my brother, should not go in with me. But the ladies in the parking area sent him in with me. Then inside we just happened to hit on the change of guards and we had the same man we met in the booth when we pulled up. We crossed just before 4 in the afternoon on Sunday.

The wedding is planned for the 14th. Less than a week before my birthday which is one week before Christmas. Its going to be a full month.

Read more of these old posts – Our Adventures with the Fiancé Visa (2000 – 2002)