lampie

not_hothead_yet


life with talking trees

"I do not intend to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death."


announcement
blue hair is my normal
not_hothead_yet
it's been a long time so I cleaned up my friends list. If I took you off and you think I shouldn't have, then comment here. I probably took you off because I didn't recognize your username and I think we don't actually know each other.

Food I make: Cali-Jack dip
Yeah I can be cute
not_hothead_yet
(all amounts are aproximate: adjust according to taste)

1/2 cup of sour cream
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1/4 teaspoon of onion powder
dash of black pepper
three drops of smoke flavor
three tablespoons of salsa
2oz finely shredded Monterrey Jack cheese

mixture will be slightly runny but blend well (to smash the jack cheese a bit)
refridgerate
mixture will solidify

use with fritos or corn chips

If you let this chill for a while, stir it once or so, then chill a bit more, you will be surprised how yummy this is.


OM NOM NOM

yeah just no
lampie
not_hothead_yet
I keep an LJ alive and running because I want to keep up with my friends and post more private kind of things. I have a Facebook to feel a more general connection to my wider circles.

If you decide people are automatically racist because they have posted something in sympathy with Paris but not (to your knowledge) on the super-long list of other human rights fails (that you decided were important) then you can just stay out of my circle. My feelings and thoughts MIGHT be reflected by what I put up here or on Facebook, but they might not. You don't get to brand me any-damned thing just because I don't follow your chosen protocol of concern. Bye.

Open Letter to Plenty of Fish
lampie
not_hothead_yet
FUCK YOU.

I didn't do ANYTHING against your TOS nor did I offend anyone. I used no curse words, I did not say anything suggestive or even mildly sexy. My pictures were all of me and there is no nudity (I don't even OWN any nude pics of myself) I was in pleasant contact with three different people which was nice bcause I'd only been an upgraded member for two days. I didnt' even have TIME to do anything horrible.

EVEN if I had, how the fuck can you justify banning people who PAID YOU FOR MONTHS IN ADVANCE without warning or notification or anything??

And from what I've read, you NEVER answer emails.

SO FUCK YOU

I PAID YOU EIGHTY DOLLARS for EIGHT MONTHS of service. You broke that agreement. So tomorrow I'm going to the bank and I'm reversing the charges. My bank (which is a credit union) will actually open an investigation and you'll have to tell them why you decided to break the contract YOU agreed to.

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU and FUCK YOU AGAIN

I have never been so angry at a website before in my life.

Mama Terror Moment
lampie
not_hothead_yet
I had it with Lil Miss.

We were settling in after school and she was at her computer playing MineCraft. I told her I was taking a shower.
While I was in the shower, she came into the bathroom and asked me if I would go with her to the store after my shower. I said "yes, we will go to the store after my shower is done."
I got out of the shower, put my clothes on and walked out of the bedroom. No Lil Miss. I went downstairs yelling for her, thinking maybe she went into her old room and was trying to open the cans of paint Liz had left. No Lil Miss. Third Son came out of his room because of all my yelling and I asked if he had seen her. He began going around the downstairs looking as well while I yelled outside in the backyard. No Lil Miss. I went out the front door and yelled. NO Lil Miss. I yelled again louder in the driveway towards the woods next to the house. No answer. I ran down the road a bit and looked (without my glasses so I don't know why I bothered) but nothing was different. I started to shake. I ran inside, grabbed my phone, my glasses and my keys. Third son was looking at me, anxiety in his eyes, "I'm going to drive and look, you stay here and if she comes back, you CALL ME RIGHT AWAY. DOn't YOU GO ANYWHERE"
"okay" he said
I ran outside and started yelling again, louder than before. I yelled so hard my voice started rattling in the middle of yelling. Meanwhile I was texting J but my hands were shaking so bad I mangled the message into "Omh jalkistti us gonr" - thanks auto-correct for at the most crucial fucking time of my life to decide to ignore me completely -

Just as I was about to get in the car, she popped out of the bushes down the road and began running towards me.

I immediately texted J saying She had showed up. he deduced what happened and started firing questions at me. I used the time it took her to get to me to calm the hell down and not hyperventilate. When she finally walked up, I managed to not throttle her, scream bloody murder or swoop her up in a bone-crushing hug. INstead I allowed myself to look as scared as I felt and talked sternly to her.

"WHY did you leave!"
"I wanted to see the cars at the end of the walk"
"you mean the main road? you wanted to look at the main road?"
"I wanted to walk to the store"
"I told you I was going to take us to the store"
"But I wanted us to *walk* to the store"
"we have had this conversation before, Lil Miss, the store is too far and it is too dangerous to walk there - there are not enough sidewalks"
"but I wanted to go for a walk"
" you cannot leave this house without me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT. LOOK AT ME"
"....yes..."
"you scared me so much I was going to cry. I thought you were gone."
"I'm sorry" (bursts into tears)



So now I cannot ever take a shower or a nap when she is here. JFC

For Those of You Not on Facebook
lampie
not_hothead_yet
In honor of MLK

"Post Partum" - reprinted from my public blog
lampie
not_hothead_yet
I want to talk a little about post-partum depression. If you are the partner of woman who is amenable to the possibility of child-bearing some time in the future, then I beg you to read this. Please.

Post-partum depression is loosely defined as "baby blues" that don't get better within a month. This is as simple as I can put it and frankly its best you remember that simple definition. PPD is a very serious condition. It is related to several things having to do with child-bearing but none of them are the root cause alone. There's a certain amount of mystery as to whether a mother will have baby blues or end up with actual PPD but there is one thing that is the most obvious "risk factor" for baby blues becoming PPD. That risk factor is lack of partner/family support after birth.

I want you to let that sink in for a minute. Consider what that means, if you are the closest loved one of a woman who might bear a child in the future. You, the partner, the primary family member or hell even just the best friend or roommate, are probably the most important factor that will determine whether or not that beloved mother ends up crying for a few hours, a few days or ends up killing herself. Other factors come into play, of course, but the main thrust of studies and research has revealed that lack of support is the most important risk factor for whether a mother experiences PPD. If you think I'm being dramatic, I'm not; PPD is a very real dangerous condition that can even lead to psychosis. Or suicide. And what is the procedure by which Obstetricians and doctors "screen" for PPD? They talk to the mother and ask her obvious questions about how she's feeling. How well do you think that's going to go?

Let me move into the personal here... not only have I been through PPD, I've known quite a few other mothers who've experienced different levels of it themselves. The saddest part, to me, is that NONE of us talked about it when it was happening. We all talked about it afterwards, but when we were going through it? We kept it quiet.

Were we afraid of being dramatic? Were we worried no one would believe us? Were we trying to "be strong"? Were we aware of how irrational our thoughts and feelings were and so figured we had a handle on things? Were we convinced that what we were going through was shameful and foolish?

Yes, to all of the above.

But you know what? I don't even want to talk about those things. Being depressed is a catch-22 and everyone knows it. The more depressed you are, the less likely you are to seek adequate help. The more depressed you are, the less you realize you even NEED help. The more depressed you are, the less you even care about getting help.

Let's get really personal. I'm going to tell you a little bit about my worst PPD. and I'm going to describe it, somewhat how it felt to me: random, non-sensical and without connection to my actual situation.

I believed my child hated me. I believed everyone knew I was a terrible mother. I believed scientists were on the verge of altering reality so that time could be reversed and changed and any minute now reality was going to come to a dead stop. I believed strangers were going to break into my house and hold my children at gunpoint. I believed my house was going to spontaneously catch on fire. I believed my child was actively trying to break my will. I believed my husband was resentful of me. I believed everyone thought I was lazy. I believed I would never feel "normal". I believed monsters were going to be awakened from my subconscious and given life and come to eat us all alive. I believed that if I didn't clean something every day I would wake up alone. I believed nothing was good in my life. I believed my husband looked down on me. I believed my friends were all disgusted with my decision to have a child since i so obviously could not take decent care of it. I believed one day I'd wake up and discover I had missed decades of her life. I believed if I took her outside, her "real" mother would discover her and take her from me. I believed everyone was laughin at me. I believed millions of roaches were hiding under my porch and delighting in my terror by darting out, one by one and if I went outside alone, they'd all descend upon me at once. I believed I was ingesting something that was slowly poisoning me and someday they'd discover what it was after I was already dead. I believed my other children were going to live forever and forget me someday.

 

I was afraid to go outside in the daytime because when I did, nothing seemed real. I was afraid to go out at nighttime because I couldn't see well enough to be ready for when the monsters starting pouring out of a hole in space-fabric. I was afraid to talk to anyone because they'd know how horrendously inept I was and everything would be taken away. I was afraid I'd tell too much and be put away and worse, I'd like it. I was afraid to ask for help with anything because people would lie to me and what I needed wouldn't happen and then everything would fall apart. More than anything, I was afraid to go to sleep because I knew I would die in my sleep and my baby girl would die too if that happened. That was why I never took a nap if I was alone in the house.  That was why I had my husband wake me up whenever he left for work. He thought he was just kissing me goodbye while I slept but I woke up almost every time and got out of bed once he was gone.

Everything was my responsibility and I knew I could not possibly do any of it adequately. Everything was my fault. But the whole world was trying to beat me down. I was a terrible person and no one liked me, they only tolerated me. Even my own child did not act "normal" towards me and that was the proof that I was horrible AND that the world hated me.

Yet all the time, I knew I was wrong about almost everything. I knew I was being irrational. I joked a few times with very close friends about a couple of thins then blew it off before they realized the extent of... my crazy.

There was never any danger that I was going to hurt myself or my child. Not directly.

but you know what makes me weep? thinking of all that time wasted.

There were moments I'd look at my baby daughter and just feel like i was going to burst with all the love and pride and awe in me. I couldn't imagine there was anything in the universe ever before or after that was half so beautiful as my child. I didn't care about anything because she was everything.

But then there were moments where I just wanted her to disappear. JUst stop NEEDING me for a moment. Then on the rare times when she didn't need me, someone else was always there, needing me. And I was angry about it but guilty too. I am mother to three other children. I am a wife. I am a friend, a sister.... I had no right to ignore all those others.

but looking back on it, I see.... everyone did need me... they were just doing what they always did.Because no one, including me, told them any different. No one told them that what needed to happen was for someone to realize I needed someone too. I needed to be taken care of. ANd not just for a day or so. I needed a lot of help. and I wasn't getting it. I coudln't realize that at the time. I wish someone had.

Because what i went through? was hellish. Really. I look back and I HATE those first six months of her life. I wish so bad I could do it over again.

I wonder though.. if I did it again, would I really know better to do things differently?

Because feeling that lack of support and being flushed with hormones really does a number on your perception of reality. When you look down at the most fragile thing in life and realize "this is all you, man" its the biggest burden you'll ever carry. Then if you look up and realize you're not just alone carrying it, but you've got even more burden to be laboring under?
Good gawd.

Then I hear about other mother's battles with PPD.

Recently, I heard about a mother who was friend to a dear friend of mine. That mother hung herself. That's not even outlandish. Postpartum suicide in the USA is about 10% (and that's just the ones they KNOW are suicide)

You may not think that's a big number but I do.

Because it isn't just about suicide, its about pain.

And depression that gets like that? Its painful. Make no mistake.

And the biggest factor in making sure it doesn't get that way?

Partner/family support.

So if the most important thing in a new mother's life (to prevent painful depression) is other people, why is it that all the literature warning about PPD is aimed at the new mothers?

Where is the campaign to educate partners?

Pollo de Campesino
lampie
not_hothead_yet
There was an awesome Mexican restaurant not far from us called "El Campesino" (the farm laborer) and their signature dish was chicken in some kind of cheesy sauce. I LOOOOOOOOVED that stuff! Sadly, the restaurant closed after a couple of years. I'd been craving Pollo de Campesino ever since. I'm pretty sure its only called Pollo de Campesino at that one place, as googling reveals no such recipe. So, I decided to try making it up myself.

It turned out near-perfect.


2-4 cooked chicken breasts, sliced thin (not microscopic, just about 1/4" is fine)
1 T chopped green onions
2 T cooking oil

6-8 oz queso/velveeta/American cheese
can of Ro-Tel tomatoes and chilis

1-3 t cumin
1 t garlic

in a sauce pan, put cooking oil and gently fry green onion (and garlic if you're using fresh) on medium-high heat

when onions are softish, toss in chicken and reduce heat to medium, stir a bit so all the chicken is lightly coated with the oil and onions

dump can of tomatoes and chilis on top of chicken then spread the cheese over the top. I used sliced american cheese (the "deluxe" which I do not know why they call it that other than its listed as actual "cheese" and not "cheese food" or "cheese food product so I guess that's the luxurious version) allowing the tomato mix to steam up the cheese and soften it. Then start stirring lightly. At first it will look weird because the cheese wont' mix with the liquid from teh tomatoes but keep stirring becuase as the cheese melts, it will blend beautifully. Sprinkle the cumin on and taste it. I like a lot of cumin and some people want cilantro too. those people can lick my dollah. Just go ahead an put more cumin in. That's what makes it taste "South-of-the-border".

Eat over rice, in tortillas or with chips.

its no one person or artist or organization
lampie
not_hothead_yet
but I have to say I'm getting kind of tired of the CONSTANT push for donations on Facebook. Every time I turn around its a new crowd-source plea. And most of them, while perfectly decent and acceptable, aren't even close to being dire. Yes, cool I understand, the only way to get funds in crowd-sourcing is to make the pitch in social media but COME ON. I do not want to fund every new cool idea you come across. I've actually got real life friends who are afraid of becoming homeless and I'm being bombarded every day by more requests for crowd-sourced funds. Not only that but there are some real legitimate charities who always need funds too.

Give it a rest people.
Tags:

Gender? Who's asking?
lampie
not_hothead_yet
So the other night, I was hanging out with J (in a rare evening of camaraderie) and somehow he ended up asking me "how can you be a butch and still be with men?"

Wha?

"I'm a butch with women," I said, "but with men, I dunno, I'm not exactly femme but you don't have to be when you're with a man. I like people for people, I fall in love because of what I see inside people, but sex? Eh, its different depending on who I'm with. I guess that's part of what I love about it."

So I start looking things up and doing research (remember I'm writing a paper soon but I'm also reading "Stone Butch Blues") and realize... I'm genderqueer. Always have been. Never thought much about it though. Because when the rest of the world is pre-occupied with your freakishness, how you express gender doesn't seem to matter anyway. Why should I be concerned about acting "feminine" or not? Why should I bother trying to be "pretty" or "cute" or a myriad of other superlatives that equate with physical beauty? I'll never look anything like the people who are considered "attractive" and nothing, not even surgery will change that. Ever. I've known that all my life. So I never thought about it like that. I express my sexuality and my sensuality however I feel "right" and whether it "fits" or not won't matter in the slightest.

Yes, many of my friends have seen me in a dress, skirt, makeup, the whole made-up nine yards. I even like dressing up that way. I like being "prettified" sometimes just as I like having a vase of flowers on the central table of the room. Its nice. But I'm not going to pretend the flowers will hide the mess in the corner or erase the faded upholstery on the chairs. Prettified is only one little bright spot on an otherwise mundane landscape. Its also temporary. There's nothing wrong with temporary brightness, either, but its foolish to think its the totality of the room.

So Sometimes I wear a dress, skirt, make-up even sexy stockings perhaps. Other times I toss on my favorite t-shirt and a pair of tight skinny jeans over my industrial grade working boots, slick back my hair and adopt a swagger in my walk. Sometimes I wear a party dress and my working boots with a swagger. Sometimes I wear a tuxedo jacket with shorts and satin ballet slippers and fishnet tights. Its not even that I don't give a fuck what people think: I do care what people think. But I don't necessarily adopt their definition of what I should look like. Because I lost as soon as I stepped out of the gate so I'm in no hurry to pretend I'm gunning for the finish line anyway.

more here

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