Break It Down, Butch.

January 2, 2011

[56] The week of rest so far continues on course.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 02:28
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Today, I have done almost absolutely nothing of use. It was wonderful.

In fact, the list of my achievements includes: making four sandwiches, eating cold spaghetti out of a can, laughing myself breathless when the cat attacked the christmas tree, watching lots of TV, and writing with a friend.

It’s almost three a.m on the first (well, technically second) day of the shiny new year, and I have done NOTHING OF NOTE.

I love holidays.

December 25, 2010

[51] Christmas, 2010.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 21:26
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It’s amazing how much better things get when you have family and turkey and pretty lights and SO MANY DOGS and presents and slightly crap TV and — Christmas, basically.

We’re not particularly religious, and this whole side of the family (i.e. my step-mum’s side, because everyone else lives hundreds and/or thousands of miles away) is a little awkward with each other, but we still do the tree and the gifts and the roast beast (except for the step-mum, who’s vegetarian), and a ridiculous amount of presents, AND DID I MENTION THE DOGS?

There were four this year. Two chocolate labs my dad owns, one black lab my step, uh, grandparents own, and a GINORMOUS Newfoundland puppy-thing that tried to EAT MY HEAD.

(I was literally dripping dog drool at one point. It was both hilarious and gross.)

Happiness is seriously a house full of dogs.

Anyway! I got presents (a martial arts DVD, a hoodie, a pretty swish looking necklace and bracelet from friends who get the butch thing, some pink bath stuff from family who really don’t, a gift voucher — and at some point in the future I’ll be getting new glasses, a coat, and some Timberland boots), and ate waaaay too much turkey, and got a whole lot of back-pats and shoulder-squeezes from the male side of the family, which was interesting.

I’m looking particularly guyish at the moment. In the interests of feeling like myself again, I went and got the stupid girly hair-mistake chopped off and restyled, so now it’s super-short and spiky and so much better. I can look in a mirror again without wincing, which is a major improvement in life.

But yes, male-looking. Which seems to bring out a certain… reaction in the guys of my family. There’s a sort of fellow-feeling that goes around. Like a shared wink and a sense of usefulness (it’s the guys who do most of the Christmas work, while the women tend to put their feet up and get drinks provided; an arrangement that seems to work for everyone), and a kind of mutal glee over making sure everything goes off without a hitch and decent presents are provided.

It’s all very caveman, really.

But this year I got a lot more included. I haven’t been to a family christmas in two years (I spent the last two with my ex-girlfriend in the States), so maybe they’re more used to my genderwierdness now, or maybe I’m just more comfortable inside my own skin and it shows. Who knows? Either way, it was pretty cool.

(Though, again, daft pink bath stuff. Yeesh.)

Actually, thinking about it, I’ve only been embracing the butch thing for the past year-ish or so, so it probably is that being more comfortable inside my own skin thing.

That aside, back to my original point — CHRISTMAS IS HERE AND IT IS AWESOME. I have eaten turkey THREE TIMES TODAY and it is not yet getting old. (Though I am extremely full.)

Continuing the good news, starting tomorrow I only have two and a half more days at work, and then I am freeeeee!

Also, I have The Chronicles of Narnia on the TV and a snoring labrador pressed against my hip. Is this the best Christmas ever? I THINK IT IS.

December 19, 2010

[49] Family thinking.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 21:34
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Mini-disclaimer: This isn’t so much a butch post as a life post. Sometimes they sneak up on me.

My family history is a little fucked up.

I’m pretty sure if you sliced open half the population and checked out the writing inside their hearts, you’d see that phrase inked right between the ventricles. There are storybook families out there, I’m sure there are, but they’re rare. They’re so rare. And the rest of us poor suckers are stuck in the cracks of the human condition.

Do you ever have that conversation? You know the one, where you meet a new person — a friend of a friend, a date, a work colleague, a nice looking stranger — and you have that talk. The where’re you from, what’s your family like talk.

My last three went something like: alcoholic mum, child-molesting father, asshole older brother…


In my case, it was RAF-dad and schizophrenic mum. Which was really not as bad as it could have been, but despite being white and middle-class and generally disgustingly privileged, there was still a buttload of suckitude in my early teenage years, and the whole family-thing fractured way apart.

I used to be bitter. Nowadays I just get a little sad.

But here’s the thing. I went through the dusty old family photo albums recently, and I found this picture. This small, sepia-tinted, break-your-heart picture of my parents, back before they ever had kids or a mortgage or a marriage. Back when my mum’s mind still worked right, and my dad looked happy, and they’re both so young.

My mum is beautiful and grinning and sitting sideways on my dad’s knee, arms wrapped around his neck, temple pressed to temple. My dad is handsome and smiling and just a little awkward, leaning into my mother. I’ll bet you anything it was her dad taking the photo.

They don’t look much older than I am now.

I wish I’d known them back then. I don’t really know them now, if I’m honest, but it’s a different thing. They’re parents, and we have all this broken, twisted up hurt wrapped around us. (And we were never that great at talking anyway.) But they look like real people back then, with so much hope and bright shiny futures, and I wish I’d known them. I want to know if I’m like them, if we ever think the same, if they had the same fears and hopes and screwed up ideas I have.

(Okay, I’m pretty sure neither one of them was a butch queer transthing, but still.)

There’s a lot of stuff written out there about learning from parents — dads, mostly, when it comes to butches, but mums occasionally — and getting over parents and trying not to be be your parents…

Someday, if I ever have my own family, I hope I get to give the pictures to my kids myself. With my partner. And I hope we’re smiling when we do. Because this whole looking at a single, stolen photo and getting melancholy about it thing sucks.

Parents. Oi.

August 25, 2010

[36] Whee!

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 20:40
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Lately, my car is a tragedy. It’s practically Byron-esque. It is costing me so much money.

In the last eight weeks it’s had: two tyres replaced; the tracking adjusted four times; the hand-brake cable repaired; the passenger-side quarter-glass window replaced; the satellite navigation replaced.

And tonight I accidentally rammed the front driver-side wheel into a curb and blew it wide open. Oh, the cleverness of me. Normally I’m a big fan of changing tyres. I enjoy the grit and sheer physical effort of it. I like jacking my car up onto a frankly untrustworthy bit of metal, praying it will hold, and getting down on one knee in the dirt to haul the old wheel off and plant a new one on. I like the feel of my muscles working against steel, the oil under my fingernails (and generally on my face), the crunchy twinge in my left knee when I make it bend in ways it doesn’t want to.

Tonight, however, I mostly wanted to beat my forehead against the wheel arch.

I’m having a very long week, that’s my trouble. My new job — have I mentioned that I’m at a new job? I’m at a new job. It’s awesome. Still care-work, but a much better company. Anyway, this week everything pretty much went tits up. One of the office coordinators blew out of town last weekend (after wiping the whole system), so the manager and the owner had to cover everything between them.

The awesomeness: I’m getting a promotion. I’ve only been working for them a month, but they like me so much I’m jumping up the ranks to supervisor/co-ordinator. Originally that was going to involve a raise of £4000, but there’s been a hang up with another lady also getting hired as a full-time co-ordinator (they asked her before I pitched in at the office and they realized I’m made of solid gold awesome), so we’ll see how that goes.

The less-awesomeness: We have six carers off this week and two more got fired, so I’m working 70+ hours in the field, and about 30 in the office.

I am knackered.

That’s not the point of this entry, though. I realized today that the only way I’m managing to survive this week without, for example, yanking someone’s head off at the neck and using their trachea as a jump rope, is because somewhere around Tuesday I got into this odd mindset of lone-soldier-in-the-trenches. Grit! Stamina! Determination! A sort of desperate world-weariness of doing-this-because-no-one-else-can. Or will.

I have, in short, become my father. And perversely, I’m enjoying the hell out of it. I wouldn’t want to do it a second week in a row, but I’ve finally hit on something that’s really damn challenging on a daily basis. And interesting. It’s fantastic.

Next week I’m volunteering for the Yorkshire Ambulance Service. They’re going to teach me how to use a defibrillator. On people.

My life is a carnival of madness. I love it.

July 25, 2010

[31] Kick a man in his internet.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 22:47
Tags: , , , , ,

So, it turns out my address doesn’t exist.

Only my life, man. I swear to God.

I should explain. My new (shiny! awesome!) apartment is number 17a. The tattoo shop below me? Also number 17a. Which’d explain why I’ve been getting all their mail. But they are the 17a officially registered with the Post Office, which means they legally own the right to that address.

I, on the other hand, cannot get a phone line installed because BT — British Telecommunications, holder of all phone lines — goes by the addresses registered with the Post Office, and refuse to install anything in an unregistered house.

Ergo, I cannot get a phone line.

Ergo, I cannot get an internet connection.

Ergo, I am losing my mind.

I’m stealing a friend’s internet right now. Between work, couch-surfing, dog-sitting, and my friend’s father being rushed to hospital after a bout of vomiting, collapsing, and seizing (seizing, because this month sucks), I’ve slept exactly one night in my own bed this week. I’ve spent the last few days at my friend’s place, providing moral support and generally getting underfoot. (I’ve been very helpfully picking raspberries, buying flowers, and hugging people a lot. I also called the ambulance and stayed relatively un-panicked while everyone else — except the nurse!daughter– worked themselves up into an understandable lather.)

(I’ll admit, I panicked a bit later. But quietly and on my own.)

(I should also mention: it looks like the father is going to be fine. He’s still in hospital, but hasn’t had a seizure in a few days, and all his heart tests have come back clean. We’re waiting on blood tests and CT scan results. The current theory is Addison’s disease, which’d be brilliant because it’s manageable with drugs and non-fatal. Scarier theories include mini-strokes — he’s had three already — and other neurological awfulness. We’re holding out for Addison’s disease.)

Randomly, I went to Pink Picnic today, which is Huddersfield’s version of a pride parade, except without the parade. Basically, a whole bunch of stalls and tents set themselves up in a field for a day, along with a stage and a few fairground rides, and everybody has Pride. It’s kind of sweet and soggy and pathetic and very, very British. There were also a few fabulous drag queen acts, including one lady who got up on stage dressed in a black PVC mini-dress and a pair of enormous red feather wings and sang ‘Stand By Your Man’*. I went with one pansexual, polyamourous friend who wore a giant rainbow flag-cape and rainbow cowboy hat all day, and a kinky MtF transgender acquaintance who wore a PVC stretch top, rubber face-gag, and a giant leather-pride flag-cape.

We got stared at like you wouldn’t believe.

Still, it was lots of fun. I went in jeans, a military shirt, and bought a pride ribbon and a rainbow bracelet. Mostly I got cruised by gay guys. I also saw the most drop-dead gorgeous butch in a grey shirt and low-slung jeans; I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t have the guts to talk to her. I just sort of… admired her from a distance.

I had to work this evening, so I didn’t get to go to the after-picnic party. But I did find out about a new (ish?) gay club that’s within walking distance of my place, and apparently pretty awesome. I plan to acquire a backbone and check it out. As soon as I remember the name, anyway.

And, while I’m on a roll, tomorrow looks to be exciting. I have to call my landlord (again) and shout at him about renting me an existential apartment; I have to call my garage (again) and yell at them about not calling me back; I have to pick up a mystery package I didn’t order from the post office; and I have to dog-sit for my dad.

Note to self: purchase throat-sweets.

(Okay, I’m kidding about the shouting. I don’t shout if I can avoid it. I speak firmly, with conviction, and stay excrutiatingly polite until they realize I’m also being entirely inflexible. It’s amazing how well that works.)

Oh, I forgot to mention: There were absolutely no butch!pride things at the picnic — which wasn’t terribly surprising — but they did have bear pride things, so I figured what the hell, it’s close enough, and bought a keychain/bottle opener. It’s sleek, made of steel, decorated in the bear!rainbow — lots of browns and tans — and has a little black pawprint in the corner. Sterling! Manly! Tough! Supportive of body hair! I like it, even if it does keep poking me in the hip.

* She advised people to sing along with the lyrics of their own choosing, which included ‘Stand On Your Man’, ‘Sit On Your Hand’, and if you were a straight man, ‘You’re In The Wrong Field, Buddy’. I adored her.

May 10, 2010

[22] Playing catch-up.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 22:50
Tags: , , , ,

*whistles softly*

Man, have I been out of the loop. It’s been almost a month since my last post, and, after reading around, it looks like half the internet blew up and put itself back together. Particularly the gender-blogging side of things — I’m seeing good news and bad news and tough conversations and awesome make-overs and happy anniversaries and one-step-forward-two-steps-back changes, and the ever-present, always appreciated, brilliantly written navel-gazing. Oh, yes.

Kind of makes me want to go around with party balloons and hugs and maybe a straight jacket or two. (Or three. Why does gender-blogging always bring out the extra crazy?)

So. After a couple minutes of thought and a scrapped picture or two, it turns out there’s no way to transition smoothly from ‘THE INTERNET IS BUSY AND ALSO CRAZY’ to ‘HERE’S WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING’.

Actually, that worked pretty well.

First off, I GOT MY DISSERTATION FINISHED. My dissertation written about butch gender, in fact (though, if I’m totally honest, it was a literature review and mostly I was reviewing butch authors, but that still counts). I wrote it in about a week, lost two nights of sleep, and wrote the word “gender” so much it might literally be seared onto the backs of my retinas. BUT DESPITE THAT, I got to rhapsodize at length about the validity of butch blogs (or hell, any kind of gender blog) being included as an academic source. Because seriously, if the criteria are only “must be written by an expert”, “must be published”, and “must be peer-reviewed”, THEN ALLOW ME TO REDEFINE YOUR TERMS.

(Also, note to self: writing all in caps is extremely entertaining. Must remember to inflect it on people do it more often.)

I also had a good friend, Ki, come stay with me for two weeks, which involved a lot of touristing, a lot of travelling, and much general walking-up-and-down-the-country-and-taking-lots-of-photos. I’m footsore, noticeably reduced around the waistline, slightly sunburned, and very de-stressed. It was brilliant. Also, she made me curry.

Funny thing, actually: seeing as Ki is cissexual, straight, and Mormon, conventional odds would tilt our spending much time together in the same room towards the side of catastrophe. Epic catastrophe, even. And I wish that was just bigoted, narrow-minded thinking on my part, because I know religion and Teh Gay are not mutually exclusive (just ask Nezu, who attends an awesome gay church down in San Francisco, or JB, who attends another gay-friendly house of religiosity in the same region), but man, as peaceful coexistence goes, Mormon and queer are not what you’d traditionally think of as on speaking terms. Just look at all that Mormon funding for Prop 8.

And Ki is really Mormon. (And also possibly not speaking to me, after this introduction. *laughs* I’ll have to post up an anecdote about myself falling down a flight of stairs, or something, to make up for it. Or send her a fruit basket.)

But, but, but — here is where it’s awesome. Because not only is Ki really Mormon, she’s also really cool, and amazingly unfussed about either Teh Gay or Teh Butch. Two key examples: she invited me to Sunday church with her and didn’t bat an eye when I threw on a suit and tie, instead she got all aw-shucks-pleased when I pointed out that my tie matched her very pretty new dress, and then complimented my new dress shoes. (Also, Mormon church is bizarrely enjoyable. There’s a very warm-and-friendly atmosphere, much like a village bakesale and gossip, rather than the high grandeur and severe sense of You Are Doing It Wrong that the Catholic church nails you with.) Second example: I’ve spent the last few weeks using gender-neutral disabled bathrooms instead of doing the awkward knees-clenched dance between male/female, and lemme tell you, disabled bathrooms rock; there’s space to stretch your legs, set your rucksack down, adjust your binder if necessary, and do your business in absolute peace, all without the tension of worrying about what’s waiting on the other side of the stall door*. Totally flaw-proof system, right up until you hit a place without an easily accessible disabled bathroom, such as the Imperial War Museum in London (y’know, hypothetically), and really have to pee. Particularly if the Museum is about two hours away from your safe and gender-free hotel room, and you can’t think of any other more appealing bathrooms in-between, what with it being London and you suddenly being a severe coward.

Seriously, it’s amazing how out of practice you can get with gendered public bathrooms in a few weeks. It’s like all that armour just melts back into your skin, and you are soft and quivery and easily-stabbed all over again.

So, there’s me, hovering awkwardly by the door to the ladies (which is about a mile away from the mens’ room, and two floors below the disabled) and trying to decide whether I really need to piss that badly, or if I can just hold it — and there goes Ki, striding past without a word, to check out the whole bathroom and then flash me a grin and an “All clear!” with a reassuring thumbs up, like someone gave her a manual entitled How To Make Your Gender-Bizarre Friends Go Wobbly At The Knees With Gratitude.

I can’t actually remember if I told her thank you at the time; I was too busy sprinting for the stall. But oh, I meant to, possibly in poetry.

It’s a funny thing, really, I’ve known Ki for… jeez, two years online? More than that? We’re writing partners and moderaters on a community over on Insanejournal (great site, awful base coding), and spend waaaaay too much time meddling about in the lives and loves of fictional gay ninja (seriously, and it is awesome. Also, have I mentioned that I’m a ginormous geek?), but I still expected her to be a little dicey with everything when she came over. Not much, but just a little, in a background, slightly-awkward sort of way. Because there’s a difference in knowing someone is weird/different/liberal/gender-bizarre/insert-adjective-here abstractly, and knowing it because you’ve just met them face to face and now you have to spend two weeks sharing a room together, eep.

Of course, seeing as half our family and friends expected one of us to seduce the other, I reckon we managed to hit the middle ground pretty well.

Man, this is a rambly post. So, yeah, internet asplody, dissertation finished, Mormon friend awesome, what else?

– I have amazing Wolverine hair today. It’s kind of accidentally awesome, all slicked down on the sides and whoosh on top, like my hair gel has a world-saving agenda and just neglected to tell me.

– I’ve rediscovered my love for boxers recently, specifically the really cheap kind you can buy at the supermarket. Y’know, the £3 for a set of three kind, which sit comfortably on your hips and loosely everywhere else, and go great with a plain t-shirt if you just need to laze around the house for a day.

– Bear S. Bergman has a livejournal blog, and it is just as fantabulous as you’d expect. (Also, Bear and his husband had a son recently, and there is just not enough aww in the world, folks. In the world.)

There’s a whole lot more to write about (when is there not?) but this post is becoming ridiculous-sized, so I’ll call it quits for tonight. Or, y’know, the next thirty seconds. But hey, baby Bearlets is a pretty excellent place to finish, don’t you reckon?

*Though occasionally you do catch a funny look from people trying to parse out how, exactly, you’re disabled. I’m often tempted to walk out and collapse dramatically on my face, just so they can have an ‘… ah’ moment.

April 7, 2010

[19] Spring fever.

I’m restless right now. Itchy, like spring got into my blood and lit a fire. I keep starting blog entries, getting halfway through, and scrapping them hard. I’m in that scratchy, red-blooded mood where fights are easy, talking is hard, and my feet move constantly. My leg is jogging right now, making the whole bank of library computers shake.

I just want to get out — out of uni, out of my stuck-with-housemates house, out of my job, out of this country.

Spring fever, baby. It’s a hell of a thing.

I used to have a short fuse when I was a kid. Tempered with other things, but man, when the mood hit right I was a teeny tiny, dungarees-wearing killer. The kid brother and I used to tear strips out of each other, and I always won because I was taller and stronger and fought dirty. I remember some nights when the only way for mom to stop us actually murdering each other was to grab me, drag me out into the hallway, sit down, wrap her arms around my arms and her legs around my legs, and just sit. Saying nothing. For as long as it took. Sometimes dad would come home before I’d stopped snarling, walk past us without a word, pick up my brother, carry him about until he quit crying, and make dinner.

This is before boarding school, so I guess I would’ve been about five.

Weirdly, I was never that much of a bully at school. An honest scrapper, yes, but I was already too much of a freak to pick on other freaks*. And I read a lot of hero fiction; I used to daydream about fighting for a Great And Noble Cause and sticking up for the underdog. Of course, I was an absolute ass to anyone pretty-and-popular, or good-looking-and-popular, but that’s sort of a given. They were evil to me, too, so it worked out. A mutual misery kind of deal.

I’m not sure what kicked me onto the straight-and-narrow. I was an RAF-brat, so I bounced around a dozen schools and bases (being a perpetual new kid from a military family will toughen you up quick, but it’s not quite so good at rubbing down your sharp edges); I had a mom who was okay with letting us “express ourselves”, provided nobody bled as a consequence; I had a hard-minded dad who taught me how to saw wood properly and didn’t put up with fits of, well, anything; I ricocheted between being a loner, a semi-social kid, and a central member of a tight circle of friends…

I had a childhood, basically. And got a handle on my temper somewhere along the way.

There was also a bunch of shit that happened when I was thirteen involving crazy!mom, divorce, starving half to death, looking after my brother solo, etc etc ad nauseum that probably had a lot to do with growing the hell up pretty damn quick. But Jesus, who wants to hear about that much angst in one sitting?**

Either way, I’m usually pretty chilled now. Content to go with the flow, the motion of the ocean, man, and take whatever comes. I haven’t been in a proper fight since I was sixteen, and most of the time I’m happy for it to stay that way.

At least, when spring isn’t burning in my blood and I just want to hit something. As it turns out, growing up only lasts while the seasons treat you friendly.

*I’m looking at this through the rosy glow of nostalgia, though; it’s entirely possible I was an equal-opportunity bastard to everyone.
**Unless you’re looking for some schadenfreude, in which case more power to you, and I’ll write about it later.

March 9, 2010

[9] I live! And to celebrate, I’m going to ramble at length…

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 10:17
Tags: , ,

Y’know, I had such high hopes for 2010, but it’s turning into kind of a bust year. Part of that is me — I’ve been on such a downer lately — and I reckon part of that just that we’re still in the early grey months, but damn. There seems to be widespread lethargy all over place — or just plain tragedy, for the more unlucky people I know. It’s extremely uncool.

But! Today is sunny, I’m wearing an awesome pair of new shorts I should totally take a picture of, and it’s time to climb out of this sinkhole.

(I’m also amazed at the number of page views I’m still getting, despite not being online for almost a month. Is someone linking me around? Hi, new folks!)

So, good things! I have some awesome new tech, because I’m a total sucker for shiny things that come with black leather accessories (wow, that punchline practically writes itself). And I actually sketched out half a draft post about this, something like three weeks ago, so now I’m going to plagiarise the hell out of myself. I R Rebel!*


‘I have a love-hate relationship with technology, mostly in that I love it, while it seems to feel we’re more suited to a relationship that leaves holes in the walls, concerned neighbours, and occasional cooling-down stints in prison.

Technology, baby, why do you make me hurt you?

This is all a really roundabout way of saying I just bought a new phone, and now I’m to talk about Stuff. Specifically, Stuff I Like. Though not all the Stuff I Like, or we’ll be here forever. But I have noticed lately that I’m developing a stunning fixation for anything chunky, weighty, and black. Especially if it comes complete with a leather carrying case. I love leather. Really, I should have a kink. Or at least a fetish.

There’s still time.

In any case, this was the phone that got my attention — but in this version, natch. And it’s gorgeous. Almost the exact size and weight of my iPod (which is another recent purchase, also black, with a leather case — thank you, Christmas money from crazy!mom), and nothing like the last slimline phone I used to have, which always felt like it’d snap like a cookie if I held it wrong. This one has substance. And it’s also a Nokia, which I’ve heard carry a reputation for being indestructible**. Also, it organizes like a fiend. One of my major goals this year was to be more organized, so this seems like a step in the right direction***. Plus it has a multi-functional calendar, an ability to chart up memos, notes, and meetings, and I can store almost any kind of document on it. As soon as I figure out the ninety-one pages of user-guide, at least.

In short, it’s made of awesome. And it feels extremely butch, what with its ability to survive a four story drop and also be used as a ballistic weapon whilst texting like a fiend. (In my head, butch apparently = dangerous amounts of multitasking. Who knew?)’

*stops plagiarizing*

Other good things! I’ve kicked smoking. Again. So far I’ve made it to the … *thinks* two week mark, roughly, and I’m out of the major craving period. I’m told it takes three days for the body-cravings to go away, and after that everything’s psychological. So this no-cravings thing seems like a Very Good Sign.

(Though now I’m thinking about it, I want a cigarette. CURSE YOU, CATCH 22!)

Other-other good things — I made it through Valentine’s Day without killing anyone. There’s probably a whole blog post in that alone. A whole bunch of blog-posts actually, because this whole dealing-with-your-ex-dating is a new and not entirely fun thing, but it has been good for my personal learning curve. There’s this feeling like you lose the right to bitch about things when you’re the one that calls it off — and that’s true, you do lose the right to bitch. But you don’t lose the right to talk. Or feel whatever the hell you’re feeling. So once I put my head together enough to work out a coherent thought-sentence, I’ll tackle that.

But I’m in a better place. And I really am glad she’s dating. (Even if the person she’s dating is so hot it makes me want to FROTH with jealousy. *laughs*) And hey, I’m still getting a crush-confession about once a fortnight, so it’s not exactly like I’m without options, even if I’m not taking any of them.

So, how’s 2010 treating you?

*Anyone ever watch I R Weasel as a kid? I loved that show.
**I just completely jinxed myself, I know, but the thing is almost a brick. A pretty brick.
*** He says, as he types this up three weeks later.

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