ImPerceptibility

Archive for September, 2008

I decided to play around with Photoshop today. I was too lazy to actually draw anything so I used a picture I found on the web. Unfortunately I can’t remember where I found it so I can’t credit the photographer. Sorry. I’ll add the credits if I can find the site again. 

Given the choices that I have made, both in how I choose to live my life and how I educate my children, people would expect me to have many battles to fight. This is not the case. I live very peacefully. This is mostly due to my great denial skills and my “I appreciate your opinion but this is my life” attitude. As some of you may already know, I do have one area of strife in my life and I can’t seem to shake it. No, it is not my tomato fetish. I’m over that. Mostly. The thorn in my side is and always has been the fundies.

They swarm me at the grocery store, they put flyers in my mailbox, and they buzz around my ears with opinions that scare me. I’m not even going to mention the aesthetics of a denim jumper. I’ve put up with it for years and have alternated between anger, frustration, and pity. But I have grown and matured (a little) and today I find the whole fundie belief system has become a slight nuisance. Nothing more, nothing less. But, I do reserve the right to verbally attack when they push me too far.

So, today I sorted through mail and found a flyer for the hazardous waste collection day at our local landfill. I scanned the listed items and about half way through my jaw dropped and my eyes opened wide. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

FUNDICIDE!

They were collecting fundicide – a substance used to destroy or inhibit the growth of irrational fundamentalism. (Definition taken from my imaginary dictionary) I didn’t even know this stuff existed. Why has no one ever told me about this stuff? I could have put it to good use.

I was gonna make a picture to go with this but I’m not in the mood. Maybe later. Maybe not. I just checked and I haven’t made a picture for anything since July. I suck.

I was bored.  Who knows how true this is.  I will say missionary is not my favorite sexual position. 

<= This is.  What’s yours?  Here’s a list

Sexual Style TYPE N

This means that:

You like relatively kinky sex, and you have the great imagination that will always keep your partner guessing and excited! There’s no getting bored with you around, you could never settle for dull sex, you want something fun and new all the time. You aren’t afraid to try out anything you hear about. You might just be an intelligent lover who needs to be mentally engaged, or perhaps you have some dirty dark secret kinky desires, but either way, you’re never boring.

You are pretty confident in bed. This means that you know you can please your lover. Maybe you’ve read a lot of sex manuals, or have the experience from previous lovers, or just tend to be skilled at whatever you get your hands on, but you’re good and you know it. You can really get results and know that you have pure talent, so you won’t be hiding away shy, pretending to be all innocent. Your partners love your naughty self assurance, you don’t hesitate and this makes you a sensational lover.

You tend to be submissive in bed, so you prefer to go along with what your lover likes rather than your own plans. You might like being ordered around and acting out a slave/master fantasy, or perhaps you just get turned on by being helpless and unable to move. Or maybe it’s as simple as you lacking courage so prefering firm instructions in bed to make sure you are doing things right. Either way, you won’t be dominating your lover anytime soon, and might prefer the missionary position to any others.

You prefer to give than recieve. This makes you a very unselfish lover, devoted to the needs of your partner rather than your own. You get your pleasure from seeing them get theirs, you are a model sex partner. I’m sure plenty of people would love to have someone like you in bed with them! Remember though that if your partner gets pleasure from returning the favour it’s okay to let them, they might love giving as much as you do!

WE SUGGEST YOU:
Get crazy with the kissing. It sounds basic, but perhaps with all your wonderful kinky antics and games, you have forgotten how good it can feel just to kiss someone all over, and have the same done to you! Practise with different kissing styles, kiss your lover in places you’ve never kissed them before. Kiss to tickle, kiss to seduce, kiss for hours, or kiss when you know you can’t go any furthur with it, like when you have to be at work soon. Rediscover kissing.

Take The What’s your sexual style? Test at HelloQuizzy

A few months ago I received an unsolicited large envelope in the mail. I usually don’t open junk mail, it goes straight into the recycle bin. However, my Spidey senses were tingling and I opened it. Inside was an incredibly long survey and a five dollar bill. The letter made it seem like I was now obligated to fill out the survey because they sent me $5. The survey had questions about many things including my eating habits, internet usage, religion, and political leanings. I threw the survey away and put the money in my rainy day jar. It didn’t matter that they said it was anonymous, I don’t do things like that. It’s none of their business.

A few weeks later another letter came in the mail. This letter one once again made it seem like I was morally obligated to fill out the survey because they sent me money. Another copy of the survey was inside and a letter assurring my confidentiality. My name wouldn’t be associated with the data in any way.

I laughed a wry little laugh when I threw it in the recycle bin. If my name isn’t associated with the data, how did they know I hadn’t returned the survey? Can someone please explain that to me?

Anyways, if you get a large envelope in the mail from a survey company, be sure to open it before you throw it away. It just might have $5 in it.

This was on the back of the Goya Bulgar Wheat bag. I decided to try it and it’s really good hot or cold. It also smells really good when it’s cooking. Sometimes I eat it plain and sometimes I scoop it up with corn chips. I’m going to put it here so when they take it off the back of the bag I’ll still have a copy of the recipe – that I can find. Unlike my last favorite recipe. Thanks a lot, black bean bag designers! Though, I am a lot less gassy now. Maybe it was blessing.

Bulgar Pilaf (With Two Cheeses)
4 servings (more like 3)

1T Olive Oil
1 Cup Diced Onions
2 Cloves Garlic, minced
1 Cup Bulgar Wheat
1 Can Diced Tomatoes (I use Jalapeno Tomatoes)
1 ¾ Cup Vegetable Broth
½ Teaspoon Salt
(It also calls for cheese but I don’t use it)
½ Cup shredded Edam or Mozzarella
Grated Parmesan for garnish

1. In a saucepan on medium, heat the oil. Stir in the onion and cook for 5mins until the onion is translucent. (Slightly more time if you’re smart like me and chop a bunch of onions all at once then freeze them in 1 Cup freezer containers)
2. Stir in the garlic and bulgar and cook for two minutes. (This is when it smells really good)
3. Stir in the tomato, broth and salt and bring to a boil. Lower heat, cover and simmer for 20mins until the liquid is absorbed. (I just dump everything in and cook it in the pressure cooker for 10mins.)
4. (Stir in the Edam Cheese. Garnish individual portions with parmesan)

“The designers set out to build a memorial that could mean different things to different people. In that, they have succeeded”

Youngest and I had a nice quiet day today. She likes to walk her sister to the bus each morning. I think it’s her way of feeling she has some control over being separated from her sister. She puts her on the bus and waves goodbye then walks the few hundred feet back home, alone, pretending to be a big kid. I love watching her from the front window.

Sometimes she walks quickly and at attention. Her head up and eyes alert, scanning the bushes and trees, stopping to check out whatever has caught her attention. Other times she meanders in a serpentine path with her head tilted to the side lost in her own thoughts. Today she had an umbrella resting on her shoulder. It was tilted at an angle that made its rain blocking abilities questionable. But it wasn’t really raining, more of a light mist, so it didn’t matter. She was walking slowly and eyeing the puddles.

The first puddle was tempting but she managed to miss it. The second puddle she skimmed across the top with the tip of her shoes then hurried on. She walked through the next puddle but I could see her sites were set on the mother of all puddles. The ankle deep splasher just to the right of our driveway. That’s been a favorite for years.

She picked her path carefully. She had to end up in front of the puddle so she could splash without making it look like she meant to splash. A quick side-trip to check out the neighbors’ flowers was all it took. The puddle was in her line of sight and she was going for it.

Then she stopped, took off her shoes and went for it.

When she got to the door she left her shoes and wiped her feet.

Then she told me about a bug she’d seen and we looked it up in the field guide. She found it all on her own.

Then she practiced her spelling words. Only missed one.

She fixed her own breakfast and watched Spongbob.

We did some writing (simple sentences) and math (two-digit addition). Then she read a new book.

She went out to play with the dogs and now I’m sitting here wondering if she was pretending to be a big kid or if she really is a big kid. Does it really matter? I pretend to be a grownup all the time. Right now I’m sitting here typing this up but my bare feet are working their way to the backyard. There is a puddle back there and it’s calling my name.

Yesterday I bought zucchini for the first time ever. It was quite emotional for me. It was one of those moments when an action takes on more meaning than was ever intended. Things got a little weird.

It’s not like I haven’t had zucchini before. I make wonderful zucchini bread. Sometimes I cook zucchini and squash together and it is a tasty treat. But I have never bought zucchini, it was always given to me. I stood in front of the zucchini display and, in my mind, I saw a proud, dirty little face in coke bottle glasses standing at my front door.

“Miss ImPerceptible, my zucchini plant grew real live zucchinis. See?”

He handed me two zucchinis and stood there very proud and little shy, shuffling from side to side and avoiding eye contact.

“They’re for you. You can have them.”

I thanked him, gave him a hug, and invited him in. He went to play Zoo Tycoon with my oldest. I found a recipe for zucchini bread and baked two loaves. When he left I sent one home with him.

A few weeks later he showed back up at my door with zucchini.

“These are for you. My mom said I can’t ask you to make more zucchini bread even though it was the best bread I have had. Ever. You are such a good cook but these are for you. I can’t ask you to make zucchini bread for me.”

I made more zucchini bread and told him not to worry, he didn’t ask me, I decided to make it myself. He was one happy little boy. On his way out he turned back and gave me an awkward little hug then ran out the door and back home.

So yesterday I bought enough zucchini to make several loaves of zucchini bread. We’ll eat some and I’ll put some in the freezer. I’m sure they’ll be good. But they won’t be as good as the ones I made, without being asked, from real live zucchini hand delivered to my door. That was the best zucchini bread ever.

I’m tired. My head hurts and I’m sick of the fighting. One calls the other a name. The other retaliates. They bring up things from the past that have long become irrelevant and make up stories about what could happen in the future.

Bicker. Bicker. Bicker.

I have to have the last word. You are stupid because you don’t think like me. My way is right and it’s the only way. You big poopy pants, you don’t listen to me. So called facts are thrown around. The fighting becomes personal. Buttons get pushed. Feelings get hurt.

Anger.

Things become more aggressive. Friendships are broken. Now the original problem has long been forgotten. It’s all about proving that I am right. I am smarter. I care more about the issue. I am better. Listen to me. Agree with me. I need to win.

I will win. I will win. I will win!

One wins. One looses. But nothing has been solved. Both are angry and it will take a lot of time and effort to fix the damage that has been done. In the mean time, we still need to protect our country. Our children still deserve more than they will ever get. There are parents who can’t feed their families and babies that need medical care. Warriors need help as they return from a war. Trees need to be planted and fences need to be mended. Teenagers need help finishing school. Debts need to be paid.

It doesn’t matter if you believe. It doesn’t matter if you want. It doesn’t matter if you win and it doesn’t matter who is right. It matters what is right.

What is right?

There are open volunteer positions in every organization across the country. Use your time wisely. Words are powerful. Use them with purpose and use them sparingly. Change can happen. It doesn’t happen with bickering, anger, and a consuming desire to win. As far as I’m concerned there is room at my table for everyone, even the idiots. Just don’t eat my last fudge brownie. That really pisses me off.

Now stop your bickering or I’ll give you all a time out.