Category: Family


Showing off the legs in question

 

At the risk of sounding vain, I love my legs.  A few years ago, when I was complaining to my mom about the fact that I had inherited her nose, she cut me off by replying, “Yes, but you inherited my legs too so stop complaining.”  And you know what?  She was right.  I take a lot of pride in my legs and I enjoy showing them off.

At one time, of course, showing them off would probably have meant being accused of gross indecency.  Most famously, during the Victorian Era, it was considered scandalous for a woman to even show her ankles.  

Fortunately, especially for those of us who live in the Southwest where it’s usually just a little bit too hot and dry to wander around covered head-to-toe in several layers of clothing all in the name of public decency, times have changed.

Now, if you’re like me and you like to show off your legs then you probably know that there’s a lot of advice to be found online on how to wear a miniskirt without 1) looking trashy and 2) letting the entire world know what color underwear you’re wearing. 

A lot of that information is actually pretty helpful.

And then some of that information, like this video that I came across on YouTube yesterday, is from 1967…

That’s right, ladies.  The key to wearing a miniskirt is to make sure you carry your chastity board with you everywhere and try not to distract the men from getting their work done.

You’re welcome. 🙂

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I wasn’t ready to say goodbye

Even though everyone knew it was time

I can’t get my mind to accept it

Nobody asked me if I had anything to say

Nobody told me it was time

I still see it all so clear

I reach out and take your hand

Mom, are you okay?

I don’t think so you say

And you slip away

I’m told the tears will dry in time

But I don’t think so

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye

Yesterday, I found myself trapped in a haze of ADD and it was all because it snowed.

Our Neighborhood on Friday morning (picture taken by Erin Nicole Bowman)

Since, of course, I live in Texas, my response to this was to say, “What’s snow?”  Well, apparently, it’s very white, it’s very cold, and it forces you to stay inside, watching Lifetime movies and old DVDs while posting too much information on twitter and generally trying to see how much you can annoy your older sister until she asks you if you’re interested in playing “the quiet game” for a little while.

(Incidentally, I don’t know about your older sister but mine turned out to be remarkably tolerant and I’m proud of her.)

It also keeps you from going to work and I know some people claim that’s a great thing but for me, it was really, really difficult.  In fact, if not for the fact that my boss specifically called me to tell me not to bother to come in because he wasn’t going to come in, I would have braved the ice and snow just so I could spend some quality time answering the phoner and saying, “I’m afraid he’s not going to be able to meet with you today.”  Scoff if you will but I would have happily done it and I regret not being able to do it because not going to work threw me off my routine and I spent most of yesterday in an ADD haze.

Like a lot of things, though, an ADD haze is only a bad thing in retrospect.  While it’s occurring, it’s actually kinda fun.  For instance, I spent a few hours reading three books at one time while an old Dracula film (Hammer’s Dracula A.D. 1972 to be precise) played on the TV and Siouxsie and the Banshees played on my laptop and the microwave zapped up one of those “super pretzels” that I love so much.  Now you could argue that by doing 20 things at once, I end up truly experiencing not a single one of them but, to be honest, it’s so exhilarating at the time.  It makes me love ADD.

Unfortunately, the exhilaration of ADD is always followed by the times when the entire world just seems overwhelming and all the thoughts in your mind start to you weigh down, making you feel like you’re trying to run through quicksand.

Things like going to my job, watching a movie, spending Friday night with a certain someone, blogging, spending a few hours a night on twitter, or watching some silly reality TV show — these are the things that I use to pull myself out of that quicksand.  These are the things that I look at and say, “As long as I keep these things consistent, than I can force some sort of rhyme and reason on the chaotic mess that is my mind.”

The snow, as much as I loved it, took away all of my rhyme and reason for the day.  Luckily, that afore-mentioned special someone was able to make his way to the house after he got off from his job and that helped to put me back on track.

But until he arrived, I found myself spending what seemed like an eternity watching the icicles outside of the den door get bigger and bigger and bigger.  Seriously, I was scared to even let our cat near the door for fear that this one icicle would come to life and try to attack us.  Here’s two pictures of it, courtesy of my sister Erin:

I mean, seriously — that thing was scary!

Well, today, the sun is out, the temperature is above freezing for the first time since last Monday, and the snow is slowly melting.  And I know I should probably be happy but I’m sad to see it go.  I’m a Texan and as much as it disrupted my routine, I know there’s a good chance I’ll never see this much snow again for the rest of my life.

But that’s life.

You’ve got the celebrate what you have when you’ve got it and be prepared to accept that everything goes away in the end.

Today, as I sit here typing this, I am incredibly proud of myself and it’s for the silliest of reasons.  Still, pride is pride.

It’s been a running joke in my family that “Lisa Can Not Cook.”  And, to be honest, most of the jokes started with me.  All of my life, I’ve been convinced that I am incapable of cooking.  My mom was a great cook.  My three sisters are all great cooks.  My aunts are all great cooks.  But me, I couldn’t cook.  Put me in a kitchen and you’re going to have a fire.  If the recipe says a table spoon of salt, then you know that means Lisa Marie is going to dump an entire cannister into it. 

As one of my older cousins once told me, “It’s a lucky thing you’re pretty, Lisa, because nobody’s going to marry you for the food.”

(Strangely enough, hearing that said didn’t make me feel particularly pretty or lucky.)

But last night, I wanted to cook for my friend Jeff because 1) he was out of town for the holidays and I missed him a lot, 2) every time we’ve ever gone out, he’s paid for me and I suspect like he’d probably be a millionaire by now if not for me, and 3) when I told him about what happened on Monday, he was there for me without a second of hesitation, complaint, or doubt.  Because of his job and the fact that we’re always going out to eat, he doesn’t get many home-cooked meals.  So, I wanted him to have one and I wanted to make it for him myself.

But I can’t cook, right?

Turns out, apparently, I can.  Now, I’m not saying that I’m ready to be on TV competing for my own restaurant or anything like that and I did have to get my sister Erin to help me out a little bit so I can’t really say that I deserve that much credit for it but still, dinner last night turned out to be pretty good.

Or, at the very least, edible.  And edible is a lot more than I thought I was capable of doing.

As for what Erin and I made, it was Chicken Risotto using one of my mom’s old recipes and I know that Chicken Risotto really isn’t a big deal or anything (because on Hell’s Kitchen, they’re always saying, “Who can’t make a risotto!?”) but I was still so incredibly proud when I saw it being successfully moved from the stove to the counter to eventually the kitchen table.

I guess you could say that chicken risotto was my mom’s signature dish.  It was what everyone always asked her to make if the family was getting together.  And, I’ll be honest — I’m not a gourmet.  I’m not a “foodie” or whatever you call them.  I don’t know if everyone in the world can make a chicken risotto.  For all I know, it could be the simplest dish to prepare ever.  I know my mom always acted like it wasn’t a big deal to make but I always loved it and so did everyone else.  And, even more importantly, I could tell that she always took a lot of pleasure and personal pride out of seeing how much everyone else loved it.

So, I don’t know if making Chicken Risotto is a huge accomplishment.  All I know is that I did it, I’m proud of myself, Jeff enjoyed his meal, and I think my mom would be proud of me.

Though, I also think, she would probably have noticed that I put in a little bit too much salt.  I noticed and I’m sure Jeff and Erin noticed but they were too nice to say. 

And for that, I love them.

These bruises have lasted

now 24 some years just

below the concealment of

skin like an infection so

near eruption they fester

with your words that still

ricochet in my head and

kill my soul

leaving memories

that are like your hands

always there

but never with love



I’ve given you too much blood

Year after year

You have taken pint after pint

Those pints taking all

my iron and protein

Today I can barely walk

White dizziness cloud my eyes

My lungs burn and suffer

Cold, scarred veins sucking

not pushing and my

muscles clench in anger

I scream

awake from a waking sleep

grabbing for something

to grab onto

Trying not to hit the ground

Bleeding away the terror in my legs

Hush little girl she’ll say

It was only a dream

Welcome to 2011!

Traditionally, January 1st is when we break all of our new year’s resolutions.  That’s why, this year, I decided not to make any resolutions until January 1st.  Hopefully, by doing this, I’ll be able keep some of them until the 2nd or maybe the 3rd.

I also know that tradition dictates that you only make two or three New Year’s Resolutions.  However, I am a lover of excess.  So, this year I made 20.

1) I will update this blog at least every other day, even if I have absolutely nothing to say.

2) I will dance everyday.

3) I will make more of an effort to control my natural tendency to act like a spoiled brat.

4) I’m going to make more of an effort to get on a regular, daily sleep cycle instead of just waiting to pass out after three or four days.

5) I will set up a definite, concrete timeline for getting my Master’s and I’ll stick with it.

6) I will never buy tampons at 7-11 again.  And you know what else?  I’m never going to apologize for talking out loud about my period again.

7) I’m going to continue to run and exercise every day.

8 ) I’m going to finish my novel-in-progress, Mizmoon.  I should warn you that this is a carry-over resolution from last year.

9) I will either find a prisoner to correspond with or I’ll stop signing up for prison pen pal programs.

10) I will discover a previously undiscovered species of cat.  It will have long red hair and mismatched green eyes and it’ll be named after me.  It probably won’t always land on its feet either so be careful if you get a Lisa cat.  Don’t let it climb trees.

11) I’m going to stop worrying about pleasing everyone because it can’t be done.

12) I will finally get around to answering all of those questions that have piled up over on my formspring account.  I’ve got about 256 questions left to answer so this one might take a while.

13) I will be more tolerant of people who disagree with me even though they will still be wrong.

14) I will no longer be ashamed about being a victim.  Instead, I will be proud of being a survivor.

15) I will think before I spend money.

16) I will have more confidence in myself.

17) I will stop obsessing about my big, Italian nose.  Or I might just get a nose job.

18) I promise that I will try to try to stop driving too fast.

19) I will start to forgive.

20) I will allow myself to love.

Happy 2011.  Let’s make it a good one because, in case you haven’t heard, the world is ending in 2012.

As of last Saturday — November 13th — it has been two years since my mom passed away.  On that day, my sisters and I visited her grave site and we did what we had to do in order to make it through the day.

I felt numb that day and I’m feeling that same numbness right now as I try to write about it.  It’s a defensive numbness, a shield I put up whenever I think my true emotions are on the verge of attacking and overwhelming me.  For me, raising the shield is as automatic a reaction as breathing.  Sometimes I resent it but my body continues to put up that shield because my body knows what needs to be done in order to survive.

I was recently talking to a friend of mine who lost his father around the same time that mom passed.  I asked him if the grief and the pain even actually went away.  He told me that they don’t but eventually, you learn how to deal with them.

I guess that’s what I’m doing now.

I’m learning.

I didn’t get a chance to mention it yesterday but October 22nd was International Stuttering Awareness Day.  To be honest, I’m not totally sure how these “awareness” days are supposed to work or how they’re supposed to change the world.  According to Wikipedia, Central Michigan University actually observes an International Stuttering Awareness Week.  However, the problem isn’t that the world is not aware of stuttering.  The problem is that the world continues to mock and stereotype those who do stutter.

People who know me now never seem to believe me when I tell them that, from the age of five to almost twelve, I very rarely if ever spoke.  It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything I wanted to say or that being quiet was ever, in any way, a part of my nature.  Instead, it was because I knew that if I spoke, someone would hear me stutter and immediately, I would be shunned.  I would be the outsider.  I would be branded as being stupid and damaged and worthless.  I lived my days in terror of being called on in class and forgetting to speak very carefully and slowly because if I actually relaxed and just started to talk the way everyone else did, my stutter would come out.

At home, of course, you couldn’t shut me up.  At home, it didn’t matter if I stuttered.  If anything, I was almost proud of it because my mom had been a stutterer too and it gave me an extra bond to her that nobody else in my family had.  She always told me not to be ashamed when I couldn’t get the words out as perfectly as others. 

I guess that’s why it was such a slap in the face to go out into the “real world,” and to be told that no, I should be ashamed.  I can still remember every time that someone — whether it was a classmate or the occasional adult — replied to whatever I had said by repeating my exact words, all the way down to the stutter.  I can’t remember their names but I can remember the way they hurt me.  I can remember the way they’d smirk when they would do it and the sound of their laughter.  Everyone had an individual laugh but the pain it brought always felt the same. 

I would just sit quietly and try to fade into the background.  For someone like me — who was smart and who did have a lot to say — this was torture.    If you asked me what I mostly remember about my childhood, it was being angry at those who could step into the spotlight and being scared that strangers would discover why I couldn’t. 

My stutter has gotten better over time, to the point where now it rarely, if ever, comes out.  Just as it’s difficult to explain what causes someone to stutter, it’s also difficult to explain why some people stop stuttering and others don’t.  In my case, I’m sure there’s a lot of reasons why I no longer stutter as badly as I once did. 

Some of it, undoubtedly, was due to a lot of speech therapy. 

My own personal theory is that a lot of it is due to the fact that, physically, I was an early bloomer.  Ironically, the discovery that as long as you have boobs, most guys won’t listen to a word you’re saying anyway, actually served to boost my confidence and — though I don’t want to support the idea that stuttering is just a result of insecurity — that discovery did make me a lot more comfortable with speaking to other people (or, to be honest, to members of the male sex).   Even if I did occasionally still stutter, nobody seemed to notice.  And, as I grew more comfortable with the idea that I actually could speak, I found myself stuttering less and less.

(Of course, many years later, I came to realize that this presented a whole new set of problems and frustrations.)

Also, much like my mom’s, my stutter just grew less and less severe as time passed.  Unfortunately, I never realized it was just naturally getting better because, in my mind, I was always that little girl who was so scared of saying something just to have it thrown back in her face of evidence of her own stupidity and worthlessness.  In many ways, that’s how I still see myself and I guess that’s how I always will.  Those years of silence left me with scars of insecurity that I doubt, regardless of how confident I otherwise am, will ever truly heal.

As I said earlier, I’m still a stutterer.  My stutter still comes out occasionally, usually if I’m tired or just unusually flustered.  I wish I could say that it doesn’t hurt to hear it in my voice but honestly, every little stammer — no matter how rarely it’s actually heard anymore —  still feels like a small death to me. 

What’s ironic though is that I’ve grown up to be someone who, literally, can not stop talking.  Not only do I have a job that requires that I spend almost every minute of my workday speaking to others, but I’ve also been involved with various community theaters and I love being in the spotlight.  Now, I spend most of my time actively seeking to be the center of attention even if it means that I might occasionally trip over my words in public.  And it’s all because I spent so many years in a self-imposed exile of silence.

I know the pain of being anonymous.  I know the pain of not having a voice and of being ignored and forgotten.

That pain left me with one goal: to never be anonymous and invisible again.

And I won’t be.

I love my Aunt Kate and I know she loves me but often times, we have trouble showing it.  To a large extent, it’s a generational thing.  She’s a part of the generation of women who rebelled against a sexist society by burning bras, protesting outside of the halls of government, and never allowing any man to get away with casually referring to her as sweetheart, babe, doll, dear, or any other term that would have served to diminish her.  Because of the society she lived in, everything she did — from the clothes she wore to the jobs she took to the way she signed her name — had to be done in a way that rejected anything that would have allowed men to stereotype her.  My aunt is part of a generation of feminists that were and are often referred to as being “strident.”  But if Kate was strident, it was because she didn’t have much choice.  Anything less than stridency would have been surrender.

As for me, I’m a part of the generation that can afford not to be strident.  I’m a part of the generation that can be feminine because we want to and not because society is holding a gun to our head and demanding it.  I’m a part of the generation that takes for granted the freedoms that my aunt fought and suffered for.  While I tend to forget that my aunt grew up in a time when women had to fight, I think she sometimes doesn’t realize that just because I might spend a while getting my makeup just right, I’m doing that for me and not because it’s demanded of me by a patriarchal society.  As a result, me and Kate argue way too much and often times, I forget to thank her for making the world a better place for me. 

I’m happy to say, however, that Kate and I have found something that we totally agree on.  We both love Tim Gunn, the former fashion school dean who is best known for playing the role of mentor on 8 seasons of Project Runway and counting.  Apparently, Tim — yes, both me and Kate consider ourselves to be on a first name basis with Tim — was recently in Frisco, Texas on some sort of promotional tour.  My aunt was among the countless women who came to see and hear him.  Kate approached him afterward, told him how much she “respected” him, and she got a hug in return.  She said it was one of the nicest hugs she’d ever received and that doesn’t surprise me at all.  He’s Tim Gunn after all!

Why do we love Tim Gunn?

Tim Gunn knows fashion.  This goes without saying.  The thing that always impresses me about Tim on Project Runway is that he’s definitely a man of another generation yet he still respects the opinions and the fashions of my generation.  He’s that rare older man who doesn’t expect or demand that a woman in her 20s either dress like 1) our grandmother or 2) like we’re posing for the cover of Lolita.

Tim Gunn is gay.  Don’t doubt just how important this one little fact is.  As a woman, you are constantly aware that every guy you meet is, somewhere in the back of his mind, deciding whether or not you are — to put it crudely — fuckable.  Everything a guy says to you, you have to wonder: Is he telling me the truth or is he just trying to get in my pants?  And if he isn’t trying to get into my pants — why not?  Obviously, this can lead to a lot of confusion, stress, and hurt feelings.  But Tim, bless him, is not only gay but openly and obviously so.  We know he is only interested in looking at the clothes on our body as opposed to our body underneath our clothes.  Tim’s a man that we can actually trust and how often do you actually meet one of those?  At the same time, since Tim is a man, a woman doesn’t have to worry that he’s been busy hating her behind her back or that he’s been spreading lies and innuendo just because her ass looks better in skinny jeans than his does.  In short, Tim Gunn is the ideal platonic male friend.

Tim Gunn has been celibate since breaking up with his boyfriend.  They broke up 20 years ago.  In interviews, Tim has explained that he’s remained celibate because he’s still in love with his former partner.  Since I have tendency to go crazy if I’m celibate for 20 hours, it’s hard for me to imagine what 20 years of voluntary celibacy could possibly be like.  That’s not a life I would really wish on anyone but it’s hard for me not to read that and go “awww…” at the fact that Tim would apparently choose to simply be celibate as opposed to just doing it with someone who he doesn’t love.

Tim Gunn could spend hours in a fabric store.  How many men can you say that about?

Tim Gunn is always sophisticated but never a snob.  One of my favorite parts of Project Runway is when the show finally leaves either NYC or L.A. and Tim visits the finalists in their own hometowns.  For whatever reason, each season seems to feature quite a few designed who come from and live out in Deliverance country.  It’s hard to describe the delight I get from seeing Tim, in his perfectly tailored suits and not a hair out-of-place, discussing fashion while surrounded by sagging pants, beer bellies, manboobs, and rampaging cellulite.  In a world where belching has become an acceptable form of debate, there is something comforting in knowing that there’s at least one man out there who still makes the effort.  What’s even more appealing is that, unlike me, Tim Gunn would never (at least not in public) use the phrase “deliverance country” when talking about the people he’s just met.  There’s a lot of be said for a man who can be sophisticated without feeling the need to call attention to that fact.

Tim Gunn has one of the few hearts in reality television.  One thing about most reality TV regulars: they’re very quick to let you know what they think of each season’s group of contestants.  On Survivor, Jeff Probst always lets us know which tribe he considers to be the most pathetic.  Julie Chen often struggles to remember just who exactly is living in the Big Brother house.  Chris Harrison can’t wait for  the Bachelor to screw up his engagement.  Don’t even get me started on those two fascists that seem to be intent on giving everyone a heart attack on Biggest Loser.  However, Tim Gunn is always seems to be sincere when he sends the latest cut designer up to the workroom to clean his or her space.  With is warm hug and his apologetic tone, Tim has probably kept more than a few failed designers from committing suicide after having to listen to Heidi Klum tell them that “We’ve seen it before and, quite frankly, we’re bored…”

Tim Gunn speaks his mind.  Tim may be nice but he speaks his mind.  One of the best things about this current season of Project Runway has been watching Tim put judgmental, catty snobs like Gretchen and Ivy in their place.  Who didn’t cheer when Tim said he couldn’t understand why the other designers were meekly allowing themselves to be “bullied” by Gretchen or when he showed up at the workroom and told Ivy to stop accusing Michael Costello of “cheating?”  There are times when I wish I could have someone like Tim Gunn with me whenever I’m at work and I know I’m going to have to deal with the women who work in the office next to mine. 

Tim Gunn is willing to call the Kardashians “vulgar.”  Somebody had to say it.

Tim Gunn does the right thing.  One of the reasons why my aunt said she “respected” Tim Gunn is because of a recent  video Tim made in response to the recent suicides of several gay teenagers.  In that video, Tim talks about how he tried to take his own life when he was 17 and still coming to terms with his sexuality.  Here’s something else that me and Kate agree on — I respect Tim Gunn too.  It takes courage to talk publicly about something that painful.  While everyone always talks about how tragic suicide is, there’s still a stigma attached to actually admitting that you have ever been in that dark of a place.  That Tim Gunn — who certainly didn’t have to — chose to open up that part of his life says a lot about who he is and why he’s earned the respect of both me and my aunt.

Tim Gunn gave me and my Aunt common ground.  After me and my aunt had spent a little while talking about how much we both love Tim, we came to an agreement.  From now on, whenever she’s tempted to admonish me or I’m tempted to get an attitude with her, we are simply going to ask ourselves, “What would Tim Gunn do?”

1) I love musicals.  I was in the drama club all through high school.  When I was in college, I was active in community theater.  I’ve never allowed the fact that I’m tone-deaf to prevent me from breaking out into a song.  Taking all that into account, I really should love Glee.  And yet, I don’t.  In fact, I hate it.  Whether it’s Matthew Morrison’s creepy smile or the way Glee pretends to be more quirky than it actually is, the show just annoys the Hell out of me. 

2) When it comes to selecting a favorite color, I’ve always been torn between red or green.  I finally settled on one of them about two nights ago but, for the life of me, I can’t remember which one.

3) I am a German-Spanish-Irish-Italian mutt with a little French thrown in for good measure.  I probably identify most with my Irish heritage even though I’m definitely closest to the Spanish-Italian side of my family.  A part of me wishes that my background was 100% Cajun. 

4) I have a degree in Art History so, of course, I’m currently working as a receptionist.

5) Along with being asthmatic, I suffer from heterochromia, i.e. my left eye is a lighter shade of green than my right.  Unlike asthma, heterochromia is actually kinda cool. 

6) I tend to talk a lot.  I mean a lot.  My sister Megan once said, “Lisa can tell the longest stories about nothing…”  At the time, it actually hurt my feelings but in retrospect, she’s right.  What people often fail to understand, though, is that the main reason I won’t shut up is because I’m actually very shy.  Rambling is my way of avoiding the dreaded awkward silence.

7) For close to a year now, I’ve been writing — off-and-on — a novel called Mizmoon.  It’s been one of the most frustrating and rewarding experiences of my life.  My plan is to have a rough draft completed by the end of 2010. 

8 ) If I had a time machine, I’d go back 11 years and tell my younger self to “wait” and enjoy being innocent for a few more years.  What’s sad is that I know my younger self would probably respond by telling me that I don’t understand how she (I) feels and that it’s her (my) life anyway. 

9) Often times, when I’m having trouble finding any inspiration for a more substantial blog post, I’ll handle the situation by writing down a few very random facts about me.

10) I’m not anti-marriage.  I just have serious doubts as to whether or not I could ever be a part of a succesful marriage.  I’m a romantic at heart but, at the same time, I hate the thought of one day waking up and realizing that I’ve sacrificed my own identity just to be “so-and-so’s wife.”  A friend of mine recently told me that “a succesful relationship is built on trust.”  I don’t know if I’ll ever be capable of trusting anyone that much.

11) I’ve often been accused of engaging in a bit too much TMI for my own good (especially when it comes to my twitter account) but there are certain things in my life that I don’t talk about even though I want to.  But I don’t because I know that if I do, people will no longer think of me as Lisa Marie.  Instead, they’ll simply see me as an object of pity or as a victim.  As much as I sometimes need to express my pain, I don’t want it to define me.

12) At the same time, I do find that it is sometimes to helpful to vent (or sometimes even cry out) on a site like twitter because 1) you can block anyone who acts like an asshole about it, 2) others can block or ignore you if they don’t want to hear about it (which makes me feel less guilty about my occasional emo moments), and 3) sometimes, if you’re lucky, someone will actually offer up either some good advice or come up with a response so perfectly absurd that it’ll snap me out of my angst.

13) Yes, I have in the past occasionally posted a risqué picture or two on twitpic, tweetphoto, and plixi.  And yes, I have occasionally had to deal with the total stranger who has taken it upon him or herself to tell me that I need to have more “respect” for myself or use better judgment.  But you know what?  It’s my body and I’m not ashamed of it.  Why is it that society continues to insist that a woman cannot be independent, intelligent, and/or liberated unless she’s also some sort of humorless, sexless celibate?

If I want to show off my body, I will.  Even more importantly, though, if I don’t feel like showing off my body, I won’t.  No matter how many DMs, YMs, and e-mails I get asking me when I’m going to post another “thong shot.”  The minute anything starts to feel like an obligation is the minute that I start to lose interest.

Someone once asked me how I’d feel if, some day in the distant future, I discovered that my daughter was posting racy pictures of herself on the Internet.  I didn’t have an answer for him then and I really don’t have an answer now.  I know it would upset me but I would also hope that if my daughter was doing that, she would be doing it because she wanted to and not because she felt like she had to.

14) Yes, I do want to be a mom someday.  If I have a girl, I’m going to name her Gloria Elena after my mom.

15) When I first started this post, I thought it was going to be a lot shorter and a lot less serious.  🙂

16) I am an obsessive list maker.  Not only do I continually make lists of everything I need to during the day but I tend to hold on to the lists even after the day has passed because the list, if nothing else, will at least help me remember the day.  Yes, I know this is probably an indication of a tendency towards hoarding.  However, I am capable of throwing aways my old lists … just as long as I’m given one last chance to read them before I do so.

17) Continuing on the obsessive compulsive theme, it’s very important to me that any numbers in my life be even numbers.  I can never, for instance, feel secure if I’m in a building that has an address that ends in an odd number.  That’s also why I’m going to end up listing 20 random facts about myself in this post.  (It’s also why, for my Lisa Marie’s Favorite Exploitation and Grindhouse Trailers series over at Through the Shattered Lens, I always include 6 trailers per post instead of 5.)

18) I used to love that Chanel commercial where Nicole Kidman was the actress having the romance with the — well, I forget what he was supposed to be but he was hot and that’s all that really mattered.  Except, for some reason, I always thought that Kidman’s character was supposed to be terminally ill and dying in the commercial.

19) I love old school Italian horror films, the gorier and more sordid the better.  Yet, in real life, I can’t stand the sight of blood.

20) Okay, one last random fact.  Hmmm…alright, I get about two to three hours of sleep a night and I like it that way.  Life fascinates me and I can’t experience it if I’m asleep.

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