Monthly Archives: December 2016

2016: Year in Review

Well, folks, we are effectively 14 days out from 2017, and you know what that means: it’s time for everyone to look back on the shit that they didn’t accomplish in the last year, moan and complain about it, and then continue on being the same cunts they’ve always been.  I would say that I’ll be no exception to that rule, but actually… I’ve come a long way this last year.

Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.  A lot of the time, I feel like I’m stuck in first gear, spinning my tires, rocking the damn car back and forth through the snow, trying to get myself unstuck.  Sometimes it feels like one step forward and two steps back.  I then have to remind myself that this is how it feels on the micro level, but when you allow yourself to step back and look at the macro – evaluate the big picture – suddenly things look a little bit different.

It would be easy to focus on the things that didn’t go right this year.  I’m still single.  I’m still fat.  I still suck at bringing in the mail every day.  I still need to tweak my budget tighter.  I still need to work on my focus, my patience, my gratitude, and getting the damn laundry folded every weekend.

There is a lot that has gone right this year, though.  I have taught myself how the Forex market works.  To someone who doesn’t know jack about Forex, that probably doesn’t seem like so much, but trust me, it is.  I have a really solid trading system that is reliable, although I need to exhibit more patience and pay more attention to some of the mathematical details.  I am training myself to be more conscientious in my work and less attached to the outcome in relation to my own self-image.  I am doing something that most people will not and, in some cases, cannot do.  I have learned so much, and I have infinitely more still to learn, but I am actually immensely proud of myself for coming as far as I have.  This is something I have done on my own.  It is mine and mine alone, and I am so glad that I stuck with it.

I have lost about 65-70 pounds.  I had hoped to lose more, but that’s okay.  I’m setting the goal to meet or exceed that amount for 2017.  That will bring me a lot closer to where I want to be.  I am happy with what I’ve accomplished.

One of the best things I have done, by miles, is buy the basic course for Gymnastic Bodies (gymnastic strength training).  I’m pretty sure this isn’t part of their advertising campaign, and I can’t technically vouch for it because, uh, you know, I don’t get out much, but I am 99% confident that you will have better sex if you do even the basic course.  Ever had wrist pain from topping?  This will take care of that without you having to lose weight.  You will feel your triceps again.  You will be able to contort yourself into interesting positions and plank like there’s no tomorrow.  Seriously, guys, I didn’t realize how much of a mess I was until I started doing it.  I love it, it’s fun, and if you do it, you’ll get results.  And possibly more ass, once your muscles start to show.

And oh hey, I got divorced.  Most people would call that a lose, but I’m calling that a major win.  I married someone who was totally wrong for me.  He’s an ass.  A miserable, delusional, emotionally abusive ass.  I love our kids, but I will never for a second regret getting that gorilla off my back.  If you are in a horrible relationship that you know isn’t going to get better, take it from me: get the fuck out.  Just do it.  Don’t wait.  Get out.  Life is so goddamn short.  We all owe it to ourselves to find the best possible happiness for ourselves, and we should not be in relationships (of any kind, romantic or otherwise) with people that don’t bring anything to the table.  You should be adding value to others’ lives, and they should be doing the same for you.

My kids are (mostly) healthy.  Yeah, they have colds and ear infections and the usual crap, but they are healthy.  There have been several families in the area this year lose young children to cancer or other horrible illnesses.  My kids are healthy and happy.  They are each others’ best friends, they laugh every day, they give hugs and kisses, and they are all three incredibly loving.  Huge.  So huge.  So important and so easy to take for granted.

I changed my name.  That is something I wanted to do for a long time.  I’m still getting used to it.  I ordered my new driver’s license back in November, and it still hasn’t gotten here.  I had to reorder it last week and got treated like a criminal for it, but hey. Government.  DMV.  Point is, I’m glad that I did that because I had wanted to do it for a long time, and I feel good about it.

I’m starting to work on restarting the libertarian blog that I used to write, way back before the kids.  I’m actually going to pay for site hosting and try to effectively monetize it this time around.  I’ll probably make some attempt to put together an a free ebook or something of that nature to go along with it to get it going, so it’s not going to happen immediately, as it’s going to take me some time to get the material written, proofread, and into a reasonably pleasing format.  I have no idea, realistically, how long that is going to take.  Probably quite a while.  Putting together quality content takes time, and with everything else I have going on, well, you can’t expect it overnight.  Unless I do get that Adderall prescription… Jokes, jokes!

I have spent enough time playing my guitar that I have learned a few new, recognizable songs.  I still suck, but I get a lot of enjoyment out of it, and I’m making decent progress, given how few hours I put into it.

I have started keeping a notebook.  Well, I have like, three (main, goals/meditation, Forex), but I have one main notebook that acts as a kind of datebook cum planner cum journal.  I write everything in it: grocery lists, to do lists, quotes, books I want to read, funny things I hear, new bands or singers I hear and want to add to the playlist, and whatever else I feel like putting in there.  I find that writing things down helps me remember them better, but it also gives me documentation for things that I’m doing that do or don’t work.  For someone who likes to write as much as I do, the notebook is immensely helpful.  I really want to buy a fountain pen to go with it.  I’m thinking the Lamy Safari will be a good investment.  I hear they’re bulletproof, and they get good ratings.

I survived a partial remodel of the house.  Okay, it was really just repainting and laying laminate floors, but with three kids, that basically qualifies.  One of the dumb girls at work, who is single and childless, said, “Well, that’s no big deal.  I know lots of people who do home remodeling projects with kids.”  Yeah, bitch, but they also have husbands helping out with moving the furniture around and who probably know more about how drills and hammers work than I do.  My grandfather taught me many manly arts, but home repair was not one of them.  Anyway, moral of the story is that I got new floors and new paint, and the house looks like something from this century now.

This is the point where I have to consider what I want for next year.  I’m not making resolutions because I don’t know that I want to change anything so much as improve upon what’s already happening.  … I guess for the sake of the argument, we can call them resolutions.

  1. Lose another 60-70 lbs.
  2. Continue making a profit in Forex demo and, after a few more months, fund a real account.
  3. Don’t lose the money invested in a real Forex account
  4. Run more consistently
  5. Get the AnCap blog back up and running and make sure it’s monetized from the start
  6. Write a small ebook to accompany said blog
  7. Continue practice of meditation
  8. Make my bed every day
  9. Do one thing per week that makes me uncomfortable
  10. Attach less personal meaning to outcomes
  11. Read more
  12. Tweak the budget
  13. Write more letters and send more cards to people
  14. Bring in the mail every day
  15. Find a nice guy to date who is preferably smarter than me, likes some of the same things, can talk on many subjects of general interest, and is good in bed.  I am not sure the man exists who fits this description and is willing to date me, but I’m nothing if not a persistent hunter.
  16. Finish outlining the narrative book that I have had in mind to write for at least five years now.  Maybe finish 1-3 chapters and then heavily edit.

These are all attainable goals.  Some are small.  Others are big.  I am really excited about all of the projects I have in mind to continue to take on afresh.  The main thing I want, however, is to keep my forward momentum.  Losing momentum is like stagnating or even going backwards, and that I can’t abide.

I don’t know where the holidays and New Year are finding all of you, but I hope that it’s a good place.  And if it’s not a good place, I hope that you will be able to get some headspace and turn things around.  Something I had heard before but never really believed until somewhat recently was that sometimes the greatest setbacks in our lives have a way of being the catalyst for the greatest successes.  If you are currently in the midst of a setback, I hope that you will come to see how the obstacle can be turned to your favor.

This last part that I would like to share is a transcription of something handwritten in “the notebook” from 12/13.  I have been doing a particular type of meditation the last several nights to help let go of some things that are overdue to be sent on down the river.  I wrote this for myself and had not intended, at the time I wrote it, to publish it in any way.  I have no idea what the title means; it just seemed right at the time.  In any case, there was a good lesson in it for me.  I hope at least one person will find it useful, interesting, helpful, or minimally pleasant to read and not too preachy.  (Remember, I did write it for/to myself, and I like to preach to myself.)  See you in 2017!  Peace, love, and anarchy.


“The Landing”

I have had two sessions of the […] meditation now, and in both sessions, the life lesson repeated to me was the same:

To thine own self be true.

This has so many meanings, and I’m just now putting it together: people love me best when I’m my honest, authentic self.  Don’t hide who you are.  Don’t change your own goals to suit someone else that doesn’t share and support your vision.  Be true to you.  Go after your stupid dreams, get after it every day, say what you really think/feel in a constructive way, leave room to get really fucking angry, and don’t ever, EVER settle for less than your market value.

This means that you will not please everybody all the time.  This means feelings will get hurt.  This means that people won’t always see your vision, understand your words, or share your goals.  That’s fine.  They are not writing the story: you are.

You are the author of this tale.  You alone will determine whether it is a tragedy or a comedy, an adventure or a doldrums, a few scribbles on a forgotten page, or a masterpiece destined for a space on the shelf of honored history.  This requires your authenticity.

Be you.  Every single day.

You may not attract the masses, but your cult following is already cut from the best cloth.  Birds of a feather… Your tapestry is woven.  Don’t relegate it to a dark corner; showcase it.

Love yourself.  Be kind to yourself.  Make time for yourself.  Most importantly, be your most authentic self.


The Ghosts of Christmas Past

I can’t remember if I’ve brought it up on this particular forum, but I am a bit obsessed with Twin Peaks.  For those of you who haven’t gotten in on this cult classic, either because you aren’t old enough to have been watching much evening TV back in 1991 or because you have been seriously deprived as an adult, Twin Peaks was a short-lived show from 1990-1991 that was partially written and directed by David Lynch and Mark Frost.  It carries the Lynchian trademarks of having a surreal, dreamy quality, doppelgängers (a personal favorite theme of mine), and also of invoking the feeling that you want to laugh but know on some level that you really shouldn’t.  It’s an odd show and was, in my humble opinion, groundbreaking for its time.  Much emulated but never quite matched.  And it’s coming back to Showtime in 2017.  I will be unavailable during that time slot.

I’ve been a Lynch fan since I watched Lost Highway when I was 13 and didn’t know what the fuck just happened.  Actually, every time I watch that movie, I still wonder what the fuck just happened.  Twin Peaks leaves considerably less to the imagination than Lost Highway in that the plot is coherent and makes a modicum of sense, but make no mistake, it leaves plenty hanging up in the air.  My favorite thing about Twin Peaks, however, is the varied occult themes that run through it.

I’m pretty sure you all know that I love a good conspiracy theory.  I knew about the “ancient aliens” conspiracy about 10-12 years before it was actually popular.  I stumbled down the David Icke rabbit hole when I was 17.  (That was a night…!)  This is not to say that I believe every kooky conspiracy that I read or hear about because I don’t.  I remember, however, sitting and talking to my grandfather about some wild and wacky thing that I’d read once – something about planetary alignment and how there were sinister forces in the world conspiring to make things happen at certain times according to such things.  He looked at me and said, “Margaret, it’s not important that you believe it.  It’s only important that someone else believes it.”  I have, obviously, never forgotten that.

But I recognized many of the themes in Twin Peaks: Glastonbury Grove, owls, Biblical references, alien visitations, synchronicities, wizards… In fact, truth be told, there were moments as I was watching the series through the first time that I had to pause it and come back later because it put the hook in me.  It rang bells.  And I have wondered more than one if David Lynch doesn’t know more about the universe than he’s letting on.

The stories I’m about to relay to you are true.  They honestly occurred exactly as I’m telling them to you.  One of them scared me so badly that I still dread the week before Christmas because of it.  It is, in fact, one of the main reasons that I still believe in something beyond, something more than this.  To loosely quote another creepy series, Penny Dreadful, “I believe in Heaven, but I believe in the other place more.”

If you’d like to add a nice little Twin Peaks effect while reading this, as I am while I’m writing, feel free to listen to Jimmy Scott sing “Under the Sycamore Trees,” as performed in the finale of TP during the Black Lodge scene.


It has been 12 years ago now that this first happened to me.  I was 20 years old and living in Germany.  It was the week before Christmas.  I had broken up with my Hungarian boyfriend, been spurned by the beautiful German I so badly wanted, and had had my wallet lifted out of my bag while I was buying the makings for Mexican food in Karstadt.  My uncle had put a flag on my Social Security number.  I had lost all of my credit cards, my bus pass, and my Ferragamo wallet that I had bought myself for Christmas some years prior.  In short, it was not the best Christmas season on record.

I woke up one night at 12:59 a.m.  My room was dark and cold, and as I looked over at my clock, I felt a sense of relief that I didn’t have to be up for another five hours or so.  Herr Schmidt’s class didn’t start until 9:00, which gave me plenty of time to sleep.  I pulled the covers up over my head, and went back to sleep.

But then I woke up again with a start.  Something was on top of me, and it was clutching on to the covers.  For some reason, I glanced briefly over at the red numbers on my clock before yanking the duvet back over my head.  1:01 a.m.

Whatever was on my bed, it was moving up my torso and clutching at my throat, but it wasn’t especially heavy.  Then out of nowhere, I heard this voice – not a human voice, I was sure of that immediately – begin whispering in my left ear that dark wizards were coming to take me to Hell.

That was enough for me.  I threw the covers back and flipped on the light.  Lying there on my bed, grasping blindly for me, was a severed arm.  I screamed, picked it up, threw it aside, and started running for the door.  My keys hung, as they always were, on the little mushroom-shaped hook in the kitchenette.  I grabbed them and unlatched the deadbolt as  quickly as I could.  The arm began to grab me from behind just as I got the door open.  I snatched it up again, threw it into the hallway, and slammed the door shut.

Then I woke up.  I was 1:01 a.m.

I laid there, panting for a minute, staring into the darkness and wondering if I was alone.  I finally reached tentatively over to my bedside light and flipped it on.  There was nothing there – nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.  My room, messy though it always was, looked completely normal.

I sat up in my bed and just stared at the door, as though daring it to open, for maybe 15 minutes or so.  Finally, I unfolded my legs, stood up, and walked over to flip the overhead light on.  The switch was right next to the mushroom hook.  I went and sat back down on my bed with my back to the wall, and I didn’t go back to sleep that night.  In fact, I didn’t sleep all that well for about a week afterward.

Fast forward almost exactly one year – it may even have been a year to the day, though I couldn’t say that for certain.  I was back home on U.S. soil.  I had come back to Jacksonville a few days earlier than expected due to an unexpected and rather entertaining (for everyone else, anyway) allergic reaction to my Christmas tree.  I was covered in hives and had been instructed to vacate my apartment immediately.

So I was sleeping in my childhood bedroom, which admittedly always creeped me out, from the first night I spent there.  It had been my mother’s room growing up too, and the first night I spent in that room was with her, actually.  There were two twin beds in the room back then.  I was probably three years old – one of my earliest memories.  I had gone to bed at my mom’s house, and someone called after tuck-in.  My mom was yelling at whomever it was, and then suddenly she came into my room, dragged me out of bed, and instructed me to get my coat on, that we were going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  I told her I couldn’t go because I didn’t have my underwear on, and she said not to worry about that.

As it turned out, my father had been on the other end of the line.  He had called her drunk, saying that he’d bought a gun and that he was coming to our house to kill us both and that he was going to burn the house down.  So my mom packed me into the car, we drove the few blocks to the folks’ house, and we spent the night there.  I remember sitting tiredly at my mother’s feet in the living room, the gold shag carpet beneath me, but not really understanding what they were discussing.  My mom snored, as does everyone in the Howe family (including yours truly), and the whole night, her snoring scared me.  I knew that it was her, but it was still frightening somehow.  Maybe that whole incident soured me on the room.

Whatever the case, there was no lead-in this time.  No waking up and looking at the clock. It was just there, suddenly.

I was in a room with blank walls.  My hands were tied overhead, and I was hanging from a meat hook, like in a butcher’s shop.  I was observing myself, like in a movie, and whatever else was there was out of frame.  But the voice was the same.  And the warning it carried was the same: The dark wizards were coming to take me to Hell, but they were going to hurt me first.

I disagreed vehemently.  My hung self told them that they couldn’t hurt me because I wouldn’t let them.  I was terrified and also impressed that I had found the bravery to say no.  That seemed to work, because the scene then transformed.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar at my friend’s house.  She had her back to me, and she was making something at the counter.  There was a black and white photo of the two of us sitting to my right on the bar.  I picked it up and started looking at it, and as I looked, I knew immediately that something was wrong.  Suddenly our eyes turned black and the faces started melting like wax figures.

Then I was standing behind her, and that same voice said, “Just kidding!”  And she whipped around – her hair whipped my face – and she started to face me.  And I knew then that it wasn’t her; it was the thing, whatever it was.  But I never saw its face.

I was jarred from my sleep by hands on my throat.  It felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.  I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t open my eyes, and I couldn’t have possibly been more terrified.

And I prayed.  I almost never pray.  I never have.  But I prayed, and the only prayer I could think of was the Lord’s prayer.  Just as quickly as I had been grabbed, it was gone.

I opened my eyes, and the room was dark.  I was alone.

I immediately flipped my headboard light on.  I stayed there for maybe a minute or two, and then I hurled myself out of bed and ran for the stairs.  I went down to the kitchen, turned all the lights on, and sat at the table, staring down the hallway.  It was about 4:30 in the morning, so Granny wasn’t long from getting up, and she came ambling out into the kitchen maybe 10-15 minutes later, asking me what in the world I was doing up.

I told her what had happened and how terrifying the dream was.  She seemed concerned in the way that only mothers can, but I could tell that she thought I was overreacting.  But she hadn’t heard the voice.  Twice.

For the remainder of the time that I was home for Christmas, I slept downstairs on the couch with a light on and, in truth, I never slept more than a handful of nights in that room again.  It also wasn’t the last spooky experience I had in there.  I was awakened from my sleep once to a voice clearly whispering my name in my ear.  In fact, that happened the last night I ever spent in that house, down on the sofa.  It also said, “Fuck you!”

I have only had one similar experience since, and the dream took place in the living room of my grandparents’ house, although I was living in Korea at the time.  There was an old man sitting in my grandfather’s chair, and he was talking to me about strange things that I can’t remember.  He seemed kindly, but I kept getting the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye.  He reached out to touch me, and I shocked him.  In fact, it was visible; a blue light erupted around his hand.  That angered him, and then something grabbed my ankle from behind and threw me violently to the ground.

I woke up face-down on my stomach, a position I literally never sleep in – the position I had landed in during the dream.  My ankle hurt, and I was a little bit weirded out, but I wasn’t afraid.

Fast forward another few years.  I’m divorced with three kids, and I decide to start watching Twin Peaks one night.  I get a few episodes into the first season, and I hear the little chant from Mike, the one-armed man: “Through the darkness of future past, the magician longs to see.  One chants out between two worlds, ‘Fire walk with me.'”  It immediately reminded me of the voice, and it scared me a little.  I can identify with the weirdness inherent to having dreams that come true, hearing frightening voices while you sleep, etc.

You would think that this would deter me from watching Twin Peaks, but I love it, doppelgängers and all.  I believe in the Dweller on the Threshold.  In fact, I’m not entirely unsure that the faceless thing I have encountered in my sleep isn’t my own Dweller – the dark side of myself too frightening to look upon.  We all have a dark side, and it is scary to contemplate such things.  Invoking a bit of the conversation from the season two episode that killed Twin Peaks, does it really matter whether or not the darkness comes from within you or from somewhere else?  The effect is ultimately the same: it makes men do terrible things.  I would tend to side in with the argument, by the way, that it does matter whether it comes from within or without.


Interestingly one of my uncles had a similar experience in college.  He was living in a basement apartment in Bemidji, Minnesota with his best friend.  He experienced the choking sensation and all of that.  But instead of the dream and all that, he told me he heard a horror movie laugh, like something out of a Vincent Price movie.  He said it scared him to death, and as soon as he could move, he literally went running for his friend’s room.

This same uncle has had a lot of interesting dealings with a lot of interesting people and organizations, and one such dealing with a client who happened to be Mormon.  This Mormon friend had done at least part of his service to the church in Peru.  I guess he saw some shit.  Levitating objects kind of shit.  He told my uncle that the Mormons believe that everyone encounters the devil once in their life, and that sensation that I have described is, in their opinion, an otherworldly encounter.

This phenomenon is actually more commonly known as the “old hag,” and it appears in most all cultures around the world.  Modern medicine calls it sleep paralysis.  I don’t know what to make of it.  I would prefer it to have a perfectly rational explanation, frankly.  My problem is that dreams I have like that… Well… I’m not sure I’d call them dreams as much as visions, and if you buy into what Major Briggs says, there’s a difference between a dream and a vision.  I have seen some shit.

To be entirely truthful though, I don’t know what happened to me.  I must concede that it could have been a bad dream with a side of sleep paralysis.  I must concede that.  However, the feelings it evokes, even now, are such that part of me does believe a little bit that there was more vision to it than I would like.  But ultimately… I don’t know.

I do know that I was frightened.  More frightened than I’ve ever been in my life.  It scares me to think too long on it now.  These two events happened when I was 20 and 21 years old, respectively – over a decade ago now.  And I can see them as clearly as yesterday.  These things that stay with us, be they a naturally occurring part of life, supernatural, or something else entirely, cannot be dismissed as unimportant.  Anything that retains some hold over you and influences your thoughts and conclusions cannot be deemed anything but.

So that is my ghost of Christmas past.  It is a ghost that I’m afraid will haunt me for all my days.  I will always feel just a little bit uneasy in the few days leading up to Christmas.  And I still sleep with my headboard light on.  In fact, I have never changed the bulb.  I got the headboard when I was probably 15 years old – it was before I could drive – and I have been burning that light all night for many a long year.  Stalwart sentinel, it has been keeping the watch the whole while.

The spookier ghosts of Christmases past are not the only ones that now haunt my thoughts, though.  Since my teenage years, I haven’t been especially fond of Christmas.  I do not know why this is, but I just don’t find that I enjoy it too much.  I enjoy it less now that the folks are gone.  My grandmother, when she was in charge of it, always did it right. She set a fine table with silver, full china sets, crystal, a centerpiece, and great food.  There was a sense of occasion about the occasion.  Now that my folks are gone, it feels like nobody gives a fuck.

I personally don’t have the house to host a lot of people and, more to the point, I wouldn’t have anyone to host if I did.  My cousin and his wife split the holiday between our family and hers.  My aunt and uncle don’t particularly care about doing all that much, and everyone else is out of town.  It’s really just down to my own family, in that case, and the girls are still pretty young.  As much as Christmas isn’t really my thing, part of me longs for a day when perhaps there will be someone by my side, and we’ll have a nice table to set – I have the silver and the china and the glasses – and the kids will come home and it will be a little bit like it was before.  Where there was a sense of occasion, and the ghosts of Christmas past that come to the table are friendly shades.

I hope this eerie tale ended with a note of nostalgia finds all of you warm, healthy, and happy this holiday season, whether you’re celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, or the solstice.  Don’t wander too far into Glastonbury Grove, and remember… The owls are not what they seem.

My “Actual” OKC Profile

Yes, we’re back to online dating again.  It’s still a jungle out there.  I had a guy last week argue with me when I told him I wasn’t interested, ask for my number, and then tell me not to harass him if he gave me his.  What?  Needless to say, I never called.

Fast forward a week.  I’m in the throes of horrible, horrible SAD.  For those of you who don’t have it and don’t know anyone that does, that’s Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It’s been slowly tightening the noose since October.

Did any of you regulars notice that I didn’t do a Halloween post this year?  I think I’ve done a ghost story/weirdo post every year since I started this blog.  Not this year.  By the time Halloween rolled around, I was full-on SAD.  I struggle with it every year, but it usually doesn’t kick in until after the holidays are all over and we get into the deep freeze that is often the January-March run.  But this year?  Man, I was unhappy at the thought of fall.  I didn’t even decorate for Halloween because I was too sad at the prospect of what was coming after.

Now it’s dark until 7:30 a.m., it’s witch tit cold outside, it’s dark when I get off of work, and the kids are going stir crazy because they can’t go out and run around.  I’m finding it nearly impossible to get out of bed and get my shit done, which just makes me more depressed.  I’m tired constantly even though I’m getting way more sleep than I was before.  My weight has plateaued for a couple of months, and I’m over it.

And if all of that weren’t enough, I got a horrible, horrible email from my ex-husband.  I mean, it was just awful.  It wasn’t like he was taking a poke at me in between asking for visitation and saying something about his girlfriend.  No, he wrote this just to remind me – as though I’d forgotten – what a shitty, shitty human being he is.  I didn’t let it wreck everything, but it hardly brightened my week.

The whole situation has me contemplating what I should really write on my OKC profile.  What would it look like if I were being 100% honest?  I’ve got some ideas…

My Self-Summary

Overweight, single mom of three girls.  I have a job that bores me so badly that I have been known to fall asleep sitting up with my pen in my hand, but the insurance and other benefits are so good that I’ll probably never be able to afford to quit.  I’ve applied for three different promotions and been denied for all of them, even after being told in one of them that I effectively had the job.  I’m not at all bitter.

My ex-husband is a literal nutcase who harasses me continually via email, but hey!  At least he lives in England so that you’ll never have to see him in person!

I used to travel and have exciting adventures, but since I have really shitty taste in men, I married the wrong guy, got knocked up three fucking times, and now I live in a place that I hate, wishing every day that I could move to the city – preferably a warm one.  Oh, won’t you be my sugar daddy?

What I’m Doing With My Life

Well, today I spent three hours trying to put together a toddler bed.  I really suck at anything that requires screws. I didn’t do the dishes, and there’s a can of paint sitting by the back door because I still need to re-trim the girls’ rooms.  There’s a bag full of clothes in my room that has been sitting in my room for a month.  It’s going to the Salvation Army, and I need to throw it in the car so that I can drive around with it for a month before I remember to donate it.

When I’m not covered in children, fucking up something around the house, or crying myself to sleep in my room, I’m probably trying to make myself get out of bed at 4 a.m. and do it all again.  I try to run five days a week, but if I’m lucky, it looks like 2-3. I do gymnastic strength training, but it takes all of my strength to do one push-up.  If you knew what I weighed, you’d be amazed I can do one at all.

But before I do that, I sit down at the “dealing desk” and enter some demo Forex trades.  Yes, I like to play around with leveraged trading for fun.  Why, just a few days ago, I lost $1000 of “play” money in less than three hours!  Here’s hoping I can recreate my success when I fund a real account!

I’m Really Good at…

  • Writing.  Specifically, I’m really good at bitching to total strangers via this obscure blog that I write.
  • Making mix tapes that have an underlying theme that only I know/can see
  • Yelling at my kids
  • Not burning myself when I put flat iron curls in my hair
  • Not making any effort to contact men I’m interested in because, at the age of 32, I’m still terrified of romantic rejection
  • Scaring away most of the ones who might potentially be interested in me because if there’s one thing that’s scarier than leveraged trading, it’s using the words “anarchist” and “libertarian” in the same sentence.  Tell them you’re an AnCap and you might as well get the torches and pitchforks for the villagers yourself.  Kill the beast!

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food

I will read anything, including the phone book in hotels.  (This is actually true.)  I have read books that you’ve probably never heard of.  Often I will read five of them at once so that I can’t remember what information came out of what book.

I don’t have time to go to the movies because I have three children that are four and under.  I did light the candles, crack open a twist-top bottle of Aldi’s wine, and get drunk watching “Apocalypse Now!” by myself about two months ago.  If you’re looking for a cheap date, I’m the girl for you!

I often watch “Twin Peaks” while I make dinner.  There’s nothing like watching a high schooler be brutally murdered in a train car while you stuff manicotti and your kids watch “The Little Mermaid” in the next room.

I don’t know what you listen to, but I can almost guarantee without looking that I have way better taste than you and more indie cred than the denizens of a Portland craft beer bar.  Never heard of Merzbow?  What?  You aren’t into grating, sometimes-disturbing Japanese noise “music?”  Piss off, plebe.  I use it to concentrate while I muddle through APH reviews at work.  (Also sadly true.)

As far as food goes, I’m a total health nut.  I never eat fruits and vegetables that aren’t organic, and all of the meat in my fridge is grass-fed and free range… Just kidding!  I’m sitting in bed eating animal crackers dipped in icing!  (Again, true.)  I drink 2-3 liters of coffee, tea, and diet soda every day because ephedrine and cocaine aren’t legal, and I’m contemplating getting an Adderall prescription so that I’ll get the house clean faster and stop eating ice cream in bed.

Six Things I Could Never Do Without

  1. Delusion
  2. Vacation days, so that my babysitter can fake sick at her leisure and rob me of the ability to ever get out of this Godforsaken town ever again.
  3. Family drama.  Because nothing makes me happier than having to deal with other people’s bullshit on top of my own.
  4. TV to keep the kids occupied while I cook dinner, clean the house, read, fuck around on the Internet, do laundry, paint the trim, fold and put away the laundry, sweep and Swiffer the floor, scrub the toilets, and run their bath.
  5. Coworkers who talk non-stop about vacations that they’re taking that I neither have the time off nor the money for.  Oh, and they had to get a babysitter once a week, and it’s fucking tragic that they have to spend $55 for that one day a week.  I’m so sad for them.  God.  Let’s get a collection plate going.
  6. Overpriced makeup to hide the fact that I’m 32 with wrinkles and acne, and a good stylist, to hide the fact that I’m 40% gray at 32.

I Spend a Lot of Time Thinking About…

Having sex with Tim Ferriss.

How morally and intellectually superior I am for being an anarcho-capitalist.

Spending a week in tropical paradise with a stack of books and several bottles of hard liquor.


The bond bubble and the impending doom of modern civilization as it was foretold to me by my lord and savior, Dr. Ron Paul.

Why I get so many damn cracks in my fingers in the winter.

Hard penises.

Palm trees.



The appropriate age to start getting Botox.

Whether or not Tim Ferriss would actually let me touch any part of him, let alone his hard penis.  Going with, “God, what?  Who the hell are you?  Stop that!  Jesus!  I’m calling the cops!  And why is my dick hard?!  You look like Quasimodo!”

You Should Message Me If…

If you like overweight single mothers that don’t sleep enough, hate cooking, aren’t girly, and don’t know how to use a drill properly, get in line.  Rich, handsome guys looking to raise kids that aren’t their own are welcome!