I love this damn site
OMG, I've been visiting bebestages the last few days and I'm in love. Liz posts links to the freakin' cutest, most original baby and children's goods! Clothes! Toys! Adorable crafty thingies!
My instant favorite was the information she provided about old-fashioned wooden toys. I don't know why, but I love those toys and want to get them for Max.
Seriously, she's got a bunch of cool stuff and includes instructions for making some neat items for kids. So go say hi and get a kick out of the goods.
Hey look at me! I'm ovulating!
That seems to be the message women everywhere are sending the world. According to a new study, women dress flashier and more fashionably when they're most fertile.
“They tend to put on skirts instead of pants, show more skin and generally dress more fashionably,” said Martie Haselton, a communication studies and psychology expert at the University of California Los Angeles who led the study.
It seems to be basic primal instinct: animals all have some way of notifying the opposite sex that they're in prime procreation mode, and humans are no different. It's subtle, so say the folks who did the study, indicating that it's not something a woman does consciously. A little more jewelry, a cute tank top - these may be signs that a lady is at her most fertile. But then again, she could just be up with the latest fashions.
So guys, next time you're out on a date and she looks particularly hot, ask yourselves: is she always this attractive, or is she trying to ensnare me in a twisted plot to sperminate her?
I'm kidding. The ones with the twisted plots tend to be a little more obvious.
I do find this report interesting, but not very earth-shattering. I mean, we're just highly evolved animals, of course we want to propegate the species. It makes sense that we'd have some instinct to send signals that we're fertile. That we may do it through fashion or flashy jewelry may be akin to another species' display of feathers or changing skin tone.
Mama Wants a New Life: An After-School Special
I’m feeling all out of sorts lately. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this, but I’m probably on my third or fourth round of dealing with this feeling – it’s when you feel like you’ve been caught in a spiral of words, actions and emotions, and it’s all about to come to a head.
It seems that the harder I try to simplify my life, the more shit that falls into it. Maybe it’s a case of trying too hard. Maybe it’s that I want too many incompatible things out of my life. Maybe, like I’m regularly told, there’s just no making me happy. Maybe I really just don’t know what I want, although I don’t really believe this, because I do way too much introspecting to realistically not know what I want.
I guess I’m just feeling like forces bigger than myself are conspiring to fuck with me – on the work front, on the home front, on every damn front. I’m wondering why I feel so dissatisfied, so unfulfilled, so invisible; and I’m pissed that when I try to find solutions, I feel even more alone and frustrated than I did before.
Something is fundamentally wrong with me. Normal, well-adjusted people don’t do this to themselves, they don’t make choices after a lot of thinking and soul searching and then find themselves thinking they made the wrong choices. I mean seriously, how much more effort and time do I need to put into figuring out what I want before I can actually be pleased with my choices?
If there’s any one thing I want to spare my son from, it’s this: my awful inability to make choices for the right, true reasons. In an effort to please others or do what’s right, I usually find myself empty and unsatisfied. It’s not to say that I’m some selfless martyr, because I don’t see myself that way. It’s just that I’m ruled by this sense of doing what’s right and smart, and sometimes, the price for that is that I don’t get or do all the things I truly want. But if I were to make it about me, I think it would upset the balance of my life too much, and maybe I just don’t want to deal with that.
Damn, my angst levels are way high today. I need a release. Or a vacation. Or a new identity.
Labels: things that irritate me
I be a Scurvy Dog, Mateys
So you know that I love pirates and all things piracy, but do you know why? (And do you care? No? Too bad, you're gonna read it anyway.)
First off, I’m not all pirate-freaky. I don’t collect shit (I leave that for far nerdier things), I don’t live in some la-la fantasy pirate land, nor does it play a significant role in any aspect of my life.
I’m just fascinated with pirates, that’s all. I always have been. It began with my discovery of Pippi Longstocking, with whom I fell deeply and completely in love with. The story, which I don’t remember doing but my parents love repeating, goes that at some point, when I was about nine, I began to ask, and then beg, my dad to sell the house and cars and buy a ship so we could all become pirates. If you knew my dad you’d understand how ludicrous the notion is, but I was apparently very determined to get my family on the high seas.
From there, I’ve just always enjoyed studying the history of piracy – I find it thrilling. Yes, I’m completely suckered in by the romance and adventure of it all. If I had lived in those times, you can best bet that I’d be a galley rat, or the mistress of some captain, so long as that included some pirating privileges.
Pirates of the Caribbean has made pirates all trendy now, which I find annoying. Yeah, I like that it’s easier to get clothes with ships on them, but come on. Don’t get me wrong: I loved both movies and left both with the strongest, most painful desire to find a galleon I could board and stay in forever, but the marketing thing is just crap to me.
So when this trend is long gone, I expect to still be as enamored of pirates as I’ve always been – yo ho, a pirate’s life for me – indeed.
The Ex Files: Meringuito
I can’t remember exactly why he began to make meringues from scratch. I think it was because I once mentioned how much I loved them as a child, how my father would buy fresh ones from the bakery that were the perfect combination of crispy edges and a soft center. And so he asked his mom about the process and began to make them every single night. Over a period of a couple of months, he would go into the kitchen after dinner, whip them up, and serve them fresh out of the oven. The first few tries, they came out brunt and hard. But once he perfected the recipe and cooking time and temperature, they were delicious little pieces of heaven. I can still see him with one arm clutching the bowl, the other frenetically beating the egg whites, whipping, whipping, whipping like a madman until the stiffness of the peaks was perfect.
And just as quickly as this whim entered, it went away. One day he just stopped making meringues. By then, our relationship was beyond dysfunctional. It was a mess I was so deeply trapped in that there seemed no way out. Many times, I found myself wondering how I’d ended up there, how I could have possibly, purposely, not listened to my own intuition about this person and the situation as a whole. I wanted to self-destruct, and the fact that I stayed in this abusive, total mind-fuck of a relationship for as long as I did is a testament to that fact.
I don’t really allow myself to revisit that time – it’s still so disturbing that I fear slipping into a depression and darkness that I won’t be able to pull myself out of. I carry with me the lessons I learned from that experience, and I think that should be enough.
But despite the awfulness of my relationship with the Abusive Bastard, there was a very brief time when he was human – when he read books and taught me how to drive. When he would make meringues from scratch for me, and sit back in delight as I savored every last one of them.
(photo via 3 Guys from Miami)
Labels: ex files