Saturday, April 30, 2016

My Novel

Yes, you heard right. My little story that I was working on has become a full blown novel. It's about 10,000 words short of a "good" novel, according to the internets, and I probably could keep the story going longer, but I like where it's at now. Maybe I'll write an epilogue at some point.

I'm trying to figure out how to post 68,000 or so words on here. There doesn't really seem like a good way. I am going to see if I can link to a PDF in case anyone is crazy enough to want to read it.

For now, if you do have any interest, send me an email at trbobtch4liberty@yahoo.com and I will send you a manuscript. I'll warn that Adobe and Word are not playing nice together so the fonts may be a little wacky. Working on fixing this too.

Monday, April 18, 2016

DON'T READ THIS POST!!!

Do I have your attention? Probably not, no one even reads this any more. BUT... just in case you do, I have a new... project? Obsession? I've started writing a short story... Maybe it's a long story, I'm not sure what the cut off is there... Anyway, I've been obsessed and I've written 80 pages or so in the past week, working on it here and there. I've decided to post it.

It's a modern day fairy tale (yes, I'm serious, but imagine like, Hans Christian Anderson with a potty mouth). There may even be a gratuitous sex scene or two. A R3volutionary falls in love with a pro football player. It might be the stupidest thing in the world, but I'm going to put it out there anyway. Do me a favor though, please? If you read it, will you please leave a comment on this page? Even if you hate it. I have never written like this before and I want feedback. This thing has literally poured out of me and it's something I've always dreamed of. I'll be honest, my dream was definitely to write something a bit more profound than this, but it's what I've got right now.

If you don't want to leave a comment, please email me at trbobtch4liberty@yahoo.com. I'd really, truly appreciate any feedback.

I'll be posting it bit by bit as I write and edit it. If I add to it or make any changes, I'll make a blog post about it.

I love you people and I miss you all. I know I've been inexplicably absent from, well, everywhere, but I am trying to walk the walk and live free. That means free of Facebook and all this technological crap too.

Monday, December 21, 2015

An Ode to What Never Happened

Spring break, breaking racks.
You smiled when you saw me.
I still think about it.
A motorcycle,
The blue-eyed cat.
A spark.
I still wonder...
Dream On,
The back seat,
On the way back.
Hesitation.
Jupiter is in the sky.
Under the tent,
You pulled away.
Your eyes told me what your mouth wouldn't.
I still dream about it.
It's never the right time,
Never will be.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Real Texts - Office Edition

Note: If  you observe the timestamps on the emails, this is clearly old... I am, in fact, no longer employed (not because of this, but wouldn't that be funny (not funny-haha, of course)). I believe I did pblish this after it was written but took it down of my own accord after said "secretary" somehow stumbled upon it, during work hours, and complained to my boss, who, if I remember correctly, found it quite hilarious.

So my job usually fluctuates between insanely busy and mind-numbingly boring. In either case, I couldn't resist replying to this email from our Secretary... Wait, they don't like that word, do they? I'd call her an Administrative Assistant, but she really doesn't do anything, nor does she ever "assist" anyone. Mostly, she walks around the office with her stinky old lady perfume that she bathes in, makes a lot of noise and bothers us via email about RSVPing for company lunches and such. Anyway, I'll just call her Bozo, she has the hair for it...

From: The Clown, Bozo
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2012 10:07 AM
To: Pittsburgh
Subject: Snacks

The company provides a limited amount of snacks for us to enjoy, along with coffee and tea.  However, certain items - like the caramel cream candies and peanut-butter-filled pretzels - do not last as long as they should, which indicates that some of you may be pigging out (I have no idea who)!   Please limit yourself to just a couple pieces of candy or pretzels per day so that we can continue to provide snacks on a limited basis for everyone.

Thanks!

Bozo

Bozo The Clown
Administrative Assistant



From: Trbobitch
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2012 10:10 AM
To: The Clown, Bozo; Pittsburgh
Subject: RE: Snacks

How long exactly are we expecting them to last? Maybe we should come up with a formula for how many pieces each person can have per day so that they last the appropriate amount of time… Anyone found taking more than their share per day can be publicly humiliated by wearing a rubber pig nose the rest of the day ;-)


(Obviously said facetiously to demonstrate the absurdity of bothering hard working professionals with such ridiculousness)


From: The Clown, Bozo
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2012 10:18 AM
To: Trbobitch; Pittsburgh
Subject: RE: Snacks

Great idea, Trbo!  I’ll order one of these:  

[this was a picture of a pig nose mask]

I don’t actually keep very close tabs on it.  But when a big jar of regular pretzel sticks last several weeks and the peanut-filled ones are gone in three days – well, you do the math!

Bozo


(So I did the math... It's a 2.75 lbs jar of pb filled pretzels (pretzels are fairly dense/heavy). The distro for our office has 30 people on it. Assume 10 of these people work from home at least some of the time. That's 20 people taking a handful out of this jar on a daily basis... She's LUCKY it lasts 3 days)

And because I can't leave well enough alone:

From: Trbobitch 
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2012 10:20 AM
To: The Clown, Bozo; Pittsburgh
Subject: RE: Snacks

Buying the regular pretzel sticks sounds like a logical solution to me. Everyone can then bring their own jar of peanutbutter J


(What I really wanted to say was, if it stops these stupid emails from going out, buy the fucking regular pretzels!!)



From: The Clown, Bozo
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2012 10:22 AM
To: Trbobitch; Pittsburgh
Subject: RE: Snacks

It is a logical solution.  But when we all prefer the other kind, it kinda sucks that we have to stop ordering them because we can’t control ourselves!  However, if it comes to that, I can certainly order snacks that no one likes very much.  Problem solved : )

Bozo


(OH boy! Threaten the one other person besides you who cares enough about this to be scared that you won't order the peanut butter filled pretzels!! Give me a fucking BREAK!)

After some deliberation, H and I decided that Bozo, herself, is in fact the notorious pretzel thief. We came to this conclusion based on the following:

  • According to the other email respondents, no one knew these pretzels existed in our office.
  • One of these people has an office right outside the kitchen
  • On Bozo's desk is a jar filled with these elusive "carmel cream candies", Bozo's desk is actually in the reception area, which is a separate part of the building from where everyone else is.
  • Even though we supposedly have a "snack budget" - it seems that snacks are purchased sporadically. We have gone several months without any snacks in the kitchen from Staples. Either that, or they are purchased regularly and not put in the kitchen... hmmmm.
So I have solved the great mystery of the Pittsburgh Office Snack Thief, can I have a peanut butter pretzel???

Friday, May 3, 2013

Born Free Episode 2: Rub a Dub, Born In a Tub

A post 8 months in the making. Finally finished and I have spared you no details.

For over a week now, there has been a 3.5 foot deep inflatable pool sitting in our living room. No, this isn't us failing at being rednecks again... This is us being hippies. Upper-middle class, suburban hippies - pretty much the worst thing ever besides limousine liberals and hipsters of any sort. We had to put a sheet over the pool to keep it clean, and to make sure Thing 2 didn't decide to play in it. He wanted to. Badly.

Big Daddy made sure to let our immediate neighbors know that I'd be giving birth to our offspring in our living room... You know, just in case we needed to leave the windows open or something and I made a little noise. We didn't want them to think someone was being murdered or forced to watch reruns of Jerry Springer. Of course, if it was going to turn out anything like the "orgasmic birth" stories I'd been reading, they'd just think we were being really loud, as per usual. They'd probably even commend us for being able to have such great sex while I was so hugely pregnant. The last thing we'd be needing is taser-happy gestapos beating down the door demanding I go to the torture facility hospital and shooting my dog or something.

BD called the midwife and gave the phone to me - it was around 5:15. She wanted me to talk to her through a contraction, if I recall correctly, and I am pretty sure I made some sort of awful noise because she said "I'm on my way". I had originally intended to wear my maternity swimsuit top that made my boobs look fantastic just in case someone decided to snap pictures... Seems that, when you're in that much pain, you really don't give a rat's ass what you look like. I threw on my trusty Genie Bra and proceeded to be in pain.

It gets a little blurry from here, but I know we went downstairs and were trying to get me comfortable. For some reason (*cough* hippie birth blogs *cough*), this was way more painful than I had anticipated... There was no calm, controlled, being all zen through contractions, I felt like my body was going to split open like size medium spandex pants on Oprah at any minute. At one point, BD put 2 yoga mats on the floor for me to kneel on as this was how I originally planned to give birth. My almost-30-year-old knees couldn't handle that kind of weight, and that idea went out the door as fast as it came in.

Things seemed to be going quite fast and we decided to fill up the pool. BD already had his intricate filter system set up on the shower head, thankfully, because I was starting to feel like maybe I was going to drop that baby right there on the floor at any second. At least, I hoped so because I certainly did not want to endure several more hours of that pain with no drugs in sight... He brought down the hose and started filling the pool and I decided I needed to go to the bathroom. All kinds of ugly feelings and pain were going on, and it was getting harder to distinguish one from the other (remember, I originally thought this was gas pain) so it turns out that having to go pee was more than just having to go pee... I was quite terrified that maybe I had misinterpreted that as well and was going to give birth in the toilet.

This is gross and maybe just a little TMI, but I definitely had to do more than pee. I took this as a good thing, my body trying to clear itself out so I wasn't one of those women who "took a dump on the delivery table" or in this case "pooped in the pool". As I am trying to go, with actual intestinal pain to go along with the contractions, I realize that BD is standing in the doorway. I love my husband dearly, and we have no embarrassments or secrets with one another, but taking a dump, for me, is still a very solitary exercise. I'm sure he was also afraid that I was going to drop the kid out in the commode, but I looked up and said "This isn't going to work with you watching!!" in my best what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you-that-you-think-standing-there-is-a-good-idea voice. Poor guy.

We made our way back downstairs and I go into the pool. Oh sweet relief! It didn't take my pain away 100%, and there was certainly not going to be any dimmed lights, floating flowers, glasses of wine birthing going on, but it definitely felt better to be in that water. I can't remember the exact sequence of events from here, but at some point my midwife arrived and BD also got in the tub with me, it was probably around 6:30 or so. Getting in that thing, for both of us, was the point of no return. The sides were HIGH and the bottom also inflated so it was very very difficult to climb out of.

The midwife checked my progress at some point after she arrived, and I was at either 7 or 8 centimeters. All the hippie homebirthers will tell you this means nothing, that you could stay that way for hour or go from 2 cm to 8 cm in 20 minutes. Yeah, don't care, it was a relief to know that I was, in fact, in labor. You'd think after 2 other kids and all the pain, one would be able to surmise past a certain point that one is, indeed, in labor. Not so. Unless you are a marathon homebirther, you will doubt actual labor, no matter how much pain you are in, until either a. you get a numeric indication of cervical dilation or b. a small dome-shaped object starts protruding from your hoo-hoo. 

Things went ok from here. Yes, it was painful and awful, but I was still able to laugh and crack jokes with everyone. I kinda rolled around in that pool like a large sea mammal for a while. The contractions sucked and they were very painful (I made sure to announce the coming of each one so everyone could know I was about to be in excruciating torment) but I at least got a bit of a reprieve between each one. Somewhere around 7:30-7:45, I was much less jovial, and I also had less time between each stab of torture. It seemed like this went on for hours, with many a- "I can't do this any more" and "someone please just give me drugs, I know one of you has some!!!!!!", before I felt like maybe I could start pushing. Looking back, this may have just been wishful thinking on my part because I so badly wanted it to be over...

A lot of crunchy Earth-mamas will tell you that pushing is "relieving" (and this is where some of them even go all orgasmic)... Unless some time in the past 20 years or so the word "relieving" became a synonym for "a giant with hands of near-molten glass is ripping my body in half slowly", I'm not entire sure what they are referring to. This is pain that will make or break you. You either go through it because that is the only way to get it over with or you give up and pass out (seriously, there have to be women who do this and I can't blame them one iota). Unfortunately, I was betrayed by my body and my swooning reflex went on hiatus, so I had to um, "push through the pain" - you know, in case maybe you mistake child birth for a Jillian Michaels workout DVD (striking similarities, believe it or not).

To make matters worse, my midwife announced that I had a "cervical lip" - a piece of my cervix just didn't want to let go of the warm little ball of baby flesh inside of me. She had to physically hold back this lip while I was pushing. I'm not sure if you know where a cervix is located, but you really should go google it so you can appreciate the full painful uncomfortableness of it all.

Pushing is a vague term. Something they call it so as not to scare the first-timers too badly. What I was doing was more like some kind of primal, instinct-led exercise where I tried as hard as I could to make my guts come out of my bottom-side without rupturing an eyeball. In order to do this, it was essential that I make some kind of noise. I wanted to scream, but I was told to make lower-noises with an open mouth. I'm pretty sure that, at some point, it turned into screaming anyway. Right in BD's ear. I also came very very very close to biting down on his hand. That shit where they give people leather belts to bite down on? Totally legit. I would have given anything for a leather belt just then; anything but the pool.

The offspring finally started crowning - FINALLY! - and the first thing I hear is "look at all that hair!!" I was then asked to reach down and touch the baby's head. If ever given the choice to feel a small, hairy skull stretching the delicate petals of your lady parts til you feel something appropriately dubbed "the ring of fire", I would advise that you politely decline and keep your hands wrapped around whatever part of your husband you can get a hold of and continue hanging on for dear life. After all, you'll have the rest of your life to touch your kid's head, but you can never unfeel your stretched and mangled vag.

There are no words to describe the feeling of a (not-so-)tiny person coming out of a fairly small orifice of your body. Babies may have "soft" bones, but I felt every. single. one.  as he descended from my womb. I remember pushing as hard as I could and feeling my legs shaking against the side of the pool, losing strength, and thinking "Oh my god, this is it, I am going to completely run out of gas right before the baby comes out and he's going to be stuck in there!" Thankfully, no such thing happened, and the baby came out, bone by bone, all 8 pounds, 7 ounces of him at exactly 8:40 pm (according to Verizon, anyway).

It was so strange for me to be so fully aware (I had drugs with my first two births) and yet feel so completely like I was in a dream. I'm sure every mother thinks this, but when my midwife handed me my newly separated offspring, I remember thinking that I had never in my life seen such a beautiful newborn. He just stared around, he didn't cry, he didn't squirm, he was just in some kind of holy-shit-what-the-fuck-just-happened-and-where-the-hell-am-I trance. And he was PERFECT. Did I mention that he was perfect? He even pooped on me, but we were in water anyway and god dammit he was so damn perfect!

After a little while, my midwife told me it was time to deliver the placenta... Do what now? You mean I have to PUSH again? Between the pain in my nether regions and the absolute exhaustion in all of my "pushing" muscles, I flat out told her "I can't"... I just can't and you can't make me!!!!! She told me to try to cough. I did, it didn't really work. I could feel what I had to do, so I somehow did it. That last push to get the placenta out was harder than the 20 minutes or so (I think that's how long it took??) I spent pushing the baby out!

After some time, Little D was handed to Big D and I managed to haul my deflated body out of the pool. It wasn't easy standing on what amounted to a thin air mattress while trying to climb over a 3.5 foot high, 10 inch wide wall after what felt like just having your body go through a meat grinder. I remember going up to the shower, getting cleaned up and feeling super giddy. I got dressed and all tucked into bed, my midwife's assistant even made me a sandwich.

During all of this, BD was apparently sitting in a pool of bloody water, holding a tiny, naked baby, not able to move and all by himself. He said he was afraid to move a single muscle, lest he drop the baby into the dark, bloody abyss. It was his own personal horror movie scene. It seems my midwife was off examining the placenta while I was upstairs with her assistant getting cleaned up. BD will tell you that he was left in the bloody horror show for like an hour, when in reality, it was probably more like 10 or 15 minutes.

Anyway, the ending of this story is pretty anti-climactic. The only evidence remaining of that harrowing day are an even more beautiful 8 month old baby and my still deflated belly that just refuses to go away. For the longest time afterwards, I felt a mixture of astonishment and pride at the fact that I did what I did, at home, with no doctors or, more amazingly, drugs in sight. I was also slightly horrified and traumatized by the experience. Not because anyone did anything wrong or because anything bad happened, but simply because of the sheer amount of pain and sensation I felt during the whole thing. I'm a WUSS, a giant baby when it comes to pain. Memories of pain remain with me for a long time after the physical sensation is gone.

I am finally to the point where I can look back on it now and feel good that I got through it and did the best possible thing for my child, drugs were not an option for me when it comes to him and they still are not. If I was not so concerned about his exposure to chemicals, I absolutely would not have given birth they way I did, I would have gone to a hospital and gotten the good drugs and laughed my way through childbirth once again. Even at the expense of getting stitched in the lady parts yet again. Not something you hear from the typical crunchy, hippie homebirthing, breastfeeding, cloth-diapering lady. Of course, there were also no orgasms in sight - maybe it's worth taking up some sort of S&M before giving birth to actually enjoy the sensations? Ok, now we're just trekking into creepy, let's call it a post.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Born Free Episode 1: Labor Day

I've become a complete and total hippie... Sure, we've been eating organic food and wearing aluminum free deodorant for a while now, but what really seals the deal is having a baby in my living room. Yes, I am featuring my own "birth story" right here on my blog. Why? Because that's what one does when they have a home birth - it's crunchy protocol. This story, however, will be a far cry from the fluffy, happy, gushy mushy stories about vag miracles and woman power...

Big Daddy and I had been trying to trigger labor ever since we hit 39 weeks on his birthday (September 1st). We thought we had things going on 9/2, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Being pregnant and miserable, I just wanted the baby OUT and kept thinking he was going to go way past due if I didn't do something to get him going. Ah, ignorant bliss... If I had known what labor had in store for me, I may have elected to stay pregnant forever.

On 9/7, we decided to try to get things going again. After an awkward bout of late pregnancy sexy time, nothing seemed to be picking up, so BD headed off to work - albeit, quite late. I decided to spend the morning continuing trying to get the baby to find the warm confines of my womb to be not quite so pleasant. This involved bouncing on a large ball that I wasn't entirely sure would hold my weight. All that bouncing made my normally very sedentary body pretty tired, so I gave up and took a nap because I was actually having LESS uterine action than I had been the past few weeks. BD came home at 2:00 and we decided to do some shopping... If the stress of a Target packed with morons who apparently have no respect for those of us growing people inside of us wouldn't be enough to put me in labor, nothing would be.

We went to Panera for lunch first and, strangely, the woman who rang us up said something about me going into labor there. I assured her that no such thing would be taking place as I was obviously going to be pregnant forever... I did have a few contractions at Panera, but they were nothing more than the usual, slightly more painful Braxton-Hicks contractions that led to absolutely nothing. We got to Target, and did our thing. We were actually having a lot of fun, so much that I paid no attention to the fact that I was having to stop and lean on something during my "Braxton-Hicks contractions". I had more important things to worry about, like the Pumpkin Spice latte I was about to enjoy from the in-store Starbucks.

We managed to get home right before Thing 2's bus arrived. Unfortunately, Thing 1 had been waiting for a half hour and apparently "really, really had to take a dump!!" - next time he will learn to take his key. We took the stuff in and I decided to take a bath not long after because the contractions were getting more painful. Somehow, at the time, I didn't associate the pain with possibly being in labor - maybe because it didn't seem to be coming regularly. I honestly thought I was just having gas pain or something - you know, because of course abdominal pain that comes and goes and is quite intense when you just happen to be almost 40 weeks pregnant is obviously just gas.

So I take what's left of my delicious pumpkin spice latte and get in the bath. I'm not entirely sure at this point how I even managed to fit in the tub, but I did. Not long after getting in, I recall yelling out during a bout of "gas pain". For some reason, it finally hit me that this was more than the fermenting remains of my lunch forming methane in my intestines... There was no 1950's TV show "Oh My God The Baby Is Coming!!" moment, but I called BD up and told him what was going on. We never timed a single contraction, because they were still sporadic... This is a good time for a tangent: The weekend before, I was having contractions that were a minute long and 2-3 minutes apart for several hours. So much that we DID call the midwife. Turned out to be a false alarm and going to sleep made it stop.

So after he came up, I was still really wishy-washy as to what was going on. He, of course, was getting nervous. Finally, I couldn't take the pain any more and had to get out of the tub. Any pain that's bad enough to make me abandon a hot bath is definitely serious. I told BD to call the midwife...


Stay tuned for Episode 2: Rub a Dub, Born In a Tub.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Muddy Penishead?

A real conversation I had with my non-state-sanctioned husband over Gtalk at work today** (yes, I am muddslider, don’t judge):

muddslider: I know right AND she's not mild to moderately retarded either
your god loves me

penishead: my GOD loves everyone
thats why he amde us
made

muddslider: um, have you SEEN carrot top?

penishead: variety
if we were all cool no one would know the difference***

muddslider: oh yeah, god loves the people of walmart

penishead: they are probably so much happier than we are

muddslider: or maybe he loves me so much that he tortures others for my amusement
that is actually a pretty awesome god

penishead: you are a twisted twisted person

muddslider: you're just now figuring that out?

penishead: no i knew it
i just need to point it out to you
maybe you will mend your ways
haha

muddslider: hahaha dreamer

penishead: Adam still loved Eve so I guess im ok

muddslider: even if you have to wear a fig leaf now
and all of our children will have to have sex with each other to populate the Earth

penishead: ugh

muddslider: but at least WE'RE not inbreds, right?

penishead: thats why we are so fucked up
no wonder we cant create a Utopia we're the people from WalMart

muddslider: yep
thanks god

penishead: and its all eves fault. cunning woman

muddslider: No, I'm pretty sure it's god's fault for letting Satan put the apple there
or wait
GOD put the apple there
just to be a manipulative bastard
"oh here, look at these yummy apples, but don't touch them"

penishead: the apple is a metaphor for the woman having sex with satan

muddslider: what??
what kind of Freudian bible school did you got to?
go to

penishead: its enoch

muddslider: who?

penishead: Enoch
 
muddslider: yes I read that, WTF is an enoch, sounds like something from starwars

penishead: he was eliminated by King James and the niceans from the bible

muddslider: little midget people with plasma guns

penishead: The Book of Enoch

muddslider: "Oh no, here come the Enoch! Cover your crotches!"

penishead: HAHAHA

muddslider: this is so going on the blog

penishead: just stop

muddslider: being funny? I can't
that's like asking me to stop breathing or stop painting my nails

penishead: my name is never to show up in your Blog ever
haha

muddslider: you have an alias, you know that
Well, you have several now
but for this one, I will call you penishead

** This was totally a work-related conversation as "penishead" is my unpaid adviser and source of inspiration.

*** I didn't bother pointing out to him that if we were indeed "all cool" then no one would know the difference; ergo, no one would ever get made fun of. Why bother having a serious philosophical conversation when it can degrade into making fun of the lost books of the bible?