"Secrets Every Woman Keeps from her Man" deconstruction (meme)

A friend's mother sent this article to her. It's filled with all sorts of those little things that some women like to think apply to all women. In reality, women vary; I'm probably about to do a near polar-opposite of my friend's deconstruction of the article.


(Of course, "my man" in this case is my dear somewhat-platonic partner; this is not just any generic man. I should do this for $MAN at some point.)

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1) My best friend knows everything. She knows all of your vitals -- from the size of your bank account to the size of your other, um, holdings -- and she knows how both compare with those of every other man I've ever dated. I have done a hand-comparison measurement so I can divulge size and girth with a high level of accuracy. When my friend smirks at you knowingly, you are not imagining it. She knows. So just know that she knows, and deal with it. (It's not going to change.) Ask her about me, or chat with her about our relationship, at your own risk. She will tell me. Even -- in fact, especially -- if she promises not to. This is not always a bad thing (e.g., if you happen to be telling her how much you love me). But, in general, remember that she is my confidante first, and yours never.

Of course I babble incessantly about you to my friends. If the topic comes up, I will burble about your charms at nauseating length. I will probably vent about your weaknesses as well, the ones that really bother me. But anything that I know you've meant me to keep confidential, I will keep so. Like that thing you told me that I think you've never told anyone else. That one. Yeah. Not sharing that. I like having secrets with you. You are my best friend, and I will often tell you things about my chick-friends, and if some female acquaintance of yours tells me things about you behind your back, I do not feel myself bound by any female confidentiality contract, because you are my best friend, and some of those bitches don't get that.

I'm aware that you're friends with both my virtual big sisters, and my virtual big brother. This is a good thing. I trust them to keep silent anything you've told them in confidence, just as they'd do for me, and I'd do for them. I'd like you to be comfortable enough with me to tell me everything, but I'm glad you have them as well, and I'm glad we're enough alike that we can be friends with the same people. If you want to know something about me, or get their take on our relationship, they're the best people to be asking, because they know you, they know me, and they already know most of the details because I've been overflowing to them, or crying on their shoulders.

(Response for $MALE: I probably haven't gotten to know you very well yet. Just because we may be dating does not yet mean that I know you as I know my friends. Since my friends are my friends, I will tell them things that I might not dream of telling you until you have been part of my party long enough for me to trust you as I do them, until you earn that same level of trust. If you ask them about me, be aware that they are my friends, and may not be yours, and so will probably tell me that you've been inquiring, and what you've been asking, and their opinion of you. )


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Seating Hazards

It's actually almost entirely my fault. And it's also an issue with my bedclothing. I have blankets and sheets and pillowcases in splashy white/black/grey stripe and splotches and splashes. Imagine if someone had been trying to paint urban camo driveby style, and you've almost got it. Only messier.

And I've got a small, round, grey cat (variegated) that likes to curl up on my bed and sleep.

And I didn't look where I was sitting when I took off my pants, then sat down to try and figure out what had been in the pockets.

So I sat on my cat.

Naturally, the creature sinks fangs and claws into me. Street-cat reaction, there. Very good, very self-defense oriented. Never mind yowling protest, just hurt as badly as you can as quickly as you can, when they scream and leap off you, you run and climb on top of the monitor, then you slink off to a viewpoint to watch in concern as your person makes "I am wounded" noises, and once you're assured that the damage is primarily temporary, and your person gets up to go wash off, you slink out of the room.

Ow.

My butt hurts.

Why does my butt hurt?

I sat on the cat.


Technically, it's my side, mid hip-bone, but OW, it counts as my butt. Because that sounds more funny.

"Bitch, please!"

For whatever reason, I've rarely heard that in my head as being "[disrespectful form of address to person], please."

I've always heard it more in the same sound of language and idea as someone raising their hand for attention and calling, "Check, please!" to the waitstaff.


When I figured out that it was really supposed to be telling the bitch "Please, whatever," and not "Could you order up one bitch, flaming, but go light on the brains?" this made me start giggling.

Fang You, Fang You Very Much

The clawmarks on my hand aren't even visible this morning, and the bite on my butt is progressing nicely. Two of the chomp-holes are barely noticeable; I'm keeping my eye on the third, as it's ever so slightly tender.

I am aware that cat bites are not to be joked around with; I'm also aware that I'm not particularly sensitive to cat bites, nor prone to infection. I have the immune system that keeps me perpetually sniffling (whee, allergies), but not catching every bug that goes around. If having a hair-trigger immune system keeps me from having to do any more than wash off a cut, and the price is a sniffly nose, then I think I'll keep the sniffly nose.

Dreams

Weirdish dreams last night. Shopping at a store that had a school for disabled children next door, so we had to be quiet after they went to bed.

There was a house, and some of it had carpet or was filled with water. After the carpet was lifted and the water went away, there were gross white worms, like fat cooked Ramen only wriggling. I had to get my sandals.

This house was evidently the house of Queenie's parents. Queenie showed up, and was so happy to see me! She was wearing a necklace with a tiny little star. She hugged me. It felt like her.

We kids put on a play. Queenie was there, and my classmate from elementary school N's little sister H, and M the popular chick from swallowtayle's year... the redhead, with all the boyfriends. We were doing The Mikado, but I didn't know my lines. I didn't even have a cheatsheet. This was a one-night play at home, so I ought to have at least had that...

Another dream.

I was hugging Rana. He was my Tertiary, a while back; we'd gotten involved physically, but not emotionally more than friends. I bit him on the shoulder. He gasped, and I could feel him against me through his pajama pants. He excused himself and ran for his girlfriend, so that she could reap the benefits of my hug and bite. I was amused.

Screaming in the Night

Apologized to roommates about the screaming in the night. They, of course, hadn't heard any.

"So what happened?"
"Well, I have this blanket, and it's black and white and kinda grey..."
"And?"
"And I have this cat, and she's kinda grey..."
"And you sat on the cat."
"And I wasn't looking before I sat down..."
"And you sat on the cat."
"And she's a street cat..."
"You got bit on the bum."
"If you're a street cat, you don't waste your time yowling..."
"You got bit on the bum!"

So I had to show votania the bite.

Books: Drum Warning, S&S XIV

A few days ago, I picked Drum Warning, Jo Clayton, out of the "haven't read it yet" pile. It's a series, The Drums of Chaos, and it's a good yarn. Not stellar, but a good yarn.

Re-read Sword & Sorceress XIV, MZB editor. That's the one with the story of the kid who helps her mother set the wards.

TELEGRAM CHALLENGE: "Aliens in Arizona", X-Files

Author: azurelunatic
Fandom: X-Files
Keywords: aliens, mulder, scully, gunmen, skinner, cellphone, telegram, amnesia
Rating: PG-13+ for words "condoms" and "gay kama sutra"
Spoilers: probably not
Pairings: Not really
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own 'em. Fun to play with, though.
Author's Note: more telegrams. Fun. Original post here.

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Icon Linkage

Am working on an icon based on this entry about the sunflower and armwrestling.

Somewhat surreal, and does not probably make sense to many people who are not me.

Powers for Awesome: modern fae legends

Anyone have any modern stories about being stolen away by the fae? onyxrising wants some.

Peace, Quiet

Assorted small things were picked up. Books were read. Cats were petted. A pillow was put on the second tier of my bedside shelfy-thing, and today I installed a little bit of a privacy curtain and some beads, as well as sprinkling catnip up there.

I hope the cat will like it.

Dishes, naturally.

Now working on Angel With The Sword again. Of all my Cherryh, I never got into that one so much. Trying it again. It feels better this time, not so much in the car and headachey from bright snow.

Hot cheesy soup with Tabasco. Mmm. I use five shakes in a bowl of soup this size. I think I may be using more of it than FatherSir -- or maybe not.

Did some cleaning up in my room before the vacuum cleaner went down. And boy, did it ever. I got the living room done too, and dishes, yay. Now the vacuum cleaner and Marxdarx are having words with each other, and none of them are being very polite about it. There is a smell of burning rubber.

Laundry, next.

Spelling decline

My hands are having RSI problems. I'm wearing a wrist brace right now, and my spelling and/or capitalization may suffer.

Phone Post:

[Bad username or site: azurelunatic' phonepostid='8' / @ livejournal.com]