Scrappy Badger

scrappybadger December 29th, 2007

I like living by myself. I did it for a while in college and then after college when I got my first real job. Piig and I were both pretty happy living alone when we met. Of course, once we started dating and going through the initial I-can’t-stand-to-be-away-from-you phase she spent lots of time at my apartment. So much time that she moved her cat into my apartment because poor little Julie was getting lonely. It was a change for me, and it took some getting used to having someone in my space all the time, but being all gaga over this cute new dyke helped.

We started dating in October and officially moved in together the following August. I got laid off from my software engineering job in March, and my asshole landlord wouldn’t renew my lease when he found out. It was pretty much impossible to find another apartment by myself that was affordable and would take me on without a job. It was in the months after September 11; the tech sector was dead around here, so I was out of work for a while. Piig and I started looking for places together and eventually found a small 1.5 bedroom house in her neighborhood. When that went up for sale we moved to our current house.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret moving in with Piig. I wish that the circumstances had been different and that we’d been able to make the decision without my unemployment and housing situation hanging over our heads. I think we would have waited much longer than we did.

Plus, out of everyone else I know in the world Piig is the only one I’d want to live with. My idiosyncrasies are a pain,  but she takes it in stride. For the most part she understands where it all comes from, so though she complains about it, she is understanding in a way that most people would never bother to be. And we have fun. We’ve always been big morning snugglers. We can spend a few hours in the bed in the morning talking, playing with Luna and/or several of the cats, and just generally having a good time. It is nice to have someone to talk to whenever you want, someone to cook with or for, and someone to cheer you up after a sucky day.

Nevertheless, there are days when I desperately want to live alone again, and I know Piig has them too. Sometimes the quiet of solitude is nice. Sometimes you just don’t feel like compromising; you want the heat at 68 and you don’t want to bargain it up to 70. The truth is, living together can be really good, but it can also put a tremendous strain on a relationship. Especially so if both parties are feminists trying hard to split responsibilities evenly and fairly all of the time.

It is a struggle, and though Piig and I have something of a system, it is still hard. We both fantasize about living alone again. We imagine ourselves with houses next door to one another or adjacent apartments. I hang on to that idea because there are times when I can’t imagine never having my own space again. I know that talking about a Room of One’s Own has almost become a cliche, but it is just so true that women need it. I need space that is all mine, a place where I can get away from everyone to do the things I want and need to do. I need that time to think. I need a place that is mine. And Piig needs a place that is hers.

Money, like always, gets in the way. We’re lucky to have found the place we’re currently in, so separate apartments or houses or a bigger house together are pretty much out of the question. We’ll just continue to work with what we have. I’ve been enjoying the past few days while Piig is off visiting her grandmother in another state. Poor Piig won’t even get her two nights alone anymore since I’m not teaching night classes this semester.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep daydreaming about my own place or an attic room in some future house with Piig.

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scrappybadger December 3rd, 2007

Antigone Magazine, which I admittedly know little about, is posting feminist postcards from readers.

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scrappybadger November 1st, 2007

But what the heck? How about a Halloween picture?

This is Luna being devoured by a spider.

And this is Luna pleading with me to stop the insanity.

For more pictures of my dog’s shame visit the entire album.

I love you Luna! Even when it doesn’t seem like it.

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scrappybadger September 18th, 2007

I presented my very first professional paper at a conference in Richmond, Virginia this weekend. It was nerve wracking, and Piig spent much of Thursday and Friday morning riding a roller coaster of Badger emotions. They ranged from slightly to very panicked, and Badger ain’t no fun when she’s nervous! It took me several days to narrow my paper down to the 20 minutes allotted for presentations, and I hurriedly threw together a visual presentation to go with it. I was discussing 19th century advertisements, so it made sense to have pictures. I managed to get it all finished the night before, but we didn’t arrive in Richmond until well after midnight.

After I presented I got lots of questions which is always a very good thing. Most of them wanted to know more about some aspect of my research or to ask what I thought about a related topic. One, however, was the kind of thing I was dreading. I got a snarly comment from a woman well known at this particular conference. I defended my position while allowing for the fact that she made a good point (because she did). I think I handled it well. In fact, I was extremely proud of myself. It was the kind of academic shot in the arm I’ve been needing. I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself. I expect perfection and berate myself for not being able to do the impossible. Because of that I often doubt my ability to “hang” in academia. And it doesn’t matter how many times people tell me that I’m good enough, it usually doesn’t sink in. Experiencing it for myself makes it more real, though. It feels good.

I’ll post more about Richmond soon.

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scrappybadger August 23rd, 2007

And it ain’t frozen peas. It all started last night. The ice maker/water dispenser* on the front of our fridge tried to dispense ice, but noone was there asking for it.

Today it’s worse. Nothing will make it stop. It’s kind of like that Poltergeist movie, but instead of a little kid with blonde curls staring into a tv, there’s a weirdo grey cat staring at my refrigerator.

Take a look at the thing for yourself. I took this movie with my cell phone.

Rough translation of what you are hearing goes something like this: “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

*That ice crusher/dispenser was the thing we were most excited about when we first moved in. We’ll have to consider moving if the landlord can’t fix this thing!

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scrappybadger August 11th, 2007

Last night Ada, our youngest and definitely most mischievous cat, broke Luna’s water bowl. The food bowl that matched it was broken a few months ago by one of the cats, but since I didn’t witness it firsthand I can’t finger the culprit. I have my suspicions nevertheless.

It wasn’t an expensive water bowl. No one brought it back to Luna and I as a present from a transcontinental trip. I didn’t find it in an antique store, save up for weeks to buy it, or see it and instantly love it. It wasn’t even her very first water bowl. In fact, I can’t remember where I got it or exactly when I got it. I think it was shortly after leaving college and settling into our first badger’s-finally-got-a-real-job apartment. It was a simple ceramic bowl with a blue matte finish. Its mate was yellow. And other than being the perfect size and shape for a large dog, there was nothing extra special about either of them. There was certainly nothing about them to inspire crying over broken bowls - or spilled dog’s water as it were. Yet, there I was, sort of frozen, holding a tea bag, looking at the mess over our friend Jackie’s shoulder thinking I didn’t want to look ridiculous for getting upset over Luna’s broken water dish.

It wasn’t the bowl really. I mean, I had planned to keep it forever. I like tangible reminders of the past, and I knew that would be a nice one to have. Even so, it wasn’t the bowl that bothered me so much as another unwelcome reminder that nothing lasts forever, that I can’t hold on to things as long as I want no matter how well I look after them. It seems like I’m reminded of this more and more. Things break or get lost or are ripped to shreds by an energetic, young cat. Everything, time especially, whizzes by my head, and I’m standing there trying not to get dizzy, trying to keep up, but mostly trying to see and remember the past. I don’t want to forget it, and I don’t want everything to change.

And yet, I have the hardest time remembering my past. Piig can tell me specific things about her childhood, she can recall so many people and places and things. Mine is more of a hazy old photograph. The kind where you can make out people, but their faces are fuzzy and no amount of squinting your eyes clears anything up. I remember places because where I grew up they don’t change a lot. I can see buildings and houses and fields, and I can remember, generally, that my sisters and I rode our bikes around, roller skated on a small slab of cement under our carport, and played elaborate games of “store” where we’d put price tags on everything we owned and pretend to sell it all to invisible customers. I remember; I’m not an amnesiac. But my memory is so cotton candy-ish. It squishes and melts together. It has no clear boundaries, and I can’t really trust the shape it takes as being anything close to the original.

I want to remember, clearly remember, my life with Luna. I don’t want little pieces here and there, lots of them spurred on by photographs. I want to see it, a movie reel in my mind, that first night after I found her in the street. I want to remember ordinary days when we’d walk down the alley outside of our first apartment together. I want to be able to recall what I was thinking on my first day of college and then on graduation day. I’d like to remember my old friends and the things we thought were hilariously funny. And I want to know what Piig and I talked about the first time we met. Most of those things are lost. I can think and think and think, but I won’t ever remember them. Instead I get the pieces, and the pieces make me sad more than anything else. They remind me that everything is different now. I’m not a college student anymore, and I’ll never be as carefree and hopeful as I was then. Luna is old, and though spry for her age, she isn’t the same puppyish dog that she was 7 or 8 years ago. I want to stop it; I want to keep it all the same, but that doesn’t even make sense does it? Because if it stopped we’d all be stuck, frozen. And then I wouldn’t hear anything, and I could only see what was frozen in front of me.

And, so, I’m faced with yet another reality — you can’t stop it. The changing is going to happen no matter what. Sometimes it will be good and sometimes it will be bad, but you have to deal with it either way because there is nothing else to do. The reality doesn’t feel very good.

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scrappybadger August 7th, 2007

I had a fun weekend. On Saturday we made our (almost) weekly trip to the local farmer’s market. (For dinner I’ll be cooking the purple pole beans we got. I’ve never had this particular kind, but I’m a big green bean — or snaps as everyone called them where I grew up – gal, so I’m sure they will be delicious.)

While Piig paid for our stash, I coaxed Luna to pose for more cell phone pics. The darn sun was in the wrong spot though.

I wanted to try it from a different angle, but Luna was bored with me.

Afterwards we went to a doggie event sponsored by a local art center to raise money for area SPCAs. We missed the parade and the best tricks contest, but we got cake, and Luna got to mill around inside of an unfamiliar building which she loves but rarely gets to do. It was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the day ended with Luna getting thrown in the slammer. At first she was a bit shaken.

But eventually she got used to it.

I ♥ ♥ ♥ my dog!

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scrappybadger June 28th, 2007

I’ve been in my badger hole playing with blog plugins and Wordpress widgets for the last few days. I wanted to add some content to my sidebar, and I had to have a plugin to display a list of books I’m reading. I’ve been eyeing those currently reading plugins with much jealousy on other blogs for months. It took me a while to get things the way I wanted them because I tweak and tweak and tweak, and I’m still not sure that the sidebar will stay the way it looks right now.

I went through several plugins for creating a currently reading list before I found one that I like. Lots of them were either overly complicated implementations of a fairly simple concept or just not customizable enough. I finally settled on Rob Miller’s Now Reading which I recommend to other Wordpressers out there. It allows you to build an entire library database that keeps track of what you’ve read, how much you’ve read, and reviews associated with each book. Any bookivore is sure to find it quite delicious.

I’m a very slow reader, so my library is likely to take a long time to build, but I can’t wait to start adding to my future reading list! So, so many books and so little time.

All of this blog play has made me very neglectful of recent (and my first few!) commenters. I beg for forgiveness and blame it on my badgerness. Most badgers are, in fact, loners who eschew all companionship until mating season. I’m not quite that bad, but I am sometimes ostrich-like in the way that I deal with the world. Thanks, then, radfemlezzie for sharing your story of dickheadedness with me. It just goes to show that women all over the place are with men that don’t appreciate their intelligent and useful contributions to the world. I mean, it isn’t like we didn’t know that already, but it confirms it for about the 8 trillionth time. And big thanks to spotted elephant for reminding me that lots of other women feel the same way that I do. It is so easy to feel like the only one, ya know? And no thanks at all for getting me sucked into a long trail of bunny-web via your Bunny Blogging. Now I have to keep visiting The Brooklyn Bunny Cam. I’m so easily sucked into the internet.

 All of this is to say thanks, y’all, for reading.

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scrappybadger June 11th, 2007

I’m feeling a little down lately. I guess, to be both honest and more accurate, I’m feeling more down than usual. I haven’t had an overabundance of joyful days for a while, but lately I’m feeling particularly beaten down by the world. Something happened. The wires got crossed, the connection was fuzzy, or I didn’t have good reception. I don’t know which one it was, but somehow my Pull Yourself Up By the Bootstraps memo ended up giving me one hellish wedgie. I guess, like usual, I misinterpreted. I’ve been pulling at the wrong strings, and all they get me is a butt rash and aching forearms.

Part of my trouble is that I’m tired. Teaching two accelerated composition classes doesn’t leave much free time, and what little there is always seems to be filled with dirty dishes and bills and laundry. Even the days when I shirk all of my responsibilities, when I take the day off from housework or grading or even answering the phone, are filled with worrying about what I’m not doing and guilt for not doing it.

The worry and the anxiety never go away. I’ve been trying not to think about a trip I’m supposed to be taking in October. My first grown up conference proposal was accepted and by the big Victorian conference — the really big one. I’ve been to the conference once, but only as a spectator when it was held at a school a few hours away. I really didn’t even expect my proposal to be accepted, but it was, and what’s more, I was faced with the possibility, be it ever so dim, of going somewhere. I haven’t been more than 5 hours away from where I grew up since I was an undergrad and even then it was to attend college. The last vacation (and the only one I think) that Piig and I went on was one funded largely by my parents who rented a beach cottage in North Carolina and invited my sisters and I.

We never go anywhere, so the idea of traveling to the West Coast, to Canada even, is really exciting. I’m beginning to think it won’t happen though. Everything is prohibitively expensive, and we’d need money for food, a hotel room, and airfare. That last one isn’t helping me feel optimistic either. Piig has been looking at flights, and I don’t know, but I’m really thinking I’m going to be forced to buy two seats. Just the thought of the dirty looks from passengers and the exasperation of flight attendants that I’ve read about in other fat people’s accounts of flying is enough to make me want to give up right now. Then there is the fact that I have to keep the trip a secret from my family until right before I leave or my parents, who live within two minutes of where my dad grew up and ten minutes from my mom’s childhood home, will start in with the horror stories of people killed in fiery plane crashes or kidnapped when they crossed the Canadian border.

Sometimes it feels like things that are really easy for other people are crushingly difficult for me. It’s as if I lack some kind of enzyme that would allow me to cope with the world like a normal human being. Meanwhile, I usually just end up feeling inadequate and incapable of really doing anything. I go back to the dirty dishes and the bad student essays, and I wonder if this is what it will always be like.

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scrappybadger June 6th, 2007

I’ve been busy teaching a couple of freshman comp. classes this summer, so I haven’t been able to watch The View in over a month. During the spring semester my schedule usually allowed me to catch it a couple of times a week. I’ve loved the show ever since Rosie was added to the cast. I’d been thinking for years that they needed a lesbian on the show, and I love that she is both a dyke and political. Frankly, I don’t get apolitical lesbians, and, what’s more, I don’t find them particularly interesting.

I don’t necessarily agree with everything Rosie says, and oftentimes my politics are much more radical than hers, but I love her and that wonderfully big mouth of hers nonetheless. I like seeing dykes on tv, real ones, not those pseudo-lesbians from The L Word or the occasional psycho gay woman on Law and Order. I like the actual lesbians, the ones that look like me, that sound like me, and whose lives might be at least a little like my own.

I’ve been happy watching her shock people and sometimes piss them off. I saw a Youtube clip of the very long (for tv at least) fight between Rosie and cohost Elisabeth, but I hadn’t heard much about it otherwise, so last night I went trolling through Youtube again only to find that she left The View early, earlier even than the few weeks she had left on the contract she wasn’t renewing. I guess I’ve been under a rock — or, more accurately, stacks of student essays. How can this be? How can she be leaving early?

I’m so bummed. I liked watching her. I like that she is fat. I like that she doesn’t hide the fact that she likes food and doesn’t incessantly apologize for liking it. I like that she is a lesbian. I like that she talks about issues the way regular people and that she does it in front of millions of people even though that isn’t an easy task. I just plain like her, and I hate to see her go.

I don’t think I’ll be watching The View anymore. I didn’t watch it much before, and I can’t stand the constant promotion of dieting and body hatred that has come to define the show. The hot topics were what I tuned in for and to hear what Rosie would say each day. It just sucks that we’re back to Our Regularly Scheduled Heterosexual Programming. It’s tiresome.

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