The Political Views of 500 Bints

WELCOME...
TO OBLIVION!
That's how I welcome people into the classes I teach every day, incidentally.

Alias valiens. Downtown NYC art baby, now in Naples, FL. Homeschooling hipster. Capitalist creative. World foodie. Community seeker. Gun toting garden yogini. Can also be found on Twitter, Pandora and at IIN. More of this blog is true than you may think.

... Shut the fuck up Jesus Christ.
World foodie.
If a girl said she was a world foodie to my face I would punt her on the ovaries.
Anyway this bitch is in retirement (hopefully from life) and the last post was 2010 and literally the next 15 blogs had posts from this week but I'M STARTING AT THE TOP OF THE LIST I GOT.

I've been trying to feel my way back here, and just am not feeling it.

So much is happening in the real world, so much personal growth, and work is beginning to pick up. I want to keep blogging, but not on this blog. That's the realization. It just feels like a time capsule to me. Pre-lost baby, post-lost baby. Everything changed after her. So this is it. The official retirement of this blog. It seems crazy to me, having blogged since '04. So many links, so many friends made even. But I need a new outlet for the new me.  

Cool.
Cool.
It is almost the midway point in school. I have begun to see clients for Health Coaching, which is going really, really well. The first newsletter has gone out and been well received, the second one is in the almost ready. I'm trying to get my summer class schedule organized so it can go into the July issue.
A health coach.
Wait a minute. I was promised a feminist housewife not a feminist usual bullshit women do for a living.

My talented and wonderful friend Bree and I have been meeting for brainstorming and creating sessions for our Art Group. This has been a truly magical thing. We have been thinking arts thoughts, writing poetry, writing and planning a performance, doing improv together (that upsets the dog) and visiting museums.

This'll probably say a lot more about me than it will this woman but I remember thinking in one of my English classes that the scariest god in Greek mythology wasn't Ares for his wanton bloodlust or Zeus for being able to kill any motherfucker he wants with a lightning bolt but probably Eros or Aphrodite for their powers of making people fall in love.
Like what if I fall in love with a cunt like this?
I'd suddenly be tolerant of this nonsense.
I'd probably be miserable and okay with it.
What can Ares do?
All right I can die but that's all he can do, really.
This is probably why all important religions (Greek mythology) advocate being guarded when it comes to romance.
Well I guess I now know why that religion died out: made too much goddamn sense.
Also didn't spell shit out.
Here it is, retards. Figure it out or get fucked, not my problem.
Not how you want to run a self help camp.

We're gearing up for Earth Day weekend at Koreshan again. Amazing to see our last trip there was one of my last posts for so long. This photo of Baird in a mango tree was sent to me by some kind vendors last year. It's so very Baird.

...
Baird is her son.
She named
her son
Baird.
Holy
fuck.
Name your kid something manly so he doesn't turn out like a twat.
It's literally the first step after he's been fired out of your crotch cannon and you can't even get that right.
Step one (arguably the easiest step) and already you have irrevocably ruined this kid's entire existence.
I think I just figured out the worst thing that could ever happen to this kid:
there's an afterlife.
"Oh, what did you do with your life, Achilles?"
"Killed a bunch of Trojans and fucked bitches."
"What'd you do, Baird?"
"My mom took me to Earth Day."
I don't advocate naming your kid Achilles, incidentally.

My biggest challenge is keeping balance, same as it is for most people. This whole homeschooling three kids, starting a business while in school and supportive husband too busy as well thing is a challenge.

And you're homeschooling Baird.
You don't want this kid to be a well-adjusted, productive member of society.
That's all there is to it.
It's difficult to imagine homeschooling is legal in this country, actually.
I had to go to school to learn how to do this. You're 100% unqualified.
You might be (might being the qualifier here) a good mom but that doesn't actually make you knowledgeable in an area of study.

  I know I can't duplicate myself, I know I can't bag the whole sleep thing (!), but in fact I also know we all get the same 24 hours. So my real challenge is how to best support myself in those 24 hours, by organizing, prioritizing and being selective, and taking good care of my health along with that of my family. 

Step one: enroll those kids in a normal school.
Baird has to go to school with normal kids who will make fun of his name. It's the only way to avoid him developing a complex about it.
I've known about the kid for five minutes and already I have a complex about his name.

We lost dear Anci two years ago, our daughter of second trimester, as many of you are aware.

Anci.
Anci.
Hindi for "spared" I think.

Anci (Ahn-shee)has also helped us find clarity and continues to do so.

Use the Latin pronunciation. Why the fuck not?
Maybe it's best you're homeschooling them, actually.
Those poor substitute teachers.
IT'S PRONOUNCED AHN-SHEE.
Well excuse me for not being fucking clairvoyant and just guessing your whore mother was an expert on Latin.

The economy continues to be an inspiration to us and to everyone we know. There has never been a better time for making lemonade. But you don't need me to tell you that.

Yes that's the word I'd use to describe the economy.
I wish I were still in college because I'd totally use that in my paper.
WW2?
Inspiring.
The Fall of the Roman Empire?
Inspiring.
The Plague?
Inspiring.

The house is tidy, no one is sick, my desk has been cleared (though not entirely conquered for real), and it seems like a great moment to go to bed.

This blog?
Inspiring.
Awe-inspiring, that is.
Like what the fuck is wrong with you?

All these changes in the world make it harder to blog. Not that I don't have just as much to say, but I'm out doing things, and spending so much time catching up from the month and a half with three fevers. And then catching up with my love, who is always off working. I'm just so glad we're all finally all the way better.

Off working to support you.
Like seriously, what did Zeus do to punish people?
9/10 they were totally asking for what they got.
He turned a bitch into a tree--
he turned some dudes into dolphins--
he turned one guy into a bull--
he lit a guy on fire--
like all of that is bad but what did this poor sod do?

Right now I'm finding some combination of faith and thought is the best answer. Thinking things through, and then letting go. I'm a big fan of leaving room for Grace.

Of all of the punishments wrought by the gods let this one never visit me.

Funny how it actually works when I actually do it. I'm not really a chat with God type, so it feels funny even thinking about my own faith this way, but I don't think I need to analyze it.

Pretty sure the gods are more metaphorical than literal but this is serious enough that I'd sacrifice a goat to prevent this from happening.
I'll admit I haven't been too big on the libations because I always considered it bronze age superstition but please let's just not have this happen.

I think I'm okay just letting it be. If it works, why am I going to mess with it? To be rigorous? Why in all things? Or maybe, why not invite the possibility that rigor can be the act of trying on faith a different way, and not freaking if it changes some things I thought I was sure about. Why should rigor equal cynicism?

Wrap the thigh bone in fat. Let's do it, come on.
Wait, how did that go in the Odyssey?
It's only written like a thousand times and I've only read it a thousand times. You'd think I know.

Day three of my Lenten fast. It's brilliant.

I decided to just move boldly forward without any particulars for my master plan. The plan is this. 1. Eat mostly raw, aiming for 90%. 2. Fill in with either macrobiotics inspired, or at least whole. 3. Once a week or so, eat a Healthiest Meals On Earth type meal.

Yesterday was easy. The kids had oatmeal for breakfast with rice syrup, blueberries, and goat milk. 

The point of Lent isn't to be a cunt. The point of Lent is self-denial so it can bring you closer to Jesus.
Holy fuck, do you seriously not get the point of one of the most sacred holidays in your religion?
I just talked about sacrificing a goat. That's about as heathen as you get and even I understand this.
I made whole wheat blueberry scones the other day, so we finished those as well. Lunch was cut peppers, some soaked and dehydrated almonds, a big salad of locally grown organic chrysanthemum greens with soaked and dried pumpkin seeds, garlic, heirloom tomato, fresh dill from the garden, blueberries, lime, extra virgin olive oil, pepper, Himalayan salt.

Gluttony
(From Lat. gluttire, to swallow, to gulp down), the excessive indulgence in food and drink. The moral deformity discernible in this vice lies in its defiance of the order postulated by reason, which prescribes necessity as the measure of indulgence in eating and drinking. This deordination, according to the teaching of the Angelic Doctor, may happen in five ways which are set forth in the scholastic verse: "Prae-propere, laute, nimis, ardenter, studiose" or, according to the apt rendering of Father Joseph Rickably: too soon, too expensively, too much, too eagerly, too daintily.  

Just added some bold face for you.
Something to think about, O Blessed One.

The girls and I loved it, but Baird didn't. He had raw peanuts-only peanut butter on the last of his ciabatta roll and some freshly squeezed orange juice. Kali used her ciabatta for a little grilled cheese.

After we made and drank smoothie twice, I really wanted something salty, and crunchy.

Baird.

I am devoting Lent to eating raw & living foods, and streamlining my life.

The point of Lent isn't to diet.
Forget it.
It's not that important, honestly.

That means more household carnage. Things must go. It means looking at my computer time a new way. It means an electronic sundown. [Insert movie track sounds of impending doom].

I know I approach things too radically. I know, I know. 

Yeah your Lent diet sounded pretty extreme.
It sounds like more than I eat in a day.
That's your fasting meal.
More than I eat in a day.

2. Begin at the beginning. Keep reading the books, schedule a trip to Food & Thought, plan some foods the kids and Tim can eat (raw & cooked). Put ceviche on the menu.

OH GOD HIS NAME IS EVEN TIM.
ZEUS AEGIDUCHOS.

I'm a little late to the trough, I realize. But yesterday I consumed all of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer.

Nah, that's cool.
So glad that fad died out.
Now it's Hunger Games but whatever, one step at a time.

Even if he was not a vampire, one fact is clear based on his smaller, seemingly insignificant relationship behaviors. He is not a nice man. 

He's a vampire, dipshit.
Also it's "if he were not a vampire"  because it's subjunctive.
That might seem needlessly nitpicky to you but I would argue you're only an English teacher.

At first I attributed the Cullen character's oddities to mere vampiric repertoire, as I'm sure most readers also have. He is, after all a predator of humans. The red flags were buried in the willingness to be taken, the desire to be led by the author.

So case fucking closed.

I don't think it's over-analyzing to point out Edward's controlling personality or anger issues. He is possessive, demanding, unpredictable, violent.

Vampires in most (decent) fiction are barely contained animals.
In fact in Warhammer vampires that lose too much of their civility literally become monsters.

There are times when life comes in rapid fire.

Two shots at half range if you haven't moved.

First, at church (a 2000 year old game of telephone, T gleefully calls it)  

So he's a cunt too.
A SHAME TO ALL TIMS.
A STAIN ON OUR OTHERWISE RESPLENDENT ROLL OF HONOR.

 I won't call it a neat, clean faith. It is, perhaps, diverse in the trappings, but I've been told by some who claim to know, my theology is sound. If my outer label is smells & bells queer- and woman-friendly Episcopalian, heavily informed by panentheistic Indian Mysticism in general, and Trika Shaivism in particular, with a subtle Buddhist finish and humanist base, my inner spiritual life is quite clear.

AVE CAESAR.
I don't even know what the fuck anymore.
This is seriously The Meanest Mom 2.0 and I'm sad both of them are in retirement now.
Or glad.
I guess I should be glad since my goal is to stop blogging--
This is some Dragonball Z shit, man.
If I destroy blogs who will I have left to battle?
And on that somber note I'm going to bed.