(Preface written by Jon, edited by Dani)
Here are my thoughts of Dani: Dani's personality is BIG. To misquote Hitch-Hikers, "You may think space is big, but that's just peanuts to Dani's personality". When Dani struts, people take notice.
Dani is usually very funny (especially when flaming, which she doesn't do as much as she did, to my continuing disappointment), often thought-provoking, and is unfairly good at summing things up in a way which stops me from posting any further...
The only thing wrong with Dani as far as I've seen is that she considers me sweet (Hey! He is sweet!--DK), but that'll change when (if? nah - let's be positive) we meet (Not bloody likely, you'll still be sweet!--DK).
Dani is Alaskan of origin, but now lives in California. She is desperately homesick for Alaska, but finally beginning to adjust to life in the Lower 48. She is married to Stan, who I believe to be a smashing (and lucky) bloke. Apparently she is temporarily between dogs.
Oh, by the way for those of you with graphically-challenged browsers (political correctness can be such fun, can't it?) -- Dani's female. Oh, and Bev's male.
Since I finally decided (after what, 2 years?) to let Jon put a personalized Dani introduction on the page, I was going to delete all the stuff he'd written about me way back when. But when I read it again, it made me feel so good I just changed a couple things that needed to be changed and left it there. Raw ego. How could I remove such wonderful compliments?
On IRC I have an introduction (actually I have a bunch of intros on IRC and later I'll share the one I use for assholes that message me begging for netsex without finding out if I have any interest in netsex) and it says:
"Dani is femme, married, 2 kids, over 30, not quite menopausal, and maybe a little twisted. She is sometimes rude, often crude, always irreverent, never irrelevant, usually profane and mostly humane. Half the time she's kind and compassionate. Half the time she's a roaring bitch. And the other half of the time she just isn't paying any attention at all."
I'm a professional Mom by choice. That means that I don't work out of the home and I get first dibs on my husband's income. I'm pretty bad at the parts of the job that fall under the homemaker (housewife if you're as old as me) job description. I don't like cleaning (only a housewife can truly understand what entropy means. The physicists shoulda just asked their mothers) because it's boring and it's never done...although I do sorta like washing dishes. Zen activity. And sometimes, when I'm very depressed and need some physical comfort that doesn't involve other living beings, vacuuming barefoot is soothing. I like the way my feet hum when I do that. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. It's nice.
I like the Momming part. Not just the sweet momming part, like reading a book while you nurse a clean baby or having your six year old ask you, "How come grownups always know that kids are more important?" or having your teenager tell you that even though you should never forget that you *are* an old fart and a pain in the butt, they're proud to introduce you to their friends and, "Yeah, you were right to ground me for showing up two hours late last week, I was way out of line," but the icky ucky parts too, like when you see your 3 year old take a fall and for just a split second, you think she's dead and you know you'll never recover. That's important to momming, even though it really sucks...and the part where you almost faint with relief because she ISN'T dead isn't the part that's really important. The part that is really important and really *right* is being faced, once again, with the gut-level, heart-rending, absolute, INSANE commitment to this child that you've somehow been lucky enough to make.
Speaking of Stephen King, in my never humble opinion, the insanity it takes to be a parent is the theme of Pet Semetary. Read it again with that theme in mind, especially if you have children. Forget all the crapola about scary cats and zombies. Read it from Louis' perspective and put yourself in his shoes. In my never humble opinion, reading it that way will fundamentally change the entire story in your heart.
By the way, if that brief little blurb makes you think that Pet Semetary is my favorite SK book, you erred. Dolores Claiborne has outdistanced The Stand and crossed the finish line with miles to spare. It's the mom-thing.
I like making their lunches and brushing their hair and arguing with them about their rooms and discussing the stuff that seems interesting to them....
Oh yeah, I got Echo (that's my perfect daughter-child, age 9) a Spice Girls CD and a copy of the Spice Girls video for her birthday. I hadn't heard their music or seen them before that. I kinda like 'em. It's easy listening. Reminds me of The Monkeys; light, fun music that is easy to sing with, cutesy personalities that really do no harm. As far as the Spice Girls movie...well....ummmm...it wasn't a GOOD movie by ANY stretch of the imagination but it was sorta entertaining. I didn't have any problem with it. It was much easier to watch than Barney (thank the gods she's outgrown that stupid purple dinosaur). I haven't figured out how the Spice Girls almost caused a flame war about feminism on the newsgroup. Go figure.
How many of the parents of teenagers have listened to your kids' music with them? Paul (my perfect son-child) is almost 16 and he's really into music. The music he likes is very loud and raucous music and I have hearing problems so I can't understand a lot of the words but I really like some of it. Every now and then Paul will share a song with me and quote the lyrics as they're being sung so I'll have a clue what they're saying. T'other day, he said he wanted me to listen to a 'hidden song' at the end of one of his tapes and he plugged in his boombox and played it and quoted it for me while I washed dishes. It was really awful. Heartrending. The singer was using music and words to talk about a violent period of time with his abusive father and his own rage and hurt and confusion about that period of his life as a child. He was trying, I think, to do this as a cathartic experience, and by the end of the song he was sobbing, in that horrible way that grown men cry when their hearts are utterly shattered, while his band kept playing the music. I haven't decided if I think this singer was doing a healthy thing or not. As I get older, I think that diving into those horribly painful feelings from old experiences and re-feeling them has less value to recovery...but at the same time, I remember that when I was younger, I had a great need to do just that. Maybe I've done it enough and don't need to any more, and maybe it's just not worth it. But all else aside, I thought it was special of my son to share this song with me and to talk to me about why he felt it was important.
Why do so many people of my generation bitch about our kids' music? Remember when the Beatles were possessed of demons and if we played their songs backwards we'd hear subliminal messages to give our souls to Satan? Remember arguing with our parents because they said it wasn't MUSIC, it was YELLING? Gimme a break. Why are we pulling the same shit on our kids that we thought was irretrievably stupid when it was pulled on us? Why are my people, the people of my own generation, the people that truly BELIEVED that we shouldn't trust anybody over 30, why why WHY have so many of us completely forgotten what we thought back then? And by the way, what's wrong with ME that I've not forgotten? Maybe I'm just really immature.
I read a lot. Reading was the first drug I discovered and the only one I've been able to continue using without getting into trouble. I read for characterization and a sense of involvement. I'm not picky about genre. The authors I can currently think of that I appreciate a lot are Jonathan Kellerman, Stephen King, Robert Heinlein, Tabitha King, Piers Anthony, Robert Asprin, Robert McCammon, Dan Simmons, Minette Walters, Peter Straub, Elizabeth Scarborough, Alice Walker, Louis L'Amour and ummmm....lots of others. LOTS.
I'm a very moody person. When I'm posting regularly, that moodiness tends to show pretty clearly. I suffer badly from PMS (PMT for our Brit and Aussie and Kiwi friends) and since I'm a very social creature, I don't like to suffer it alone. :)
I wanna say something about PMS. PMS is false pregnancy and nothing more. The symptoms are identical to early pregnancy symptoms. Breast swelling and tenderness, skin sensitivity, bloating, water retention, cramps, food cravings, nausea, moodiness....the list goes on and on. Now people know that women who are pregnant are certifiably nuts. Our bodies are way out of tune compared to what we're used to when we are not pregnant (which hopefully, for our health, is more often than when we ARE pregnant) and our brains are being flooded with massive chemical changes and excessive hormones...so people fully understand that when a pregnant woman gets utterly hysterical over some stupid piddly thing (like a few crumbs spilt on her clean counter where he made a sandwich) she is behaving 'normally.' So when we say, "Get away from me, I have PMS and you are beginning to look like a candidate for spousal murder," why do some men think we're making it up? We're not. We're having a false pregnancy and we are certifiably nuts. Be afraid. Or at least be scarce. Unless, of course, we need you to cuddle us.
I like working with my hands on stupid little Zen things, like stringing beads or hemming pants or hooking rugs. I'm not particularly good at any of this stuff, but I enjoy it. That kinda stuff relaxes me. But it's really boring too, so I usually wanna watch a movie when I do it Or if I go to a meeting, I'll take something like that with me to do while I listen to people talk. I don't watch TV. Most of my life I have not even owned a television. It usually bores me. I much prefer reading.
I write sometimes. Well...I write a lot. But I've never been published and probably never will. What I tend to do is finish a story, then put it away and ignore it for a few weeks or months. Then I'll pull it out and read it. If I like it still, I'll put it away again. A few weeks or months later I'll read it again. Eventually, I'll read it and decide it sucks. At that point, I'll throw it away. Everything I write ends up eventually feeling to me like a profane Readers Digest article. Even if it didn't feel like that to me the first 10 times I read it, eventually that's exactly what it feels like, and when it feels like that, I'm prolly gonna toss it.
If I were asked what my hobby is in a situation where I was honesty was socially acceptable, I'd say that communicating was my hobby. I like communicating with other people, either verbally, or in writing. Talking with people is fun.
Okay, I'm finally winding down and it's time to share the IRC intro that I use when some jackass sends me an assinine unsolicited private message saying something like, "wanna blow me? my cock is 16 inches long."
"I am 74-year-old 382-pound quadruple amputee hermaphrodite necropedobeastiaphile and you do not qualify to fuck me." (With thanks to Wag for the amputee part.)
It's an attitude problem; I know. I don't like people that I consider rude, and the way that I often respond to people that I have judged as rude is by trying to match or outdo their rudeness. It doesn't often change their behavior but I'm usually able to enjoy doing it.
ABSK Geek Code:
All SK books+++P+R++OT F++++N+(+)DK+++++sk+++ps+++dk---ds rc+++oc+ep+++ar-ja?ac ji?pc?C+I++sh+++GO+++++OR ot++