ZeldaQuirks

Bear with me if this post is nonsensical. It is 4 am, and insomnia has taken over my life in a very unhealty way.

I used to have no fear of death. At all. I have sprained my ankles more times than I can count jumping off balconies, or out of windows. Once, in a state of complete inebriation, I very nearly jumped off the third story of an apartment complex into a pool. Some random wisp of common sense floated past my alcohol-soaked brain and saved my life.

In college in NH, I had snuck into the boys' dorm one night to hang out. This was extremely forbidden. The RA started making rounds and I decided to leave the building via a second story window. I climbed out (without my shoes in the dead of winter) and skidded down the side of the building kicking a light and shattering glass all over. Luckily the fire escape and the glass broke my fall. I had bruises corresponding to the stair steps up my entire left leg. I couldn't walk for a week, and I was picking glass out of my toes for a month.

I ate a calf-brain burrito in the midst of the mad cow disease scare.

I told a fat girl in Boston that her ass was fat and her fat ass was blocking my view of the stage (where a bunch of bands were giving a free concert) and to move her fat ass out of the way. Luckily she was a liberal who didn't believe in violence, otherwise I might have ended up with my arms broken instead of a black eye. It was cool though. She got arrested. I was drunk, so it didn't hurt until the next day.

In fact, inebriation played a large part in all of my follies.

I also thought the Jackass boys were pussies.

Then. Two children emerged from my pussy, and I turned into a fucking girl. I can pinpoint the moment. I was pregnant with my first and wanted to wear dresses. I'd never worn dresses in my life. The desire dissipated somewhat after the first was born, but after the second one was born, it was there to stay. When I was pregnant with the second, I painted the house in all pastels. PASTELS!! What the hell was I thinking? Fortunately, that was a temporary phase from which my poor kitchen has never recovered from. I can't afford to give it the antidote.

Anyway, since I had the girls, I've become paranoid. A back-seat driver, ever watchful of danger stalking my family. I don't think I've had a good night's sleep since the kids were born. I wouldn't trade it, mind you, but every once in awhile, I get an urge to go get smashed and do something moronic. Nowadays, that translates into going to the Mexican restaurant a few blocks away and drinking margaritas until it is time to slosh our way home.

But what have I traded all the death defying excitement for? A really great guy, and two daughters who crack me up on an hourly basis at least, and who are already showing the genetic predisposition to adventure. I just hope it will be more constructive for them, than for me.

Is it worth it? Yup.

Jethro likes to take the credit for "feminizing" me. Bull fucking shit, man. Being a tomboy was what attracted him to me in the first place. That, and I beatdown 7 guys in a keg stand. And I flashed him.