This place matters

This place matters

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

I strongly suspect the headline of this blog will have anything to do with the content, but really, I never seem to know where my posts will end up.
So we raised over a thousand dollars for The Canton Domestic Violence Project with The Vagina Monologues. Thanks so much to those of you who came out! The show was phenomenal, as were the men and women involved. It was beautiful and life-affirming to see how many people here care about women, about ending violence. I was heartening to see how many men showed up too. I mean, I barely felt comfortable talking about vaginas before I did this show, and I have one. Most men I know (and most women I know, to be fair) balk when the conversation turns south of the woman's navel. And why that is, this show has left me uncertain, but I've talked more than enough about the hoo hah of late and am ready to retire the subject.
Visiting the Domestic Violence Project Web site just now stirred up something, this deep sense of gratitude for how fortunate I've been. Once, Jeremy got really, really mad and kicked a wall. I wasn't there, I just heard. He didn't do any damage to said wall, he just kicked it a little. This is the angriest I have ever known my husband to be. I can't even remember him raising his voice to me. And this may be difficult for you to believe, dear Internet, but I'm not entirely easy to live with. I'd certainly raise my voice to me. And do, sometimes.
Also, Alton Brown tells me that that cupcakes are so called because it was a pain to bake an entire cake over the fire back in olden times, so people would pour cake batter into cups, like coffee cups, and bake them. Because you deserve at least a little etymology before I run off, and Jeremy's watching Good Eats right now, and so I actually found that fact out completely passively. 
Also, the bed is covered in laundry, and I'm putting off going to bed because I don't want to put the laundry away. Which I dumped onto the bed because I knew I couldn't go to bed until I put it away. Unless I dump it back into the hamper from whence it came, which I've been doing all week.
And there you have it, folks, a post unrelated to whiskey, tangos, foxtrot, clever references to abbreviations for expletive phrases.
I am fairly certain I am not stoned, but this post would seem to indicate otherwise.

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