I think too much. About only one subject. Me. My feelings, my wants, my needs, my endless craving for having my ego stroked.
I always thought it was normal to think exclusively about myself. In fact, I assumed everyone else was also doing the same - constantly thinking about me - until I found Open Salon and discovered, to my amazement, that I was the only one. Everyone else was thinking about THEM, not ME.
Then one day I blundered onto Diary of a Hopeless Starving Student's blog. This selfless gal, aka V., thinks about everyone BUT herself. She thinks about THEM to the exclusion of everything else. She is so kind and giving and altuistically inclined, if she keeps giving herself away, she's either going to become invisible or wind up with a disease.
For me, this sainted woman puts the "V" in violent. As in how she fills me with violent awe every time I read about her latest feed-the-filthy-urchins--of-some-overpopulated-blight-on-the-earth-hell-hole while simultaneously saving the endangered ruby throated tse tse wasp from extinction escapades. And somehow, she's still able to make it to the Vatican in time for dinner and a movie with Benno. (Yes, they know each other. Intimately.)
She makes me want to be a better me. I want to be just like her but I am imperfect. After reading one of her moving posts, I was feeling vindictive, churlish and mean. Moreso than usual. So I PMd her. "V, every time I try to think of some global crisis to solve overnight I don't get inspired like you do," I whined. "I get overwhelmed and end up moseying downtown to the homeless shelter, where I inevitably tie a man to my tailgate and drag him to death at 85 m.p.h. on a rutted back road, after promising him a free meal at Waffle House. The morning-after guilt of ruining my shock absorbers is killing me."
V. gently murmured back in empathetic cryptic fashion (she can type in both sound and feeling), "Let me give you a hint, Margaret. Baby steps. Baby steps." Then she was gone.
How frustrating! I gave in once again to my base urges and headed downtown....
However she always comes through. The very next day she announced an Open Call for a Baby Shower for Emily's embryo.
Baby steps indeed. Clever girl.
But that familiar urge almost immediately pounced again. What could I possibly offer Emily and her erstwhile zygote.
I thought and thought and thought. My traitorous mind was again turning to the dark side and I was trying to rationalize how I was actually helping curb the homeless problem in Columbus when I heard a song on the radio. The miserable non-stop Christmas music station my daughter loves so much was playing that damnable tune I hate more than all the others, The Little Drummer Boy.
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum shove it up your poor little drummer boy bum.
Suddenly a blindingly intense light filled my house. A holier than thou light. Maybe it was the Christmas Star, the Star of Bethlehem, hovering above my rooftop! I threw open the front door, half-expecting to see that its heat had burned a cross on my front lawn.
But on further inspection, I realized it was internal light that had emblazoned an idea upon my brain. For a gift. A baby shower gift, fit to bring to the Open Salon Editorial Heirstyle Apparent. A gift as pure of heart and spirit as the Little Drummer Boy's gift to the baby Jesus.
I would offer my breasts.
To Emily and her baby.
Because it's common knowledge that "the breast is best" for human spawn development.
Breast milk, that is.
And thus, I humbly present my finest gift. I will induce lactation, bottle my milk, and ship it to Emily.
Beats the hell out of frankincense and myrrh. Maybe even gold, if time is truly money. Those wise men suddenly aren't looking so smart compared to me.
She will not have to nurse that baby and can get on with business of selecting Editorial Picks, unencumbered by the need to periodically race to the bathroom and express herself. (Of course, this aspect of her job will be made much easier since I'm sure I can assume anything I write will automatically be expressed on the OS cover, no matter how badly it suckles.)
Emily, rest assured my milk is USDA-certified radical agent-free. And just because one of my own spawn grew up to be a heroin addict, that tendency was not passed on because of anything it contained. I personally think it was in the Enfamil I had to give her when I cruelly weaned her at three months so I could go back to work.
I made up for this lapse with the other three though; I nursed each of them until they were in middle school. Since the last one is only in the sixth grade, rest assured the pump is primed and ready!
But no thanks is necessary. I'm the one giving thanks, to V., for her gift to me. I'm not the only one thanking her either. The homeless men of Columbus are praising her with a chorus of Alleluias and if she'd ever like to meet them in person I'm sure they'd be happy to shower her with praise, anywhere and any time she wants.
Pa rum pum pum.
Pum.
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Poor Woman
Terry McKenna
old new lefty
Pensive Person
jmac1949
Ande Bliss
Salon.com
Comments
Wait. Were you just trying to get us to talk about your breasts?
No, you wouldn't do that. You were truly trying to be selfless and gen-er...
Are you sure it wasn't all about your breasts?
;-)
Phyllis: I knew I could see the glow of a pure heart emanating from behind those thick blond tresses.
Alysa: I don't know, Frenchie. Not if you're planning on raising the wee one over there; shipping costs would be rather exorbitant. But here's a hint; get mil to induce lactation! She can nurse the baby herself and thus really feel like an involved grandparent.
:-) / R
Oh, and V never has done that so you'd be FIRST!!!
A breasts is a personal rack a gal got. She gonna do with it whatever she can maybe do.
A breasts is an eye puller to-er. For a good hearted redblooded boy like me. Sure.
And yet. How little it matters after the initial how ya do.
Argh. Souls shine.
Tits are aplenty all over if a good boy needs to see some.
But that should be his private bizness, not to project on a chick.
I aint drank no good milk lately.
I used to. Lowfat. Hm.
It is good with clamchoweder.
"I've chosen not to breastfeed, and I know my mother-in-law's going to give me hell about that.
"
good heavens talk about the horse b4 the cart, hheeeee heee hee
Is Emily really preggy? I saw the title but it slipped from the feed amongst the raging river of spam. Woe.
Everyone else was thinking about THEM, not ME
Therein lies a scathing, resounding critique not only of OS but of the world generally. Reading the rest of the post now...
WHAAAAATT?
"The Little Drummer Boy" is the greatest Christmas song ever made. HIS FAMILY WAS MURDERED BY THIEVES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD YET HE STILL WANTED TO PERFORM HIS LITTLE DRUM THINGY FOR JESUS!!!!!!!
Disgusted now but scrolling back up to finish this post...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LuGzwNy2ws&ob=av2n
zanelle: Everything is about you if you want it to be. When I read something, for instance, I usually print it, white out the most important person's name and and ink in "Margaret." Did you know I'm married to Prince William AND Jay-Z?
jane: You are a nut. I think about you all the time too. And btw, I was proposed to 4 times when I was pregnant too. Four times with each pregnancy. So I was actually proposed to 16 times. And that was just while pregnant. How old was your friend's son?
Amy: You ignorant lesbian slut. This is NOT ABOUT BOOBS!!! What is wrong with you people? I triumph over a debilitating homicidal character flaw and boobs is all anyone gets from my post?
20 bucks and you've got a deal.
James: Thank you for re-elevating this post. Souls do shine and mine is blazing with goodness. As far as clam chowder, Manhattan or New England? I'd drink milk with the former but with New England, I think that would be overkill.
As for Alysa, I think she should re-consider nursing her child. It is a profound bonding experience plus it will keep the peace w/the mother in law.
Rw005g: Here we go again. Chocolate, strawberry, or regular.
Matt: Apparently she is; I mean, I wasn't privy to seeing the stick although V. most likely was. And according to one of those Meet the Fokker movies, you can milk a cat. Although I'd be wary of any fluid that came from Tink.
Nana: There you go as usual, imposing some gloomy social indictment about the disintegrating state of the wuthering world onto my simple post about how the greatest gifts, the things that can bring profound change, are really right at our fingertips. Or other places. In the same way dimwit Dorothy was wearing her ticket home on her feet all along and didn't know it, the "bigger picture" here is about how everyone from Donald Trump to the homeless guy still attached to my tailgate, has the power to effect positive change if only he or she would look within instead of blaming others and expecting everyone else to mollycoddle them. Mollycoddle only applies to coddling Molly though so I don't know how that applies to anyone named anything else.
It's so demeaning to me when I have to break it down for the one or two who don't "get it".
Nana: What song have you been listening to? His family wasn't murdered by thieves; they threw him out because all he wanted to do was bang on the drum all day. He was driving them batty - why else would a kid be wandering around all night with a drum? AND my guess is he made baby Jesus cry, not smile so Mary spanked him and sold him into child slavery to one of the Wise Men for a couple extra pieces of gold.
Ume: Alyssa is indeed a goddess and she will be even more of one if she chooses to breastfeed because it does wonders for your figure -ahem - (but DO NOT tell Emily that).
Giving Emily an anthology of the writing of LKWalker would be the best gift you could give her.
Emily has her own set of breasts, I guess.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMxLIIxweMw
Kim: Pssssst. The leaf. The leaf's still on your face Kim. I just can't get past it. And that little blue box? It's your television set. Press the "off" button and it will go away.
fernsy: I believe in holding nothing back; I am an open book! As for giving Emily an LKWalker anthology, everyone on OS and his mother will be giving her that unoriginal gift. And OF COURSE Emily surely has her own set of breatst, fernsy! That's not the point. I'm really giving her the gift of time. Besides, mine are better because they're broken in.
jlsathre: Thank you! And thanks for putting up with my nonsense!
trig: Well thanks but my saintliness won't be real to me until my deal with St. Patricks Cathedral goes through (helpfully being arranged by V.) where they replace the communion wine with my breast milk. Only then will I feel I've achieved true saintliness.
Thoth: "Subtle yet serene." I think I resemble that. I really do. How have I never noticed that about myself before. Thank you, Thoth. Subtly and serenely yours, Margaret.
You have definately redefined "selfless." Not sure for the better......but....
I can go to the homeless shelter and see the real thing for $10! (if it's still open cuz everyone seems to be disappearing for som reason????)
What? Is she competing with Emily now by trying to become pregnant first?
BTW, did she scream the words to Little Drummer Boy when she orgasmed???
Ah... the fucking joys of womanhood.
~ Daughter.
Amy: Spoken like the typical deviant, delirious dyke you are. Everyone knows why a woman becomes a lesbian; it's because she failed as woman. Because she couldn't please a man. Lesbians wear their disappointment in themselves like cheap perfume. That's how they sniff each other out. Eventually they come to terms with their unhappiness and try to convince themselves they can be happy with another woman. You can see it in their faces. They develop a fixed, frozen grimace like Rosie O'Donnell that says, "I'm ogay with with my repulsive second-rate self, really I am."
My well-loved hetero bosom weeps milky tears for you.
Alysa: Don't mention it. I think Christmas dinner is the perfect occasion to discuss mammary glands with your mother-in-law. Wait until you've each had several glasses of wine (this will loosen you both up; you're pretty loose anyway but I don't know about the mil) then take off your shirts and compare your womanly attributes to see which one would make the better provider. Since females are competitive by nature however, I think your man should be present to compare the two of you and be the final arbiter. Be careful though; men usually side with their mothers, so make sure he does a thorough inspection of both!
Phyllis: James "outed" you. Has he seen your face? What are you hiding behind that luxurious bottle-blonde mane, Phyllis? For all we know you could be a man. Or Amy.
Amy: Please stop sullying my blog with your increasingly shrill cries of desperation. I know what you do when you look at my avatar and it's just pathetic. Plus I shudder to think of the state of your keyboard; I hope you keep a can of disinfectant wipes nearby.
As for my wanting to be pregnant, all I have to do is call upon the Angel Gabriel if I would like to be with child. That's how tight the Lord and I are, Amy. If you're implying an Angel would cause me to orgasm, that's just sick and God will punish you. Even worse than how he's gonna punish you for being a sinning lesbian.
Phyllis: For God's sake leave Matt Paust out of this! I was buying meat, and not from him.
Victoria: Thank you, and thank GOD for you. This is the first time I have ever felt dirty on my own blog.
Erica: Well if you ever reconsider, you know where to find me! I think I may have struck "oil" with this one. I'm beginning to feel like the J.R. Ewing of breast milk.
Mary: So glad you enjoyed my humble story about my journey toward enlightenment. I have never been more in tune with my Christ-like center.
~daughter.
Fine, Margaret, toy with my beliefs!
rated, for your selfless "Milky Way."
Sirenita: NO I CANNOT SQUEEZE OUT SOY MILK. I am not a multi-variety self-serve drink dispenser. And there's no free refills either. As far as bras go, I always used those disposable inserts, kind of like boob maxi pads.
Way I hear it you've already worked your way through ALL the Angels (and most of the Dodgers too!)
As for your egotistical hetero boob flaunting, I'll have you know that I no longer am interested in them. You see, I found these two lumps of silicone that so reminded me of yours that I am not currently unavailable.
P.S. So that means quit PM'ing me nude pictures of yourself. I am NOT interested! Geez...
on that weird xmas album of his.
breast milk = why there is breasts?
i am not convinced entirely, hee hee.
Lea: I should probably bite my tongue more often, rather than putting it in something.
Amy: Might I remind you that YOU asked ME for a rack shot. And your double negative betrays you: "You see, I found these two lumps of silicone that so reminded me of yours that I am not currently unavailable." You know you are burning up with desire for me. And while you lick, suck, cuddle, fondle, nuzzle, knead, caress and reverentially worship those cold, artificial stand-ins for mine, just remember, I can put my hands on the real thing anytime I want - and when I do (often), I give them an extra squeeze and think "this is for Amy."
James: I've never heard Dylan's version of that song, not that I'd seek out anyone's version of it. Uh, isn't Dylan Jewish? (B. Zimmerman) I didn't know he'd made a Christmas album. As for the breasts being just for milk - although that is of course their primary function, um, how can I say this; you've probably seen the "Got Milk" ads. Well it's enjoyed by people of all ages.
oh, and this:
@kim: yes. doesn't yours?
xoxo (to margaret, not kim)
I've been so busy savin' the world one person at a time and all that I only just stumbled upon this POST now. What with all the bell ringin' for the Salvation Army and trying to keep things spinnin' on campus, I've had my hands full sister. :)
You are a FREAKY, FREAKY hoot! :)