Recent blog entries from Elsewhere
Here are a few recent entries I made on my MySpace blog. I'm thinking of not writing anything real in it any more, so I'm transferring some of it here. Just in case. Please read it in chunks so you don't go blind and crazy.
Yesterday Is Over.
Posted Date: Wednesday, August 30, 2006 - 3:22 AM
It was not a good day. It wasn't the worst day I've ever had in my life, but it sure wasn't in the top ten. Not the top hundred, either.
I went to bed at around 2 a.m., as soon as I thought I could fall asleep. I had to get up at 6:30 to take my friend to get paperwork done at his hospital 60 miles away, because there is simply no other way for him to get there. Off to a bad start. But the paperwork is crucial to his disability claim, and the doctor is only there on Tuesdays.
So we got there all right. On time, right place, doctor was in. But he wouldn't sign the paper because he doesn't believe in giving SSDI to indigent people who don't work. My friend would work if he could, but he's a truck driver, and his knees are really bad. He can't lift any more. He's waiting for surgery in November. He works at odd jobs when he can, but some days he simply cannot walk. Sleeping outside in all weather does not help with the fracture he's been living with, and his osteoarthritis, etc. etc.
So I missed my usual Weight Watchers meeting and my hours of sleep so he could go get jerked around by effete assholes. And on the way back to his stomping grounds, the car overheated AND we urgently needed a new tire.
I'd known for a long time that my spare was bad, but I didn't know it was unfixable. I found out. To cut a long, hideous story short, my friend, who is nothing if not a very creative survivor, got me a new tire--installed--and a spare on the old rim--for free and perfectly legally. His powers of persuasion and his extremely limited but infinitely useful knowlege of Spanish came into play once again and saved the day. We're always rescuing each other.
Plus, he panhandled a little gas and pretty much flushed the radiator and determined that we probably need a new thermostat. So the trip wasn't a total waste, but the day was not over yet.
All the car drama took so much time that by the time I got home, I had to just fling food into a lunchbox, leap into the shower for 5 minutes and dress in the first office clothes I could free from the hangers. I got to work on time.
But the day got worse at that point. My work is being cross-checked. It's a routine thing, though always stressful. But they've given my work to the one person in the whole company who I know for sure hates my guts and wishes me harm. And the person who gave it to her probably knows that. I was not happy about some of the results of her perusal of my work and wrote corrections on her corrections. I'm going to have to do that every day this week.
Then, my immediate supervisor and her assistant called me into their office. Apparently I forgot to clock in after lunch again once last week, so I got "written up" which means that next time I mess up in any way with the time clock, I get three days off without pay. So before that happens, I'm getting a resume together and looking for a job at a less ethically challenged company.
Everybody else is getting cross-checked, too, so they're all hating life and taking it out on me, because as the Senior Reader, they think I have something to do with it. I don't. I've told everybody, repeatedly, that the only difference between us is that I've been there longer. But I'm the age of most of their mothers, so they aren't getting the message. It's annoying.
I got in trouble for that the other day. One of the kids had bad nachos for lunch and was sick in the restroom. She felt miserable and unable to do the job she was supposed to be doing. She's pretty much right out of high school, so she probably didn't know that she could just leave. So I suggested that she clock out and go home. Poor kid. She was glad to go.
I sent an email to my supervisor to the effect that the girl was ill, so I sent her home half an hour early. The email I got back told me never to do that again and to talk to the supervisor's assistant about it, meaning, stick my ass out for a good kicking. I emailed the assistant, who doesn't work the same hours that I do, forwarding the message, saying, "When I started the night shift, I was told to send anybody sick or injured home. Just to tell them to clock out and go. Sorry if I screwed up," or words to that effect. I haven't heard back yet. I suppose part two will commence tonight.
I hate that place. It's the place, not the people. I really like 99 percent of the people there, the ones I work with, especially, even though most of them have no idea who I am or what I'm really like. (I do "Office Persona" really well.) I'll miss them when I go. But go I shall, as soon as I can convince somebody to pay me enough to change jobs.
I hope today goes better.
Names
Posted Date: Thursday, August 24, 2006 - 3:55 AM
I think names are important. Not only what you are named, but what you call yourself and how you think of yourself.
I'm Ursula Gertrude Coffey. That's not the name I was given at birth. The only part of it that my parents gave me is my middle name. I've kept it because I came to terms with it a long time ago and it connects me to the grandmother who had it first. Also, it's weird and a little forbidding, and it means, "Spear Maiden" or Valkyrie. I'm not a very fierce person, but I do have fantasies of being one, and having a name like that feels good to me.
The Coffey part is my married name. I opted not to change that when I divorced because it's a cool-sounding name and easy to remember. It sounds good with Ursula and Ursula Gertrude. It makes me sound Irish, which I'm not, but I don't mind wearing it as a disguise that way. I'm not crazy about my ex-husband, and his family doesn't like me, but I came by the name honestly and I'm keeping it. So there.
The Ursula part is the most creative part, and the part that I really own. It suits me a hundred times better than my birth name. I'm not going to say what that old name was here. It never felt like it belonged to me, ever.
It was my mom's favorite name, (sorry, mom) and, predictably, there were never fewer than three kids with that name in every class I was in in school when I was growing up. It's not a bad name, but it makes me shudder when I hear it applied to me. Other people are welcome to have it; it just isn't right for me.
Fortunately, I live in California, where it's really, really, ridiculously easy to do a legal name change. There's at least one book you can get that explains the process and has easily copied legal forms you can use. I'll supply the website or the name of the book I used in a comment later, because if I stop now and do a search, I'll probably lose this blog in the MySpace Zone, where written things disappear into the ozone without a trace sometimes.
Basically, what you do is just live with the name you want and don't use the old one for anything. Go get a new driver's licence at the DMV. Tell the Social Security people (who are the only ones guaranteed to give you a hard time, which they have NO RIGHT TO DO) and tell all your creditors. Change the name on all your accounts and make everybody you interact with use the new name. If you just make sure everybody knows you're not doing it to get out of paying debts off or something, California is cool with it.
I thank the movie stars. I have to assume that, because of them wanting glamorous names, the court system threw up its hands and stopped caring what people called themselves, as long as they kept paying their bills.
I only opted to change my first name. I could have changed all three and added extras. I think there's a rule that you can't change it to anything obscene or inflammatory, but I can live with that.
I had hated my name for a long time before I discovered that I didn't have to put up with it any more. I was reading The Courage to Heal by Laura Davis ( I think there's a co-author, too, but my brain is a pork chop right now) and I believe that she mentioned that part of the healing process could involve a name-change. I think that's where I got the idea, anyway. I was in therapy at the time. (If you have abuse issues and haven't read that book, it's one of the best and I can't recommend it highly enough.)
And, by golly, changing my name really helped! I became a new, stronger person. I forced all my friends and what family remains to me to go along with it, and I'm pretty forgiving of accidental slips, but I actually severed contact with a few people who refused to respect my request for their cooperation in this matter. My name is that important to me.
Why Ursula? Why not Maxine or Cecilia or Natalie? Well, I don't entirely know. Some of it is buried deep in my mind somewhere. The way I chose it is kind of a trip. I knew I wanted to change my name long before I knew what name I wanted. So I borrowed baby name books from the library and read about names on the internet and just focused a lot on names in different contexts. Then I set a date by which I would have a new name. The night before that date, I read some more about names before bed, told myself I would have a new name in the morning, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I kept thinking, "Ursula" which is a name I had started liking since I started searching.
I like the sound of it. I love the meaning: it means little female bear. I'm little for a bear. I'm definitely female. I'm bearlike in a lot of ways, too. It's a good name for me. My MySpace profile, ursula_horribilis, means little girl grizzly bear, sort of.
I'm not telling you my old name because there's always some wise guy who thinks he will start calling me by it and push my buttons. My nearest and dearest know what it is and know how I feel about it, so they don't use it around me--ever.
Louis, I promise I will tell you what it is, privately, if you want to know, and anybody else who is a reader. I have strong feelings about people who regularly read my blog, so if you ask, and let me know who you are, I will tell you, if you want to know. But not here. Too public.
As always, I would love some feedback. If you have changed your name or have considered changing it, I would love to hear about that. If you think I'm crazy or evil or misguided for changing my name, I'd like to hear about that, too. Anyway, write soon. Wish you were here.
Nothing much to say, but I'm saying it anyway.
Posted Date: Monday, August 21, 2006 - 5:39 AM
Lots of little topics keep coming to mind, and I haven't written in a few days, so I thought I'd try and keep writing just to keep doing it. I almost always have nothing much to say and end up making several paragraphs--at least!--out of it. So here's my scrambled, peripatetic Thought(s) for the Day.
Does anybody else get hooked on certain articles of clothing? I know I'm not the only one. My ex-husband used to hang onto old shoes and ratty jeans and holey t-shirts long past reason.
I'm in the position right now of having lost enough weight that I can't wear a lot of my favorite stuff any more. Plus, some of my favorites are too shabby to wear out in public, too big, and irreplaceable because of being so wildly out of fashion that nobody but me would want them.
I guess I'll have new favorites, but it's hard to let go of something that has good memories associated with it. I'm not a "pink" person. I like black and purple and red, and other violent, intense shades. But I have an old, old pink corduroy dress that is falling apart and about six sizes too big. Putting it in the trash would break my heart, but I can't wear it and I'm trying to de-clutter my apartment and my life, so what do I do? Maybe I should cut it up and make things out of it. But that would feel weird, too. I don't know. I'll figure it out. In the meantime, I have to be better about letting go of all this junk.
That de-cluttering process is taking up a lot of my mental bandwidth, too. I've never been much of a housekeeper, which is an understatement. Anybody who knows me in real life, please be polite.
I'm changing all that. I spent a lot of time on the weekend cleaning my kitchen and it's not done yet. I have emotional issues with cleaning. It was used as punishment when I was a kid, and nothing I did was ever good enough, and anything I did was always met with more punishment of different kinds, so I have trouble telling when I'm done.I'm such a perfectionist now because of my upbringing that I often don't manage to get started because I'm sure I'll never get done.
For example: the house I used to live in in Pasadena had a fireplace. Actually, it was an old coal heater that had been gutted and refitted as a plain fireplace. It had a mantelpiece. I decided one day to dust the mantelpiece. So I took all the tchatchkes and pictures and accumulated stuff off, and dusted/washed/polished/put them away, then dusted the mantelpiece. But it didn't look right. So I scrubbed it. It still didn't look very good to me. So I got paint stripper and stripped it and refinished it. Now the rest of the fireplace looked bad. So I stripped and refinished and cleaned it out and scrubbed it and took out the bricks on the hearth and cleaned and replaced them. But it still didn't look right to me. When my husband (now ex) got home, I was sitting in front of it, filthy and exhausted and trying to figure out what to do next. It still bothers me to think about it.
So I procrastinate and I have trouble forgiving myself for not being able to make everything perfect. But I'm changing all that with the help of http://www.flylady.com. Anybody who has any problem with cleaning or clutter or any housework-related issues should check out her site. I can't say enough good about her. She's a real person. She writes books and offers support and has a wonderful newsletter.
I was scared and anxious going into the whole life-changing cleaning/de-cluttering phase I'm entering, and I sent her a quick email asking her to pray for me. Instantly, I got an encouraging and upbeat reply.
I know it's probably an automatic thing, but somebody had to set it up to do that. Somebody out there cares about my housekeeping angst. I'm not the only one, or there wouldn't be anything like that to turn to in times of trouble.
Speaking of upbringing, recently I connected with a wonderful person who I'm just getting to know who reminded me of my sexual abuse issues. I know that doesn't sound nice, but actually, it was a timely reminder. I haven't had any repressed memories surface for a few years now, thank God, but I know I still have them because of all the blank spots in my life. I never really had blackouts when I was a drunk, but I had a lot of them as a child.
I don't consciously remember a lot about being a child at home. Most of my childhood memories center around being in school or at girl scouts or whatever. We moved every year or two, which is why when you look at my profile, it says "None" for hometown. I was never really at home anywhere until I was in my thirties, and now I don't live there any more.
I was born in Ohio, but have no memory of it whatsoever because we moved to a different state when I was six months old. Every time there was a new baby in the house we moved. Every time I was hospitalized we moved. We moved all the time. I never knew ahead of time that we were going until the movers arrived, until the move we made when I was in the 7th grade. After my little brother was born.
My dad is a serial child rapist. He's into S & M and B & D and other unsavory sexual activities. I'm not judging anybody who's into any of that, as long as they have willing partners. It's fine. I do understand. But it's not my thing at all and never has been, though I know a lot more about it from personal experience than I ever wanted to know.
I took a "Sexual Purity" test recently, which was interesting, but it neglected to ask if any of those things I did were against my will. I think it would change the outcome of the test significantly.
So many, many people, especially women, have been raped as adults or sexually abused as children. It's not just women, of course, but it's hard for guys to see themselves as victims or to admit it even if they can.
I was the secretary for an incest survivors 12-step group that I had been going to for a few years. It was for women only, though there are men-only and coed groups available. I don't think the 12 steps are relevant or even appropriate for people who have already been made powerless and who didn't actually contribute to their own problems, but it was a convenient support group at the time when I desperately needed one, and the price (nothing) was right.
I saw hundreds of women in that time come and go. Incest and child sexual abuse are incredibly prevalent in our sick, disgusting society. And it's not just dads, step-dads, uncles, brothers, grandparents, etc. Priests, who aren't supposed to even have sex with anybody, are apparently abusing anybody they can get their hands on.
Of course, not all male relatives or priests are sexual abusers, but I've noticed that most people simply can't handle having power of any kind over another person--they just can't resist abusing it. I'm probably overly sensitive to the whole power-trip subject, but, dammit, it's important. I think the common, average people in this society are being infantilized by advertising in order to make us easily manipulated, so I suspect that most people don't understand what they're doing most of the time.
People don't think because they're told, over and over again that it's bad for them or it makes them bad people or something. I don't watch any prime-time TV, but when I'm at somebody's house where it's on (and an amazing, to me, number of people leave the tube on 24/7 and get the subliminal messages even in their sleep!) I can't believe what crap people are being fed, which they grab and swallow enthusiastically, without a murmur of complaint. A lot of it is tied to sex, which is the absolute bottom line common denominator.
I think all that emphasis on sexuality in advertising contributes to rape and sexual abuse.
I don't have time to go into the rant about advertising right now, as I have to get ready to go to work now, and if I get on a roll with that, I will be late and make myself froth at the mouth. I'm sure they would hate that at my job, where it's all supposed to be sweetness and light and smiling niceness, then pick up your check and get the hell out before security bolts the gate on you and calls the cops.
So, Hi Ho Hi Ho and all that. Mondays. Yuck.
Thoughts for the Day
Posted Date: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 - 6:08 AM
I want to preface this by saying that these are not the only thoughts I have had or will have today, at least I hope not. A very dear friend (thank you, Louis!) came up with this very simple idea, and I think it's just what I needed to make me a more regular bloglodite.
So. What's at the forefront of my mind right now is Weight Watchers. My job offers an onsite group that employees can join. They needed a minimum of twenty people to make it feasible, and they were having trouble getting enough people together to make it work--it's a very small company. So, to help out my coworkers, never believing for a minute that it would work for me, I signed up.
Turns out to have been one of the nicest things I've ever done for myself. For one thing, given my heredity and history and other things about me, I thought it would be impossible for me to lose weight without surgery or way too much starvation and gruelling exercise. But I was wrong. I met thin people who used to be fatter than I ever was, and they lost the weight through this very easy, gentle, rewarding program.
I had never actually dieted before, because I thought it would be futile--well, that's not 100 per cent true; I did try a 2-week diet once that consisted mainly of eggs and grapefruit. It sucked, I lost a little weight, which came back immediately and brought all its friends along with it. Not a success, in other words.
So going to W.W. was something of a revelation. I knew a lot about nutrition and weight loss and related matters going in. I knew in theory how to do it. But it's a huge task to go about alone, and for me, it was impossible. I couldn't take all that information and devise a workable plan. I have a life. I didn't need to re-invent the wheel. And there's no support when you do it by yourself.
The way W.W. works, at least for me, and I suspect just about everybody else for whom it succeeds, is: all the food and exercise facts are tabulated and ready to use. There are choices for whatever you want to eat or do. Literally, you can either have anything you want to eat if you plan for it and fit it into your daily regimen, or you can follow a strictly limited plan that takes all the decision-making away from you. It's up to you. Both ways work. I started with the one and switched to the other.
Also, there are rewards built in, and, what makes an enormous difference to me, there is infinite, unconditional support. Even if you go on the program and gain weight. Everybody helps. They don't just sell you products and exchange recipes. Not much of that goes on at all, though it does happen. Losing the tiniest increment of weight, even an ounce, is congratulated and celebrated. If you lose 5 pounds, you get applause and a star sticker and you get treated like a celebrity. "What's the secret of your success?" If you lose 20 lbs, it's even better. If you lose 10 per cent of your total weight, you get a really beautiful keychain and the applause is deafening. There are even more little rewards and trinkets as you continue. You think all that isn't going to matter, but if you're human, it does. I'm not embarrassed to admit that when I get something right, recognition makes me happy.
They talk a lot about how to deal with your feelings, what to do at birthday parties and holidays and when you go out to eat, how to avoid people sabotaging your efforts, how to recongnise your personal potential downfalls, and they talk about your dreams of success and make them concrete as much as possible. Every possible aspect of losing weight is covered and they have ways for everybody to think about it and make it work.
In short, if you do what they tell you, even if you don't buy anything after paying for the meetings, you WILL lose weight, and you'll lose it healthfully, and if you keep doing it, it will stay off once it's lost.
You can tell I love the program, and I'm not a joiner. I'd rather open a vein than go to some group just to belong to a group. But this thing is actually helping me with a serious problem that is starting to go away. There is effort involved, but it's really no big deal. I know how to do it now.
I've lost a little over 36 pounds so far. I think it's actually a little more than that because when I got up today, I was retaining water, and I haven't had enough water yet to get rid of it.
If you just drink the water that they tell you to drink, you'll lose weight. I'm a lot more energetic and alert since I started drinking at least 64 oz of water every day. I pee constantly, but it's a small price to pay for the feeling of wellbeing, the mental acuity, the healthy skin and hair, the lessening of joint aches and pains, and something to do with my hands that is neither eating nor smoking nor anything else self-destructive.
So that's what I'm thinking about right now. If anybody fat (or thin, for that matter; I'm not prejudiced) happens to read this and wants more information, please do ask. I started at 250 lb. in February, and with minor setbacks, I'm down to 213 lb. and a few ounces as of this morning. The most I have ever weighed was around 270 lb. and I'm simply not going to do that ever again if there's any way to avoid it.
As I said, I do have other thoughts rolling around in my head: my struggles with the phone company, getting to work on time, what to do about the old college buddy who is determined to make me sell his product and earn big bucks doing it, even though I don't know anybody I could sell it to, besides the fact that in person, I'm a rather retiring individual and not much of a seller. And food, and housework, and switching to a different gym that will let me exercise after work, and sex, always sex.
I have a lot on my mind, but my Weight Watchers meeting was today and I'm always hearing people who don't know what they're talking about bad-mouth it. It's a business, dammit--they're allowed to make money!
I may write more about something else later. Maybe not. Stay tuned. I love feedback, hint hint.
Just for general information...
Posted Date: Thursday, August 10, 2006 - 2:54 AM
I have an emergency backup MySpace profile, which is "Hot Damn Bug", and the email for that one is different than this one. But I'm going to start writing in that blog as well as this one, so all will not be lost if patches of MySpace get toasted or something. For some reason, nobody hits on that one ever. I started out with a pic of a cartoon devil holding a knife and a human heart as my default pic. Maybe that was offputting. Who knows. I may put it back up, just because I think it's funny. It's in my pics with this profile, if you want to see it.
Geez. I'm talking to myself again. Where did I put my white jacket, now?
Yesterday Is Over.
Posted Date: Wednesday, August 30, 2006 - 3:22 AM
It was not a good day. It wasn't the worst day I've ever had in my life, but it sure wasn't in the top ten. Not the top hundred, either.
I went to bed at around 2 a.m., as soon as I thought I could fall asleep. I had to get up at 6:30 to take my friend to get paperwork done at his hospital 60 miles away, because there is simply no other way for him to get there. Off to a bad start. But the paperwork is crucial to his disability claim, and the doctor is only there on Tuesdays.
So we got there all right. On time, right place, doctor was in. But he wouldn't sign the paper because he doesn't believe in giving SSDI to indigent people who don't work. My friend would work if he could, but he's a truck driver, and his knees are really bad. He can't lift any more. He's waiting for surgery in November. He works at odd jobs when he can, but some days he simply cannot walk. Sleeping outside in all weather does not help with the fracture he's been living with, and his osteoarthritis, etc. etc.
So I missed my usual Weight Watchers meeting and my hours of sleep so he could go get jerked around by effete assholes. And on the way back to his stomping grounds, the car overheated AND we urgently needed a new tire.
I'd known for a long time that my spare was bad, but I didn't know it was unfixable. I found out. To cut a long, hideous story short, my friend, who is nothing if not a very creative survivor, got me a new tire--installed--and a spare on the old rim--for free and perfectly legally. His powers of persuasion and his extremely limited but infinitely useful knowlege of Spanish came into play once again and saved the day. We're always rescuing each other.
Plus, he panhandled a little gas and pretty much flushed the radiator and determined that we probably need a new thermostat. So the trip wasn't a total waste, but the day was not over yet.
All the car drama took so much time that by the time I got home, I had to just fling food into a lunchbox, leap into the shower for 5 minutes and dress in the first office clothes I could free from the hangers. I got to work on time.
But the day got worse at that point. My work is being cross-checked. It's a routine thing, though always stressful. But they've given my work to the one person in the whole company who I know for sure hates my guts and wishes me harm. And the person who gave it to her probably knows that. I was not happy about some of the results of her perusal of my work and wrote corrections on her corrections. I'm going to have to do that every day this week.
Then, my immediate supervisor and her assistant called me into their office. Apparently I forgot to clock in after lunch again once last week, so I got "written up" which means that next time I mess up in any way with the time clock, I get three days off without pay. So before that happens, I'm getting a resume together and looking for a job at a less ethically challenged company.
Everybody else is getting cross-checked, too, so they're all hating life and taking it out on me, because as the Senior Reader, they think I have something to do with it. I don't. I've told everybody, repeatedly, that the only difference between us is that I've been there longer. But I'm the age of most of their mothers, so they aren't getting the message. It's annoying.
I got in trouble for that the other day. One of the kids had bad nachos for lunch and was sick in the restroom. She felt miserable and unable to do the job she was supposed to be doing. She's pretty much right out of high school, so she probably didn't know that she could just leave. So I suggested that she clock out and go home. Poor kid. She was glad to go.
I sent an email to my supervisor to the effect that the girl was ill, so I sent her home half an hour early. The email I got back told me never to do that again and to talk to the supervisor's assistant about it, meaning, stick my ass out for a good kicking. I emailed the assistant, who doesn't work the same hours that I do, forwarding the message, saying, "When I started the night shift, I was told to send anybody sick or injured home. Just to tell them to clock out and go. Sorry if I screwed up," or words to that effect. I haven't heard back yet. I suppose part two will commence tonight.
I hate that place. It's the place, not the people. I really like 99 percent of the people there, the ones I work with, especially, even though most of them have no idea who I am or what I'm really like. (I do "Office Persona" really well.) I'll miss them when I go. But go I shall, as soon as I can convince somebody to pay me enough to change jobs.
I hope today goes better.
Names
Posted Date: Thursday, August 24, 2006 - 3:55 AM
I think names are important. Not only what you are named, but what you call yourself and how you think of yourself.
I'm Ursula Gertrude Coffey. That's not the name I was given at birth. The only part of it that my parents gave me is my middle name. I've kept it because I came to terms with it a long time ago and it connects me to the grandmother who had it first. Also, it's weird and a little forbidding, and it means, "Spear Maiden" or Valkyrie. I'm not a very fierce person, but I do have fantasies of being one, and having a name like that feels good to me.
The Coffey part is my married name. I opted not to change that when I divorced because it's a cool-sounding name and easy to remember. It sounds good with Ursula and Ursula Gertrude. It makes me sound Irish, which I'm not, but I don't mind wearing it as a disguise that way. I'm not crazy about my ex-husband, and his family doesn't like me, but I came by the name honestly and I'm keeping it. So there.
The Ursula part is the most creative part, and the part that I really own. It suits me a hundred times better than my birth name. I'm not going to say what that old name was here. It never felt like it belonged to me, ever.
It was my mom's favorite name, (sorry, mom) and, predictably, there were never fewer than three kids with that name in every class I was in in school when I was growing up. It's not a bad name, but it makes me shudder when I hear it applied to me. Other people are welcome to have it; it just isn't right for me.
Fortunately, I live in California, where it's really, really, ridiculously easy to do a legal name change. There's at least one book you can get that explains the process and has easily copied legal forms you can use. I'll supply the website or the name of the book I used in a comment later, because if I stop now and do a search, I'll probably lose this blog in the MySpace Zone, where written things disappear into the ozone without a trace sometimes.
Basically, what you do is just live with the name you want and don't use the old one for anything. Go get a new driver's licence at the DMV. Tell the Social Security people (who are the only ones guaranteed to give you a hard time, which they have NO RIGHT TO DO) and tell all your creditors. Change the name on all your accounts and make everybody you interact with use the new name. If you just make sure everybody knows you're not doing it to get out of paying debts off or something, California is cool with it.
I thank the movie stars. I have to assume that, because of them wanting glamorous names, the court system threw up its hands and stopped caring what people called themselves, as long as they kept paying their bills.
I only opted to change my first name. I could have changed all three and added extras. I think there's a rule that you can't change it to anything obscene or inflammatory, but I can live with that.
I had hated my name for a long time before I discovered that I didn't have to put up with it any more. I was reading The Courage to Heal by Laura Davis ( I think there's a co-author, too, but my brain is a pork chop right now) and I believe that she mentioned that part of the healing process could involve a name-change. I think that's where I got the idea, anyway. I was in therapy at the time. (If you have abuse issues and haven't read that book, it's one of the best and I can't recommend it highly enough.)
And, by golly, changing my name really helped! I became a new, stronger person. I forced all my friends and what family remains to me to go along with it, and I'm pretty forgiving of accidental slips, but I actually severed contact with a few people who refused to respect my request for their cooperation in this matter. My name is that important to me.
Why Ursula? Why not Maxine or Cecilia or Natalie? Well, I don't entirely know. Some of it is buried deep in my mind somewhere. The way I chose it is kind of a trip. I knew I wanted to change my name long before I knew what name I wanted. So I borrowed baby name books from the library and read about names on the internet and just focused a lot on names in different contexts. Then I set a date by which I would have a new name. The night before that date, I read some more about names before bed, told myself I would have a new name in the morning, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I kept thinking, "Ursula" which is a name I had started liking since I started searching.
I like the sound of it. I love the meaning: it means little female bear. I'm little for a bear. I'm definitely female. I'm bearlike in a lot of ways, too. It's a good name for me. My MySpace profile, ursula_horribilis, means little girl grizzly bear, sort of.
I'm not telling you my old name because there's always some wise guy who thinks he will start calling me by it and push my buttons. My nearest and dearest know what it is and know how I feel about it, so they don't use it around me--ever.
Louis, I promise I will tell you what it is, privately, if you want to know, and anybody else who is a reader. I have strong feelings about people who regularly read my blog, so if you ask, and let me know who you are, I will tell you, if you want to know. But not here. Too public.
As always, I would love some feedback. If you have changed your name or have considered changing it, I would love to hear about that. If you think I'm crazy or evil or misguided for changing my name, I'd like to hear about that, too. Anyway, write soon. Wish you were here.
Nothing much to say, but I'm saying it anyway.
Posted Date: Monday, August 21, 2006 - 5:39 AM
Lots of little topics keep coming to mind, and I haven't written in a few days, so I thought I'd try and keep writing just to keep doing it. I almost always have nothing much to say and end up making several paragraphs--at least!--out of it. So here's my scrambled, peripatetic Thought(s) for the Day.
Does anybody else get hooked on certain articles of clothing? I know I'm not the only one. My ex-husband used to hang onto old shoes and ratty jeans and holey t-shirts long past reason.
I'm in the position right now of having lost enough weight that I can't wear a lot of my favorite stuff any more. Plus, some of my favorites are too shabby to wear out in public, too big, and irreplaceable because of being so wildly out of fashion that nobody but me would want them.
I guess I'll have new favorites, but it's hard to let go of something that has good memories associated with it. I'm not a "pink" person. I like black and purple and red, and other violent, intense shades. But I have an old, old pink corduroy dress that is falling apart and about six sizes too big. Putting it in the trash would break my heart, but I can't wear it and I'm trying to de-clutter my apartment and my life, so what do I do? Maybe I should cut it up and make things out of it. But that would feel weird, too. I don't know. I'll figure it out. In the meantime, I have to be better about letting go of all this junk.
That de-cluttering process is taking up a lot of my mental bandwidth, too. I've never been much of a housekeeper, which is an understatement. Anybody who knows me in real life, please be polite.
I'm changing all that. I spent a lot of time on the weekend cleaning my kitchen and it's not done yet. I have emotional issues with cleaning. It was used as punishment when I was a kid, and nothing I did was ever good enough, and anything I did was always met with more punishment of different kinds, so I have trouble telling when I'm done.I'm such a perfectionist now because of my upbringing that I often don't manage to get started because I'm sure I'll never get done.
For example: the house I used to live in in Pasadena had a fireplace. Actually, it was an old coal heater that had been gutted and refitted as a plain fireplace. It had a mantelpiece. I decided one day to dust the mantelpiece. So I took all the tchatchkes and pictures and accumulated stuff off, and dusted/washed/polished/put them away, then dusted the mantelpiece. But it didn't look right. So I scrubbed it. It still didn't look very good to me. So I got paint stripper and stripped it and refinished it. Now the rest of the fireplace looked bad. So I stripped and refinished and cleaned it out and scrubbed it and took out the bricks on the hearth and cleaned and replaced them. But it still didn't look right to me. When my husband (now ex) got home, I was sitting in front of it, filthy and exhausted and trying to figure out what to do next. It still bothers me to think about it.
So I procrastinate and I have trouble forgiving myself for not being able to make everything perfect. But I'm changing all that with the help of http://www.flylady.com. Anybody who has any problem with cleaning or clutter or any housework-related issues should check out her site. I can't say enough good about her. She's a real person. She writes books and offers support and has a wonderful newsletter.
I was scared and anxious going into the whole life-changing cleaning/de-cluttering phase I'm entering, and I sent her a quick email asking her to pray for me. Instantly, I got an encouraging and upbeat reply.
I know it's probably an automatic thing, but somebody had to set it up to do that. Somebody out there cares about my housekeeping angst. I'm not the only one, or there wouldn't be anything like that to turn to in times of trouble.
Speaking of upbringing, recently I connected with a wonderful person who I'm just getting to know who reminded me of my sexual abuse issues. I know that doesn't sound nice, but actually, it was a timely reminder. I haven't had any repressed memories surface for a few years now, thank God, but I know I still have them because of all the blank spots in my life. I never really had blackouts when I was a drunk, but I had a lot of them as a child.
I don't consciously remember a lot about being a child at home. Most of my childhood memories center around being in school or at girl scouts or whatever. We moved every year or two, which is why when you look at my profile, it says "None" for hometown. I was never really at home anywhere until I was in my thirties, and now I don't live there any more.
I was born in Ohio, but have no memory of it whatsoever because we moved to a different state when I was six months old. Every time there was a new baby in the house we moved. Every time I was hospitalized we moved. We moved all the time. I never knew ahead of time that we were going until the movers arrived, until the move we made when I was in the 7th grade. After my little brother was born.
My dad is a serial child rapist. He's into S & M and B & D and other unsavory sexual activities. I'm not judging anybody who's into any of that, as long as they have willing partners. It's fine. I do understand. But it's not my thing at all and never has been, though I know a lot more about it from personal experience than I ever wanted to know.
I took a "Sexual Purity" test recently, which was interesting, but it neglected to ask if any of those things I did were against my will. I think it would change the outcome of the test significantly.
So many, many people, especially women, have been raped as adults or sexually abused as children. It's not just women, of course, but it's hard for guys to see themselves as victims or to admit it even if they can.
I was the secretary for an incest survivors 12-step group that I had been going to for a few years. It was for women only, though there are men-only and coed groups available. I don't think the 12 steps are relevant or even appropriate for people who have already been made powerless and who didn't actually contribute to their own problems, but it was a convenient support group at the time when I desperately needed one, and the price (nothing) was right.
I saw hundreds of women in that time come and go. Incest and child sexual abuse are incredibly prevalent in our sick, disgusting society. And it's not just dads, step-dads, uncles, brothers, grandparents, etc. Priests, who aren't supposed to even have sex with anybody, are apparently abusing anybody they can get their hands on.
Of course, not all male relatives or priests are sexual abusers, but I've noticed that most people simply can't handle having power of any kind over another person--they just can't resist abusing it. I'm probably overly sensitive to the whole power-trip subject, but, dammit, it's important. I think the common, average people in this society are being infantilized by advertising in order to make us easily manipulated, so I suspect that most people don't understand what they're doing most of the time.
People don't think because they're told, over and over again that it's bad for them or it makes them bad people or something. I don't watch any prime-time TV, but when I'm at somebody's house where it's on (and an amazing, to me, number of people leave the tube on 24/7 and get the subliminal messages even in their sleep!) I can't believe what crap people are being fed, which they grab and swallow enthusiastically, without a murmur of complaint. A lot of it is tied to sex, which is the absolute bottom line common denominator.
I think all that emphasis on sexuality in advertising contributes to rape and sexual abuse.
I don't have time to go into the rant about advertising right now, as I have to get ready to go to work now, and if I get on a roll with that, I will be late and make myself froth at the mouth. I'm sure they would hate that at my job, where it's all supposed to be sweetness and light and smiling niceness, then pick up your check and get the hell out before security bolts the gate on you and calls the cops.
So, Hi Ho Hi Ho and all that. Mondays. Yuck.
Thoughts for the Day
Posted Date: Tuesday, August 15, 2006 - 6:08 AM
I want to preface this by saying that these are not the only thoughts I have had or will have today, at least I hope not. A very dear friend (thank you, Louis!) came up with this very simple idea, and I think it's just what I needed to make me a more regular bloglodite.
So. What's at the forefront of my mind right now is Weight Watchers. My job offers an onsite group that employees can join. They needed a minimum of twenty people to make it feasible, and they were having trouble getting enough people together to make it work--it's a very small company. So, to help out my coworkers, never believing for a minute that it would work for me, I signed up.
Turns out to have been one of the nicest things I've ever done for myself. For one thing, given my heredity and history and other things about me, I thought it would be impossible for me to lose weight without surgery or way too much starvation and gruelling exercise. But I was wrong. I met thin people who used to be fatter than I ever was, and they lost the weight through this very easy, gentle, rewarding program.
I had never actually dieted before, because I thought it would be futile--well, that's not 100 per cent true; I did try a 2-week diet once that consisted mainly of eggs and grapefruit. It sucked, I lost a little weight, which came back immediately and brought all its friends along with it. Not a success, in other words.
So going to W.W. was something of a revelation. I knew a lot about nutrition and weight loss and related matters going in. I knew in theory how to do it. But it's a huge task to go about alone, and for me, it was impossible. I couldn't take all that information and devise a workable plan. I have a life. I didn't need to re-invent the wheel. And there's no support when you do it by yourself.
The way W.W. works, at least for me, and I suspect just about everybody else for whom it succeeds, is: all the food and exercise facts are tabulated and ready to use. There are choices for whatever you want to eat or do. Literally, you can either have anything you want to eat if you plan for it and fit it into your daily regimen, or you can follow a strictly limited plan that takes all the decision-making away from you. It's up to you. Both ways work. I started with the one and switched to the other.
Also, there are rewards built in, and, what makes an enormous difference to me, there is infinite, unconditional support. Even if you go on the program and gain weight. Everybody helps. They don't just sell you products and exchange recipes. Not much of that goes on at all, though it does happen. Losing the tiniest increment of weight, even an ounce, is congratulated and celebrated. If you lose 5 pounds, you get applause and a star sticker and you get treated like a celebrity. "What's the secret of your success?" If you lose 20 lbs, it's even better. If you lose 10 per cent of your total weight, you get a really beautiful keychain and the applause is deafening. There are even more little rewards and trinkets as you continue. You think all that isn't going to matter, but if you're human, it does. I'm not embarrassed to admit that when I get something right, recognition makes me happy.
They talk a lot about how to deal with your feelings, what to do at birthday parties and holidays and when you go out to eat, how to avoid people sabotaging your efforts, how to recongnise your personal potential downfalls, and they talk about your dreams of success and make them concrete as much as possible. Every possible aspect of losing weight is covered and they have ways for everybody to think about it and make it work.
In short, if you do what they tell you, even if you don't buy anything after paying for the meetings, you WILL lose weight, and you'll lose it healthfully, and if you keep doing it, it will stay off once it's lost.
You can tell I love the program, and I'm not a joiner. I'd rather open a vein than go to some group just to belong to a group. But this thing is actually helping me with a serious problem that is starting to go away. There is effort involved, but it's really no big deal. I know how to do it now.
I've lost a little over 36 pounds so far. I think it's actually a little more than that because when I got up today, I was retaining water, and I haven't had enough water yet to get rid of it.
If you just drink the water that they tell you to drink, you'll lose weight. I'm a lot more energetic and alert since I started drinking at least 64 oz of water every day. I pee constantly, but it's a small price to pay for the feeling of wellbeing, the mental acuity, the healthy skin and hair, the lessening of joint aches and pains, and something to do with my hands that is neither eating nor smoking nor anything else self-destructive.
So that's what I'm thinking about right now. If anybody fat (or thin, for that matter; I'm not prejudiced) happens to read this and wants more information, please do ask. I started at 250 lb. in February, and with minor setbacks, I'm down to 213 lb. and a few ounces as of this morning. The most I have ever weighed was around 270 lb. and I'm simply not going to do that ever again if there's any way to avoid it.
As I said, I do have other thoughts rolling around in my head: my struggles with the phone company, getting to work on time, what to do about the old college buddy who is determined to make me sell his product and earn big bucks doing it, even though I don't know anybody I could sell it to, besides the fact that in person, I'm a rather retiring individual and not much of a seller. And food, and housework, and switching to a different gym that will let me exercise after work, and sex, always sex.
I have a lot on my mind, but my Weight Watchers meeting was today and I'm always hearing people who don't know what they're talking about bad-mouth it. It's a business, dammit--they're allowed to make money!
I may write more about something else later. Maybe not. Stay tuned. I love feedback, hint hint.
Just for general information...
Posted Date: Thursday, August 10, 2006 - 2:54 AM
I have an emergency backup MySpace profile, which is "Hot Damn Bug", and the email for that one is different than this one. But I'm going to start writing in that blog as well as this one, so all will not be lost if patches of MySpace get toasted or something. For some reason, nobody hits on that one ever. I started out with a pic of a cartoon devil holding a knife and a human heart as my default pic. Maybe that was offputting. Who knows. I may put it back up, just because I think it's funny. It's in my pics with this profile, if you want to see it.
Geez. I'm talking to myself again. Where did I put my white jacket, now?