Domesticity

For no particular reason, my mind has been pondering the effects of my station in life. More so, that I come from a family of conservative Republicans. I am not. Politics are as they are currently, and there is nothing ground shattering to have really rocked my boat so to speak. Yet . . .

I was the youngest, and throughout high school I was active in the church. Hell, I was even a Junior Deacon. At some point along the way, well actually at several points along the way, my path changed and I evolved (and at times jumped) into who and what I am. I might sew and crochet, but I am far from domesticated.

I love baseball; to be more precise, the only team I care about is the Yankees. I love yelling at the TV or radio during games, I love going to the stadium (which I don't get to do nearly enough), and I love the thrill of the game. I also like drinking beer with said games, or bourbon. If I ever had a significant other I am sure he would become a baseball widow, and I don't really care who I offend with the games.

I also like my space. I do not want someone up in my business all day, everyday. I'm the type of girl who isn't going to call you to see how your day went. I am not the type of girl to send text messages wanting attention. Don't get me wrong, I like my attention and all that jazz, but I am not the type to be the instigator every day. There might be a week before you hear from me. Hence, I like my freakin' space.

I like to drink bourbon. I prefer it on the rocks, but if I'm up to no good I drink it with coke. True fact.

I can be a beast in the kitchen, but that doesn't mean I want to do it every single day. Fuck that noise. I do my laundry when I run out of panties, which really means I'm down to wearing the thongs that act as dental floss on my ass. I frequently leave my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. I drink my beer from a bottle. I've been known to smoke. If there is a coffee table nearby, my feet will be on it. And, if you haven't figured it out, I cuss. Heh.

That being said, my parents would be less shocked and appalled if I were my sister. The person she was twenty years ago better suits elements of my personality now. I am loud, obnoxious, liberal, and single in my mid-thirties. Snort.

On the opposite end of this spectrum is my sister. Ten years ago she marched in gay pride parades, saw the AIDS quilt on one of its last showings, wore the lambda symbol around her neck, had dolphins tattooed on herself, and her truck spoke of gay pride. Now? Um . . . she's a self-proclaimed born again Christian, conservative, anti-homosexuality, and . . . (I shudder) a Republican. All I can say is those have to be some good drugs she is on for various mental issues, but that leads me to other things.

As in, what the hell would happen to me if I were on those drugs? Would I suddenly become domesticated? Would I wear pearls and vacuum, cook on the daily basis, and no longer be a loud-mouthed Yankee fan? Would I eschew my bourbon for pink colored fruity drinks? Would I become a Republican and embrace the Palin love? I shudder. Absolutely shudder.

And now that I've about sent myself in convulsions. . .