Monday, December 31, 2007

I wish this was my real father...

We just have so much in common.

He thinks censorship is the *$%@#! too. They had this statue in the Justice Department's Great Hall covered up for his press conferences. Yes, I can certainly see some family resemblances.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Richard Edward Knight

So I called my father today. Not my "dad," but the man who gave me half of my chromosomes.

Aiden and I were watching a show on kids who went out looking for their estranged parents this afternoon, and even as hormonal as I am I was proud that I made it all the way up until the end before I burst into wild 'I want to know MY sperm donor' tears when this one girl was reunited with her long lost brother. It was such an amazing moment, and even though I don't believe my biological father has ever been married, who's to say that he hasn't bastardized other children out there.

I lost the only sibling I had 3 years ago and nothing will ever take his place, but part of me still longs for even a knock off version of that special sibling relationship.

I checked MySpace first. Here's what I found:

These were the only two who went to The University of Texas at Austin during the right time frame and that are the correct age. Is it wrong that I hope it's the latter, if either?

Anyway, after MySpace turned up disappointing I used one of those spy search engines. Five minutes and $9.95 later I was looking at his current address and phone number. I didn't give my nerves a chance to get to me; I just picked up the phone and called. The first number was disconnected and my heart sank a lot lower than I thought it would. But the second worked.

Before I knew it I was listen to, what I'm pretty sure was, my father's voice on his answering machine. "Hey, you've reached Richard, please leave a message and I'll call you back."

So, I did.

Tell me exactly what degree of psychotic you think I sound like here:
"Hi Richard, this is Destiny Herndon...I'm not actually sure that I have the right Richard Knight or not, but if I do than you know why I'm calling. I would like to talk to you so please give me a call when you have a moment..."

Who in their right mind would return that message?!?!....probably only the first guy from MySpace.

I bet he thinks I need him to bail me out of jail or co-sign on a car loan. But all I really want is a picture. I'm sick of being so white trash that I can't tell you what my mom's baby daddy even looks like. And I want to know if I'm as alone as I feel when it comes to brothers and sisters....maybe I should have just said that.

Either way, I've decided to name this entry after him, because if I'm correct and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, than I'm sure he's just as narcissistic as I am and will Google himself one day and it will lead him to my blog.....where he will really be scared off and NEVER want to contact me, but at least I will deserve it that time! (:

My charade is the event of the season...

I hate hormones. Don't get me wrong, I've always cried at Hillary Duff deepest darkest secret...but now even episodes of Lizzie McGuire are choking me up. And it's not a good cry either, it's more like a 'you have got to be kidding me, dry it up wuss' type of cry. Like you know how ridiculous you look while in the midst of it.....then you're just left riddled with shame....maybe I should start writing dark pregnant poetry....Abrahm asked me the other day (half joking, and yes, over a fully inappropriate subject matter) if I had the baby blues, and if I had thought of hurting the kids lately. Without hesitation I emphatically replied 'of course.' But in all fairness Eiffel is almost two.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Monday, December 3, 2007

Beyond Feminism, Back To Reality

I'm reading a particularly powerful book right now by Mary Pride, entitled 'The Way Home.' I have a feeling that I'm really going to enjoy it based on this first paragraph. I will share a little bit of it with you:

"Today's women are the victims of the second biggest con game in history. "Women's" magazines follow in the footsteps of Playboy and Hustler, degrading us to the level of unpaid prostitutes by glamorizing uncommitted sex."

I've never looked at it this way before, but oddly enough it seems so blatantly true.

Cosmo's pages constantly preach the gospel of 'Call Girl Sex' and 'Give Him What He Likes' techniques to any young, naive, teenage girl who'll waste $3.95 on their gas station garbage. Tutoring them on how to perform x, y and z to their man's liking, how to dress to impress every swine at the Saturday night meat market, and how to use their sex appeal to get ahead in the workforce.

I mean, duh, of course a man probably suggested, if not wrote most of these check out line attention grabbers!

Filling the minds of today's adolescent girls with this morally corrupt information produces tomorrow's generation of easy to bed, early to get a rise females for their hedonistic playground.

If it's true that men our visual and women are verbal than I say this smut should be put in a brown paper bag too.