I See Cycles

There is a season for every thing.  It is interesting how I'm seeing and recognizing cycles in my own life and experience.  One new-ish cycle I've only recently come to truly understand is one of the most troubling because of the great (negative) impact it has on my whole family.

The sin cycle.  Okay, so that's super general.  Let me get more specific... my husband's BIG sin cycle.  There are the daily sins... those make an impact, but don't cause seismic shocks that the whole family is jarred by.  It's the big sins... like lying, stealing, adultery through porn viewing... these are the BIG sins I'm thinking about.

I've realized that when my husband does something big there are a few things that happen.  First, when I find out about it, I become full of righteous indignation (especially those that hurt our family) and freak out to one degree or another.  Then I usually get depressed because, ultimately, there is NOTHING I can do to improve the situation.  I cannot stop Beauty Man from lying.  I cannot stop him from stealing from our family.  I cannot stop him from looking at porn.  Oh, trust me... I DO try.  In doing so I experience a punishment for the wrong he has committed... in trying to make sure he doesn't hurt me again, I am limited because I "must" police him.  I "must" because it's part of trying to feel okay with all the crud I have to deal with and trying to lengthen out the days between one earthquake and another.  Anyway...

Next, Beauty Man starts to focus his negative feelings on work instead of dealing with what he's done wrong.  He projects his distain on his job.  Eventually he either quits or gets fired.  Usually sooner than later.  It's so freakin' obvious.  I see it clear as day - now that things are lining up as they have at least 4 times before. Why has it taken me so long to see this horrible cycle?  I have to believe it's because I just didn't want to see all the connections.  Seeing them doesn't enable me to alter the situation.  I can speak encouraging words until I'm blue in the face, but my husband won't hear them as long as he is determined to be down about something.

That's one of the big differences between us.  When Beauty Man gets "down," there's no gettin' him up until he's darn good an' ready.  Now me... if someone tries to cheer me when I'm down, I'm all for it.  I may sink down when the cheerer is no longer around, but I'm not one to TRY to stay mad when there is happiness to feel.  Ya know?

So, I wonder how many of you see cycles in your life?  Are there any like this that you see plainly, but have no ability to alter at all?

The Seismic Shock

The Seismic Shock
January 31, 2012.
Just after midnight.
(The devil loves the dark.)
The jolt was nor recorded
on any earth-bound
earthquake
monitoring device.
But it registered at close to a ten
or more
on my own personal ricter scale.

Pornography.
Such a fancy-shmancy word
for dispicable deeds.
Porn.
Much more appropriate a word.
A four-letter word
of the dirty deed type.

He was watching.
Moving porn.
He says he cannot remember what.
"2 people having sex.
Porn.
It's all the same."
He won't say more.
He says he dozed off
in the middle.
And that is suppose to be comforting?
I know he won't say
because he's hiding
to protect himself.
That's what he does.
"Gay porn," the whispers speak to my mind.
And I cannot conot compete.
Not that I could with any sort,
anyway.

The seismic shock that hit,
when I saw what he was trying to
 hide,
knocked down every part of me...
...but one.
My FAITH stands
still.
Other faceades
only a few walls
still sway
in after-shocks that hit
nearly every day.

There is no part of me
left steady standing;
But the construct of FAITH.
Strong and firm, steady and still
             stands apart.

Upon closer inspection...
deeper pondering
I realize...
I come to understand.

This man should never have had the
                     POWER
to destroy me in far under an
hour.

I gave it him.
I trusted in the arm of the flesh.
I built most of me
on our marriage.

My FAITH, though,
built by inhuman hands,
supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff:
sunk deep into THE ROCK.

And so I see.
I need to rebuild me
with supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff
sunk deep in The Rock.

I thought I had,
honestly.
For, you see,
this is not my first
earthquake.

But apparently,
I did not sink deep enough
or connect profoundly enough
to The Rock
to be swayed, but not broken
by a seismic shock
of mega-proportions.

And the whispers urge me
to build more carefully.
I certainly intend to!
But just right now...
I'm just trying, right now...
to clean up the mess
of me
in my little nothing world.

For what he, my hubby,
and you
can't see
is the crumbled structures.
The shattered glass.
The brokeness
inside me.

He fusses, "Don't you see me trying?"
And I feel to hang my head
and whisper, "Just like every time
you do wrong... but it doesn't stick.
You don't KEEP trying."
But he wouldn't hear,
because he wouldn't want to hear.
Just like me.

You see...
we are one.

His deed now...
was my deed long ago.
He didn't care.
Wouldn't have cared.
But I still did wrong.
So now it's come back to me
in the most painful way possible
thus far.

And I wish
I had always been
a different me.
For then,
the one we are
would be different,
too.


POST-Post Note
I meant to share this immediately after the Shame post, but forgot.  Sorry.  I hope you appreciated it somehow.

The Window Revisited

So, enough additional stuff has happened since I wrote the Parable of the Window that I've made some changes in my "room".  Perhaps it really happened when I became Monster Girl and I just didn't realize it until now.

Last night I realized that I just don't care any more if Beauty Man comes in to open the window enough.  I think I'm not truly in apathy about it all, but I'm definitely on the verge of it... and rather glad to be where I am - emotionally speaking.

I think I hear you wondering what changes I've made in my "room".  Well, I imagined myself in my "room" the other night.  Surprisingly, instead of seeing myself curled up almost dead, as has so often been the case, I saw myself curled up in a corner (as I've "seen" before) and realized I wasn't in complete fetal position.  My face was turned oddly.  Upon closer consideration, I realized I was breathing through something like a straw, sort of.  I realized, as I studied the situation, that I'd scraped a hole through the wall in my "room" and the straw-like object was pushed through the hole into the world of air.  And I was breathing.  Not totally naturally, but breathing just the same.  And the breathing requires mega-focus... but still breathing!

Additionally, I saw that my fingers were busy working around the straw-like think to make the hole bigger.  The hole I'm carving out of the wall will only be big enough to allow a free flow of air.  I'm not trying to get out of the room.  I'm just trying to create a way to stay in the room that is not dependent upon someone who has proven unreliable and uncaring.

How does this analogy compare to real life.  I'm not really sure, to be completely honest with ya!  Odd, aint it?

I will tell you, though... my husband has done some nice things lately.  What he has done has been totally inconsistent, though.  And because of how close (in time) they are to unresolved issues (for me they are unresolved)... Anyway... it just doesn't matter to me.  Not a bit in my conscious caring mind.  In the back of mind it registers... but I'm just so focused on breathing that I can't deal with anything else.

For instance, Beauty Man called to tell me he loved me (in the middle of his, probably 14 hour, day at work) and tell me he missed us a lot.  Yeah, that used to be nice.  I used to like that kind of thing.  I used to look forward to it and hope for it.  He USED to do it pretty regularly.  Now... don't care a bit and, in fact, it's annoying because I was trying to finally eat my lunch (3:30pm!) and it was then he called.  Probably I should've just had my eldest ask him if he MUST speak to me, and if not for her to take a message... but given our past, I knew he would probably be completely miffed by that.  So, I answered the phone.  Told him thank you for trying to be thoughtful and that I'm sure the children missed him, too.  I don't miss him.  Not a bit.  In fact, I think it would be simpler if he would just work 14 hour days 6 days per week.  And I only say six and not seven because I believe firmly in keeping the Sabbath Day holy.  *sigh*

This is from the woman who has been fighting with her man to be home more because the children need him.  I'm not even worried about that anymore.  He's been too much a jerk to them too often that I can't help but think it's all around better for him to work more than less.  Not that his hours have ever really gotten to BE less... he's been steadily working 63+ hours since he started this job too long ago.

Is that totally mean?  Probably.  But I just don't even care right now.  :(

I probably need to study the stages of grief/mourning.  It just seems highly likely that this anger is part of a mourning process.  Mourning the death of another hope.  *sigh*  I'm so tired of this full morgue!

Licking My Wounds, the Legion

This is another continuation post.  I know... it's getting old to not get the whole thing all at once.  This is the last one that is specifically part of the whole story of the Can in the Bag and all that jazz.  I highly recommend starting at the post in which I began to tell about this particular dead body and then mosy on over the the subsequent postS.

Perhaps this is the point!  Maybe my whole life I've been prepared to become Monster Girl!??  I mean, it's not been a bad thing.  Ever since I had the idea for FrankenMonster Marriage I knew I simply must be called Monster Girl here.  And I felt really quite liberated and powerful in a joyfully peaceful way.

But for weeks before knowing I needed to start this blog and become Monster Girl in my heart, I experienced pain more on than off.  And it has continued since, just not in the unmanageable and daily tearful way of the early days... before the empowerment of accepting my monsterness.  I literally cried every day for at least a week.  My poor kiddos. They tried so hard to do things to help me feel better.  They really are my gems!

It hurt so bad I wanted to hurt the outside of me to alleviate the inside pain.  I actually wanted to cut my hair off (bald) after pulling it out sufficiently.  I'm telling you what I wanted to do.  I didn't do it.  My hair is one of my few "pretty" physical attributes.  It is down to my butt, brown and is the only thing about my physical appearance that people ever compliment.  I'm really totally okay with that... it being the only thing peeps compliment... but it's also something about which I feel an attachment... I feel able to sort of hide in my hair.  And I just wanted to pull it out and cut it off to hurt me after I found my husband watching porn.

In addition to the hair pulling and cutting... I wanted to cut myself.  I've NEVER understood that behavior before.  I do now.  All I wanted to do was cut my skin and watch the blood roll down and hope that some of the pain inside would roll out of me with it.  Yes, I do realize this sorta really doesn't make any sense... but this is how I felt!!!  I didn't do, but I sure wanted to.

'Surely,' I thought and still feel, 'I'm hideous even with my hair.  Elsewise, he would not seek to view another naked woman instead of coming to me who lay a short walk down the hall.  Yes, I'm hideous.  My husband has proved it to me.  He would rather obtain an erection by watching another female than being with me.'  These and other horrible thoughts have run through my mind and tormented me as a result of finding my husband watchin porn.  Writing poetry about these feelings really helped.  I'm gunna share one next time.  I hope you like it a little.  It's raw me... not lovely, but really real.  And safe... cause I don't think cursing is helpful... it requires more energy and thought to describe in productive ways than to hurl curses regardless of the medium, in my opinion, anyway.

I still feel repulsive.  And we have had sex since all this went down.  I might, in a few moments during and/or immediately after the act, feel some bits of acceptance and attractiveness... but it goes away super fast.  I feel tremendous shame.  How could I not be enough for my man?  For surely, THAT is the problem.  I'm not enough.  I'm not pretty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, thin enough...  I'm not enough so he clicked into a movie to watch others have sex.  Never mind that I am totally available and waiting to have intercourse....

It's just too much.  There are all these thoughts and feelings and trying to express them doesn't convey the profound nature of the turmoil.  Words just fall short of capturing the essence and extent of how this has impacted my psyche.

I'll keep trying because I feel compelled to do so, but right now I need a break.  However, I do consider this the official end post to the Saga of the Cat and the Bag.  K?  I hope you feel some sense of completion herein.

REMEMBER:
If you know who I am, shhhh.  I need to live in anonymity.  Monster Girls like me prefer to hide in the dark because we are so very hideous.

The Cat Runs Away

This is a continuation post.  I recommend you start at the beginning of this mini-story, the move on to the middle, and THEN come on back here here so that you'll understand what "cat" this is all about.  Next post will actually be the final.  I know... I keep drawing this out, but I can only do so much of dealing with the crud at once.

That night one of the many murders was accomplished.  Thus far it is among the most gruesome for me.  I know this whole thing may be "no big thang" to you.  I do, truly, know that lots of women have more horrendous trials than this.  I do.

But you know, the THEORY OF RELATIVITY* (the star is a totally different link, fun, right?) is not exclusively applicable in Physics.  All too often folks try to apply it to morality... doesn't work there, but humanistic relativism would argue it does, of course.  If you know God, you know that just aint so.  I'll leave THAT there and move along.

The wounds I have sustained are legion.  I actually hurt myself when beating up the speakers, but didn't know it when it happened.  I had a scratch on one shoulder, a cut on an ear lobe, and a huge bruise on one calf that took more than three weeks to heal up and go away entirely!  But the worst of the damage is internal... contained and defined in my emotions and thoughts.  Oh, would that the only damage was to my flesh... and a result of my own actions!

As a result of this whole thing, I completed a metamorphosis from sort of cute girl to Monster Girl.  And, unfortunately, I don't see it as a reversible sort of thing.  Christ's Atonement has (and is) bringing to pass healing of the pain.  It's mostly gone, most of the time (when I allow His Atonement to work in me), but it will not erase the image I saw or the knowledge of what Beauty Man did.  It is this that has finished up a process (this metamorphosis) begun when I first learned and knew for sure about his lies... and knew the whispers were true.

I guess, in a way, it's sort of liberating to feel truly ugly.  Perhaps this is a stretch... and yes, I am trying to make something good out of crap.  But maybe if I can simply accept my ugly Monster Girl-ness, I can do something truly good with what has happened and make beauty from my own personal Monster ugliness.

I need a break.  I'll finish up next time.

Still Dealing With the Bagged Cat

This post is a continuation post.  If you want to totally understand what I'm talking about, read the first post first.  :)

Pick up from the point at which I knew he'd been lying for years and jump forward in time to not so long ago.  Certainly not long enough ago!

I found Beauty Man looking at porn.  I didn't clearly see what he was watching.  All I saw was a screen that looks like the end/stop pictures/ads at the end of a YouTube.  You know, the images that are all advertisements for the other YouTubes you might like if you liked the one you just finished watching.  The one image frozen in my mind is naked boobies about 10 times bigger than mine.  Yeah... real self-esteem boost that!  Especially knowing that my man considers himself a boob guy (who married a not-so-well-endowed Monster Girl!).

I feel the need to give you the blow-by-blow of that night.  I promised gorey details of this murder... so I'm gunna give 'em.

I woke up because of Beauty Baby (our youngest child).  I used the toilet.  I felt strange and Beauty Man wasn't in bed even though I knew he'd been home for a while.  It was after midnight.  He really should've been in bed.  He had work the next day.

I made my way down the hall to the rest of the house.  The door was closed between our bedroom hall and the rest of the house.  It is practically unheard of for this particular door to be closed.  But I can think of another time that it was closed a couple weeks before... instead of checking on him, I went to get some water from the kitchen first... but he was doing something to change what he was looking at and did so in a furative manner...  THAT is a huge clue.  Dumb trusting  Monster Girl.  :(

I opened the door fast.  There is weather stripping on the bottom of this door, so regardless of how you open the door, it's going to be noisy.  I immediately made my way to where Beauty Man sat.  I was carefully watching his hand on the mouse the whole time and he was obviously trying to click out of something.  The screen wouldn't close, though.  And that's how I saw what I saw.

I freaked out, but with an absolutely quiet and calm mind.  It was truly an interesting experience as far as that goes.  I remember thinking, 'This is completely unaccetable.  He's broken his word AGAIN.  He's lied to me.  And he's doing THIS!  It will not happen again.  I must show him how completely and utterly unacceptible this is.  I must DO something.  What can I do?'  All of that flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds because I know in physical reality I moved seamlessly from seeing, to screaming the question, "What are you doing?" at least three times, to pulling one of the speakers out of the computer, carefully putting Beauty Baby down on the floor and then I proceeded to bash the speaker, swinging it by it's cord, into the floor to smash it to smithereens.  I stopped only when I was certain it was in numerous pieces.  I proceeded to pull the other speaker from the computer and doing again to it what I'd done to the first.

I know exactly what I looked like.  I could hear him thinking that I was in a black rage - the kind of rage during which you black out and cannot remember things you did.  I had a couple of those as a teen, so I DO know about them from experience.  This was NOT that.  I remember all of everything I thought and did with a kind of clarity that is uncommon to me even in my daily life.  He did, in fact, accuse me of being in a black rage during the beating of the speakers, so I know when I felt him think it that he actually DID think it.

What followed the speaker's mutilation?  Oddly and surprisingly (to me), Beauty Man stood up from where he'd been sitting (it occurred to me just now that he probably needed that time to lose an erection :( grrr.), slammed the computer screen to the ground, and proceeded to stomp on it.  I stood back and felt a measure of pleasure that he would destroy that which he had used to sin and cheat on me with.  I also felt an increase in anger because he was destroying the tool I used and needed to complete work for the work-for-money job HE wanted me to do.

When he was finished stomping, we yelled back and forth.  He told me if I ever acted like that again, he would take the children and drive.  I told him he would never get the chance.  I feel certain that in those moments I sealed off a portion of my self and my heart to him.  I don't think he'll notice the difference... or care, if he notices.

I must take a break.

Taking the Cat out of the Bag

Have you ever done it?  Taken a cat out of a bag, I mean.  Heck, have you ever got one IN a bag?

I haven't.  So, I'm just imagining what it would entail and what the consequences might be.  I do have an active and vivid imagination, though!  So, I'm thinking that one who would be so brave... or foolish as to put a cat in a bag would sustain numerous wounds regardless of the outcome of the endeavor.  IF such an one were successful, I would imagine that said person would rather let the cat stay where it was than deal with trying to get it out again.

This is where you find me.

I got the cat in the bag and have been loathe to get it out or even let it get out.  But it's coming.

Just know that I DO, in fact, KNOW that lots of other women have faced this same challenge.  I'm sure with more grace than me!  I mentioned a girl a while back... I'm going to share more about her in a while.  Anyway... She coule be my twin.  She is not, actually, but we're so similar she could be!  Anyway... she, just as one example, is dealing with the problem I'm trying to share in this post, too.  It's just difficult!  I guess a bit like stepping into the sun after a confinement in the dark and cold.  It's eventually a gift and relief to be in the sun, but it's a bit miserable and painful right at the beginning.

So,  I was trying to get rid of the internet at our house because I found my husband watching porn.  I realize there are lots of folks (guys AND girls) who would scoff or mock me for the pain this discovery has caused.  But like all doozies, this is a multi-faceted gem of darkness.

Before I explain further, I have to tell you aobut some really religious sort of spiritual stuff.  I haven't written about that part of me so much here because I don't want to "turn anybody off" to reading my story.  What I'm goint to share is absolutely pertinent to the story of my husband watching porn, finding him doing it, and all the resulting fallout for me.

For three or four months before I saw him looking at porn with my own eyes, I heard whispers to my mind that Beauty Man was doing it.  I asked him, point blank, if he was.  I even told him I heard (he KNOWS what this means) he was  and asked again if he was.  Each time he told me he was not, had not, did not... however he said it, he always said no.

Back up to the very beginning of us.  That's been long enough, now, for us to have four children with the youngest being around 1 year old.  I found him looking at porn way back in the beginning.  I was a different person back then.  It bothered me.  It hurt my feelings some.  I felt slightly mistrustful of him, but I believed him when he told me he would stop.  I asked him to stop because it hurt my feelings.

Skip forward a few years.

He promised me that when we found out we were preggie, he would quit smoking.  He did.  But then, unbeknownst to me, he started up again.  I knew it, though.  I heard the whispers (not audible, but to my mind).  I heard the Holy Spirit tell me what he was doing, but I would not believe.  I didn't want to believe my husband was lying to me.  I WAS told and warned, though.  I asked him point blank, numerous times.  He lied in reply.  Repeatedly.  And for years.

The truth didn't come out until he'd move me away from my parents and brothers.  He'd lied to me for 3 years by then!  And since?  (I hear you wonder.)  That's part of the huge problem in this FrankenMonster Marriage!  He's NEVER completely stopped lying!!!!  Not only has he lied, bu he's also stolen money from our family.  He's still more in a habit of hiding the truth than TELLING the truth.  It's very painful for me.  Remember how honest, how truthful I like being?

The story isn't complete, but I really must take a break from the telling.  I'll resume very soon.  Promise.

Bad News; and Worse

Pre-Post Note:
I think, if I can, I'm going to post Mondays AND Fridays.  Monster Girl Mondays and FrankenMarriage Fridays.  Sounds nice!  :)  Don't you think so?  Anyway, thus today's post.  I may post other days of the week, too, of course, but I'm not going to commit to that.  Heck, I've only just been able to get two Mondays in a row!  HA!

On to the Post!

My husband came home from work with bad news.

The cycle, it seems, is revving up for a repeat ride again.  This is the bad news.  The cycle is, of course, cyclical in nature.  But I sure do wish the thing would get considerable bigger (last years rather than months!).  In this stage of the cycle that we seem to be experiencing, the boss begins to become excessive in his expectations, demands, and eventually (sooner or later... usually sooner) fires Beauty Man.

He's not assertive enough.  He doesn't stand up for himself vociferously enough.  I know this absolutely because this is how he is with me, too.

I really thought it would be different this time.  But I see the writing in the sand clear as day!  I've seen it before in exactly this way.  His boss has hired someone (hiring is supposed to be one of my husband's responsibilities) who will, supposedly work with Beauty Man.  The boss is demanding certain planning forms to be set in place, though the plans he desires are not realistic... not in a kitchen with the staff relative to volume that this kitchen has, for sure!

As I ponder on the matter, I realize that he simply isn't changed enough for the cycle to be different.  *sigh*  So it goes.

Also, it usually happens this way... soon after my man does something really wrong and/or stupid and that wrong/stupid thing comes to light.  I haven't always known his wrong-doing when he was fired... but it's there to view in the perfect vision of hindsight!

The Beauty Man's solution to this problem is to work from home on the internet doing a job he's heard about on the radio, but doesn't know whwat it actually is and doesn't know what (if any) investment it will require to get started.  This suggestion is a HUGE problem for me for many reasons.  ALL connected to deaths and especially the one(s) sustained most recently - over which the computer died and the internet was removed (or, at least, I was going to cancel it) by me against Beauty Man's desires.  (Read: internet is a huge aspect of the problem I still haven't explained.)

I need to tell you about this most recent death... as well as all the others, really.  But even in anonymity, it is SO difficult to come out of hiding.  Next time.  For sure.

The Man... My Man... Beauty Man

Pre-Post Note:
I'm getting better... And today is a Monday, too!  :)

So, I was thinking about what I'd like to know next if I was you.  Maybe we're totally different, which is completely possible and even likely, in which case this post may be TOTALLY un-interesting to you.  But if I were reading along here instead of writing, I'd want to know more about the guy I have been and will be talking about.

My husband.  You already know we met online.  It's been a few years now.  Long enough for us to have four children, the youngest of whom is right around a year old.

He's a few years younger than me, but had done more in his life when we met than I could imagine.  I figured that made up for the few years difference.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

He has light brown hair, green eyes, which are actually green and not hazel.  He weighs around 150 pounds, stands just under 6 feet tall and IS as thin as that sounds.  Once, he started to take on some weight.  The main way I could tell is that his belly button became slightly more than just a depression in his belly region.  There was actually a dip and enough of a depression to catch a good bunch of lint each day.  Ha!  The only time I can ever remember seeing the deepest part of my belly button is during the last month of pregnancy... and not even every one of those!  HA!

My husband is handsome... really, actually... he is a beautiful man.  This is where the name I use, Beauty Man, instead of his real one, comes from.  He has a James Dean-ish* look.  His nose (and I never really noticed noses, except for my own, before I met him) is perfectly straight, smooth, slightly slender, but not too narrow and makes me think of a "Roman Nose," though I've never been completely sure what THAT looks like!  My husband had a nice "V" shaped bod when we met.  Not now.  Not that I'm bothered, really.  Heck, I was a size 9 when we met and more like a 24now.  Seriously.  But he DID look GOOD with those well developed lats and pecs!  :)  He still looks good... but you know what I mean, right?

One thing I noticed and loved from REALLY early on is his crinkley-eyes.  He was 20 when we met (turned 21 before we met in person).  But even so, he had a whole bunch of crinkles right at the temples when he'd smile.  I've always thought those smile-eye wrinkles were among his most beautiful physical features.

He's got skinny legs.

He's hairy, but not sweater-hairy.  At least, not yet.  ;)  It seems, since we've met, the hair is multiplying and spreading at an exponentially increasing rate.  He hasn't lost any off his head, so it's not migrating, but he has more now in the funny shaped patch above his butt, on the top of his upper arms, in and on his ears, and on hisshoulders than he ever did when we first met.  Funny how that heppens, huh?

He's very strong.  He doesn't look like he could lift as much as he can.  He was still able to pick me up when I was 200 pounds.  I won't let him try anymore.  I bet he could, but I'm afraid it would hurt him.

He smokes.  He is not a member of my church.  He and I don't have many (if any) of the same interests or hobbies.  I know many of our temporal goals aline, but I don't think our Spiritual goals mesh... if he has any of those at all.

He is a Chef.  He was in the Navy when we met, got out and went to Culinary School.  Now he's a Chef.  He hates it.  He hates the industry and the caliber of people he is most often in contact with as a result of his employ.  He works way too many house for a little salary.  Salary.  It's rough.  Thankfully he IS employed and THANKFULLY, he keeps doing it.  He is, after-all, the primary breadwinner in this family!  I hope one day, that the things I can do from home will supply all our needs and he'll be able to work 'cause he wants to, or go back to school, or work the businesses I'm trying to grow.  A girl; even a Monster Girl, can dream, can't she?!  :)


*James Dean Pictures that look like Beauty Man to me

Yes, Beauty Man does wear glasses, though his look a bit different than those in the picture.  And, as I mentioned, he does smoke.  :-p  Beauty Man is aptly named, don't you think so?