May the Cards Fall Where They Lay

Against All Odds

2012-01-27T01:37:00.000-08:00

Yes, another hiatus. This time I have an excuse. I have plenty ideas, so that's not it. I need serious therapy, so that's not it either. No. Instead, I've finally gotten out. I've gotten out of the toxicity. I've gotten out of being the victim. I've gotten out of the "tolerable" hell I've been in for so long that it felt normal.

The camel's back got broken. And believe me, I think everyone knew it was going to happen. There was that typical build-up. The kind they teach you to use when writing a good story. The kind I've seen over and over again, if not in my own situation, in those of my troubled loved ones. Money was tight. I'd become physically healthier than I'd been in a while. I got my own job. Gasp. The stress of all of that is maddening, right?? Well, if you are a person with very little self esteem, a drug and alcohol problem, colleagues and/or family and friends enabling, and quite possibly an undiagnosed mental illness, it is.

Somehow, some financial stress mixed with my own gaining independence became a devil of infinite proportions. Because, no one else in the universe had financial stress. No one else knows what it's like to give up a little. To save. To live like, well, a poor person for a little while. Of course, I'm being sarcastic, but sadly, this is how he felt. At least that's what I'm assuming to make my own monster seem much more human.

Needless to say, I don't have all the details. The Big Man and I stopped talking about real things years ago. I've tried, to no avail. He, I guess, just doesn't know how it works. The whole talking thing. Instead, I find 12 random shot bottles of vodka in his trash at work. He comes home from work reeking of booze, barely able to walk straight, refusing to admit to one tiny taste of anything alcoholic. He's irate at the thought of me talking on my phone. Because, I've never had to deal with any of these circumstances before. I'm sure I'm dumb enough to believe he was just tired, and overworked. At a "job" where he's self-employed and I've witnessed his mostly lack-of-work first hand.

No, I'm sorry. This isn't my first rodeo. And even if it were, I've been to God-Knows-How-Many growing up. We'll call this the twelfth straw. And yes, I'm completely comfortable documenting this, for one: this is MY platform. Where I can say what I want; you can judge me or not; we breathe in and move on. And two: out of 8 years and multiple pleadings to read my blog and tell me what he thought, he'd been interested enough to do it never. Okay, he tried once and got less than halfway through and told me my writing was much to textbook style and that no one would want to read it. So amongst everything, I'm quite comfortable documenting this.

So, in accurate form and grace, the lying and paranoid accusations grew. Obviously I was dating a trainer. Why else would I go to the gym. And obviously there was more payoff than just health, I must be dating other random men. And obviously I'm having orgies because I'm working somewhere away from him and being happier and more independent than I have been in ages. It makes sense. So instead of taking these insecurities and using them as anything remotely close to a positive as he could; say...working out to thin down, working out to clear his mind, becoming healthy to be in control of his financial decisions, etc; why not drink himself to oblivion daily. But I don't think that's the extent of it. Although he was angry enough with just alcohol, he began smoking an immense amount of marijuana, which generally, in my knowledge, will calm you down and mellow you out, neither of which was the case. But, he was left to his own devices for 8 hours out of the day now. No more babysitter, and we all know, when the cats' away, the mice will play. His behavior began to emulate that of which he had when I met him. Back when I found out he wasn't just unbalanced, but was also using meth.

Now is not the time for lectures, folks. I'm the first one to say good, clean people don't stay with druggies unless they do some themselves. That is the furthest thing from my case. You'll see, from my previous blogs, the addict lifestyle is what I was raised in. It took so much from me. Loved ones. Self esteem. My life. I didn't have to do drugs to feel it's anguish. I already knew it very well. And this was why, in good political fashion, it was my mission to clean up every druggie, one by one, and prove to them and to the world that they can do it and that I can help! Got me pretty far, I'd say. Two kids and right smack dab back where I started.

But back to the point. This series of unhealthy events led up to a Monday night, much like that of many other nights. He's in charge of the kids while I do something for myself. Said something being going to the gym like I do every Monday. And the five-minutes-ago guy who wanted a hug turned into a paranoid asshole, recklessly trying to prove that I'm cheating on him, all in front of the kids. Mind you, this happens nearly daily. I explain, as always, that this is something we can talk about later after I get back and the kids go to bed, but he doesn't back down. He persists, in fact. He knows how to push every button, until I'm defending myself from these made up actions. It's literally crazy. But finally, I leave for the gym, with fear in my heart that those were the hands of an incapable parent in charge of my children. And I was right.

I got home to an excessively inebriated person, blaring my running playlist (mostly club-quality songs)at 9:20pm with two very tired but very awake children in the living room. This was the norm on Mondays and Wednesdays. He had apparently forgotten how to put the kids to bed. And so instead of questioning him and his lack of parental skills, "why don't I be a mother and put the kids to bed??" And that was just the beginning of a very steep spiral downwards.

After ignoring my pleas to stop until the kids were in bed, I was forced to call in backup. This is where it turns ugly. To keep it more short and sweet, this guy went ape on everyone. Straw number: enough. The camel collapsed. I took the kids to my neighbor's, and called the police so I could gather some things. Of course I got a plethora of obnoxious and victimized, abusive messages. I'm used to it. But what I also got was the courage to stay as far away from this situation as humanly possible.

I know it's still early to say I've beaten the odds, because statistically, the majority of women in this type of situation go back, but I'm determined. I don't love him. I don't need him. And I don't want him tearing me down, in general and in front of my kids. I always hoped he'd get well, but I also always knew he was sick. I actually still hope he gets well because, in my opinion, children need both parents. But only when he's able to be such.

So a week down, and I'm feeling disgusting. I feel like I'm living out of a car. I feel like a slob. I haven't gone to the gym. I haven't done anything. I haven't slept. The kids are sick. They are displaced. They are tired. I've barely eaten. I have no idea how I'm going to do it financially. But, through it all, I'm positive. I know I'm doing the right thing. I know the future holds great things for me and my kids. I know it could be a lot worse. And I know the lack of comfort is building my strength and character so I can be a better parent and a better person.

I was given the idea to do a bucket list, which is something I'll elaborate more on next time, and immediately wondered what grandiose things I wanted to add to it. Still, I haven't started it, but I have thought long and hard. My bucket list so far consists of: getting my own apartment for my kids and me; buying an economical car for us; relinquishing and maintaining meaningful relationships with friends and family whom I respect and are positive forces in my life; proving to my boss and myself that I'm capable and able to excel in what I do, even if it's out of my comfort zone; and finally, basically be able to financially maintain a healthy and well-groomed house full of happy babies and a happy mama. I think after that, the other aspects of my bucket list will fall into place.

Do not misinterpret this posting. I am not lacking in self esteem. I'm not sad, in most meanings of the term. I am extremely proud of myself, and I know that these sloppy days of displacement are temporary, and that I am smart and capable enough to pull right out of this like a jet pilot at an air show. It's just a loop in life, and I can't wait to be the happy, laid back, fun-loving person I have repressed for so long. I'm free.

Webster Has Nothing On Me

2012-01-10T16:16:00.000-08:00

Yes, I haven't blogged in a handful of days. And yes, that's not keeping up with my resolution. As a matter of fact, the first week of my year (aka 2012) hasn't gone anywhere near the way I wanted or expected it to. But I'm not going to let that define me.

2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.

Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.

I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.

So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.

Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.

Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.

At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.

I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.

Insert Cheesy 90s Love Song Title Here

2012-01-01T13:42:00.000-08:00

I love to cook. I'm a professional chef, in my own MoonsandCookies world. I know how to mix and use raw spices and herbs. I know my way with practically every Henckles knife known to man. And, therefore, I like to challenge myself. I try almost every recipe that crosses my path. I sometimes have to google certain ingredients, but I never let anyone know that! Needless to say, I base my grocery list on a compilation of recipes I hunt down in the endless array of cooking and lifestyle magazines that float through my mail slot. To start off 2012, I started going through the gigantic stack of magazines, looking for the perfect grouping of recipes to feed my family for the next two weeks. As I got through the first four, with a mounting grocery list, I came across my Women's Health magazine. I figured now was as good a time as any to go through these magazines and purge them to make more room for recipes. Then, as engulfed as I've ever been in Women's Health, I came across a picture of a woman and a man cuddled together, about to kiss, on the cover of the "Sex and Love" section. And in my spastic mind, it brought me back to something I was actually still awake to see on the NYE countdown.

On the Dick Clark special, they put together a bunch of different Top 5's as compiled from Facebook statuses. One of these were the Top 5 New Year's Resolutions as discussed on the social networking site. You know what beat "lose weight?" "Get into a relationship" beat it. I was flabbergasted. Why would someone resolve to be in a relationship?? Is society made up of a bunch of dependent and co-dependent people so desperate to be in a relationship that they would make that more of a priority than healthy eating and adequate exercise? I don't get it. Maybe it's because I have had nothing but bad luck in relationships. Maybe its because I'm very independent and stubborn. Maybe it's because I have kids and they take up all of the time I might be spending daydreaming about Prince Charming, had I not had kids.

And of course, this is when I really started to break it down and over-think things! The people in the picture looked like they were in love. They looked like all they wanted, in that moment, was to be next to each other forever. Yes, I know its a photo staged with professional models, whose expressions are meant to compel the reader not only to read the article, but also to believe every word as if it were written on stone by God. But, hypothetically, if that was real sentiment, I want some. I, after much consideration, would love to share that feeling with someone. I would love to have someone in my life who supports me 100% and shares real love with me.

I was in love once, I think. I felt like I always wanted to be with him. The drama and passionate fighting was never enough to make me second guess if I wanted to be with him or if there was someone else out there for me. You know, if the grass was greener. I never even looked at another male. I was in love. Of course, I was also 18. Still a baby, even though I could change the world through a hole punch on a ballot. I could get pregnant. I could choose to blacken my lungs to death if I wanted to. But I'm pretty sure we all know 18 is a little immature for love. Still, I was with him for over a little over 5 years. I got a ring. And then, I left. He chose other hobbies that didn't fit into my life and I was forced to end it. I cried for a year straight. And finally, I healed.

I've been in other long term relationships, none in which I was nearly as enamored, all just as drama filled. So obviously, I've pretty much ruled out love as a real thing. I figure, you find someone you can basically deal with, and go from there. Do your own thing. Take care of the kids. Sleep. Eat. Live another day. I've believed that there's no such thing as the love you see in magazine photos or Shrek trilogies. That's fantasy, like Puff the Magic Dragon, Harry Potter, or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Stories. Stories that you can feel. Smell. Taste.

But now, after much deliberation, I think I want to find that too. I want to feel, smell, taste that kind of magic. I want to be the girl in the picture. And if it's not real, what do I have to lose? And if it is?? In essence, the whole idea mimics that of spirituality and religion. It's all about faith, and living all the time you don't know for sure to the fullest. So I've banished the idea that love and the desire for a relationship is only for the dependent and weak minded, and I've now added it to my list. Not a list of resolutions, because it's silly to resolve to do something mostly out of your control, but on my list of what I want. What I want to know is real. What I want to be positive about. I hope that you, too, stay positive, whether you are in a loving relationship and just trying to get over that hump of struggle, or if you're like me and have just had bad luck/judgment/series of unfortunate events. Cheers to 2012!

Positivity Isn't Just Scientific

2011-12-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

I planned out today's posting all night last night. I thought about the positioning of my points so that the reader could emotionally relate, no matter what their life experiences. I thought about the rises and falls. I knew what I was going to say. That is, until today.

Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.

I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.

And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.

This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.

I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.

Your Workout is My Warmup

2011-12-29T11:48:00.000-08:00

A good friend told me "Today is your day!" So I started to really think about it. I have been so consumed with 2012 being my year, that I have been sitting around, counting the minutes of the rest of 2011. I've been lolly-gagging the last week of the year, because 2012 is my year. Not the last week of 2011. That is just the end of a not-my-year year, right?! It doesn't have to be, as I now realize.

So my New Year starts today; December 29, 2011. I am not going to just beg for the days to go by faster so that "My Year" starts sooner. That would mean that these days of my kids being as little and fun as they are would be swept under the rug. My organization practice and figuring out how to fit everything I want to do in my days would be delayed. Today would mean nothing. What kind of living is that??

My first order of business is to make my heart and head lighter. To illustrate my ideas and feelings. To give myself more esteem. I decided, today, to be insightful and inspirational, if not for others, for myself. I want to be the best person, daily, that I am able to be. I want to be organized. I want to be put-together. I want to be well-read and sound educated when I converse. These are all things, that during 2011, I've felt were not maintained at an acceptable level. And, as my 4 year old Stinkyface looks more and more like a 14 year old, both in appearance and in communicative and educational skills, I've decided this is more than a priority. This is necessary. I have to be the best person I can be, so that she will do the same.

I started to think about what it was like to be young, so I can relate more to what it is I'm teaching Stinkyface through my actions. I remember being consumed with my physical appearance and obsessing over my education and wit when I felt inadequate physically. Not healthy!! I went through months of anorexia, bulimia, and other unfortunate "dieting" routines so I could fit into society's and my own ideas of beauty. I worked out incessantly and played sports until I passed out. This is most of what I remember about being young. I, still, have moments of insecurity where I think aloud about how awful the food I eat is for me or that I have to run more because of insert-fat-body-part-here. I would devote myself to books, not because I enjoyed to read, but instead to have more knowledge about everything than anyone else. That way, when someone thought I was ugly or fat, at least they would think I was the smartest person they knew.

I definitely do not want Stinkyface, or her brother for that matter, to have these skewed and unhealthy ideals. I don't want to promote obsessive, extreme behaviors at all, especially when it has to do with health. So, as many of those close to me know, I've taken up boxing. It has become my therapist's office. I can give it all up there. I can be aggressive. I can push myself until I break. And I can pick myself back up and be proud of what I did. I'm not the best or strongest, but it doesn't matter. I'm committed and I finish every class.

But what is lacking from my personal physical approval is my diet. Sometimes I'm on and sometimes I'm off, which not only messes with my energy level, but also makes me less confident and more inhibited, which utterly ends in the demise of my goals. These are the same issues so many women battle on a daily basis, due to societal view of beauty and physicality. And I'm hoping through being more committed to a healthier diet, whether I do or I don't have the body of my dreams, I will have the confidence of my dreams, and teach my children to have the same, and maybe even some other women who come across my writing. And these mini goals give me a whole new window of opportunity for my own personal growth.

Not to overwhelm myself, I've decided to focus primarily on this today, the beginning of my new year. So far, I've been successful (of course it's only 11am, but lets stay positive!!) and I feel great about it. I feel like I'm stronger, both inside and out. I've decided to keep a fit book, to hold me responsible, and also make it easier for me to understand and deal with things I would have normally beat myself up about in the past. This way, my kids will learn to deal with ups and downs instead of compulsively try to change whatever-it-is in any means possible. I can't wait to see where these commitments will lead me in a week; a month; even next year!! And I hope to share the journey with all of you, and hear about your own personal journeys, about diet and exercise, or any other obstacles keeping you from your personal best!!

Squirrels In My Pants

2011-12-28T11:50:00.000-08:00

Disturbingly enough, I had an A-HA moment watching Phineas and Ferb today, as I'm sure most mommies have...right??!! Okay, maybe not. Maybe I was reading far to much into a kids/tween animated comedy. Anyway, you know the episode. No, not the one all about aglets. You know, the end of a shoelace. Not the one about squirrels in Candace's pants. Not the one about Rock camp where the little Indian kid feels like he may fail for the first time. Okay, I obviously watch way to much Phineas and Ferb.

It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.

Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!

Adrenaline Junkie

2011-12-22T11:14:00.000-08:00

I woke up early today, as most mothers to one year olds typically do. I was bummed that I didn't get to write yesterday, because I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Basically, yesterday, similar to nearly once a week, I started to feel bad. I felt like maybe I should tell everyone how the Big Man wasn't as bad as it sometimes seems. Like I should explain that a lot of times I'm just emerging from the situation I'm blogging about, so many of my posts are driven by emotion and adrenaline. Like, my situation is really mostly normal and that everyone goes through all kinds of drama in their "relationships."

And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.

I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.

But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"

And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!

All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.

A Sense of Adventure

2011-12-18T23:30:00.001-08:00

This whole blogging adventure, now that I have finally committed myself, has become exactly that. An adventure. I feel myself float, fall, grow, shrink, smile and cry. And I'm beginning to attribute adventure now with commitment. If I hadn't committed to this blog, I wouldn't be researching blogs. I wouldn't be finding the most amazing and insightful blogs that actually lend themselves to my purpose, nor would I be reading and recognizing great writing that is completely different than mine while showing me that I can be successful in my own right, by staying true to myself.

Here's a little preface to the adventure. When I was a teenager, I was a typical girl. Self conscious about my body and appearance. I never looked the exact way I wanted to. I wasn't as pretty as I wanted to be. I didn't have the exact clothes I wanted to wear. These are the struggles of growing up, mixed with adolescence and puberty, and peer pressure. I didn't realize I was normal. I don't think any kids really do. Needless to say, I covered up my insecurities with an over abundance of esteem based on my intelligence and intellect. I thought that I would be able to know everything about everything, win all debates, even be able to eventually become powerful through knowledge and persuasive skills.

Through this belief, I didn't focus on my physical drawbacks. This idea of being able to concretely know certain facts and convincing one person that my point of view was "right," and convincing that one person to convince someone close to them the same, became the basis of my being. I stayed tuned in to local and worldly politics and social news. I stayed loyal to my opinions, and therefore, stood up for myself through this means. I wasn't swayed by others, and didn't let anything oppose or oppress my values. In hindsight, this sounds crazy. It is definitely not the healthiest way to gain self confidence. But it worked. And, also in hindsight, those were some of my strongest years. And I look back on those years fondly. As I got older, I realized I wasn't a hideous monster, and in fact, I could clean up pretty nicely when I had to. I started to focus more on appearance. I stopped studying. I stopped practicing. I stopped growing. I became weaker and more vulnerable. And then I became what I promised myself I would never be; a victim. A victim of myself. A victim of others. A victim of ignorance. A victim of lethargy. I remained a victim, knowingly, for years. And that's what leads me to the cusp of the adventure.

I blogged in the past to feel better. I blogged to touch someone. I blogged to be touched by someone. Stories could be shared. Advice. Ideas. Alliances could be made, which I had missed in so long. Then, through some pressure by friends and by my situation, I finally made the commitment. It could be a portal to regaining the strength I once exhibited. It could be the beginning of the path to happiness; the therapy to place me in a healthy environment. It could be just what someone else needs to help them in their situation. On the journey today, I realized so much. I realized I'm less different than I think. I stumbled upon a series of websites dedicated to topics along the lines of my motives, based on providing a forum for people like me (which, I realized today, that I'm part of this group in whole) and listing references to assist and console.

I've always wanted to be a part of something that helps people, I just never had a clear idea of what I would be useful doing. I've considered kids. Kids with cancer. Kids with leukemia. Kids with no family. Kids with no school. I've considered adults. Adults with illness. Adults with substance addictions. Adults with no social support. And although I've experienced all of these types of people in my life, somehow it's been difficult to fuse myself completely to any of these so-called charities for some reason. I've even involved myself with an organization for foster children, but somehow, all of these other causes don't seem to come as naturally to me. I can come up with a million reasons why, but that just takes up the time I have to make a difference in what does come naturally to me at the moment.

Which leads me to the ups and downs of the adventure that I've experienced only today. I realized I WAS part of this group of people I've insisted for so long that I wasn't actually a part of; just close to being a part of. These people are broken and are taken advantage of because of it. These people, yes, allow themselves to be torn down, but because of hopeful ideas they can "change" something negative into a positive. I was surprised. I was sad. I was let down. Then, I realized I wasn't surprised completely. I read on. I understood that I wasn't alone. The opposite, actually. I read hundreds of stories of people in situations similar to mine; much, much worse than mine. I felt like a part of something. I felt supported. And I saw that I could be interesting, hold attention, and entertain, even, many people. I could be helped. I could be helpful. I remain committed, and randomly, don't find any lack of topic to provide daily blogs in my heart or head. I understand better what I've claimed to understand all along. I'm self-assured, and I will make a difference. I'm grateful for this move in my hobby/career/life, as they all are interchangeable in my life. I'm anxious and excited to see what tomorrow has in store.

A Little Past the Ides Of December

2011-12-17T12:48:00.000-08:00

PREFACE: I wrote this in Dec. 2010, but never posted it. So...here it is!! Enjoy.

As we ring in the new decade, I've decided it's been quite the month. Quite the year really. So much has happened. Probably one of the most eventful years of my life, in an adult perspective. My family is deteriorating. My social life is growing. My children are growing. My economic means is deteriorating. Bittersweet really, in every sense of the meaning.

I rang in the decade in my twenties. After partying like it's 1999, because it was 1999, I started the decade in an unhealthy relationship. I was in love, but it was toxic. I ditched senior night to sleep in the bed of a truck in the teacher's parking lot of my high school with my boyfriend. That's a lasting love. (Enter sarcasm here) Lived with him. Fought with him. Made up. Partied. Fought. He lied and did drugs. I left. A very sad but memorable 5 years of my life.

Then, I played it solo. No boyfriend. I was a third wheel a lot, and I didn't mind. In fact, I didn't notice! My family was the same. My friends rocked. I partied. I hung out. I studied. I traveled. I made some AH.MAZE.ING friends at one of the best jobs I've ever had, of course because of the group. Then I dated again. This time, a good guy at the wrong time. Random really terrible car accident, in which I nearly died, that left glass in my ear and a scar on my rib to this day. After many Marilyn movies and some good Kenny marathons, another good few years.

Then did my own thing for a shorter amount of time. The story gets redundant. This time, I had kids. The best two kids on the face of the planet. The two cutest mugs you'll ever see. One all jokes, and one all business. My life became complete. Or at least I thought.

Of course with the normal turmoil of a relationship, these days, you will have your normal amount of drama, as I do. But then, in the last year or so of this great decade I can call my twenties, I lost some great friends, regained many more great friends, and made new great friends. Lost relations with some important family, while reconnecting to other as-important family. But, most recently, I've had some scares. My dad had a heart attack this week, spending a week in ICU. During which or promptly before my mom more than likely had a stroke. My dad is okay, the doctors say, but my mom is blank. It reminds me of when I was 8 and she couldn't remember who I was. So hurtful, but hurtful is so selfish. I'm more worried about her being alive. But I'm pretty sure I will be lucky to have her another Christmas. And yet, this Christmas I didn't spend with her. On top of this all, I have spent the most of a full school year with sick kids. And my babies Grandma had a bad fall too. You can no longer say December without saying productivity. Well, maybe productivity isn't the word. But I've definitely learned to live every day like it's my last.

As far as 2010 goes, I'm over it. I remember being excited that this year was here because it had to be better than that of the last, but, my guess is, it equaled or was possibly worse. I am excited for 2011, and this last day of the year; of the decade, is ending much more positively, at least, than the whole rest of the week, and that makes me excited.

Moons and Cookies, Inc.

2011-12-17T10:47:00.000-08:00

I've been inspired over the last couple of months to take this blog a little more seriously. So I've decided I will. Here are some things I know for sure: I know where I've been; I know what I've gone through; I know where I am, presently, and what I'm going through; and I know where I want to end up. The elements of life that I'm not sure of include, but are not limited to: how exactly I will arrive to where I want to end up; what situations I will have to go through; and if I will always make the best/right decisions.

As the New Year scoots closer and closer, I feel obligated to engage in classic human traditions and hold myself to a (short) list of resolutions. The first of this list will be to try to post a relevant blog daily. I also resolve to make sure I have ample time to make sure I look, feel, and think at the best of my ability; even if that means waking up an hour before the kids, or going to bed an hour later. Lastly, I want to make sure, daily, that I'm doing things that make me happy and teach my children to live happily. These all sound easy enough, but I think whenever you start to apply responsibility and accountability to a list, the anxiety goes up and the productivity goes down. But, I'm staying positive.

Here's what all this means to you. My blog will remain as interesting as I can make it, however, it may stray away from life's daily dilemmas and possibly include posts about other things that take up space in my head and heart; food, travel, fashion, kids...you know, the rest of life!! But I'm sure many will be consistent with the majority of my past posts, revealing many of the trials and tribulations I go through on this journey.

So please, continue to read me. Pass me on to your friends. Join my twitter and facebook groups. If I can help someone else in any of my situations, I will be a success. Thank you for being a part of me and supporting me the whole way through!!

Ain't In No Hurry

2011-11-13T22:13:00.000-08:00

I know, it sounds funny coming from me. But today I realized a few things. I realized that I'm a different person than this person putting myself completely last. I also realized other people think the same. I realized that all of my views of the world when I was a teenager were right. I realized I could change everything by a change of mind.

That realization made me feel powerful. I feel powerful when I box. I feel powerful when I run. I feel powerful when someone recognizes my work, whether it be art, business, or even cooking. Other than that, I realize, I rarely feel powerful in my position. But that wasn't the story when I was a teenager, or even a twenty something for most of those years. That is something that is going to have to change!!

So of course, I start to compare. What was different when I was younger?? How did I act different?? Dress?? Think?? And in all of this reminiscing, I remember. I had morals that weren't worth anyone. There was nothing that was going to keep me from my beliefs. And through the years, I lost that, somehow. It wasn't a moment. Nothing random that happened that I could remember.

To be honest, the real first change was kids. They make you think different, even when you're only pregnant. But even more-so when they're alive and making judgments and rehearsing the actions they see. And I thought moving cats back and forth was hard!! It's imperative to show them positivity and responsibility.

The next change is when you start to truly believe you are the answer to someone else's problem and begin to trust that if you give them completely everything, they will change and reciprocate. That is and will never be the case, no matter how much "potential" they show.

After that, the only other thing I can attribute to the lack of standing up for my morals would be not having a support group, which is adversely affected by the first couple of changes. Friends change as you do. Either you have kids and they don't. They have kids and you don't. You move to two completely different towns. Your jobs have opposite hours. Whatever. It happens. And, I've learned, unless you can figure out how to really put an emphasis on these friendships, they dim out, unfortunately. I, sadly, only just figured this out. Not everyone is the same, therefore, not everyone is like me.

Needless to say, through these realizations, all sparked and pushed from different sources, I've really been led to believe I'm on the right path. I feel so clear. Like I can see everything. Like I did before. And I'm acting accordingly. I'm pursuing my friendships, the way I should have in the first place. I'm pursuing my dreams the way I should have in the first place. I'm learning how to curve the drama, the way I should have known how to earlier.

But what is amazing about growth, is that there doesn't seem to be any remorse. I'm grateful I've finally figured out what I have. I'm not beating myself up for not knowing in the first place. In fact, I am unapologetic to the point that I'm not rushing change so much. Its apparent that the more I realize, the clearer and faster the changes happen. Although, I do miss many things, friendships, relationships, whatnot from when I was a little younger; I know that life will work itself out as long as I pursue the positive and moral path for my own beliefs.

I ain't in no hurry, in general, to fix everything. I am learning so much from the journey and able to apply a lot of the ideals from my "lessons" to my life immediately, so that my path is changing before my eyes. It's a happy feeling and I'm excited to see where I am only next week. Until then!

The Girl Who Drank the Slurpee

2011-09-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking, today, about posting a Facebook status update that read: "I wonder if judgment comes with age." Then I realized that everyone who read it would think I was talking about my babies. And I should have been.

Then, I thought back to when and if my judgment was worse than it is today. As I kept going further and further back in the memory bank, I was embarrassed. I honestly think I've actually regressed to less judgment than I ever remember having, and I was able to attach specific moments to the thought, as if creating a virtual time line. Like the kind of time line you find at the beginning of each chapter in any given history book. Only, instead of the year the American flag was sewn, or that great day in Eli Whitney's cotton career, my time line reminds me of times I've been brutally let down, even abused.

I remember spending hours in the garage telling my drunk father how much he means to me, to everyone in our family. And he just sobbed because he knew his word meant nothing to any of his kids or his wife. He was full of broken promises and drowned his sorrows. As if he was only hurting himself. He would tell me how much all he ever wanted in his life was his first son, my oldest brother. He never wanted the rest of us. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He just promised to quit drinking tomorrow. When that happens, for the first time in 40 years, then he'll realize what he said, take it back, and say what he really means. This scenario happened to the upwards of 5 nights a week. The other two I spent in my room crying because I thought for sure that would be the day.

Even before that, I remember keeping busy in my room with my nieces, playing school and barbies. We were able, that way, to avoid at least half of the fighting and drunkenness that every day was littered with. But when they had to go home, or the days they couldn't come over and play, I remember the insecure verbal attacks on my mom, as if a mother of 6 had time to take care of us all, grocery shop, cook and clean, AND have an affair. I wasn't even completely sure what an affair was, but I knew my dad was just crazy. But, I excused him. He didn't know what he was saying. He would come into a completely dark house, hours later, and stumble to the couch where my mom was sitting, and mumble words that could have possibly sounded like, "I'm sorry. I love you." And I only heard them then. When he had buried his abuse in the bottle so hard, that, I think, he forgot that he was even sad. Forgot why he'd yelled at my mom. Forgot THAT he yelled at my mom.

And before that, even. Before I even remember my dad, because he wouldn't come inside. He drank at work. He drank on the road from work to the bar. He drank at the bar. He drank on the road to home. And he would park in the driveway and drink until he fell asleep. He would play his music so loud in the truck, I could hear it in the house with his windows up. I remember thinking that he should become a country singer. My mom made the mistake of telling me, excitedly, to go out and look at the blimp. I'm sure she'd thought my dad was already passed out. Unfortunately for me, he wasn't. And he was in a bad mood. I remember only one detail of the rest of the night. He spanked me for going to look at the blimp. Very hard. That was the one and only time he ever spanked me, mostly, I assume, because I was walloped so hard, it scared HIM. I knew he was wrong. But, I excused him. He bought me a slurpee the next day. And a candy bar. And that was a secret surprise that I couldn't even tell my mom. So, I excused him.

So, while formulating this virtual time line, I realize an apparent pattern. And I wasn't extremely surprised thinking forward from that point either. Except for the fact that I think somewhere around the point I realized my dad wasn't going to stop drinking every day, and when I started having way more important things to do with my nights instead of spending them speaking Greek to a drunk, my judgment was the best of my life. I stood up for myself based on my morals. I did what I wanted to do, despite what anybody thought of it. My judgment has faltered, slowly but surely, from then, until now, and I can understand half of it. Points of low self esteem; friends move away, family starts building their own families. It was lack of practice, mostly. I didn't have those strongholds in my life the way I did back then. And today, I saw me. A scared little girl with a slurpee. And I realized so much about my mom. How she's even stronger than I ever gave her credit for, and I thought she was made of steel.

So, by this time next year, I'm setting a goal to be in a different place in my life. A place where I stop excusing because I know better. A place where I smile because I don't have to worry about psychopathic behaviors. A place where my children smile because I'm raising them in a secure environment, learning to be happy and confident. I will never again be the girl with the slurpee.

My Sister, The Angel

2011-08-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

I was blessed by God with a large family; 3 sisters and 2 brothers, not to mention parents that didn't divorce. Sadly, I was never able to appreciate what I was given. My family was dysfunctional. Broken. Disrespecting. It was like there was practically no kinship at all. My siblings and I rarely interacted, if not from our own individual issues, because we were either being criticized by each other or criticizing each other. Something we can attribute easily to our parents. But that doesn't really matter. What does matter is that, even by the time a single one of us slightly pulled our heads out of our asses enough to acknowledge the err of our ways, it was way too late. My oldest sister died way too young at 43 a few years back. The next sister was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what. My third sister was so busy trudging through her own family drama, whether facilitated or otherwise, and then digging herself out of the tangled web, I could hardly expect to have that close, sometimes forced, great sisterly relationship we had for a few years. And that is definitely not all her fault. I was so busy trying to fix guy after guy, ripping my self esteem down further and further, that sometimes it was I who was emotionally unavailable. And my two brothers were no better. My dad was an alcoholic, and my mom had the mentality of a 5 year old what after multiple brain surgeries thanks to good ol' cancer. So, I had 7 beautiful body masses, every one of which shared the same last name, and I wasn't allowed to have one decent conversation, let alone a relationship. Sure, that's my example of how to become a useful part of society. A mother. A partner. That's who I should pick to surround myself with.

And that's what I did. A slew of bad relationships, not necessarily progressively worse, but also not the other way around. Couldn't maintain friends, mostly while in a relationship. Grades started to slip. Priorities changed, fluttered, became practically non-existent. And then I turned 30. The big three-oh. People make way too big a deal about 30. Its just another year, in between 29 and 31. Ten year reunion was done and past way earlier. I've had kids. Hmmm...and that's about the end of my list. The list of what would happen through the progression of my life that I managed and re-managed internally my senior year of high school. That guy I was going to marry?? Long gone. And married! That house I was going to buy?? Blew those savings, on nothing more than another disabled guy. We dated, shacked up, I paid most of the bills, until I quit my job like he suggested so we could live the "free, entrepreneurial life style" that he was accustomed to, and somehow made ends meet. Sadly, I had no idea most of this mumbo-jumbo was a bunch of druggie nonsense. Yep, of course. I caught another one.

What's worse is I got pregnant. In an abusive relationship. Something I'd watch my mom and my sisters go through and tell myself I would NEVER let that happen to me. I would die first. But sadly, pinching myself to realize I'm alive hurt even more than normal. Even the tears it brought to my eyes stung more than tears ever had before. I let it happen. I let more than I'd like to admit happen. I've allowed myself to be abused. I've quit my job. I've sold my car. I've conjoined my cell phone on a family plan. I have 2 kids and nothing else. I am exactly who I told myself I would never become. And I can't get out.

For a long time, I thought, "If I can just wait it out and stash some money, I'll get out!" But that never worked. Amidst the disgustingly abusive arguments about what a terrible mother/housekeeper/person I am, I would end up having to use the stashed money on the baby's formula or new school clothes because, "didn't I just give you $200??" Yeah, yuh did. 2 weeks ago when there were no groceries in the fridge, no diapers on the door, and no formula in the pantry. Formula, by the way, that costs $35 twice a week. You did give me that, and I'm sure my terrible cooking and cleaning and playing with kids skills don't equate to some more money, let alone the week worth of work I spent at YOUR shop making sure everything's done: FOR FREE! But again, that is my fault. I was always promised a paycheck, but one was never cut for me. And I wasn't able to cash any that were because there wasn't enough money in the bank since there was that huge deal going through. Needless to say, the wait it out trick left me dry and even more torn down. I'm pretty sure there isn't an insult I haven't heard. And all I want to do is get out. But I can't.

Its just the way he wants it. I'm powerless, even feel it inside myself. He's in control of everything. I think about a shelter but am too afraid to even try. I figure out another version of the wait-it-out-then-escape escape. Another doosy. And another after that. As the tears pang my face, I'm always brought back to that one Thanksgiving I spent in Illinois with my sister. Not too long ago, after she'd been diagnosed, but before it won. She knew me. Twenty-something years had passed between us, and somehow, she knew me. I know why. Because I was her. I was broken. I was stuck. I was in an abusive relationship and I couldn't get out. And, Oh! The kids. Except there was one difference. After she had been already expected to lose her battle, and after she found her abusive husband cheating for the ump-teenth time. After she'd gotten so sick from the chemo, and had to deal with her own 5 kids growing up and doing teenage things. After she had lost all of her hair and become a stronghold in her grandkids life. After all of this, she somehow mustered up the courage to leave her abusive, cheating, and, on top of it all, ugly husband and live on her own. I was so proud of her. I was in awe. She would even sometimes talk about his "charm" and blah blah blah, but she did it, and she made it!

More than I can say for myself. I didn't even marry the guy I handed all my earthly belongings to! Of course, I was smarter than that....? Needless to say, my sister, the angel comes to me sometimes. Not in ghost form, or knocking noises. Her face will jump in my head and I hear her say my name. By then, I can tell whether she approves or disapproves of my choices, and this same thing has happened just this week. I heard her last words to me, "Take care of that baby girl!" And I realize I'm doing the opposite of everything I've ever wanted to do. Yes, I'm spending time with my kids, and teaching them, and loving them, and feeding and bathing them, and teaching them rules and consequences, but I'm also allowing them to see me disrespected and broken. I'm not letting them know the happy and funny me. Instead, I'm showing insecurities, lacking self esteem. What kind of mom does that?? So I'm brought back to reality, thanks to God and my beautiful angel, and I'm left to figure out how to finally put an end to it. I've managed enough common sense to realize I'm not a terrible person for getting a 9-5, having to put the kids in day care and live in a not-so-state-of-the-art place. At least I will show them that I can provide for them and that they can be happy with a happy mommy. I know that if I am able to do this, not only will I still be doing all of the things with them I already do, they will also learn me without all the abuse and insults. They will see a mom who has confidence and can smile.

So that brings me to the very important if. I'm no longer scared of a shelter. I'm not incredibly worried about the kids adjusting. So how do I get out of this cycle that, as history has proven, ends up in cancer and death without the opportunity of showing the world and your children your potential?? I honestly don't have an exact answer, but I can see my sister's face and I know that as long as I believe in my faith and myself I will get out of it.

Metamorphosis

2010-12-22T23:47:00.000-08:00

As I sit in the dark in the bathroom, hiding from kids that could wake at any misstep I take and fumble on a rattle, I have such a bittersweet feeling. I'm secure with myself. I love my kids to no end. I'm not afraid. And yet, my life is going to completely change. All of these things, in the last five years of the journey of my life, somewhat amaze me, because the first half, I was unaware, or moreso, in denial of the fact that anything was wrong, and the second half was me talking myself back into becoming myself and bravely moving forward.

As confusing as this sounds, I'm not my mother. Am I on the path of becoming her? YES. But as far as my 29th year of life, I'm not her quite yet. Yes, I'm bad at picking men. Yes, I lose my self esteem sometimes. But I got to thinking tonight. I never would have dealt with anything I've dealt with the last handful of years, when I was a teenager. I was so secure. So aware. I stood up for minorities. For the less fortunate. For the abused. I stood up for me. And somewhere down the line, I lost that person. Well, more like blurred her. My clothes became ordinary. The things I did to make myself happy stopped. I had a curfew. My pennies were counted. On my way to becoming my mom.

But I realized I wasn't happy, and was willing to deal with the reprimands in order to be somewhat happy. And I reached out. I found some of my old friends and was able, thank God, to rekindle those friendships. I've made great strides in this type of reestablishment of myself as of late. But then I thought. Should I have to be doing this?? Should I have to make strides?? Should I have to reestablish myself?? Why have I been so blind for so long. And I've realized no. I shouldn't have to do any of this. I should be teaching my children happiness. I should be living up to my potential. I should have all of my wonderful friends close to me, as well as my family.

And I'm not the girl who says, "Oh, it's all his fault." Or, "There was nothing I could do." My poor choices and lack of esteem and bravery are what led me to where I am today, and I've always said it. I was no where near here 6 years ago. The complete opposite actually. Ready to buy my own house as a single twenty-something in southern California. But what I know is how to make drama "deal-able." I can "fix" people enough. Ha! That's what I thought. But I knew different. It almost sounds selfish.

Needless to say, with the cancer with my mom, and my grandma; with my serious car accident; with the passing of my sister; every time something huge in my life happens, I promise myself and God that I will stop wasting time and start living happy. And, instead, I fall back into the routines because it's easier. Tonight, nothing serious happened. Nothing tragic. Nothing life changing. And yet tonight, I've gathered up all my thoughts and decided that, yet again, it's okay to lose everything. Stuff is just that; stuff. I have my kids. I have my family. And last but not least, I have my friends. I'm brave enough to be happy, today. I'm smart enough to teach my children the importance of happiness. I'm free tonight.

And after I decided that, the worry set in. How am I going to do everything myself?? I have two kids. I have no "real" job. My living situation is less than simple. And yet, the anxiety attacks I have from not having lunches made the night before school, or not having adequate time on a project at school just doesn't seem to come...I'm completely calm. I do everything now. I work a full day with no pay check. I'm a great mommy. The only thing that will change is I'll have less drama to deal with, less to clean, and more friends. My kids will see me smile for a change. I will be happy, and I can't wait. Couldn't have happened at a weirder time, but that makes it even more amazing.

I'm ready to let go of all of the things I've always hated about sheep. I'm ready to be my own individual again. I'm ready to have the skin of a duck, and be so carefree that it just rolls right off. I'm ready to be completely opened minded again, without worry of consequence. I'm ready to be the person; the woman I always was. Unique. Smart. Funny. Laid back. I'm ready, and I can't wait.

Missed Call: Message Waiting.

2010-12-18T20:32:00.000-08:00

Cell phone voicemails can be intimidating. Especially when they pile up. I don't know whom I've missed their call, who's pissed about it, who's got good news, or who is calling emergency status. But lately I've been very good about my voicemail. I've turned my ringer up, for the most part, and what calls I still miss, I listen to my voicemail as soon as I notice the message icon on my phone. Such was the routine today. Missed call: Sister. Message icon. So I dial my voicemail.

I fully expected an "I can't find a certain Christmas present" message or a "bet you didn't know what happened at my house today" kind of message. Unfortunately, neither of those were the case. To make a long story short, she visited my parent's house today, something neither of us do often enough. She described my mom as "as worse off as she's seen her" and said she is "withering away." Immediately, my mood changed. I withdrew, and just went through the motions. All the same thoughts that I always ponder came rushing back.

To begin with, I've always wondered what would have been easier. Physically losing my mom to her fight with cancer, or what actually happened and losing her mentally for the rest of her life. I still have no idea. But I do know that every time my mom gets more sickly or less manageable, I start to feel guilty. I count how many times I went over to visit her in the last month. I try to remember if I always told her I loved her. Kissed her. Hugged her. And yet, it's never clear and it's always too few times. So today, I began to think about Christmas. What if it's my last Christmas with her, even if she isn't completely there, mentally. What do I give her?? Would she prefer the porcelain doll of the type that she collects avidly, or would she rather have a matted and framed picture of the kids?? Does she want to go to Stinkyface's first tap recital? What would make her understand, that after all these years, I still support her and respect her and love her??

And I've come up with nothing. I don't know if I've visited enough. I don't know if I've told her my feelings enough. I don't know even how she feels about Christmas, let alone what present would mean the most or be the best in the case that it be her last one to share with me on this planet. But I do know that for the rest of the time I'm able to have her with me physically on this Earth, I'm going to make sure to do everything I feel I've slacked on as much as I possibly can until I can't anymore.

I love you mom, and miss your capabilities. But you are still as loving, funny, personable, and great as you always have been and I know that I'm not the only one who feels this way. You are an amazing woman who has survived so much and you will always be admired by women everywhere!!

November 30th

2010-11-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

So, as I ponder the subject of today's blog, I'm getting more and more irritated. Is irritated the word?? No. Angry. Resentful. Sad. Today is the third anniversary of my oldest sister's passing. And with that come all these emotions that I've claimed to have dealt with but haven't even come close. And I've decided this posting can go one of two directions. It can be a hateful release on the person I've placed the blame on for losing my sister so early. Or, it can be a very mournful celebration of the wonderful, strong woman she was in all of her short years. I'm really, really going to try for the latter.

My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.

The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.

They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.

My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.

But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.

And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.

We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.

They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.

But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."

I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.

For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.

So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.

The Other Kids

2010-11-29T20:26:00.000-08:00

Now, to roundup and conclude the parental situation, my mom stayed that way. She stayed forgetful. She stayed silly. She stayed somewhat in the form of a four year old. My dad, also, stayed the same. The sober increased. The drunk decreased. What did change, however, was the polite. As time went on, my dad's patience with my forgetful mom ran thin. The ugly words came back. But this time, my mom didn't fight back. She didn't remember how to. But she learned. The frequent practice of bickering and yelling taught her to yell again. Not nearly as effectively (at least, what I thought was effective when I was a child) but she yelled back. And these are my parents today. A naive, innocent, forgetful, and sometimes as annoying as a pesky 4 year old mother, and a dad who rarely drinks, but when he does, he does it right. In the last couple "drunks" as he calls it, he actually suffered alcohol poisoning, nearly died from a piece of meat being stuck in his throat for a week, and half of his face stayed numb for about a month. For some reason, he won't swear it off. It will be the death of him.

As I proofread my posts, I realize that I left out the entire rest of my family in all of this venting. I did have five brothers and sisters during all of this, where did they fit in? They impacted me as well, both positively and negatively; I guess just not as loudly. So, here's the condensed version of the most memorable sibling moments.

Oldest sister. I wasn't extremely impacted by her as a child. Moreso, it was her children I was close to, as we were the same age. She, too, had an abusive and addicted husband from a young age. But I do remember she was beautiful. And she had a laugh you would never forget. She finally left the jerk after a handful of ugly years, met another stand-up character, and moved away to Japan with him, taking my best friends; my nieces. That was pretty much the extent of my childhood memories with my oldest sister until recent years, where in her early 40s she was diagnosed with colon cancer. This is when I really learned who she was, and what she stood for. She was sooo much like me, and I felt like someone really understood me finally. But then, she was taken from me. I was struggling with a brand new baby in a toxic period of my relationship, and I got what was to be the last phone call I would ever get from her. I could barely understand her because she was so sick from the cancer, and I was so mad that she couldn't just get over it like my mom did. I was just getting to know her and she was the only one who understood me. But nothing changed anything. She passed away in the next couple of days. It was only a bit later I received the baby blanket she made for my little Stinkyface. Needless to say, that was just a couple of years ago. The healing is still in the process.

Second oldest sister. Again, not many memories. I remember, again, that she was beautiful. I also remember her as tough. She wouldn't be bullied. She fought back the most against my belligerent father. I thought she was so brave. And she had some of the cutest kids. Again I was close to my nephew more than my sister, but I remember her fondly because she had a pet name for me. She unfortunately was hindered by addiction as well, and I got to see her very randomly and with very different attitudes. I remember the day I stopped thinking she was so wonderful and protective with my dad, as if it were yesterday. That was the day I realized she was an addict. Needless to say, I didn't see her for around 10 years until just recently. I feared I would never see her again, and I am now very thankful that she is safe and we are in contact. But, she missed so much. And, she missed the passing away of my sister; her sister. Again, the healing is still in the process.

Oldest brother. He was definitely around. He was loud. Obnoxious. Handsome. Funny. We shared the same birthday, 15 years apart. I loved his girlfriend, who became his wife. I loved his children like they were mine. And then reality hit. He too, was an abusive alcoholic addict. He had serious problems. This is when I really started to worry. I didn't understand why all of these people had these addictions. I didn't even understand addiction. Just stop! Why can't you just stop? But he couldn't. He tried. And then he didn't. It was so sad to watch so many great people around me turn into monsters that I knew wasn't really them. But there was nothing I could do or say to change anything. Fast forward. My brother is still loud, obnoxious, handsome and funny. We still share the same birthday. He is still an alcoholic addict. Really, the only thing that has changed is that he is no longer married and I missed out on a bunch of years with some of my favorite nieces and nephews...of course, that is the case with almost all of my nieces and nephews.

Second oldest brother. He was so much fun. He flew all of us on his legs and did flips. He taught us how to play all of the latest video games, and when I was a teenager, he would let me hide in his room and use the computer or watch the latest dvd. He never became an addict or even drank an ounce of alcohol as far as I knew. But, we never really became too close. Just pleasant sibling encounters.

Third oldest sister. This was my closest sibling. She admittedly hated me when I was little. I stole her thunder. All of a sudden, 7 years later, she wasn't the baby anymore. But I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to do what she was doing. I wanted to tell her all my problems. I wanted, again, to do her homework for her. With her, I have the most memories. We fought dirty. She got in trouble for it. She would get in trouble at the dinner table, or coming in late as a teenager, and I would think of some way I could take any of her trouble and put it on me instead. That never worked. She talked back and stood her ground, even if it was within moronic teenage reasoning. I admired that. When what happened to my mom happened, my sister controlled what she could of the situation. That's what she did. She controlled. Again, I admired that. She kind of became my mom. She made sure I got to school, did my homework, got A's. She payed attention to me and my moods, and would drive me around until I finally told her my problems, and force me, then, to eat ice cream until I felt better. Okay, maybe not forced. But I did the same for her. I interviewed her boyfriends; her friends even. I made her open up and communicate, something controllers don't like to do. Fast forward. We have kids at the same times. We promote each others healthy individualism. We vent to each other. We joke together. Basically, we're two decently adjusted products of our environment, who subsequently became great friends through it all. I'm thankful I've had her through it all.

Me. Volume 2.

2010-11-29T14:24:00.000-08:00

After a little recovery time, on, on we go. Looking back into my childhood, before age 8, I remember very little past what I've already described. A few other memories include my brother and his girlfriend allowing me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street at an age appropriate 6ish (my own nightmares of Freddy lasted a good 5 years after that!), as well as a few games of tether ball in the front yard, and that pitiful day my favorite tree was dug up while I was at school. I remember knocking on my sister's locked bedroom door begging her to let me help her with her homework (of which I couldn't read or write, and she, being 7 years my elder, probably had algebra or some other "Greek" studies I couldn't begin to comprehend.) Anyways, the memories continue, this random, and this vague.

A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.

Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.

Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.

My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"

The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.

My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.

But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.

Me. Volume 1.

2010-11-29T08:05:00.000-08:00

I put my makeup on today with more fervor than I ever remember before, you would think it was Christmas morning. But, it's only November 29th. 8:07am. Making coffee this morning, I had a brilliant idea. Why not use this blog to it's potential?? Why not allow this venting to be more than my take on politics or ethics, but also use it to heal me. So that I may become the strongest me I can be for me and my children?? It's not like my one, single reader will mind a little personal info here and there. And through this personal vomiting of emotions, I should be able to recognize habits and make solid changes. Enough rambling.

I don't remember much about being a child, especially a small child. One of the two of the earliest memories I have of my life was when I was approximately 4 or 5 years old, in tears, climbing the big tree in my front yard to hide and get away from the yelling and screaming going on inside my house. The other memory was being yelled at by my sister's husband when I was around 3 or 4, while playing with my nieces on one of those tiny Fisher Price slides, because children aren't supposed to be laughing, having fun, inside the house. Yes, this is the disfunction I call my upbringing.

I'm sure I don't remember anything because it was all so terrible. An alcoholic, abusive father. And a victimized, enabling mother. I was the baby out of six kids, all who were, in today's view, practically grown when I came around. My days, of which I can remember, were saved first, from afternoon soap operas, and then from school. My mom wasn't yelling as long as she was watching her soaps. And I couldn't hear any yelling while I was at school. Another saving grace was that my father worked long days most of the time, I think. The beligerent screaming and emotional and psychological abuse didn't start until well into the night, typically. But we knew when it was about to start. There were common precursors, the most common of which was my frantic mom scrambling to get the house immaculate and screaming out orders that we kids should clean or else our rear-ends would be in pain. It was never enough though. My dad wasn't satisfied if we had baked cookies. It wasn't enough that dinner was ready for him on the table if he decided to be sober enough to stumble inside once in a while. Why is there a fur ball on the floor. Stupid cat. *Cue the cat getting thrown across the room* But my mom was our martyr. She took most of the abuse. Of course until he started in on the oldest kids, of whom most stood up for themselves pretty well. Needless to say, there were a lot of broken dishes, holes in the walls, and that poor cat took a few herself.

Not only that, my mom was given a ridiculously measly allowance for the family. A family of three couldn't survive off what my dad gave her for the two of them and the six kids. But she did her best. She cut coupons, and made sure to shop only where they doubled them. She got the government milk and cheese. She made what I remember to be gourmet meals off a dime. And she saved the rest. Well, in reality, she hoarded the rest. Along with a lot of other stuff. But who could blame her. When my dad got home, she was given the third degree on how every single penny was spent, and how dare she spend SO much here and SO much there. I just remember feeling sorry for her and wondering how I could take some of the blame to make it easier.

Now, I have good memories too. I remember taking my brother to CAP and laying my head on his shoulder. I remember my dad being home one day, and racing me down the sidewalk. (Of course, I don't remember how he got to the finish line without falling, but it was funny enough to remember as happy.) I also remember teaching myself to read the little beginner yellow books (See Spot Run) and showing it to my mom and dad in one of the other habitual actions my dad would do in his stupor; sit next to my mom and slur the words, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" And it would eventually turn into a much louder, "How do you not know how much I love you?? I do all of this for you." But needless to say, I read about Spot running, what seemed to be a marathon, in the middle of my mom and dad, on the couch in the dark living room. Another positive memory.

I suppose if that is enough for me for the day, that is plenty for my one reader. I will make sure to continue the group...I mean...personal therapy tomorrow. Thanks for listening.

Happy Turkey Day

2010-11-24T11:19:00.000-08:00

As I take this time to re-enter the world of blog, I find myself being very introspective, and festively, very thankful. Actually, this is a feeling of the past few months, but the ol' gobble gobble has me feeling a little extra special thankful. You see, I've learned over the last few months, more of who I am and where my breaking points are. I've learned what being a mother to a smart and beautiful little girl will do to me, and more recently, what being a mommy to an adorable little boy will do. And for these things I am thankful.

I have also concluded that Thanksgiving is a time for change. While we decide what it is about our lives that we are thankful for and excited about everyday, it is then which we should vow to change the opposite things in our lives that bring us down. Not two months later, after a long night and a headache. It's the turkey time of year, at least for me, that I choose to eliminate the people, places, and things that don't make me the best I can be. For example, I find myself practically cussing out the drivers every morning on my route to preschool. Every day it's the same story with either the same or different bad drivers. Today, I decided, it is time for me to purge this negative route from my daily routine. I am not a good example when I'm yelling at people where the gas pedal is or that their phone should not be in front of their faces texting when I'm trying to get my kids safely to school. And what will happen when I go to pick Stinkyface up?? I am going to go a different way. I will not be angry or hostile at the same people because I expected the same routine. I will be happy that I don't know where all the cops with nothing better to do are hiding, so it can become an Easter egg hunt of sorts.

This kind of life editing has begun and will continue to occur with things in my life. I've said it before, and hopefully it will be a long time before I say it again. I pick up the same mess everyday. The same toys. The same clothes. The same dishes. And randomly enough, they always seem to be in the same places. These toys, clothes, and dishes are out. If I'm going to be looking at a mess, I want the colors to be different. I want the styles to be different. I don't want it to be so monotonous that it brings me down every day. I want it to be as interesting and exciting as cleaning possibly can be. I've already purged my entire wardrobe minus the workout clothes, and Stinkyface and Dinosaur's closets are open! It's all about being the best me I can be no matter what the circumstance.

Which leads me finally, to people. I was told once by someone who used to be close to me, that we don't choose our families or the people who come with our spouses. I've always agreed and thought that to be true, although recently I was told that was rude. I don't know, I still kind of believe it. The only people you actually choose to be in your life are your friends. And friends, in my opinion, should always be like-minded individuals who bring you up and bring out the best in you. Not people you are comfortable with dealing with or let you fall because that's where they are.

I've been extremely fortunate in my choice of friends. I can honestly say those people I have chosen as my friends are like-minded, and always bring out the best in me. These are not things I can say, necessarily about the people I didn't choose, but in their defense, it's okay. They don't have to because I don't have to be around them. They didn't choose me either, and it's very possible, I don't bring out the best in them, because again, it's about a common ground. People in two totally different hemispheres can't just one day decide to be twinsies and wear the same outfit. The weather will be completely different for each of them. This proves true in everyday life. Two people in two different places in their lives can't pretend to be in the same place. That will create bitterness and resentment in both people. That is why my rule of thumb is, and always has been, when the timing's right, enjoy the moment. Stay away the rest of the time. Sounds rude, but in reality, it saves the folks involved the negative feelings and creates a however tiny, good memory.

So this Thanksgiving, my resolutions are to commit to being the best me I can be for my biggest thanks of all; my babies. I will omit the negative, and embrace the positive. Happy Turkey Day!!

The Cracks in the Crystal Ball

2009-09-03T00:07:00.000-07:00

It really has been a long time since I've blogged as usual, but my life has been so clouded with drama that I was unable to even see myself let alone have an opinion or epiphany about anything. Today was such a weird day. It started out terrible with a nightmare about multiple types of abuse; morphed into an exciting change on my path to financial freedom; went sour again because someone I care about ended up in the ER; climbed that peak when I was surrounded by good, supportive friends and family including Stinkyface; and then ended exactly the way I thought it would when I awoke startled and scared in the early morning...back down in the dumps. This rediculous roller-coaster that had nothing more to do with me than just me being in the physical vicinity of the drama. Why doesn't that happen to everyone?? Why can I stand in a line twenty-five people deep in the grocery store, and be the ONLY one affected by this stalking drama. Everyone else is in the physical proximity. But fortunately, this disturbing, messed up type of day is just the kind of day where, if taken as an opportunity, can turn mole-hills into mountains.

I was touched today. I personally admire dancing as poetry, and was able to see through all the ups and downs that cloud my head on a daily basis, and a dance really inspired me. As "pop"-y as it is, So You Think You Can Dance undeniably has emotion-arousing art on it. A dance I've seen over and over again finally did its job and got me. It is a dance representing a woman's fight with breast cancer, and I've cried before like I did tonight. I thought of the loved ones I lost to cancer the same way tonight as I did in the past. I felt sorry for myself for my loss, for my missed chances, for everything I wish I was able to make right that I can't do a single thing about. I did all of this before and tonight again. But the one thing I did differently tonight was see my future.

That's what I do. I live in the present first. Then I live in the past. I rarely think of my future during my day to day. I finally previewed my future. And at the same time I saw the futures of the women I love that will not see their futures due to cancer. They are the same. My grandma. My mom. My sister. Just to name a few. Smart, beautiful, capable women. So happy when they were happy. Not given all the time they needed to accomplish what they would have. All because of cancer. And I'm sorry for what I didn't get to share with them. This dance didn't stop there. Who's wanting to share with me?? Who's wanting to spend more time with me?? Who will feel this way when I'm passed??

I've been so selfish. I've spoken advice. I've been the voice of reason, of motivation, of the right. And what have I been living?? I've ignored it all and walked in every mis-step as these strong women. Who am I to do the same thing to people who truly care about me?? Why would I waste my precious time dealing with these roller-coaster days more days a week than not when I could be happy with the people I love?? In missing these women, I forget to bask in all the great things they've taught me. They've showed me over and over again what choices to make and how to live. They became brave in their beautiful mistakes. And yet its "Oh, poor me." No more. If life is as short as I've seen it be, I absolutely will live up to it. Yes, not live it up, but live up to it! I love you Grandma. I love you mom. I love you Deb. You have all shared in teaching me and so many other women how to be strong. How to be independent. How to be happy. And you will be proud! Not only of me, but also of Stinkyface. And Chickien Poc's stinkies. Because I will be an example. Not only by my mistakes, but also by my successes. I've come leaps and bounds, but revisiting my past blogs also shows how much I've stayed the same. No more. I will make a difference. I will be happy. My life continues today.

Mr. Ed Would Turn In His Grave

2009-04-23T21:47:00.001-07:00

I think its funny how we go from a world so consumed with terrorism and child kidnapping and the rising cost of gas on the upwards of five dollars, to a new president and all that seems to be consuming us Americans now is medical animal testing. I've heard on two separate news productions today about the controversy of bunnies and mousies and other cuddly creatures that, by the way, aren't cuddled all that much by these people screaming, being used to find the way to save a HUMAN life from cancer. Now, I know about PETA, and I'm with them. Animals should not die to be a coat, bag, shoes, or hat. Absolutely not!! I also think rabbits shouldn't have shampoo poured in their eyeballs to see what kind of reaction someone will have washing their hair in the shower. If it sounds harmful, and we don't immediately know that its not poison, I think it shouldn't be in our products!!

I know what all two of my readers are thinking....oh no. Not Arbonne. I'm not writing a commercial. Very contrary actually. This is political for me. But as much as I think the Easter Bunny shouldn't be forced to lather in Pantene, I also think animals shouldn't be part of our products. Read the ingredients to your vitamins. You know what they use to mold your One a Days??? Cow intestines. The inner ear of Mr. Ed. Tendons of Babe. Otherwise known as gelatin. That's disgusting. And not only is it in OUR vitamins, but check your gummy bear vitabites for the stinkys. Yep, one of the first 5 ingredients. If you're okay with that because you think, "cheeseburger....gelatin...what's the difference??" then take a big bite of large intestine between two buns and a piece of cheese. Make sure to have a lot of ketchup on hand for the yummy taste you will most definitely have to mask. That's not where it starts or ends. Mascara=bat feces. Soap=lipo fat+roadkill. If you don't believe me, google it. Hell, watch the Fight Club. All I'm saying is if you love your pet, stop using them to pretend your prettier than you are!!

Now on to a different prominent point. There is a difference between lotion and the cure to cancer. I'm willing to donate my cats if I know that with that help my mom/sister/grandma would be alive and 100% healthy today. And I really love my cats. But they're cats, people. They are not humans. If I let my cats out, they wouldn't find their own food. They'd starve. They wouldn't get a job and function in society because, basically, THEY'RE CATS. They aren't people. People dominate. People are more important naturally. I would not allow a guy in a lab coat to test a new spa soak on Miss Universe. There's a difference between life and death and lazy or put together. So all the freaks that put animals on the same life scale or even higher than human beings are just that..freaks.

And that leads to the last point. How do we make sure that animals aren't being shampooed and are instead, living normal PET lives or being useful in finding cures to diseases?? We would have to put that in the hands of the leader of our country. But all I've heard is the changes to credit card application mailers. Changes to how we treat the assholes who blew up all of our loved ones and heroes in NY on 9/11/01. And I voted for this president. I wanted...want reform. But I wonder exactly whats going on when the main topic on news programs is animal testing. Who freakin' cares about the Capital One applications we get 12 times a week in the mail?? We all know they're ridiculously expensive once you calculate the interest. You either care and throw them away, or don't and fill them out.

Its really becoming apparent how political everything is. Everything was TERRIBLE when W was in charge. Not only was it because he became a kook and just failed to make any educated decisions towards the end, but because of just that. It was the end. He couldn't have been president again if he drugged all the voters. Just not legal. Therefore, we see how terrible our society really is at the end of a bad presidency. Teachers seducing children. Mass murders. Terrorism. Even our pocketbooks depleting. What's changed now that we have our first black president?? Umm.......Nothing!! We're even further in debt. There's still terrorism but for some reason, we have to treat them better than our bunny friends. There are still people dying left and right from something we can reform. I really had hope in Obama, but he better step up. I don't want to have to worry about how animals are being treated anymore. Leave them alone unless they can give you the cure to whats incurable now. And lets start making solutions.

Rainbow Roll

2009-01-16T00:05:00.000-08:00

While it's been much too long since I've blogged, and I've now internalized all the crap that pisses me off daily instead of letting it go through this healthy outlet, I thought I would take just a moment at this ridiculously late hour of the day to post a little note.

2009-
A new year. A new president. A new start. This is the perfect time to start a diet, then quickly end it. Maybe change careers in this struggling economy. Ditch the coffee and cigarettes. Reestablish your faltering relationship with Christ. None of that threatens me. Change is opportunity. Change is growth. Change is necessary. So why is it that after the big push, the straw that breaks the camel's back, the line that was crossed, is it so easy to fall back into the same ol' routine?? No matter how defacing or repellent it may be?? What makes the damaging so comfortable?? And it could be anything. Pick your poison. Maybe you're a generally negative person. Maybe you're overly critical. Maybe you're an alcoholic. Maybe you're the person who always chooses relationships with abusive people. Maybe you're a shopaholic. It doesn't matter. Because you know there's that something about you that holds you back from pure bliss. There's that something about you you secretly wish you could change daily, but just forget about it until it hurts again. And that's what makes January such a comical, sell-out month. People set goals, knowing full well that they won't stick to them, because the first is just like every other day we think "I will not let this be this way anymore!!" "I will be the best I can be."

I'm not only a member, but lately have realized I'm practically the president of this club. I can go through serious conflict, and through trial and error, actually learn a positive and healing way to process and accept change. Then, when I'm not practicing these skills daily anymore because I'm (gasp) happy, I get hit with a low blow and spiral down the abyss of negativity. And I'm like a newborn. I don't know what to do to make the situation better. All the trial and error begins again. Even though, and this is just my perspective, I know what to do from the start. We all do. It's just too hard. But why should this positive change be so hard?? That's what I don't understand. Yeah maybe 3 months of awkwardness, sadness, struggle. But then there's that glimmer of light and you feel like, "why the hell did it take so long to do this?? This is so much better!!" Instead of day after day of despising yourself for the lack of balls to commit.

Needless to say, for the sake of sticking to my word about making this just a note, I think I've finally committed to my change again. It feels scary because its real. It's not fluffy and sweet and cute. Instead, its raw. It's grainy...hmm, it's kinda like sushi, which in my opinion is freakin' awesome. So this is my challenge not only to myself, but to everyone who graciously reads my blogs. Take that leap. Commit. Pick one thing and just focus. Don't let anyone get you off track. You know what to do, and if you don't, change it up. Through change, you will find what will work. You may find a couple non-functioning methods on the way, but at least you're committed to figuring out how to finally be truly happy. Make everyday January 1st. (Or the 20th if your ecstatic like me!!!) Good Luck!

TMZ...Another Important Broadcast

2008-11-21T11:06:00.000-08:00

While I sit here contemplating whether to nap or blog, I'm unable to free my mind of the image of the little boy from London allowed to receive innumerable beatings from his mother and her boyfriend, until his unfortunate death. This hasn't been talked about here in the States much, but I've done extensive research on it, and I'm honestly haunted. How does anybody harm a child??

This baby was only 17 months old, and had already internalized the abuse of a lifetime. His entire life was filled with punching, choking, kicking, biting, scratching...and it was all inflicted on him. A sadistic sorry excuse for a human being and her live-in again, disgusting piece of worthlessness called a boyfriend, and, (get this) HIS brother all took turns wailing on this child like some raggdoll given to them as a stress reliever. This poor baby's fingertips were cut off. He had 8 broken ribs. Knocked out teeth were found in his own colon. His bruises were covered purposefully by chocolate. Severe lacerations to his face and head. A broken back. And all of this being said, it was not enough for the police or government to remove this child permanently from this household. A household where human feces was painted on the walls. Where dogs roamed free to piss on any baby bottle or toy they so pleased. Where a 17 month old baby's mother laughed at her boyfriend breaking her own child's back. Where cigarettes were more important than a young life. What the hell is wrong with London???

With Social Services and doctors involved, this child could have been saved. Instead, he was pawned off to a "family friend" for a month until the baby's mother was released from one of her many stays in jail and then returned to his living hell. This brings me to my own country's retardation. We are spending billions and billions of dollars to bully another country into maintaining our condescending excuse for Democracy, who clearly don't want to adopt western ideals and are happy with the way their day-to-day is, and yet we sit back and ignore an obviously skewed take on American Social Services in our sister country. I don't get it. I don't understand why I turn on the news and watch yet another suicide bomber kill my brothers and sisters and never get the chance to learn about poor Baby Peter who is tortured by those who are supposed to protect him. It seems like it would be less expensive and more productive to spend our time and resources educating a country that is willing to listen to us about Child Protective Services and Social Services. It may help one of the four children killed in Britain a day by abuse. It just might save some precious baby's life, who just may pay it forward, and before we know it, society may actually become scrupulous again. We might actually have morals and boundaries. We might teach our little girls that they are worth more than the stripper poles they see in every rich teenage girl's bedroom on MTV. We might teach our little boys that they need to respect women and not just dine, do and ditch 'em like we see on practically every scripted television program. This tragic story of Baby P is just a branch on a huge tree of disarray and lack of moral foundation we call "Today's Generation."

I don't know what happened to values, but they just aren't being taught anymore. Now, it's cool for parents to drink and smoke pot with their tweens and teens. At least they're cool right?? And that's definitely all that matters. And then when drunk and wasted little Tracey has sex with the high, sad Joe Dirt wannabe neighbor Steve in good ol' White Trashville, USA and ends up giving birth to unassuming Peter Connolly, all the party sesh's with mommy and daddy really pay off. Tracey and Steven play War Sargeant and use all the cool fighting tactics they can only imagine are used in the fancy war games the kids in L.A. play on their PS2, as they take a toke from the bong and laugh like it wasn't real life. This is what's happening. This is real life. This is why I so never wanted to bring a child into this world, and now I have to do everything I can to teach Stinkyface that no matter how lame her peers will tell her I and my rules are, that she should maintain her morals and values. Why doesn't everybody feel the desperation of the situation?? Why isn't this front page news all the time everywhere?? Why aren't their shows about it on when TMZ is on?? Kids don't get it by themselves. Are we really going to sit back and allow fat losers to murder babies?? Is this really okay??

As a recap to the original story, everyone was cleared of murder somehow. They have been convicted with causing or allowing a baby's death, which carries a maximum sentence of 14 years. 14 years. You could practically get the same sentence if you don't pay your taxes for 17 months. No murder. And from what I've learned, its not a matter of London not being strict with their laws, but in fact being too strict to the point the people in charge are stretched too thin to be progressive. Whatever the reason, something has to change. I strongly urge everyone to get involved. I truly believe in the trickle down theory. A little help will trickle down to everyone eventually. Please make your life more worth it and help a child!!

Communists Are People Too

2008-11-06T06:33:00.000-08:00

I am so apalled, yet not surprised by the ignorance of the American people. When did a Democracy turn into a race war?? When did it become okay for anyone to take anybody else's Constitutional rights away?? As much as these ignoramus' talk big, over 60 percent of the votes for Obama came from white people, including myself. But what everyone doesn't know is that 2 generations up in my family were repressed because they were Native American. Not half. Not three quarters, but full blooded. And they were fighting for their rights to remain in their own land. Amazing. That's because white is right. Which, in turn, leads into white men being the only one's with any worthy opinions.

I've been reading many blogs and comments on all the political turns that came about as of the Fourth of this month. There are so many people going on and on about why California's Prop 8 should have had the outcome it eventually did have. And are you freaking kidding me????!!!! For one thing, if you are going to make a clearly blind, uneducated statement, at least spell your comments right. If you can't spell a four letter word correctly, you really shouldn't be allowed to vote. Secondly, at this point, if we are at will to decide who is allowed to have Constitutional rights, why do women work?? Why do women vote?? Why do women talk when they weren't spoken to?? A woman's place is in the kitchen and the bedroom. So please lets stick to what worked for so long. Change is overrated.

And as for a Black president....who'da thunk it?? Not too long ago, blacks were fighting for equal rights. Not straight blacks. Not gay blacks. Not transsexual blacks. No one even saw past the BLACK part. And now there is a black guy running this super power we call America. Shouldn't it take 3 black men to make up one white president?? NO. Because like a very intelligent man once said: "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that "All men are created equal" Equal. What a baffling concept. You mean to tell me because my skin is light and I have blond hair and blue eyes that I'm not any better than those guys?? You mean because I don't have a weiner, I'm no less obligated to my God given rights as anyone else?? Fooey!!

And now, since 50+ years have gone by and us ignorant white folks have gotten more and more comfortable allowing blacks (and other minorities) and women in our personal space, now we have to dig deeper. Now, to hell with the gays. Men, women, black, white. If you're gay you aren't worthy of the rights of us equals, ya hear me?! Because I wouldn't choose to do what you choose to do with your personal life, then you are banished!! Oh and by the way, if you're gay, you shouldn't be voting either. Or making the same salary as us straighties. And actually, you really should not be integrated with the rest of society because what if you start telling people things about being gay?? The someone might catch "Gaybella" and then there will be an outbreak, and then we'll just have to accept the Apocalypse has risen. And we all know God loves me more than you cuz I'm straight!! The alcohol, the occasional sex-out-of-wedlock, that's nothing...CUZ I'M STRAIGHT!! OOOOHAHAHAHAHA

So here's the tall and short of it all. I have no gay friends (that I know of). Family, no. I worked with a lesbian once, but even though it was blatantly obvious, she wasn't out because of fear she would be harassed or not accepted. (I don't know for sure, but I figure that's the only reason gays don't come out.) I have no vested interest in homosexuals. And, I believe in God. But I also believe that you can't just pass out rights to whoever you think is worthy and take rights away from those that aren't. Who are you anyways?? God?? All these people talk about how God wanted it and what God stands for, and then they act and think they are as good as Him?? Uh-huh. Last time I checked, that is not the "Christian" way. If there wasn't change there wouldn't be progress. I have the right to vote, to free-speech, to have my own religion, to drink wine all because someone who didn't have these rights before made an impact on someone who did. If these "high-and-mighty" Christians "allow" other religions to be practiced in the US, than why is choosing to have a sexual relationship with the same sex so wrong?? I'm not posting this to change anyone because the Good Lord knows even though I'm smart and work out, I can't make anybody be anything other than them. (I've failed miserably enough times!!) But please, practice what rights you've got still, because who knows when they'll be taken away.

The Next Step's a Doosie

2008-08-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

Scoff if you want to/need to/have Tourette's; I love Dr. Laura. I listen to her on the radio as often as I possibly can. I own EVERY book she's published, financing, I'm sure, her frequent vacations to India and such. Mostly, people tell me how annoying she is, what a bitch, how insensitive she is when I introduce her name along with her ideals. And an hour later, I can explain only her words of wisdom deleting her name from my vocab and all of a sudden, it makes sense to every one. I too, used to think Dr. Laura was a bitchy primate. And, needless to say, A MAN changed my mind on the matter. Now if you feel like you are completely in control of every second/feeling/season of your life and you don't need one person in order to maintain hapiness, don't read this. That's bull and you're not ready to cop to your responsibilities. And I don't care. You'll get where you need to go when you need to get there. Me...I'm ready to admit when I'm wrong, love when its rough, and open enough to hear when I'm mixing the two.

As I plunge farther into Bad Childhood Good Life, almost every word hits me like a backhand from Chuck Lidell. She writes about the ten qualities that make it possible to liberate yourself from victimhood. I read through the first, then the second...yes, taking responsibility and enduring is liberating. That actually sounds a lot like my MO when I act as practicing therapist in my world. Then, for some reason, the third quality: Acceptance, hits a nerve. This isn't only the acceptance that in my life, I've been a victim, but also the acceptance that those I seemingly frustrate and depress myself over trying to heal their pathetic existence will not change because of me. As I began this blog, I wanted so desperately to write on two separate topics and couldn't for the life of me figure out how to corelate the two, but as I let my heart empty, they've meshed easily in my opinion.

In order to drown out the puke-inducing sounds of TMZ from the television, I popped in my iPod earphones hoping that I would still be able to read with the tenacity Dr. Laura would want. As I scrolled through the artists trying to find the most mellow, least needy beats, I find Jack Johnson as usual. While reading about the freeingness of Acceptance, Banana Pancakes played in my ear. If you haven't heard the song, it's about being so in love that you call in sick. You get out of bed when you feel like it. You don't answer the phone because you're so fulfilled with your love. You spend the whole day in love. Whether it be experience, movies, stories, I know that feeling. I know it for real. I think about it often. Its good. Then, the rest of reality sets in. The negative that makes it impossible for that day to last and happen everyday fills my head. In my situation, addiction is what ended that day. And as I think back, my dad was an addict. My brother was an addict. My sister was an addict. And the rest addicts in their own right. I have not Accepted, the way I need to, the situations I'm involved with with these people. Justifyingly, I've surrounded myself with others like my father/brother/sister/insert name here, and after being hurt, haven't yet reached Acceptance.

I do desperately yearn for the love Jack sings about, and I do know it. But I think the magic word here isn't love, but unfortunately desperately. As I get older, I endure more than I would have when I was younger. And yet many of my fond memories come from my younger days. If I took the words of Dr. Laura to heart, I would stand up to fear and choose different steps as my feet move forward. Then, as my life filled with positivity through the rough, the desperation will wear away and I will be too busy to dwell on memories.

Acceptance is liberating.

Hummingbirds and Bumble Bees

2008-07-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

You know, it's funny the way things turn out. I have a good friend who is so much like me in so many ways, and as she brought it up to me, we didn't even pick each other. We probably would have never met, in fact. But through the random chain of events called life, we were brought together and we tend to really help each other out. So many of the things she's said to me have stuck where it counts and pushed me when I started to slip. And once a week or so, I get to be that kind of support for her. She's a self-proclaimed fat-friend picker, and I am the serial "life-saver." She's unconditional. She's too busy. She's pushy. She's arrogant. She's insecure. She's so much like me.

And then there's our situation. Yes, one situation that both of us have. Fat-Friend Picker has her man. She has her daughters. She has her business. But she doesn't have as much control of any of it than she'd like. Over the course of creating the life she dreamed about, she lost herself. Now, it seems as if none of what she has is how she thought she chose it. Years after throwing herself into and dedicating her time to this business, she realized that it's not giving her the return she expected. I kind of compare it to being a surrogate mother. You eat right, sacrifice, fall in love with your belly and all the pains that accompany, and once that head and big feet arrive, they're given back to someone else.

I've been there, done that. I coddled Rubber and Chrome. I detailed it. I loved it. And then Big Man brought me back to reality. No matter how much I was in control behind the scenes of Rubber and Chrome, Big Man was the one who got all the smiles. The trips, the shows, the credit. It wasn't until I unraveled all the knots in the emotional ties, that I realized what was really the situation. I rocked at business. I'm organized. I'm committed. I'm smart and creative. But this wasn't my business. I would have never, in a million years, chose Rubber and Chrome as my start-up. What I loved was being successful. And it was finally time to be successful with ME. I could still be involved with Rubber and Chrome, but at the end of the day, I would be excited to move another step forward in the journey of me. This is too, the story of Fat-Friend Picker.

Another aspect, babies. I have a baby. A baby girl. And what I'm learning as each day passes, is that my baby girl is less and less like a baby, and I have no idea or control over what the next minute will have in store. Stinkyface is standing up by herself today. She doesn't just lay on me when I want her to. She's got exploring to do, and people to coherce. And, even though I've been told I'm the queen of thinking too far ahead, she's going to grow up. She's going to start school with teachers I can't control, and be around other kids I can't monitor, and learn lessons by making mistakes I can't take back for her. And then she's going to follow Mother Nature's timeframe and become a woman. And then the dreadful weener. Yes, she's going to like boys. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say they're going to like her back. After that heavy, black curtain falls on me and knocks me out for awhile, I'm going to wake up and have to face reality. Hummingbirds and bumble bees are going to be the topic of conversation until I'm blue in the face or she runs away, whatever comes first. Fat-Friend Picker has just recently pulled her curtain off her head and is possibly considering the likely fact that it has left a scar that will take some time to heal. Although, in this aspect, we're not exactly in the same situation, it will one day happen to me, so all I can do is listen, with a juxtaposition of horror and amazement, to her almost-unreal stories and offer a shoulder to cry on, while I contemplate my own suicide before Stinkyface blossoms.

Then there's the man. The guy responsible for knocking me up. The baby daddy. The guy I can love one minute and despise the next. Obviously there's something about Big Man. I went on a second date. I moved in with him. We shared a house, a business, 3 cars. And then the damned cute girl was born. I gave him all of me. I supported him when he was hitting near-bottom. I cooked and cleaned for him. He detailed my car. He would open jars I couldn't. I was bitter towards him when he did whatever his little heart desired. A-HA!! I was mad at Big Man because, as immature as he did it, he looked out for what he wanted. He did, said, was whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And me?? I was the one always making sure he didn't fall. I was the one always making sure he was doing what I thought was best for us. I was the one never looking out for me. And that's why I was pissed. There was the first SEMA show Big Man went to without me. I was walking with Fat-Friend Picker, as her hubby is in the same damn industry, on a beautiful trail in the Loop, when she said "He's going to do what he's going to do, and he's going to be the one who looks stupid when he acts it." That's when it clicked. I just can't be in control of him. He's a person, just like me. He may make mistakes. He may do the right thing. But it's up to him to be his best. Just like it's up to me to be mine. It's no wonder no matter how many things I think I'm in control of, I'm unhappy. And after a very long time from that walk, I finally was able to consider ME first and foremost. This is something I'm watching Fat-Friend Picker battle inside herself. Even though, way back then, she had the answer, she wasn't applying it to her own life. Basketball theory, anyone??

Now that I'm on my own journey to greatness, I can recall, in hindsight, just how hard it was to get over that hump. I would get to the cusp, and things would get good, and I would roll all the way back down the hill and have to start again. I would forget everything I was working on and for, and fall back into the easy habit. I would say, just this year, in fact, I conquered that mountain. And I might now be ecstatic everyday, but I'm so much happier. I'm a better person in everything I do because I spend my time trying to be who I want to be, not trying to make everything else mold to me. I get along so much better with Big Man. I'm finishing school and will start a career that will take care of me and Stinkyface no matter what happens. And I will be able to teach Stinkyface to get where she wants to go with respect but minimal distraction. Although there's still a little fog around Fat-Friend Picker, I can see where she's headed, and I think its safe to say, not only will she be happier, her relationships, her businesses, and her girls will all progress with Godspeed to where they're supposed to go.

It's so crazy, this roller-coaster called life. Thank goodness my life did what it did when it did it, because I'm so happy to have friends like Fat-Friend Picker around, and I'm blessed with my family as well. There apparently really is a rhyme and reason to things even if they seem negative or insurmountable at the time.

It's Elementary My Dear Watson.

2008-07-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

I was reading through some blogs this morning, and was stricken with an idea. I had a baby almost nine months ago, and you would think that would be the cause of a daily blog with new things to learn every day. Still, I find it hard to find time to write sometimes, and when I do, it isn't really about baby stuff. So I started to think about why that is. It's not because Stinkyface isn't interesting. It's not because she's not funny or she's boring. I think it's mostly because she makes me so happy. And I enjoy my time with her because of that, therefore, I spend my time playing with her every second she's awake. I don't dwell on barely anything that happens during my time with her because, in truth, that is the only time I live in the now. I'm focused and not distracted. My feelings are concrete and settled in my body, and I'm not sparatic or enthralled in thought. That's why when she's asleep everything else floods my mind and the work begins.

I start to think about what I have to do today, why I have to do it, what will happen in the long run if I don't do it, and why somebody else isn't doing it instead. I become a passionate employee of society and a thoughtful slueth to my surroundings. I take in everything around me and sometimes overanalyze things that aren't even mine to analyze in the first place. This tends to lead into anxiety and over-stimulation which then turns into an irritated blog. So why is it so easy to write when I'm pissed or confused, but it's so easy to forget to write about the happy times.

I think this is just another example of how sticky the negatives of life are. Kids can go all the way through school and never remember all the compliments, awards, A's and B's they got, and when they're a junior in high school, be completely depressed because the one dis the school bully blurted out, or the pimple they got right before prom strangles their heart. Needless to say, sometimes the most basic things can be the most difficult to grasp and execute. So here's my goal: for one week I will take it slow and focus on the positives. Maybe by this time next week, my life will have made a turn for the better. Challenge yourself and hop on board with me. Then, let me know how it changed your life.

You've Got a Friend In Me

2008-07-07T20:20:00.000-07:00

Alright. I guess it's been a little over a week since I've last blogged. Just another example of how fast time goes by. And so many blog-worthy things have happened in the matter of the month that has just passed in the blink of an eye, so how do I choose what to write about? Well, the way I do it is to pretty much just let go, and what I feel most passionate about at the moment is what I'm going to write about. So on that note, lets get on to some passion!!

I know the cycle my life takes. It seems to do the same thing over and over again, just with different faces and trends. So much so that I wonder "What's the point?" because after I date a guy, I lose my friends for one reason or another, lose myself quickly after, feel depressed and have one glass of wine extra each night and then get out and come back to a lonely, personally starved, me. By now, I've come to realize this is the unforgiving fate I'm to live with, but my question is, if I obviously can't pick men, (goes without saying) why can't I find unconditional friends??

I read a blog recently about the token "friend" who is so totally co-dependent, so that she always wants to hang out and be a part of your life until that one day she finds herself a boyfriend. Then she disappears off the face of the planet until the boyfriend inevitably breaks up with her and just as soon as you've finally gotten used to your life without her, wants to be your BFF again since Buster isn't around anymore. I know for a fact this is not the story of me. I always try to incorporate my boyfriends into my friends, and usually in one direction or another, the two teams just don't mesh. (Should be a first sign, eh?)

Now, my friends have always had their own drama they bring to the plate, but we live in unison for years and years without problems, until that guy pokes his little head in. I know all the clinical excuses for this behavior. Loss of self-esteem. My idea of love was learned from my parents. Blah, blah, blah. But why don't my friends slap me?? Maybe kick me in the groin?? Why am I always left to my own degradation?? Why don't they care about me enough not to let me lose them?? Does this say something for the friends I pick, or is it my own naivete??

I'm now by myself, trying to salvage what friends I still can contact, promising myself this will never happen again (just like I did last time) but knowing I'm changing things. I know what I need to do about the guy, but do I need to do as my sister advises and clean out my friends closet and start new there too?? I just don't know if it's me or them, and I probably never will.

I Love Spotted Zebras

2008-06-04T21:54:00.000-07:00

Everyday, I begin the day with a big smile and shrugged shoulders, and then I ask, no, beg for just 5 more minutes. That'll be the day. And then on with the Disney channel for my and Stinkyface's morning roll and fly in mommy's big bed. Next, the lion in her tummy growls at me for some banana plum grape oatmeal which leads to a very messy "I'm done" smile.

This is the routine that I would never miss. This routine also leads me to a very "I WILL be progressive" attitude that hurries my getting ready for the day like nothing else has ever motivated me in my life. I want to make the best life for me and Stinkyface, and all the cards are seemingly against us at the moment. This brings me to my philosophy of the day: short term goals and the steps it will take to make it there.

And as I'm multi-tasking a Father's Day gift (which Big Man doesn't even deserve, but we'll get to that) with lunch and planning an itenerary for seven of my closest, furthest away family, I begin to feel the weight of conquering the world in a week on my shoulders. First off, Fathers Day should be exciting and fun, but I'm not looking forward to it at all. And I can easily talk about it because Big Man will never read this. It doesn't grant some instant gratification for him. I actually can't remember one thing that was mine that he ever supported. So after thinking, "Aww, it would be fun and cute to do this craft for Daddy," I get harassed more than enough about how much he misses Stinkyface, even though instead of actually visiting her, he went to Happy Hour. And today, his only employee/best friend/work hours drinking buddy quit, so through my 4 years of experience expected right away that inebriation would once again keep cry baby from seeing his daughter.

And I was right. And every day this will go on, like it has for the past 7 months. A cycle. "I want to make it right." "I'm trying so hard." "I'm done with all that BS." Then a couple of family gatherings, and another slip up, planned or not. This is the life I would have if I made it work with Big Man. Except I'm leaving out the immature games he plays like, "Oh, you talking to your other boyfriend" and so on. (This guy is 30!!) And I'm forgetting to include the fact that I'm the only one who cooks, cleans, makes bottles, i.e. does anything around the house. I never got a break when my sister passed away. Not any type of question about how I was feeling that would take anything more than a superficial smirk to produce. But, we all feel sorry for this. Everyone but him, because, as my blogging readers as my witness, this will happen again.

Now at this point, I'm not going to give him the pleasure of being the point of this blog. I realize I've never layed cement (brilliant craft to choose right??) and my dad is barking at me, "You should have done [insert the opposite of everything I have done]" and I'm thinking, "Wow, I really should have eaten before I started this." So not only am I apparently doing the whole project wrong, I'm starving like I'm from Darfur. No breakfast. No lunch. And, yeah, I do have a wedding to be in in a couple months but this is not the diet I signed up for!! Stinkyface then decides that we're going to do this project her way, which meant no hand print. Only one curled monkey foot and one decent, but too early laid, human foot. Good enough for me.

So now the project's done (and is way better than the shirts Big Man got me for my first Mothers Day...I thought the kid's supposed to give the gift??) and looks so cute I want to keep it for myself. Then I talk to the drunken stupor I call Big Man, and he blatantly, but expectedly, lies about having been drinking, and in his oh-so mature fashion, swears on his daughter with a few extra words inserted for no apparent reason (alcohol will do that sometimes). Now I definitely want to keep this keepsake, but sadly, I've stamped out IN CEMENT a daddy poem. Dammit.

Finally, my sister, who I'll refer to for the next month only as Chicken Poc, tells me that the ticket prices turned to summer prices and we have no idea how we're going to work this family trip out. As if my world conquering needed any more battles. This is seriously the one thing I've been looking forward to for as long as I can remember. I even forgot that I'm going to the Robert Plant concert, but thankfully Mob Bossette reminded me!! But Robert Plant isn't going to fork over the money to send my clan out here to me. So it all hits me like a jegger bomb after no lunch...and then I lose it.

Fortunately, I've maintained a very important friendship with Soul Surfer, through the dislikes of Big Man and Kimmy (please refer to "My Best Friend's Wedding"). And through his reliable wise words, Surfer was able to bring me back to reality. I started the day out composed and optimistic, and because I take on so much, and generally tend to forget my own well being while I try to boost everyone else's. What the hell?? In the words of Poc herself, "Why do I think I deserve this?" I have everything going for me, except the whole making sure I'm happy thing. So in reality, if my mom and dad don't get to see my neice's son (it's too late, I can't figure out the relation) right now, it's not my problem. My problem is getting Stinkyface and me out there so WE can see them in August.

So with the help of Mr. Miyagi and my close family and friends, I hope that I will be able to clearly decipher my own multitasking from my plots of world domination, and realize Rome wasn't built in an hour. I can't ruin my own mood by my sacrificial emotional donation, and I need to raise my standards and hold true. So now, as soon as I figure out how I'm going to get 7 airline tickets under $1500, sign up for school, finish a blog or two, and fold laundry...grrr...screw an hour, I'll have it all for you in 26 minutes and 44 seconds!!!! Can't turn a zebra's stripes into spots now can we....

Smooth Fingers Revisited

2008-06-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

Anyone in the mood for a sequel?? Where were we?? Oh yes, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.....

(Cue dramatic music for intro)

So needless to say, there are three weeks left in the careers of the first graders at Do Nothing About It public school located somewhere in the South Land. Summer parties are being planned. Parent helpers are more involved than they'd ever been in an attempt to make up for the whole year they've let pass by without participation. Chicken pox is being spread faster than the Southern California wildfires.

That's right, chicken pox. The disease God created to teach children not to have unprotected sex by hinting what might be in store for them on a smaller scale. The little red blisters that show up all over your body in the matter of hours, that itch worse than your right arm a year into wearing a cast. And for me, even worse than that since I had them as a junior in high school. I had them down my throat and on my tongue. But thank the good Lord I had them when I did. Because remember those parents that ignore their children's existence but excuse every action, right or wrong, because they're guilty?? Yes, THOSE parents yet again ignored their poor, innocent six year old and sent her to school with apparent day old chicken pox.

Who cares that the majority of the kids in the same grade and the one beneath probably have never had this disease, and now are all at risk of bed rest with tiny karate gloves on. Forget about all the young teachers who participated in the recent baby boom, and who will more than likely bring this disease home to their own newborns. And don't even bat an eyelash at those same children who attend day care with even more young ones who don't even know what a chicken is, let alone their pox!!

Well, apparently not these parents. Smooth Fingers was allowed to attend class even though, as the bell rang to line up for class just before the three foot nothings put their hands over their hearts and stood towards the flag, she had 65 easily 12 hour old chicken pox all over her body. But dad didn't notice over his newspaper at breakfast. Mom must have been too busy making lunch and cutting the sandwich into little heart shapes...

Nope, folks, neither nominee makes it to reality. Mom works 4 hours a day, in probably the most unappealing, unrewarding job known to mankind. And dad is too busy staying too busy to be responsible for the family he tries to forget everyday. They chose not to look at their baby. They chose not to care, not only about their own child, but also the hundreds of children they potentially contaminated. And this includes my 6 month old, her 9 month old cousin and her 3 year old cousin. This includes one of the faculty's 4 month old who just had open heart surgery. So now this not-so-important outbreak could very easily be the cause of death for a handful of kids it could reach. But we don't want the vienna sausage story out!!! Oh please don't let the other parents know about a six year old discovering his weener!! Yeah, okay.

So, in my opinion, not only should social services be called, a certain principal should also loose their job. This child should not have been in class in Do Nothing About It school this day she possibly killed a newborn. She should have been expelled for the Three Strikes rule. Oh, wait. Apparently, we don't start teaching people not to keep committing the same wrong-doings until they're over 18 and are able to spend life in prison without missing class. Makes a lot of sense. But no need to worry. Smooth Fingers is well on her way. She was over-heard telling another child that they should just kill their parents, and that if they didn't know how, she did, and would help them. A first grader. I'm sure there's nothing wrong at home. It's probably her imagination leading her vocabulary astray. And this definitely doesn't measure up to the extreme of pulling your weener out in front of class and having another child barely bite it. Nah, let's just brush it under the rug.

So if your child happens to get chicken pox this summer, the question remains, which came first?? The chicken or the social services agent?? Hopefully the agent.

Beware the Ides of May

2008-05-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

As I was driving on the condensed, over-populated Orange County freeways this morning during rush hour, I thought to myself, "Why did I choose the freeways as opposed to side streets during rush hour??" I wasn't going to work. I don't even really have a work commute at the moment, but for some reason, it seemed more pleasant to fight the funk.

I did think about it too. I thought about how much I hate 2 laned, sometimes 1, streets expecially when it seems as though the street lights don't seem to be on any type of timer relation to one another. And I thought about how I like to drive with the people who drive on the streets through Fullerton, Garden Grove, and Westminster as much as I like to have my foot shot with a staple gun over and over again. Not so much. But what makes stop and go traffic on the ever-increasingly claustraphobic freeways??

Was it that ever since 6 months ago, I'm able to utilize the carpool lane at all times?? Yeah, that's a plus. But even that is rediculous most times. I've come to the conclusion, freeways are the way 9 to 5ers socialize outside of work. Most people commute a half an hour or more to their 9-12 hour a day time clock, only to commute the same time (and from my experience even more) back to home. So they have time for morning coffee with their spouses, are lucky to smile at their children before they have to hit the road, Jack. Then, they spend their entire week with people they didn't choose to be around, and have just about enough time to take a shower after they bathe little Timmy before they collapse into their unconscious bean bag of drool, waiting patiently for the next day's routine to begin. Therefore, the only time most people find to socialize is on the road.

Whether be it a mad dash to get home, so the driver is unsafely cutting off car after car before flipping off the lady who is actually driving the speed limit, because it's not fast enough for him, or it's the only time the other driver has to clear their mind so they basically take a Sunday joy-ride pace, most of the people on the 405, 91, 60, 210 are all doing the same thing: finding a way to fit some socializing into their ever busy schedules. And I'm probably not the only one who subconsiously chooses to do it. So anyone up for a driveby lunch date?? Sushi, say 5:15pm on the 405???

Can I Get Fries With That??

2008-05-22T19:43:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I totally felt like evil today. I've seen those shows where they follow the fat people around or transform slim people into fat people with a fat suit, and they explore how often they are treated differently or, sometimes poorly. And I believe it, to a point. Of course people look at huge people and think "How unhealthy" or "Eww" because 450 pounds really belongs on a bison or other free range roaming animal. Now, I'm not trying to be insincere, but there's a point where people go from overweight to really awful and unhealthy.

Anyways, starving and running out of time for lunch, I was forced to go through a drive-thru. It was one of those drive-thru's that has the extra menu 5 feet in front of the menu with the speaker, so that if there was a long line, people can speed up the process by planning their order while they wait. But the ONE car that was in the drive thru ahead of me apparently couldn't make up their minds for 7 minutes at the 1st menu. As my impatience almost hit the brink of homicidal eccentricity, the car finally pulled up to the speaker menu. As the big brown Astro Van rounded the corner up to the speaker, I caught a glance of the driver. She was beyond obese. And the first thought that crossed my mind was, "Great, this is going to take forever!!" Then I rolled down my window in an attempt to hear her order one of everything on the menu, but it took me too long because by the time my window was far enough down to hear anything, all I heard was, "And a diet coke." And then, "That will be $7.86." Now, in reality, only about a minute and a half had gone by before she drove up to the pick-up window, and I just felt terrible about my own thoughts. She couldn't have ordered much more than me since my one burrito cost $5.

Why would I be so quick to judge?? Was I sad for her?? Did I wish people like her would take better care of themselves?? Was I just impatient?? Do I have my own weight issues?? I'm not really sure why I would almost instinctively think that an excessively obese person would order a whole menu. I never thought I was judgemental like that. So now I really have to check myself, and I really truly hope our society becomes healthier as a whole, and leave the big bodies for animals and circus acts.

No really. You're wrong.

2008-05-21T20:06:00.000-07:00

I'll admit, I make mistakes. I practice poor judgement once in a while. That's how I learn. I am, after all, human. But I'm definately not beyond saying, "Maybe I'm wrong??" This, as far as Webster is concerned, is being receptive to arguments or ideas, otherwise known as open-mindedness. It seems so basic, so instinctual, but I'm beginning to think I might just be! Wrong that is. Why else would it seem as though so many people are so scared of change or variety?? They practically defend themselves like scavengers, with a primal instinct to remain comfortable, when someone offers a contradicting point of view. What's amazing, and few people tend to give as much credit as is deserved, is we are all free to have our own opinions. We are all allowed to screw up, or brag when we do exactly the right thing. In reality, the majority of society isn't on the brink of exile when someone makes a simple miscalculation. We are a family, us humans. We are sympathetic, for the most part. We want the best for each other. So why are some people so dead set on their own ideas??

Seriously, some people turn werewolf-like, in defending their own perspectives. If it's not their way, it's not right. And this just kills me. I'm very open-minded. I'm not judgemental. But many times, I feel bogged down by other's discretions. I remember being a teenager and thinking how much I just don't care what other people think. I was, for lack of a better term, naiive to everyone's opinions. My family would be flabbergasted at my actions. I earned "Most Unique Style" senior year. I wore a homecoming dress on top of a prom dress to biology, one regular day in high school, and you know what?? No one put me down. No one said I was crazy. No one whispered. Instead, underclassmen came up to me and said how beautiful I looked. I made it through an entire day as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And now, people's priorities seem to overwhelm my own. How does that happen??

I think it's because, I'm not the only one who's aged. With every birthday I blow out the candles, everyone else gains a year too. And like I remember all the old people saying when I was younger, "Older people are set in their ways." I think they were right, but I think "older" comes at 26. Out of college partying. Out of the parent's house. Every action impacts every responsibility, therefore people tend to think, maybe overthink, each movement. Now, everything I do is possibly, if not almost immediately, a mistake. All because I'm 27. I have a kid. I should be more conservative. I should stick with what works.

And what I think...Screw that. I'm going to follow my gut instinct, because like so many times before, my gut was right whether I followed it or not. And this is a new bravery I've encountered. Normally, I tried to make everyone who I respected happy. Now, not so much. I'm tired of feeling obligated. I'm tired of feeling incapable and dumb. Now, like my repetitive M.O., don't do it if you're not proud of it, and if you do it, be proud. It's time to be convicted. It's time to move past the haters and be the most successful ME I could ever be. I will remain respectful, because one should always be respectful no matter what, but how can I be truly happy when I if I'm living by someone else's rules??

I think we all have those people. The ones who always have to tell you "what they would do" or, "if I were you" even though you didn't ask. The ones who criticize even the things they hear through the neverending "Telephone" game. Our family. Our best friends. And after however many years of the constant buzzing, we still feel guilty after not explaining the ins and outs of why we decided to eat a fatty In & Out Burger instead of a chicken salad that one weekend we didn't spend with them. We feel indebted because these people care about us, but there's always that question in the back of my mind. If they really care about me, why do they constantly pick me apart?? Why am I always under the microscope?? Why can't I get away with anything the way other people do??

I heard a very wise woman tell a young man in the same situation, if he want's to be accepted the way his goof-off brother is accepted, then change everything that is him. Act without caution. Make a fool of yourself. Because the only reason everything is acceptable for the brother is because the standards for him are so low. The expectations barely exist. Almost to the point of "my mama says I'm special." When you are smart and daring and strong, people feel like you don't need sympathy. Like your skin is thick enough to be poked and prodded with everyone else's sharp tongues. If we thought about it with a serene mind, this is a compliment. But it's a backhanded compliment. Like imitation being the best form of flattery. That's what these insecure people don't understand. By overestimating out strength, they are testing how strong we really are, so they can be like, "Ooh, I said this, and they just cracked!! I couldn't believe it!!" Bragging rights.

If we don't offer these bragging rights, something has to change. If we remain strong and level-headed, and don't give into the constant drama, these people will figure out their desperation, or implode. Either way, the change is welcomed. I know I've challenged more than one thing in this, but I think these situations go hand in hand. I don't want to let other people's insecurities bring me down. Like someone close to me always says, be the person you are. Your actions aren't a reflection on anyone else. They're a reflection of you. Be you. Live you. Respect, but respectfully ignore the people who are so threatened by your strength. I think, eventually you will surround yourself with others like you, and the drama will subside.

Baller

2008-05-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

I'm definitely not a therapist. Sometimes I think I know what a good therapist would say in a certain situation, or that most things a therapist would say are basically a level-headed spin on a common sense tactic. But then I pull a Britney, and, Oops, I did it again. I've spent many years, counting back from middle school, listening to my friends problems and uncovering the exact moment their esteem dropped or pin-pointing when they stopped thinking and started being emotional. And I'd always be the one who knew what to say and when to say it. Because I wasn't involved. It wasn't my emotions, so my common sense was level-headed. But it would always take me until I was out of my own situation until I realized what happened to myself.

I call it the Basketball Theory. In high school I played basketball. I was pointguard because I had "good ball handling skills" or so my coach said. I won "Most Points Scored" and MVP at the end of the season. That being said, I was rarely on the bench. But I remember that AH-HA bench moment. That moment that if the coach didn't take me out of the game, I would have fouled out before the 3rd quarter and my team would have lost, or I would have murdered that crazy chick that kept fouling me but never had it called. So there I was, pissed at the other team, pissed at the ref, and pissed I was on the bench. But besides being pissed, there was nothing else for me to do on the bench but watch the game. That's when I realized, Wow!! It's so much easier to see all the mistakes my players were making from over here. I'm not in an instinctual position where I act spontaneously on what I assume would make the best outcome. Instead I'm watching each series of plays calmly, and am able to deduce what will happen next without error. I then applied this theory to life. As long as I'm sitting on the preverbial "bench," I can figure out what will happen if another series of actions happen prior. But as soon as I get back in the game, it takes a conscious effort to act within reason, and think logically as opposed to emotionally.

This is what ails many of the people closest to me, and myself. It's so hard to act logically when we get so caught up in the emotion. It makes us insecure. It makes us offset. It makes us defensive. And that, in turn, makes it impossible to be progressive. Have you ever been in a situation, that was Oh So familiar, and you could call each and every step before it happens, and then, you still get emotional when the inevitable happens?? This is where I'm not sure what happens between me and the Bench Theory. I sit. Wait. Think. Call it. And then BAM, I'm back-handed in the face with disappointment. With sadness. With eager tears. Even though I sat on the bench and watched it all unfold the way my experience told me it would. And why?? Why don't I understand it if I know what a therapist would say?? I know why. Because I refuse it. I hope, every time, that it will end differently. And every time it ends the same. Maybe next time I cook spaghetti, it will turn into ravioli?? Yeah, probably not.

And what's really got my mind a'turnin' lately, is that I've been talking to some of my closest friends, and I've been surprised to realize they know the answers!! Not that I've underestimated them, surely not. I think moreso that it's me with the problems, and I've just never HEARD them before. I was the shrink. Not them. And now I'm not. And they say it exactly how it is. I mean spot on. So I suppose we can all understand it now and then, or even for the most part, but we always need the support of a good friend, or therapist, to keep us on track when we're weak. Someone to hold us up when we're falling. Someone to wipe the tears when we're crying. Someone to pour the wine when we're tantruming. Now to remember, the bench isn't a place for the losers. Its where the winners reconnect every now and then to stay focused and sane.

I've Looked Over the Edge of the Earth

2008-05-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

On this day in my life, I feel like I've had many valuable experiences that have led to a great deal of wisdom and understanding. I'm not saying I'm the smartest person on the face of the planet, I think we all know that, but I do have good common sense, I'm a good judge of character for the most part, and I'm learning more each day about the person I am and who I want to surround myself with. And through my impacted 27 years on this planet, there are still things that boggle my mind more than Christopher Columbus' when he discovered there was no edge to the earth.

One of these things is addiction. Even though practically everybody my entire life was an addict, somehow I just don't understand addiction. I don't understand how or why someone would continuously do something that hurts themselves and their loved ones so much. How can someone be so unable to just say no. What makes a person drink or get high morning, noon and night. This is something I'm sure I will never understand. And believe me, I'm not an angel, but I like to live life and experience things in reality, not in some induced sense of reality. I can have one drink too many a random Friday night, but the good Lord knows there's no way that will continue to happen the next night, AND especially not the next morning! I'm not an addict of anything, and I suppose that is the sole reason I will just never get it. But I still wonder what are the thoughts that float through an addicts mind after the last drink, or whatever it may be, and right before the next. Do they think of the pain they're causing?? Do they want to stop but can't control their hands?? Isn't there a line that everyone must cross that triggers the little bulb in the brain that holds up a stop sign and that's just it??

And on that note, I don't understand the incessant need for drama. Now, I'm not talking about the random drama of car accidents or stepping in dog poop. I mean, there are people who cannot smile if they don't have some level of drama in their lives each day. And I've had much experience with these people. They are starved for attention. Their lives are usually out of control, if not in all aspects, in most. They jealously conspire against people who have their lives together, in a plot to bring a stable person to their level, and when the plan fails, they all but implode. If they are not the victim, the world does not move. What is it that keeps these people so intent on remaining unhappy?? Why, instead of idolizing stability and courage, do these people scough and ignore their inherant desire to want to ask questions and learn how to be more progressive?? I've known people who stay in this putrid cycle of victimness for tens of years, and sometimes, as in this case, it takes a life threatening situation to bring some sense of reality and really make someone re-assess where their life stands.

I just couldn't imagine myself being so out of control, and I have my moments like the rest of 'em. But nothing is going to take me away from the opportunities that happen every day. If I was so busy trying to bring down someone who's seemingly perfect, because I can't afford name brands or I didn't get my butt off the couch and work out today, I think the chances that day would give me to become a better person would pass me by and never come back. What a waste of a day. So, hopefully this can inspire someone to really grab ahold of the reigns of their life. The Army had it right in the beginning, be all you can be! Stop making excuses for why life sucks, and please stop blaming others for where YOU are in YOUR life. This is exactly what I plan on doing day by day, and I'm sure at some point, I'll have one too many, and drama will take me away from being productive. But neither will control my life. Cheers.

Lorena Bobitt Anyone

2008-05-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

So my sister tells me story after story about her terrible class of first graders this year. They just don't listen. They talk all the time. They're about as smart as the light pole outside the house except they probably wouldn't think to turn on when the sun goes down... These children put full cups of water in their backpacks in order to bring them home for later, and you know what happened?? Thats right folks, the water poured out of the cup onto everything in each of their backpacks. I agree with her, somethings lacking. But what is it that allows a seven year old to completely ignore the fact that there is no lid on a cup and OBVIOUSLY whats in the cup will come out without a lid?? I'll get to that.

The next rediculously outrageous story I'm told, is about a boy who apparently just realized he had a weener, and for some reason thought it was a great idea to keep pulling it out of his never zipped zipper. Even after he was repremanded multiple times, the idea to just leave it in his pants didn't occur to him. Eventually, as I figure most ignorant, inexperienced seven year olds would do if presented with a Vienna Sausage, another child bit the flashers never covered weener. Not hard enough to draw blood, mind you, but this is still happening in the middle of a school day in a public school classroom. What do you do at this point if you are in charge of these children?? The child was sent to the nurse and directly to the principal's office after that. My sister, hoping for some type of repremandation for this child who refused to listen to authority and successfully reaped the consequences, came to find both the hungry first grader and the flasher back in class the next morning at 8am, without the slightest memory of what happened yesterday since there was not even a slap on the hand.

Then, there's the daily update of the serial theif and her deskful of five finger discounts. This child not only steals things that look fun or shiny or interesting to some level from other students, she also steals chewed off erasers and random things from the teachers desk. She wouldn't be in my gang, that's for sure. But this girl steals so often, she is on a daily contract. That is, the teacher fills out a contract everyday, and she is to bring this to her parents to sign every afternoon and return the following school day. Therefore, her parents are informed on a daily basis of the haps going on with Smooth Fingers. She has been sent to the principal's office more than a handful of times, and is at the point where, if she does it again, it seems inevitable that she be suspended, or maybe even expelled.

But that straw that should have put more weight than that camel could bear, apparently didn't weigh enough. She stole again, and once again, admitted to it. She was sent to the principal's office, and Godwilling, would probably not be in class the next couple of days. Why would a seven year old be a thief anyways?? When my sister confronted the principal about the exceedingly lax moral code, she was informed that Smooth Finger's parents said she was being picked on (because I'm sure their child's SO important that ANYONE would spend an extra 30 minutes after work hours to write up a contract) and they wondered what the other parents would think if the weener story were to leak out to, I don't know, the papers. And this principal gave in to this!! Amazing the ability parents these days have to prepare their children for complete and utter failure when they hit middle school age!! I mean, seriously, bribery??

So what if everyone knew about a little boy being curious and mischevious in one breath. So what if another little boy acted on impulse rather than thinking about the proper thing. As if this type of thing doesn't happen every single day. But, in reality, what leads to so many kids lacking the mental capability to tell them whats right and wrong??

Could it be the lack of quality time the parents spend with these young ones, and therefore they will make excuses not to repremand their children as if making up for their obvious failures as parents?? Is it the complete selfishness these adults show in not practising proper moral code at home?? Maybe these parents have no morals?? I shiver at the thought of how many children really are being set up for failure if you compare the proportions. 5-8 first graders, at the same school, in the same class with such extreme behavior and common sense hinderances...Times that by however many 7 year olds there are in this nation. When are we as parents and role models going to realize we aren't doing our duty if we continuously excuse improper behavior and don't teach basic common sense and morals?? What is it going to have to come to??

Rock and a Hard Spot

2008-05-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

I haven't felt like this in....well, I guess forever. So many emotions and thoughts, and anxieties. I feel so let down, and like such a let down. I feel stuck, unappreciated, and utterly disrespected by so many people who are so close to me. What's funny is this isn't a new thing. It's just everyone at the same time doing it to me when I now have an innocent life I have to protect from this exact disease that chips away at every female in my family, until they've got no self worth, or they're dead. Which could all be the same color anyways. And for the few people who do hold some type of expectation to me because they care, they will all be let down by my decisions, as usual. But right at this moment, I don't know what to do. It's like that often talked about, but never fully described desolate strech of almost-mud that never sees the sun because, for some reason God made it next to a hard spot and covered it with the heaviest rock you could imagine. There's just nowhere better to go. Because of my blind naiivete, I've put myself and my mini-me smack dab in the middle with a picnic blanket, as if we should stay awhile.

And leave it to this life to feel like I finally had someone who completely understood my seemingly inevitable predicament, and as soon as I think we both realized that, God took her away from me. Randomly enough, this EXACT same situation moved my family away from me, and now I can never have it back. My sister's gone way too early, and the rest of the family is 2000 miles away from me and settled. And I can never get back the childhood that Michael Jackson so avidly sings of. This is a reality and this is my reality. I had no choice back then, and before I realized I had a choice, I was so consecutively making the wrong ones. Nothing is going to change that except some very expensive therapy and some very hard to find will power.

And now I look at everything from the side and think, "Hell no, I will not do it." I tell my mom that still, after 3 separate, nearly fatal cancers, she should leave her disrespecting, alcoholic ball and chain. Who knows where she'll go, but wouldn't anything be better than this?? And I'll do that to every woman in my family since all but one seem to follow suit and shack up with Satan's spawn. Or it's not as obvious and there are just a few major respect or alcohol issues, and in the hard times a little cocktail of both. But either way, I have the know-it-all to advise, and I seem to leave myself, (and now my very fragile baggage) stuck where I'm telling everyone to leave. But at least I can save them, right?? And I'm brought to my little sack of potatoes. The most innocent of them all. How is it fair that I try to save everyone else and allow her to drown with me?? And thats why, I'm finding the will power to be less and less of a sparity in my life, and being rather surprised at it's abundance when it all comes down to it.

This is my first attempt at a blog and it couldn't have come at a better time. I suppose all this emotion is liable to create many worse things than a blog, so lets all be happy handguns take so much time to purchase!! Just Kidding. I now have the unquenchable need to proof-read this, which I know will, cause and effect, change the rawness of the outcome, so again, I'm forced to practice this skill of self control. Oh to be a wild animal, and survive or die off of pure instinct. Sometimes that sounds better than a glass of wine.