not tonight, i have a headache
current mood: grateful
Bitching. Plain old fashioned bitching. My married girlfriends who complain and bitch and moan about what they hate about their spouses. I have come to accept that it is just part of who they are and I love them regardless but I honest to God just don’t understand it. Before I go any further, I too have been sucked into the blackhole of bitchfestivities but try and stay as far away from that as possible.
What amazes me about a good majority of my friends is their constant stae of bitching. They bitch about how their husbands can’t dress themselves well. They bitch about how their husbands never help with the housework, the yard work, leaving the seat up and other petty bullshit. They bitch about how their husbands don’t listen to them or how they are preoccupied with college game day when they are clearly trying to have a discussion about wanting another child. Wha??? Fuck, you sit down next to hubba bubba while he’s watching a kickass ball game and you want to talk about expanding your family? Yep, I have no idea why he would ignore you. Timing, ladies, use your fucking brains.
But the biggest complaint, the absolute numero uno bitchfest revolves around sex. Their husbands want to have sex with them all the time, more often than they do and they are just not in the mood. Really? You aren’t in the mood for having an orgasm today.
What the hell is wrong with you people? Have you all gone mad?
I have one friend who tells me that she honestly would just rather reach over, give him a hand job before he gets in the shower so she can roll over and go back to sleep. That way she doesn’t have to get up and get too involved in the process. I have another friend who says that sex with her husband is great but too frequent. He wants to have sex every other day but she just can’t stand having to give it up more than twice a week max.
So here’s the part where they lose me. I understand being stressed out, tired, a mom, the in and outs of daily living and all that it involves. Especially when you have small children, time for sex can take a back seat to midnight feedings and homework. I get that sometimes one partner will be in the mood when the other isn’t. But you say that sex with your husband is great or you at least enjoy it the majority of the time, you reach orgasm, you engage in oral sex, you have the entire package. And yet you bitch and moan that he desires you more than twice a week?
Correct me if I’m wrong but sex is good. Sex can be mind blowing. Sex can be animalistic and raw or it can be an expression of love. It’s incredibly versatile and it’s a win/win situation however you do it. Any way you slice it, it fucking rocks! I believe that orgasms are Gods little way of giving something back to us for having to put up with all the assholes that populate this planet. Oral sex is yummy and juicy and delicious and anyone who doesn’t participate is missing out on the best part of the buffet. Granted, as I’ve said before, not all cocks are created equal. Yes, sex can become monotonous, boring, and stagnant after a while but seriously, ladies. You are really going to bitch and complain about good sex with the man you love? Give me a fucking break.
My advice to them is to get over it. Enjoy sex. Enjoy your body. Enjoy pleasing your partner and being pleased in return. And if you aren’t in the mood, just tell him. But quit bitching to me about how he is attracted to you and actually wants to fuck you. Frankly, I don’t want to hear about your 6am hand jobs before you make him breakfast. I don’t want to hear about how he wanted to fuck you in the morning after you had already given him nookie the night before. I don’t want to hear about how great sex is but if it just weren’t so frequent. Ladies, take off the panties, trim up the old burning bush, get naked and have some fun already.
Take my opinion with a grain of salt because frankly, I crave the satisfaction of sex, the entire act from gentle foreplay to sweaty exhaustion. I could easily have sex every damn day. What can I say. I have finally found my sexual equivalent. Besides which, sex with the right man is absolutely bitchin! So although I speak from my groin, listen to me when I tell you that life is way too short to complain about getting too much of a good thing.
Especially good sex.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
january 29....the night in the icebox
That’s right, just two days ago was the one month anniversary of my departure from the house. It was on December 27th that I began this journey officially, although I feel like it started long before. In some ways it seems like yesterday and in other ways like it’s been a year. Depends on the day I suppose. One way or another, I am still trying to get my bearings and have a hard time believing that it has indeed been an entire month.
I’ll never forget that night either. Nothing was unpacked, no food in the fridge and I hadn’t even hung my shower curtain. I doubt that I had even showered that day let alone cared how I looked. No kids to keep me company since I didn’t have the bunk beds assembled and the sperm donor (as my mother now refers to him) did not help with the move except to bitch and moan about what I was taking from the house. Instead I was upside down, frustrated, lonely and all around exhausted. So exhausted I didn’t even realize that my heat wasn’t working until 10pm that night and it was an unusually cold 25 degree evening in Florida. Holy crapballs it was cold. No amount of layers was going to warm me through. I thought to myself, well now this is a great way to start out my new life. No fucking heat? You have got to be kidding?
I felt hopeless, mentally incapable of handling even the smallest problem and felt that I had indeed made an enormous mistake. That’s been a pattern in my life. I believe in myself one minute and the next I feel like the shit at the bottom of the fish tank. It’s then that I don’t feel like I can muster the strength to get up and keep going. Somehow I always do but it’s a tough fight to convince myself that I am indeed going to be just fine. Perspective and logic have never been my strong suit.
So here I was feeling defeated, alone in this popsicle of single exiled bliss. I felt weak, physically tired and completely unprepared for the metaphorical bed I had made for myself to sleep. As I inched closer and closer to the end of my rope, I found myself picking up my phone, ready to dial the fucktard hotline and tell him that I would be coming back to the house for the night. That way I could sleep in a warm bed, take a warm shower and prepare for the following day. That’s when something remarkable happened.
I said no fucking way and I put the phone away. NO FUCKING WAY! Come hell or high water I was not going back to the house, back to being dependent on him. I never was to begin with but now, I would rather be a freeze pop than go crawling back for a warm bed and a hot shower. No way in hell or in this case the frozen tundra, would I reach out for a helping hand where I knew I wouldn’t find one. I know without a doubt that he would have reluctantly “allowed” me to come back for the night but only after I gave him good cause, had exhausted my other options and practically begged him for a warm place to stay. Nope. I finally believed I deserved something better.
Instead I washed my face, brushed my teeth and began getting ready for bed. I found the warmest jamas in the drawer, grabbed the only blanket that had made it with me in the move, found three top sheets, two baby blankets and my children’s new comforters that were still wrapped tightly in their plastic ikea cocoons. I found a toasty pair of socks, got under my many layers and had an average night sleep, often waking up simply because a few toes had snuck their way out of the covers.
It was uncomfortable, unsound but it was all mine. I did just fine. I survived my first night in the frozen tundra and would do it all over again if I had the chance. It was the first night I felt like I was indeed going to be just fine. And I have far surpassed my expectations. I’m gonna go so far as to say that I’m proud of the way I have handled the ups and downs, the ins and outs of this new reality that I’ve chosen. Hell, I find myself happy, free, loved, alone but not lonely. I’m proud of how I’ve handled things this past month and I’m proud of my little piece of the frozen pie. Let’s see what February has got up its little heart shaped sleeves. I’m excited with the possibilities.
I’ll never forget that night either. Nothing was unpacked, no food in the fridge and I hadn’t even hung my shower curtain. I doubt that I had even showered that day let alone cared how I looked. No kids to keep me company since I didn’t have the bunk beds assembled and the sperm donor (as my mother now refers to him) did not help with the move except to bitch and moan about what I was taking from the house. Instead I was upside down, frustrated, lonely and all around exhausted. So exhausted I didn’t even realize that my heat wasn’t working until 10pm that night and it was an unusually cold 25 degree evening in Florida. Holy crapballs it was cold. No amount of layers was going to warm me through. I thought to myself, well now this is a great way to start out my new life. No fucking heat? You have got to be kidding?
I felt hopeless, mentally incapable of handling even the smallest problem and felt that I had indeed made an enormous mistake. That’s been a pattern in my life. I believe in myself one minute and the next I feel like the shit at the bottom of the fish tank. It’s then that I don’t feel like I can muster the strength to get up and keep going. Somehow I always do but it’s a tough fight to convince myself that I am indeed going to be just fine. Perspective and logic have never been my strong suit.
So here I was feeling defeated, alone in this popsicle of single exiled bliss. I felt weak, physically tired and completely unprepared for the metaphorical bed I had made for myself to sleep. As I inched closer and closer to the end of my rope, I found myself picking up my phone, ready to dial the fucktard hotline and tell him that I would be coming back to the house for the night. That way I could sleep in a warm bed, take a warm shower and prepare for the following day. That’s when something remarkable happened.
I said no fucking way and I put the phone away. NO FUCKING WAY! Come hell or high water I was not going back to the house, back to being dependent on him. I never was to begin with but now, I would rather be a freeze pop than go crawling back for a warm bed and a hot shower. No way in hell or in this case the frozen tundra, would I reach out for a helping hand where I knew I wouldn’t find one. I know without a doubt that he would have reluctantly “allowed” me to come back for the night but only after I gave him good cause, had exhausted my other options and practically begged him for a warm place to stay. Nope. I finally believed I deserved something better.
Instead I washed my face, brushed my teeth and began getting ready for bed. I found the warmest jamas in the drawer, grabbed the only blanket that had made it with me in the move, found three top sheets, two baby blankets and my children’s new comforters that were still wrapped tightly in their plastic ikea cocoons. I found a toasty pair of socks, got under my many layers and had an average night sleep, often waking up simply because a few toes had snuck their way out of the covers.
It was uncomfortable, unsound but it was all mine. I did just fine. I survived my first night in the frozen tundra and would do it all over again if I had the chance. It was the first night I felt like I was indeed going to be just fine. And I have far surpassed my expectations. I’m gonna go so far as to say that I’m proud of the way I have handled the ups and downs, the ins and outs of this new reality that I’ve chosen. Hell, I find myself happy, free, loved, alone but not lonely. I’m proud of how I’ve handled things this past month and I’m proud of my little piece of the frozen pie. Let’s see what February has got up its little heart shaped sleeves. I’m excited with the possibilities.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
january 28, 2010....the dam
a "dam" fine piece of bloggage
Current mood: electric
i'm sitting down tonight with no clear path as to what i think might be blog worthy. generally i have a pretty solid idea inspired by something that i saw, wanted to see, thought of while taking a shower, forgot about or general real life bullshit that propels me into a blog kind of mood. tonight i'm just sort of, well, confused really. no direct point, no real direction or clear thought that pops up to me. hell, i may not even need to write but somehow i just feel like getting it out, whatever it is.
i feel like the dam is about to break and something powerful will spring forward. and by powerful i'm not sure what i mean. could be good, bad or otherwise but something has got to give, come out, be seen, examined. just not sure what, where, when or how but i'm beginning to feel like i need to brace myself and perhaps those close to me should do the same. i am reverting back to my stream of conscious to guide my pudgy little fingers so let's see where it takes us, shall we.
i'm listening to the batteries charge for my camera so i can take some shots tomorrow. i'm worrying about a phone conference that i will have with my attorney in the afternoon. i'm stewing over yet another slap in the face by fuckhead. i'm thinking about how i just want to punch fuckhead square in the nose. now i'm thinking about how incredibly evil that idea is, that i should be ashamed of myself since i don't believe physical violence solves anything but how i want to do it anyway. i'm wondering how many twix bars (not sure as to why it's twix bars) i could shove in my mouth at the same time if given the chance.
i'm thinking of my daughter who was such a trooper in the orthodontist chair once again and how proud i am of her ability to shake it off and move forward. i'm worried about how my kids will come through all of this unbelievable mess. will i still be able to sleep with myself at night knowing that this is the right decision. i'm filled with regret not over the decision that i have made to remove myself from my marriage but over the decision that needed to be made long ago. the regret is in my unwillingness, perhaps my self imposed blindness to reality. now i'm reminding myself that the past is the past and to leave it there.
moving on. i'm thinking about the fact that i have far too much to do and far too many places to go tomorrow and the next day and the next day. i'm thinking that my bed is calling but doubt that my ocd will allow me to rest peacefully. now i'm remembering that i am plagued not with ocd but with cdo since i do indeed need to have it in alphabetical order.
i'm craving switch's company, his endearing laugh and his silly little bouncy walk that reminds me of the fact that he is just a big kid in a man's body. on that note...i'm also thinking about said man's body and wondering if i can ever get enough of him to satiate my sexual appetite. i think not. he makes my toes curl everytime, all the time, deep down straight shootin passion in that man.
i'm thinking about the possibilities of waking up tomorrow, re-energized, optimistic and how far of a stretch that may be. i'm thinking about how tired i really am deep down inside. now i'm reminded of the fact that i've been suffering from a headache the majority of the day but have done nothing to help alleviate the pain. youch.
i'm thinking about a vacation. how i would love to hop a plane to mexico with the sexy badass of a man that i love, leave the kids with my parents and have a weekend filled with tequila drinkin, worm eatin, sun bathin and hot animalistic sex in a hammock, complete with me wearing nothing but a sombrero the majority of the time. i'm thinking about how that may not happen for a very, very long time given the fact that i'm going through the hardest time in my life and the sheer confidence level, as well as the kick ass body, to be able to pull off a sombrero sans clothing.
i'm scared about how i will pay the bills in a few months. i'm excited at the idea of returning to school in less than 20 days but worry about how and when i will get a job. i'm thinking of how great it would be to have the money that i need to be able to tell fuckhead to go piss up a rope. i'm amused at myself for sitting here and just writing and writing and writing. not having any intention of it making sense but instead spewing it forth like i use to before i knew that other people read this bullshit. i'm now wondering just who does read randomerants and with what frequency.
i'm questioning where i will be in a year, in 6 months, in 3 days. how will it look, what will it feel like, where will i be heading and what will matter in the end. i'm just trying to keep my head above water all while the water continues to rise.
but here's the funny thing.
i'm questioning all of these things, some very real concerns, some completely random, some just place old silliness that somehow have made it from my brain to my fingertips. throughout all of it, even days like today when i'm drained, days like yesterday when i felt empowered or days like tomorrow that i don't have the slightest clue as to their outcome, i feel good.
i admit that i feel more alive than i have in my entire life. the water is flowing and it's coming up fast. i suggest you get the fuck out of the way because this dam in about to break. and i'm quite sure that i have no idea which direction it's heading but glad it's heading somewhere. it sat pooling, dormant far too long. although i can't tell you what will happen next, i can guarantee you that this will be nothing short of a banner fucking extravaganza of watery doom and pleasure.
and for thy listening pleasure.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fX6yDjh_irw
Current mood: electric
i'm sitting down tonight with no clear path as to what i think might be blog worthy. generally i have a pretty solid idea inspired by something that i saw, wanted to see, thought of while taking a shower, forgot about or general real life bullshit that propels me into a blog kind of mood. tonight i'm just sort of, well, confused really. no direct point, no real direction or clear thought that pops up to me. hell, i may not even need to write but somehow i just feel like getting it out, whatever it is.
i feel like the dam is about to break and something powerful will spring forward. and by powerful i'm not sure what i mean. could be good, bad or otherwise but something has got to give, come out, be seen, examined. just not sure what, where, when or how but i'm beginning to feel like i need to brace myself and perhaps those close to me should do the same. i am reverting back to my stream of conscious to guide my pudgy little fingers so let's see where it takes us, shall we.
i'm listening to the batteries charge for my camera so i can take some shots tomorrow. i'm worrying about a phone conference that i will have with my attorney in the afternoon. i'm stewing over yet another slap in the face by fuckhead. i'm thinking about how i just want to punch fuckhead square in the nose. now i'm thinking about how incredibly evil that idea is, that i should be ashamed of myself since i don't believe physical violence solves anything but how i want to do it anyway. i'm wondering how many twix bars (not sure as to why it's twix bars) i could shove in my mouth at the same time if given the chance.
i'm thinking of my daughter who was such a trooper in the orthodontist chair once again and how proud i am of her ability to shake it off and move forward. i'm worried about how my kids will come through all of this unbelievable mess. will i still be able to sleep with myself at night knowing that this is the right decision. i'm filled with regret not over the decision that i have made to remove myself from my marriage but over the decision that needed to be made long ago. the regret is in my unwillingness, perhaps my self imposed blindness to reality. now i'm reminding myself that the past is the past and to leave it there.
moving on. i'm thinking about the fact that i have far too much to do and far too many places to go tomorrow and the next day and the next day. i'm thinking that my bed is calling but doubt that my ocd will allow me to rest peacefully. now i'm remembering that i am plagued not with ocd but with cdo since i do indeed need to have it in alphabetical order.
i'm craving switch's company, his endearing laugh and his silly little bouncy walk that reminds me of the fact that he is just a big kid in a man's body. on that note...i'm also thinking about said man's body and wondering if i can ever get enough of him to satiate my sexual appetite. i think not. he makes my toes curl everytime, all the time, deep down straight shootin passion in that man.
i'm thinking about the possibilities of waking up tomorrow, re-energized, optimistic and how far of a stretch that may be. i'm thinking about how tired i really am deep down inside. now i'm reminded of the fact that i've been suffering from a headache the majority of the day but have done nothing to help alleviate the pain. youch.
i'm thinking about a vacation. how i would love to hop a plane to mexico with the sexy badass of a man that i love, leave the kids with my parents and have a weekend filled with tequila drinkin, worm eatin, sun bathin and hot animalistic sex in a hammock, complete with me wearing nothing but a sombrero the majority of the time. i'm thinking about how that may not happen for a very, very long time given the fact that i'm going through the hardest time in my life and the sheer confidence level, as well as the kick ass body, to be able to pull off a sombrero sans clothing.
i'm scared about how i will pay the bills in a few months. i'm excited at the idea of returning to school in less than 20 days but worry about how and when i will get a job. i'm thinking of how great it would be to have the money that i need to be able to tell fuckhead to go piss up a rope. i'm amused at myself for sitting here and just writing and writing and writing. not having any intention of it making sense but instead spewing it forth like i use to before i knew that other people read this bullshit. i'm now wondering just who does read randomerants and with what frequency.
i'm questioning where i will be in a year, in 6 months, in 3 days. how will it look, what will it feel like, where will i be heading and what will matter in the end. i'm just trying to keep my head above water all while the water continues to rise.
but here's the funny thing.
i'm questioning all of these things, some very real concerns, some completely random, some just place old silliness that somehow have made it from my brain to my fingertips. throughout all of it, even days like today when i'm drained, days like yesterday when i felt empowered or days like tomorrow that i don't have the slightest clue as to their outcome, i feel good.
i admit that i feel more alive than i have in my entire life. the water is flowing and it's coming up fast. i suggest you get the fuck out of the way because this dam in about to break. and i'm quite sure that i have no idea which direction it's heading but glad it's heading somewhere. it sat pooling, dormant far too long. although i can't tell you what will happen next, i can guarantee you that this will be nothing short of a banner fucking extravaganza of watery doom and pleasure.
and for thy listening pleasure.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fX6yDjh_irw
Monday, January 25, 2010
January 25. 2010
behind every good woman..
current mood: impressed
**Holy shit, this blog entry is the sappiest thing I’ve ever written but it makes me smile so what the hell. I’m feeling like a good love story post. I’m like a school girl writing a love note so take it with a grain of salt. You diabetics out there best watch your insulin. This one is full of sugary goodness**
I am reminded of the saying that behind every good man is a good woman. Don’t know that I’ve ever agreed with that statement. I’m probably reading entirely too much into the literal interpretation of the word “behind”. Instead I think it should read that a woman helps her partner, standing beside him, not behind him. She becomes a genuine figure of support, love, strength, encouragement thus being regarded as an equal partner in the game of life.
So the reason I bring up this popular saying is because I feel the same can be said for a good man. They are just as rare as a really good woman. In fact, I think a really good man, a truly supportive, and warm hearted, loving man rarely gets the credit he deserves. Instead women tend to talk about the things that annoy them about the other half. I’m sure I’ve been a victim to this disease in the past but not anymore.
Instead I am filled with gratitude. Honest to goodness gratitude. Yes, he does leave up the toilet seat and he does all the other man things that would normally drive me bananas but it doesn't bother me. Not a bit. I find myself in awe of this man that so unexpectedly came into my life. His mesmerizing eyes, his precocious smile, his deep, rich voice, his unbelievably silly and random nuggets of knowledge, his incredible sexual prowess and his brilliantly misunderstood intellect to name a few. I feel like someone needs to stick a fork in me because I am done. I’m off the market. I am without a doubt, undeniably, madly and passionately in love.
Granted, I am in the initial stages of wuv sweet wuv but this guy is the real deal. Dare I say that he is my true love? There, I said it. This guy is a keeper. I am in the thick of it. I am in love and I’m filled with everything he gives to me.
I tried for a while to put on the brakes and slow down a little. In general, I can be a bit impulsive but don’t really consider myself foolish. I gave it the arms length but somehow my arms were never long enough. I have said it since day one that I had no expectations of what might become of all of this. That if he disappeared from my life that I would simply roll with the punches. Leave it behind and move on with my life. I would be sad but I was prepared for what I considered the worst case scenario.
But there is no denying that this appears to be unstoppable. I have indeed found a man that brings out the best in me. And I find myself now completely unwilling to negotiate. I will not lose what I finally found. It is not something I can hold apart from me any longer. If he disappeared, it would no longer simply roll off my back. I was fooling myself to think that it could.
Instead I am invested, deeply and wonderfully invested. Indeed my heart would break, I would go on but I would leave an enormous part of me with him. But I don’t feel vulnerable. Instead I feel powerful, lifted, and full. I intend to stand behind my man, beside him, supporting and loving him every step of the way. But I can honestly say that I would not be as good of a person, as strong of a woman, as fulfilled with my life without him helping to hold me up along the way.
Yes indeed. I do believe that behind every good woman should be this good, this genuine, this amazingly open and loving of a man. But you’ll have to find somebody else ladies. This one is very much spoken for, even when he leaves up the seat.
current mood: impressed
**Holy shit, this blog entry is the sappiest thing I’ve ever written but it makes me smile so what the hell. I’m feeling like a good love story post. I’m like a school girl writing a love note so take it with a grain of salt. You diabetics out there best watch your insulin. This one is full of sugary goodness**
I am reminded of the saying that behind every good man is a good woman. Don’t know that I’ve ever agreed with that statement. I’m probably reading entirely too much into the literal interpretation of the word “behind”. Instead I think it should read that a woman helps her partner, standing beside him, not behind him. She becomes a genuine figure of support, love, strength, encouragement thus being regarded as an equal partner in the game of life.
So the reason I bring up this popular saying is because I feel the same can be said for a good man. They are just as rare as a really good woman. In fact, I think a really good man, a truly supportive, and warm hearted, loving man rarely gets the credit he deserves. Instead women tend to talk about the things that annoy them about the other half. I’m sure I’ve been a victim to this disease in the past but not anymore.
Instead I am filled with gratitude. Honest to goodness gratitude. Yes, he does leave up the toilet seat and he does all the other man things that would normally drive me bananas but it doesn't bother me. Not a bit. I find myself in awe of this man that so unexpectedly came into my life. His mesmerizing eyes, his precocious smile, his deep, rich voice, his unbelievably silly and random nuggets of knowledge, his incredible sexual prowess and his brilliantly misunderstood intellect to name a few. I feel like someone needs to stick a fork in me because I am done. I’m off the market. I am without a doubt, undeniably, madly and passionately in love.
Granted, I am in the initial stages of wuv sweet wuv but this guy is the real deal. Dare I say that he is my true love? There, I said it. This guy is a keeper. I am in the thick of it. I am in love and I’m filled with everything he gives to me.
I tried for a while to put on the brakes and slow down a little. In general, I can be a bit impulsive but don’t really consider myself foolish. I gave it the arms length but somehow my arms were never long enough. I have said it since day one that I had no expectations of what might become of all of this. That if he disappeared from my life that I would simply roll with the punches. Leave it behind and move on with my life. I would be sad but I was prepared for what I considered the worst case scenario.
But there is no denying that this appears to be unstoppable. I have indeed found a man that brings out the best in me. And I find myself now completely unwilling to negotiate. I will not lose what I finally found. It is not something I can hold apart from me any longer. If he disappeared, it would no longer simply roll off my back. I was fooling myself to think that it could.
Instead I am invested, deeply and wonderfully invested. Indeed my heart would break, I would go on but I would leave an enormous part of me with him. But I don’t feel vulnerable. Instead I feel powerful, lifted, and full. I intend to stand behind my man, beside him, supporting and loving him every step of the way. But I can honestly say that I would not be as good of a person, as strong of a woman, as fulfilled with my life without him helping to hold me up along the way.
Yes indeed. I do believe that behind every good woman should be this good, this genuine, this amazingly open and loving of a man. But you’ll have to find somebody else ladies. This one is very much spoken for, even when he leaves up the seat.
january 23, 2010
super-dee-duper supersuckers!
Current mood: hungover
So last night was a kick ass, grade A, rawkin good time. Last week I bought tickets to see the Supersuckers at a little bar/venue at the beach. I always enjoy a good rock show but these guys are seriously bitchin’ live performers. In fact, I think listening to them digitally will seem beneath me from here on out. I have devil's food cranked as I type this so I’ll save my elitist attitude for another day.
Anywhoozie, I bought the tickets for me and my sweet motorhead. Knew he too was a fan, didn’t know he had already seen them a few times while in atl but he was still buzzing with the idea of live muzak so it all worked out fine. I learned a valuable lesson last night. me, my sexy boyfriend, ice cold pbr tall boys (only $2 a piece!!!), an eclectic group of rock fans and loud ass good old fashioned rock n roll all rolled up into one night makes for a hell of a lot of fun...and a wicked headache.
Now I haven’t been to a live show in a dive bar in a long, long time. In fact, I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time. I loved seeing local bands live but when I married mark, he simply wasn’t interested. And frankly, I wasn’t either. Instead I wanted to be that happy little housewife so badly that I forget how much I loved being out and experiencing, among other things, live music.
Last night was completely different though. Many obvious reasons include being there with switch, no kids to return home to (it’s Mark’s weekend) and the simple act of going “out” after being held “in” for such a long time. But the thing that really caught me off guard was my complete lack of concern over what this crowd of other fans thought of me. You know that feeling when you walk into a bar; you are blatantly out of place and wonder what the hell you were thinking. Yeah, been there, done that but last night I didn’t give a rats’ ass.
I was initially hesitant when we arrived. It’s a pretty hip little dive with a mixed crowd of tattooed, pierced, under 30, rockabilly, rocking regulars who all seem to know one another. And accompanying these hipsters are the sexy women that match. Now picture me, wearing a plain tee, overweight, little makeup, hair freshly tussled from a little “warm up” at home before the show (me likey), jeans, plain Jane down to the shoes. Pta mom is in the house!!!
But once we sat down, had a few swigs from our handy dandy brewskis and some good convo started, I realized that I may not have fit in with the scene but I sure as hell didn’t care. Nope. Not a bit. In fact, I felt like I was one of a few truly original people in a crowd struggling to be so different. Granted, there were many of these folks that were there to rock out and have a good time, just like we were. But then there were some serious posers who simply like the lifestyle, the look, the ink and the way they appear to the rest of the fuckheads doing the exact same “I want to be different” thing.
I chalk some of it up to youth and the preoccupation of most 20 something’s to be “unique”. So the fact that you morons dressed up like James Dean’s evil twin and his pinup girl makes you different? Fuck that. Really, I’m not trying to be high and mighty here but give me a fucking break. The fact of the matter is that you are no more or less cool than I am based on what you wear or how you roll. And there were in fact several genuinely different folks there, minding their own business, having a good time and not giving a shit what anyone thinks. It may sound like I’m the one who is judging the book by its cover but the behavior exhibited by some of these people was anything but authentic. Poser assholes.
Now perhaps I don’t care anymore because I’m older and wiser (hey, I can dream). Maybe I was confident in myself because I was with the love of my life and felt good, good, good and knew what was in store for me when we returned home…hubba hubba. Maybe it’s because I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Or maybe I finally just don’t give a shit and won’t let other peoples false opinions of me matter. Finally. It’s about fucking time! This is what it feels like to just be myself. To be able to sit in a bar full of some cool ass looking people, beautiful women, people who are way hipper than I am from the exterior and not give a shit, go on my merry way and have a great time!
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t have cared less why my skin fit so beautifully last night. It just felt right. In fact, I have to be honest here and admit that my confidence was unshakable. I felt like a mother fucking badass bitch sitting there with my handsome boyfriend, listening to some great tunes, drinking beer, talking to crazy ass people in a dark bar and loving my life. Yep, I went along for the ride and the ride was fun. Super-dee-duper!
Current mood: hungover
So last night was a kick ass, grade A, rawkin good time. Last week I bought tickets to see the Supersuckers at a little bar/venue at the beach. I always enjoy a good rock show but these guys are seriously bitchin’ live performers. In fact, I think listening to them digitally will seem beneath me from here on out. I have devil's food cranked as I type this so I’ll save my elitist attitude for another day.
Anywhoozie, I bought the tickets for me and my sweet motorhead. Knew he too was a fan, didn’t know he had already seen them a few times while in atl but he was still buzzing with the idea of live muzak so it all worked out fine. I learned a valuable lesson last night. me, my sexy boyfriend, ice cold pbr tall boys (only $2 a piece!!!), an eclectic group of rock fans and loud ass good old fashioned rock n roll all rolled up into one night makes for a hell of a lot of fun...and a wicked headache.
Now I haven’t been to a live show in a dive bar in a long, long time. In fact, I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time. I loved seeing local bands live but when I married mark, he simply wasn’t interested. And frankly, I wasn’t either. Instead I wanted to be that happy little housewife so badly that I forget how much I loved being out and experiencing, among other things, live music.
Last night was completely different though. Many obvious reasons include being there with switch, no kids to return home to (it’s Mark’s weekend) and the simple act of going “out” after being held “in” for such a long time. But the thing that really caught me off guard was my complete lack of concern over what this crowd of other fans thought of me. You know that feeling when you walk into a bar; you are blatantly out of place and wonder what the hell you were thinking. Yeah, been there, done that but last night I didn’t give a rats’ ass.
I was initially hesitant when we arrived. It’s a pretty hip little dive with a mixed crowd of tattooed, pierced, under 30, rockabilly, rocking regulars who all seem to know one another. And accompanying these hipsters are the sexy women that match. Now picture me, wearing a plain tee, overweight, little makeup, hair freshly tussled from a little “warm up” at home before the show (me likey), jeans, plain Jane down to the shoes. Pta mom is in the house!!!
But once we sat down, had a few swigs from our handy dandy brewskis and some good convo started, I realized that I may not have fit in with the scene but I sure as hell didn’t care. Nope. Not a bit. In fact, I felt like I was one of a few truly original people in a crowd struggling to be so different. Granted, there were many of these folks that were there to rock out and have a good time, just like we were. But then there were some serious posers who simply like the lifestyle, the look, the ink and the way they appear to the rest of the fuckheads doing the exact same “I want to be different” thing.
I chalk some of it up to youth and the preoccupation of most 20 something’s to be “unique”. So the fact that you morons dressed up like James Dean’s evil twin and his pinup girl makes you different? Fuck that. Really, I’m not trying to be high and mighty here but give me a fucking break. The fact of the matter is that you are no more or less cool than I am based on what you wear or how you roll. And there were in fact several genuinely different folks there, minding their own business, having a good time and not giving a shit what anyone thinks. It may sound like I’m the one who is judging the book by its cover but the behavior exhibited by some of these people was anything but authentic. Poser assholes.
Now perhaps I don’t care anymore because I’m older and wiser (hey, I can dream). Maybe I was confident in myself because I was with the love of my life and felt good, good, good and knew what was in store for me when we returned home…hubba hubba. Maybe it’s because I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Or maybe I finally just don’t give a shit and won’t let other peoples false opinions of me matter. Finally. It’s about fucking time! This is what it feels like to just be myself. To be able to sit in a bar full of some cool ass looking people, beautiful women, people who are way hipper than I am from the exterior and not give a shit, go on my merry way and have a great time!
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t have cared less why my skin fit so beautifully last night. It just felt right. In fact, I have to be honest here and admit that my confidence was unshakable. I felt like a mother fucking badass bitch sitting there with my handsome boyfriend, listening to some great tunes, drinking beer, talking to crazy ass people in a dark bar and loving my life. Yep, I went along for the ride and the ride was fun. Super-dee-duper!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
january 21, 2010
garcon, i am ready to order
Current mood: hungry
Mark asked me last night, during a heated encounter, how I could go from being married to someone like him (whatever that means) to falling in love with a man who “works on cars and likes to play with guns?” Wow. I’m still amazed that he can be so narrow minded and shallow as to judge a person on “looks” alone. Telling him that Switch is indeed a well educated, wicked smart, hard working, genuine man who is anything but a grease monkey is just pointless and not worth my time. He has indeed taken the art of douche-baggery to a whole new level.
Instead, I started doing a little "nookie inventory" if you will. I began looking back on my past relationships, fleeting and otherwise. I found that my tastes combined made for a veritable cornucopia of cock and the men attached to them.
Some were tall, thin, muscular, handsome, not so handsome, pudgy, stocky, hearty, meaty, dark skin, light skin, brown hair and green eyes, blonde hair and blue eyes. Big cocks, little cocks, medium cocks oh my! Some were great in bed, some were average in the sack, some were downright horrific and some rocked my world. Jewish, Southern Baptist, Buddhist, atheists. Smart, wicked smart, dumb as a rock, brilliant, artistic, logical, emotional, romantic, destructive, funny, pigheaded, full of shit. Some treated me with respect and some treated me as if I were nothing.
Granted, I have had more than my fair share of one night stands and short lived flings. But I have also had a string of serious relationships that have had a lasting impact on me. And those men, they are all completely different emotionally, physically, spiritually. Nothing about these men is the same and to put them into a category of type would be impossible.
What was I looking for in these men that were all so different? What was I hungry for anyway? None of them resembled one another physically. They came from different backgrounds and financial upbringings. They had different goals, dreams, accomplishments and failures. And their personalities were all unique. Did I need a friend, a lover, a little of both? Was I looking for a good time, someone to make me think outside the box or someone who didn’t make me think at all?
What I found when looking back on my “man buffet” were lots and lots of menu choices that each tasted very different. None of them satisfied my hunger but I took away a lesson from each of them, even the men whose names escape me. I learned a little about myself, my likes and dislikes, what felt good and what felt foreign. What made me hungry and what made me thirsty. I discovered more and more about myself with each step I took with these men. Some only spent the night. Some didn’t even get that far before I threw them to the curb. Some stayed for a while and some stayed for a long time and I gave them a piece of myself.
But there is no doubt that every one of these men gave me something. I was able to explore the depths of what I wanted, what I needed through the variety of tastes that they offered me. My hunger has evolved and I am no longer easily satiated. In the past, I have perused the man menu and tried many a dish.But my tastes have changed and become more refined. I have indeed discovered my true palette and it is discerning.
I will not settle for the overcooked, dry, tough cuts of flavorless meat that have been on my menu in the past. I’m no longer hungry for what they offer. Not for this girl. I want the fillet. A fillet that is tender, juicy and packed with a punch of flavor. I want it to melt in my mouth. Wrap it in smoked bacon, give it a nice pepper laced searing over an oak fire and serve it medium rare on an exquisite plate with a nice glass of merlot. This girl finally knows what she wants to order and it taste so very good.
-----my most lovely westley aka switch aka the man who loves me--------
Current mood: hungry
Mark asked me last night, during a heated encounter, how I could go from being married to someone like him (whatever that means) to falling in love with a man who “works on cars and likes to play with guns?” Wow. I’m still amazed that he can be so narrow minded and shallow as to judge a person on “looks” alone. Telling him that Switch is indeed a well educated, wicked smart, hard working, genuine man who is anything but a grease monkey is just pointless and not worth my time. He has indeed taken the art of douche-baggery to a whole new level.
Instead, I started doing a little "nookie inventory" if you will. I began looking back on my past relationships, fleeting and otherwise. I found that my tastes combined made for a veritable cornucopia of cock and the men attached to them.
Some were tall, thin, muscular, handsome, not so handsome, pudgy, stocky, hearty, meaty, dark skin, light skin, brown hair and green eyes, blonde hair and blue eyes. Big cocks, little cocks, medium cocks oh my! Some were great in bed, some were average in the sack, some were downright horrific and some rocked my world. Jewish, Southern Baptist, Buddhist, atheists. Smart, wicked smart, dumb as a rock, brilliant, artistic, logical, emotional, romantic, destructive, funny, pigheaded, full of shit. Some treated me with respect and some treated me as if I were nothing.
Granted, I have had more than my fair share of one night stands and short lived flings. But I have also had a string of serious relationships that have had a lasting impact on me. And those men, they are all completely different emotionally, physically, spiritually. Nothing about these men is the same and to put them into a category of type would be impossible.
What was I looking for in these men that were all so different? What was I hungry for anyway? None of them resembled one another physically. They came from different backgrounds and financial upbringings. They had different goals, dreams, accomplishments and failures. And their personalities were all unique. Did I need a friend, a lover, a little of both? Was I looking for a good time, someone to make me think outside the box or someone who didn’t make me think at all?
What I found when looking back on my “man buffet” were lots and lots of menu choices that each tasted very different. None of them satisfied my hunger but I took away a lesson from each of them, even the men whose names escape me. I learned a little about myself, my likes and dislikes, what felt good and what felt foreign. What made me hungry and what made me thirsty. I discovered more and more about myself with each step I took with these men. Some only spent the night. Some didn’t even get that far before I threw them to the curb. Some stayed for a while and some stayed for a long time and I gave them a piece of myself.
But there is no doubt that every one of these men gave me something. I was able to explore the depths of what I wanted, what I needed through the variety of tastes that they offered me. My hunger has evolved and I am no longer easily satiated. In the past, I have perused the man menu and tried many a dish.But my tastes have changed and become more refined. I have indeed discovered my true palette and it is discerning.
I will not settle for the overcooked, dry, tough cuts of flavorless meat that have been on my menu in the past. I’m no longer hungry for what they offer. Not for this girl. I want the fillet. A fillet that is tender, juicy and packed with a punch of flavor. I want it to melt in my mouth. Wrap it in smoked bacon, give it a nice pepper laced searing over an oak fire and serve it medium rare on an exquisite plate with a nice glass of merlot. This girl finally knows what she wants to order and it taste so very good.
january 19, 2010
not today
Current mood: exhausted
illusions. well organized, magnificent, beautiful tricks.
but not today.
trompe l'eoil, french for tricks the eye. it is a technique used by artists to convey the illusion of three dimensional objects by way of two dimensional painting. but more so, it's a way to trick the eye into seeing something that isn't there. it's a fascinating art form and a talent i haven't tapped. my perspective and depth of field has always been skewed. i take liberties and adhering to strict rules of scales and perspective don't flow well with my organic style.
underneath these beautiful masterpieces, it's just another canvas. some people use buildings, walls, sidewalks, body painting. anything can be a canvas. sometimes it's an ugly canvas at that. a dumpster, dirty sidewalk pavers, a condemned building. just another flat surface, no texture, no color. simply put, it's empty. some people look at it as a clean slate, creating something beautiful where there was nothing. you can make it anything you want. you can go so far as to create something three dimensional. a beautiful trick. a trick of the eye.
but not today.
to me, today just isn't one of those days. instead, i see an empty hole and i can't fill it. i have something in me dark, damp, raging. i taste it, smell it, feel it in my fingernails. it's maliable and growing. it's feeding itself with it's negativity. it is hungry and i am feeding it milk and cookies. i have grown tired, worn, bloated. my eyes are dark, my hair is lackluster, my skin is raw and red. i want this beating to stop but i appear to be the one swinging. i am unable to perform my illusion. instead, i am blank. no illusion, no beauty, simply an empty canvas. and i have no idea what to do with it. maybe tomorrow.....
but definitely not today.
some incredible, random examples of trompe l'oeil.....
these fascinate me. all body art, all exquisite...
Current mood: exhausted
illusions. well organized, magnificent, beautiful tricks.
but not today.
trompe l'eoil, french for tricks the eye. it is a technique used by artists to convey the illusion of three dimensional objects by way of two dimensional painting. but more so, it's a way to trick the eye into seeing something that isn't there. it's a fascinating art form and a talent i haven't tapped. my perspective and depth of field has always been skewed. i take liberties and adhering to strict rules of scales and perspective don't flow well with my organic style.
underneath these beautiful masterpieces, it's just another canvas. some people use buildings, walls, sidewalks, body painting. anything can be a canvas. sometimes it's an ugly canvas at that. a dumpster, dirty sidewalk pavers, a condemned building. just another flat surface, no texture, no color. simply put, it's empty. some people look at it as a clean slate, creating something beautiful where there was nothing. you can make it anything you want. you can go so far as to create something three dimensional. a beautiful trick. a trick of the eye.
but not today.
to me, today just isn't one of those days. instead, i see an empty hole and i can't fill it. i have something in me dark, damp, raging. i taste it, smell it, feel it in my fingernails. it's maliable and growing. it's feeding itself with it's negativity. it is hungry and i am feeding it milk and cookies. i have grown tired, worn, bloated. my eyes are dark, my hair is lackluster, my skin is raw and red. i want this beating to stop but i appear to be the one swinging. i am unable to perform my illusion. instead, i am blank. no illusion, no beauty, simply an empty canvas. and i have no idea what to do with it. maybe tomorrow.....
but definitely not today.
these fascinate me. all body art, all exquisite...
january 15, 2010
the very hungry caterpillar
Current mood: quiet
there was a very hungry caterpillar....
it started with a handful of almonds but turned into an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, an apple (an apple a day keeps the doctor away), three bowls of cereal with skim milk, half a bag of fritos, 1 pint of haagen daaz creme brullee ice cream, roughly half a jar of green olives, a king size bag of m&m's (found by sheer luck) and one ice cold beer.
and then she was a very fat caterpillar and she wasn't hungry anymore. in reality, she wasn't really hungry to begin with...at least not for food. honestly, she felt empty and stuffed at the same time.
but when disaster hit my life this week, the above is precisely what manifested. all the stress, all the hurt, the exhaustion, the anger, the uneasy feelings came over me and they boiled down to a heaping pile of random foods. and every bit of it went into and out of my mouth in roughly a 3 hour period one night. yes, i made myself vomit, harkening back to my days of bulimia, but i didn't do it until much later. back in the day, i would binge and immediately purge. instead, i purged out of sheer discomfort. i couldn't move without feeling like i was going to get sick anyway so i figured i would help it along. so disgusting and i don't recommend ever trying it.
it had me thinking. i went to an OA meeting one time many, many years ago...overeaters anonymous. it's a group based on the same principals of AA, NA and other 12 step programs. but this one is for people who have trouble "controlling" themselves around food. for me, it was a last resort. it was before i admitted that my issues with food were emotionally fueled. well, the meeting was surreal and not at all helpful. instead of being a supportive group, it is a group of people who are scared of food, and scared of themselves.
i have always believe that a "healthy" relationship with food was an attainable one for me. granted, what i have now is a destructive give and take but i look at it as temporary, something to overcome. but these folks, no way. they believe that you will never have a good relationship with food, it is your enemy and you must, absolutely must, stay in control of what and how you eat at all times or you will fall off the wagon. i mean, there are people in this meeting that hadn't eaten a bite of cake in 20 years because they were scared they would "fail". these people used the word fail when talking about their relationship with food? this isn't a pass/fail situation. that's not a relationship. that's an irrational fear.
well, this girl isn't afraid of food. in fact, i embrace my relationship with food. granted, it's not the relationship i want. it's entirely self destructive and abusive. but i'm not scared of it just the same way i'm not scared of myself anymore...well, most of the time. i'm not ashamed of my binges. i'm not embarassed to say that it is my crutch, my go to when the rest of the world leaves me reeling. but to think that i will never have a good relationship with something that is suppose to nourish my body? that just isn't realistic either.
so there has to be a middle ground. where the rest of the people in the world sit quietly, enjoying their meal and know when to say *when*. i can't deny that i'm envious of my friends and family who simply push away their plate and say "no thank you, i'm full". and i'm especially awestruck by folks that eat only when they are hungry, don't run to the pantry because they've had a bad day. suppose it's better than drugs or alcohol but this could kill me just as easily. the fact of the matter is that i may never be one of those people. but to simply resign yourself to never eat another bite of cake, no thank you. it is not my mortal enemy. i just need to figure out how to stop making it my best friend.
i'm going to chalk this binge up to another learning experience. a physically painful and unpleasant one...i forgot how much i loathe making myself vomit. yuck. but it has shown me that i'm still vulnerable, more so now than ever. that i am far from perfect. but that i'm also able to put it behind me, wake up tomorrow and make it through with a renewed sense of purpose minus the entire contents of the fridge. someday i hope to no longer be the hungry caterpillar or the very fat caterpillar but instead grow some damned wings.
Current mood: quiet
there was a very hungry caterpillar....
it started with a handful of almonds but turned into an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, an apple (an apple a day keeps the doctor away), three bowls of cereal with skim milk, half a bag of fritos, 1 pint of haagen daaz creme brullee ice cream, roughly half a jar of green olives, a king size bag of m&m's (found by sheer luck) and one ice cold beer.
and then she was a very fat caterpillar and she wasn't hungry anymore. in reality, she wasn't really hungry to begin with...at least not for food. honestly, she felt empty and stuffed at the same time.
but when disaster hit my life this week, the above is precisely what manifested. all the stress, all the hurt, the exhaustion, the anger, the uneasy feelings came over me and they boiled down to a heaping pile of random foods. and every bit of it went into and out of my mouth in roughly a 3 hour period one night. yes, i made myself vomit, harkening back to my days of bulimia, but i didn't do it until much later. back in the day, i would binge and immediately purge. instead, i purged out of sheer discomfort. i couldn't move without feeling like i was going to get sick anyway so i figured i would help it along. so disgusting and i don't recommend ever trying it.
it had me thinking. i went to an OA meeting one time many, many years ago...overeaters anonymous. it's a group based on the same principals of AA, NA and other 12 step programs. but this one is for people who have trouble "controlling" themselves around food. for me, it was a last resort. it was before i admitted that my issues with food were emotionally fueled. well, the meeting was surreal and not at all helpful. instead of being a supportive group, it is a group of people who are scared of food, and scared of themselves.
i have always believe that a "healthy" relationship with food was an attainable one for me. granted, what i have now is a destructive give and take but i look at it as temporary, something to overcome. but these folks, no way. they believe that you will never have a good relationship with food, it is your enemy and you must, absolutely must, stay in control of what and how you eat at all times or you will fall off the wagon. i mean, there are people in this meeting that hadn't eaten a bite of cake in 20 years because they were scared they would "fail". these people used the word fail when talking about their relationship with food? this isn't a pass/fail situation. that's not a relationship. that's an irrational fear.
well, this girl isn't afraid of food. in fact, i embrace my relationship with food. granted, it's not the relationship i want. it's entirely self destructive and abusive. but i'm not scared of it just the same way i'm not scared of myself anymore...well, most of the time. i'm not ashamed of my binges. i'm not embarassed to say that it is my crutch, my go to when the rest of the world leaves me reeling. but to think that i will never have a good relationship with something that is suppose to nourish my body? that just isn't realistic either.
so there has to be a middle ground. where the rest of the people in the world sit quietly, enjoying their meal and know when to say *when*. i can't deny that i'm envious of my friends and family who simply push away their plate and say "no thank you, i'm full". and i'm especially awestruck by folks that eat only when they are hungry, don't run to the pantry because they've had a bad day. suppose it's better than drugs or alcohol but this could kill me just as easily. the fact of the matter is that i may never be one of those people. but to simply resign yourself to never eat another bite of cake, no thank you. it is not my mortal enemy. i just need to figure out how to stop making it my best friend.
i'm going to chalk this binge up to another learning experience. a physically painful and unpleasant one...i forgot how much i loathe making myself vomit. yuck. but it has shown me that i'm still vulnerable, more so now than ever. that i am far from perfect. but that i'm also able to put it behind me, wake up tomorrow and make it through with a renewed sense of purpose minus the entire contents of the fridge. someday i hope to no longer be the hungry caterpillar or the very fat caterpillar but instead grow some damned wings.
january 13, 2010
is that a #2 pencil or are you just happy to see me?
Current mood: busy
feel i have to explain the title quickly. this was one of my favorite things to say to boys back in high school to see how they would handle the pressure. if they laughed, right on. if they panic, see ya. if they responded with "why don't you reach in and find out", well, then i had a new boyfriend. such a brazen hussy. but you'll see why i used this title in a minute. i don't even know where to start. so i'll start at the beginning and will attempt to make a complicated situation less so....
monday:
met with attorney. was told that i'm in serious shit. shouldn't have moved out of the house. gave up rights to alimony by doing such. cannot split the time with the kids 50/50 because then mark doesn't have to pay me a dime in child support and he likely knows this, thus leading to his demanding that our time is a 50/50 arrangement...no wonder he was so adament. have to change custody arrangement so i have the kids the majority of the time (very cool with me since i'm with them constantly and love being with the little rugrats). however, i know to get ready to fight mark on the custody and it won't be pretty. here's the kicker. in order to get temporary "rehabilitative alimony" so i can earn a decent living, since i don't have a college degree, established career and i don't qualify for permanent alimony.....
I HAVE TO GO BACK TO COLLEGE FULL TIME ASAP!!!!!
excuse me while i go change my pants because i just shit all over myself.
are you fucking kidding me??? so not only have i screwed the pooch (the pooch being yours truly) by not demanding that he leave the house and i stay, but i have also fucked myself out of child support unless i do something quickly and i have to go to school while dealing with all of this bullshit?
now all of this came as quite a shock to me, to say the least, and i was left with raw wounds to lick for the past few evenings. thankfully, and i do mean this will the utmost sincerity, i have some seriously kick ass friends, incredible little mini-me's and a super cool family. not to mention switch who has been at my beckon call carefully advising, constantly supporting and without question just being a great listener.
so i carefully draft an email to mark detailing the fact that i want the kids the majority of the time. honestly, i was being nice doing the 50/50 split because he is a great father. however, the distance the kids feel on the evenings during the week that he has them is taking its toll already. it's sad and my heart breaks when i see the look on abby's face when she has to go back to sleep at daddy's just to be dropped back off here a few hours later. it's just too much for my sweet little girl right now and my motherly, must protect the young, instinct has kicked into full gear. i want my children as much as i have ever had time with them and that's final.
needless to say, he didn't take it well. in fact, he was threatening, confrontational, mean and he even called my mommy to tell on me. claims that i am not being reasonable so this grown man of 40 years picks up the phone and calls my mother to complain about me. seriously. the guy has lost his fucking marbles. and he's done it before too. does he expect my mom will change his diaper too? wow.
and with all of this happening, 2 kids to care for, a new home to establish, an old one to clear out, finding a job, paying bills, keeping my sanity and now, on top of it all, i have to go back to school. well now, it just can't get any more ridiculous now can it?
so i picked myself up, with a whole lot of help, dusted myself off and moved forward. today was good. i went down to the local community college, got re-enrolled in college classes and i'm ready. ready for what is another question. i'm undecided as to what i want to pursue after an aa degree but for now, that's all i can think about. getting my aa, being a full time student while i raise my children, fight the fucktard so that he supports me while i get back on my feet, try and be a decent human being without being walked all over and coming away with as few scars as humanly possible.
so i will get out my pencil sharpener, find the old #2's and see if i can't score some points in my favor. back to school at 37. never in a million years would have predicted this one! now is that a #2 pencil or are you just happy to see me? wonder if that line still works?
Current mood: busy
feel i have to explain the title quickly. this was one of my favorite things to say to boys back in high school to see how they would handle the pressure. if they laughed, right on. if they panic, see ya. if they responded with "why don't you reach in and find out", well, then i had a new boyfriend. such a brazen hussy. but you'll see why i used this title in a minute. i don't even know where to start. so i'll start at the beginning and will attempt to make a complicated situation less so....
monday:
met with attorney. was told that i'm in serious shit. shouldn't have moved out of the house. gave up rights to alimony by doing such. cannot split the time with the kids 50/50 because then mark doesn't have to pay me a dime in child support and he likely knows this, thus leading to his demanding that our time is a 50/50 arrangement...no wonder he was so adament. have to change custody arrangement so i have the kids the majority of the time (very cool with me since i'm with them constantly and love being with the little rugrats). however, i know to get ready to fight mark on the custody and it won't be pretty. here's the kicker. in order to get temporary "rehabilitative alimony" so i can earn a decent living, since i don't have a college degree, established career and i don't qualify for permanent alimony.....
I HAVE TO GO BACK TO COLLEGE FULL TIME ASAP!!!!!
excuse me while i go change my pants because i just shit all over myself.
are you fucking kidding me??? so not only have i screwed the pooch (the pooch being yours truly) by not demanding that he leave the house and i stay, but i have also fucked myself out of child support unless i do something quickly and i have to go to school while dealing with all of this bullshit?
now all of this came as quite a shock to me, to say the least, and i was left with raw wounds to lick for the past few evenings. thankfully, and i do mean this will the utmost sincerity, i have some seriously kick ass friends, incredible little mini-me's and a super cool family. not to mention switch who has been at my beckon call carefully advising, constantly supporting and without question just being a great listener.
so i carefully draft an email to mark detailing the fact that i want the kids the majority of the time. honestly, i was being nice doing the 50/50 split because he is a great father. however, the distance the kids feel on the evenings during the week that he has them is taking its toll already. it's sad and my heart breaks when i see the look on abby's face when she has to go back to sleep at daddy's just to be dropped back off here a few hours later. it's just too much for my sweet little girl right now and my motherly, must protect the young, instinct has kicked into full gear. i want my children as much as i have ever had time with them and that's final.
needless to say, he didn't take it well. in fact, he was threatening, confrontational, mean and he even called my mommy to tell on me. claims that i am not being reasonable so this grown man of 40 years picks up the phone and calls my mother to complain about me. seriously. the guy has lost his fucking marbles. and he's done it before too. does he expect my mom will change his diaper too? wow.
and with all of this happening, 2 kids to care for, a new home to establish, an old one to clear out, finding a job, paying bills, keeping my sanity and now, on top of it all, i have to go back to school. well now, it just can't get any more ridiculous now can it?
so i picked myself up, with a whole lot of help, dusted myself off and moved forward. today was good. i went down to the local community college, got re-enrolled in college classes and i'm ready. ready for what is another question. i'm undecided as to what i want to pursue after an aa degree but for now, that's all i can think about. getting my aa, being a full time student while i raise my children, fight the fucktard so that he supports me while i get back on my feet, try and be a decent human being without being walked all over and coming away with as few scars as humanly possible.
so i will get out my pencil sharpener, find the old #2's and see if i can't score some points in my favor. back to school at 37. never in a million years would have predicted this one! now is that a #2 pencil or are you just happy to see me? wonder if that line still works?
january 9, 2010
portrait of a portrait
Current mood: luminous
my daughter will be 9 in april and she is starting to show signs of more mature interests. instead of playing all the time, she wants to read. explore new ideas, create. she is still a very innocent 3rd grader but is aware of her body, changes that will be coming in the next few years. i am in complete denial and continue to try and convince myself that she will never wear high heels or makeup and don't even talk to me about sex. ugggg.....think my heart just broke a bit!
so the subject of makeup comes up the other day. being like any curious little girl, she wanted to experiment with makeup on none other than yours truly. i remember doing it to my mom too and wondering just how much blue eye shadow i could cake onto her lids. it's sort of a rite of passage for girls and their moms, or at least in my family it was.
now the kids has some general artistic ability by default simply because of my gene pool but i was pleasantly surprised to see how well she did with my makeup. now if i had stepped foot outside of the house, someone would have asked me "how much for a half and half?" but alas, we stayed put, prostitution was not solicited and we had a great time giggling and putting on makeup. she got me all dolled up (although i did do some minor modifications before photos) and i got her all dolled up. then it was washing of the faces and time for bed. i had so much fun with my little munchkin.
and when we were finished she said, "mommy, you are so beautiful. i look a lot like you so i'm beautiful too. we are beautiful together." yep, i melted. with those sweet little, honest, sincere words, she made me feel like the most stunningly beautiful woman in the whole wide world. i have never thought of myself as being so. in fact, i have never liked much about my face at all, with the exception of my full lips. but otherwise, my nose has always been too big and is now crooked from being broken, my face too round, eyes too close together, the list continues.
after she was in bed, i decided it was a good time to shoot a new self portrait. i had gotten into a habit of doing them everytime something new happened in my life but this was the first time i had a chance since moving into the new place. and i have to say, i think the kid did some good work on old mom here. if you had seen it in color, well, i looked a bit clownish but for black and whites, perfect. maybe i should wear makeup more often, just not as much?
so even though i don't always feel it, and the majority of the time i don't, my baby girl thinks i'm beautiful. and well, that's enough for me.
Current mood: luminous
my daughter will be 9 in april and she is starting to show signs of more mature interests. instead of playing all the time, she wants to read. explore new ideas, create. she is still a very innocent 3rd grader but is aware of her body, changes that will be coming in the next few years. i am in complete denial and continue to try and convince myself that she will never wear high heels or makeup and don't even talk to me about sex. ugggg.....think my heart just broke a bit!
so the subject of makeup comes up the other day. being like any curious little girl, she wanted to experiment with makeup on none other than yours truly. i remember doing it to my mom too and wondering just how much blue eye shadow i could cake onto her lids. it's sort of a rite of passage for girls and their moms, or at least in my family it was.
now the kids has some general artistic ability by default simply because of my gene pool but i was pleasantly surprised to see how well she did with my makeup. now if i had stepped foot outside of the house, someone would have asked me "how much for a half and half?" but alas, we stayed put, prostitution was not solicited and we had a great time giggling and putting on makeup. she got me all dolled up (although i did do some minor modifications before photos) and i got her all dolled up. then it was washing of the faces and time for bed. i had so much fun with my little munchkin.
and when we were finished she said, "mommy, you are so beautiful. i look a lot like you so i'm beautiful too. we are beautiful together." yep, i melted. with those sweet little, honest, sincere words, she made me feel like the most stunningly beautiful woman in the whole wide world. i have never thought of myself as being so. in fact, i have never liked much about my face at all, with the exception of my full lips. but otherwise, my nose has always been too big and is now crooked from being broken, my face too round, eyes too close together, the list continues.
after she was in bed, i decided it was a good time to shoot a new self portrait. i had gotten into a habit of doing them everytime something new happened in my life but this was the first time i had a chance since moving into the new place. and i have to say, i think the kid did some good work on old mom here. if you had seen it in color, well, i looked a bit clownish but for black and whites, perfect. maybe i should wear makeup more often, just not as much?
so even though i don't always feel it, and the majority of the time i don't, my baby girl thinks i'm beautiful. and well, that's enough for me.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
january 9, 2010
how does it look there?
Current mood: accomplished
so in all the craziness that has ensued over the last few weeks, i have been especially thankful for so many things and people who have helped me. but it's peculiar that through all of this transition, i have not been thankful for all the little comforts that this new life is affording me. suppose it's the hectic pace of life around here. taking care of kids, figuring out a schedule, dealing with fucktard on a daily basis. even hanging pictures on the wall is a large task for me right now. decisions, decisions, decisions.
but that's the really cool part. they are my decisions. nobody else. i can have a spoon full of peanut butter, walk around in my jamas, go to bed early or stay up all night. these things might seem regular fodder for other marriages but i was constantly scrutinized, questioned, doubted for every move i made. i have to say, this freedom to just be me is exactly what i needed and i don't doubt this decision one bit!
i had time yesterday at the apartment with, well, what can i call him? i'm tired of calling him "my love", "the other man", "the affair i am having", blah blah blah. executive decision time. i have decided to call him....switch (he used to yell SWITCH as loud as he could right in my face during high school. he's since grown out of the bizarre ritual but it still reminds me of him) suppose i could just call him my boyfriend but that's so boring. nope.
switch. i like it!
so switch comes over, we hang out for a bit, i had to send an email and he was left to amuse himself. never leave an artisitic, architect, mechanic, tinkerer to daydream about where to hang things in your house. suddenly he'll get a pensive look and you just know the wheels are turning. so after a little discussion about proper placement of photos, proportion, levels and visual impact, he gave me some ideas. good ideas.
it was right then that i realized that he has his opinions. i have my opinions. if we lived under the same roof, compromise and discussion would come into play. i value his opinion. i value him. i value the respect that he gives me in return. but when it comes right down to it, i don't have to hang my art in any other way than the way that i see fit. and you know what, he is perfectly fine with that. granted, it was a nice discussion, nothing uncomfortable. he wasn't trying to sway my opinion. he was simply voicing his own. and you know what....it was ok to voice mine in return. that is huge for me.
for so many years, i decided that it just wasn't worth the fight to give my opinion. on big things, i would speak up but i was never heard. hell, even the exterior color of our house was decided by mark, without even listening to me. mark would always win by default because i simply gave up. i gave up and didn't express my opinion because it wasn't worth the trouble in return. but now. wow. it was a turning point for me yesterday.
i realized that i am me. nobody else. yes, i am in fact switch's girlfriend, my parents' daughter, my childrens' mother, my fucktards soon to be ex-wife, but i am just a person. a person who can make decisions. i can trust myself. someone once said that as soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live. don't remember who it was but i'm sure you can google it. and it's true.
so in essence i will hang my art where i like, i will eat and drink and play as i want to, i will love the way that i want to and deserve. because i don't have to become something that i am not. i do not have to agree and that's just fine with him. and even if it weren't, i still wouldn't give up. nope. that girl is long gone.
but should a time come where i do again share a living space, i will be open for discussion. especially with switch old boy. because there is a mutual respect, a mutual love, a mutual fondness for each other and our varying opinions on, well, everything. we have many similarities but the things that are unique about each of us are just that...unique in every way. and i don't ever want that to change.
Current mood: accomplished
so in all the craziness that has ensued over the last few weeks, i have been especially thankful for so many things and people who have helped me. but it's peculiar that through all of this transition, i have not been thankful for all the little comforts that this new life is affording me. suppose it's the hectic pace of life around here. taking care of kids, figuring out a schedule, dealing with fucktard on a daily basis. even hanging pictures on the wall is a large task for me right now. decisions, decisions, decisions.
but that's the really cool part. they are my decisions. nobody else. i can have a spoon full of peanut butter, walk around in my jamas, go to bed early or stay up all night. these things might seem regular fodder for other marriages but i was constantly scrutinized, questioned, doubted for every move i made. i have to say, this freedom to just be me is exactly what i needed and i don't doubt this decision one bit!
i had time yesterday at the apartment with, well, what can i call him? i'm tired of calling him "my love", "the other man", "the affair i am having", blah blah blah. executive decision time. i have decided to call him....switch (he used to yell SWITCH as loud as he could right in my face during high school. he's since grown out of the bizarre ritual but it still reminds me of him) suppose i could just call him my boyfriend but that's so boring. nope.
switch. i like it!
so switch comes over, we hang out for a bit, i had to send an email and he was left to amuse himself. never leave an artisitic, architect, mechanic, tinkerer to daydream about where to hang things in your house. suddenly he'll get a pensive look and you just know the wheels are turning. so after a little discussion about proper placement of photos, proportion, levels and visual impact, he gave me some ideas. good ideas.
it was right then that i realized that he has his opinions. i have my opinions. if we lived under the same roof, compromise and discussion would come into play. i value his opinion. i value him. i value the respect that he gives me in return. but when it comes right down to it, i don't have to hang my art in any other way than the way that i see fit. and you know what, he is perfectly fine with that. granted, it was a nice discussion, nothing uncomfortable. he wasn't trying to sway my opinion. he was simply voicing his own. and you know what....it was ok to voice mine in return. that is huge for me.
for so many years, i decided that it just wasn't worth the fight to give my opinion. on big things, i would speak up but i was never heard. hell, even the exterior color of our house was decided by mark, without even listening to me. mark would always win by default because i simply gave up. i gave up and didn't express my opinion because it wasn't worth the trouble in return. but now. wow. it was a turning point for me yesterday.
i realized that i am me. nobody else. yes, i am in fact switch's girlfriend, my parents' daughter, my childrens' mother, my fucktards soon to be ex-wife, but i am just a person. a person who can make decisions. i can trust myself. someone once said that as soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live. don't remember who it was but i'm sure you can google it. and it's true.
so in essence i will hang my art where i like, i will eat and drink and play as i want to, i will love the way that i want to and deserve. because i don't have to become something that i am not. i do not have to agree and that's just fine with him. and even if it weren't, i still wouldn't give up. nope. that girl is long gone.
but should a time come where i do again share a living space, i will be open for discussion. especially with switch old boy. because there is a mutual respect, a mutual love, a mutual fondness for each other and our varying opinions on, well, everything. we have many similarities but the things that are unique about each of us are just that...unique in every way. and i don't ever want that to change.
january 6, 2010
The Black Hole
Current mood: determined
A bump in the road?
Nope, more like a fucking enormous black hole that is about to suck me in and take my shoes. Don’t care much for shoes anyway but these are my birks and we all know this granola lives for her German made natural cork foot beds. Damn, they are ugly but they make my feet so happy and shiny!
I am not someone to toot my own horn. Quite the contrary. I am in every sense of the word my own worst enemy. I find something fundamentally “broken” about me and breaking free from that mindset is taking a lot of work. Hell, I have a fantastic man in my life who loves the real me, fat rolls and stretch marks included, and I find myself asking questions like “why does he love me”, “he deserves someone better, cuter, skinnier, funnier, smarter”. It’s a vicious cycle but I’m ending it. The progress is there and I feel loved and accepted. It‘s really a lovely feeling. What was my point again?
Oh yeah, the tooting of the horn.
I will give myself some credit here. I have successfully moved away from a relationship that puts the “dys” in dysfunctional (always wanted to use that cliché). I have kept my cool, even when being inundated with bullshit, trivial, absurd question and answer sessions on a daily basis. Why did you spend this? Do you think I’m made of money? Oh, you’re taking that painting from the house too? Did you call this person, change this address, what, where, why, when, who? Shit, go ahead and ask me if I wiped my ass today. I’m sure I didn’t do that to your liking either. Damn, he drives me up a wall with the condescending tone and general disapproval of my decisions.
On top of the daily stress of dealing with the fun sucker that is my husband, I am unpacking a home that includes two young children, putting together bunk beds alone (and almost killing myself), moving one box at a time since the prick only helped with the “big” items. And to make it worse, we just finished Christmas and it all needs to be boxed up and put away and so do all the toys that are included in the gift giving season. Merry fucking Christmas! I have done everything on my own, but that’s nothing new. Hence, the end of my marriage.
Meanwhile, I am taking the kids to school, putting on a happy face for them and continuing to be a nurturing, fun loving, free spirited mom, friend, daughter and all around pretty good person. I’ve shown hairline cracks along the way via some conversations that involved a louder than normal voice, calling of names, some crying, some laughing, more crying, hard, deep crying from the gut. It’s tough. It’s really fucking tough. But I have successfully kept my shit together. I am far stronger than I give myself credit and am really proud of myself for seeing this through.
But tonight for some reason, I am vulnerable. Reality is hitting me in the face and I feel like it was Tyson doing the punching. And what the hell happened to my ear? It was there just a minute ago.
What I mean to say is that this tough exterior that appears to be unflappable is coming apart. I am doing my best to patch the holes, seal the cracks, repair the failing foundation and hoping like hell that this renovation goes smoothly. But I am a mere mortal and incapable of doing everything, all the time, and not show the stress that is bubbling under the surface.
I will not fail. I will not turn around. I will continue to move forward. This is the first of many times when I will feel out of control, misjudged, disrespected and frankly, it is par for the course. My depression will come and go as it always does and I’ll be just fine in the end. Marriage isn’t easy and neither is divorce. It’s just that sometimes one is a clearer choice than the other. This is one of those times.
So this black hole. Fucking black hole that is about to open beneath me. Well, you can take my birks, take my ruby slippers, take all the shoes you can get your black hole sucking mouth around and leave me alone. You can take my shoes but that doesn’t mean I won’t still be standing. I‘ll still be walking down to the corner for a pint and the company of friends. Barefoot. With blisters, shards of glass and dirt under my nails. But you can’t make me sit down.
Take that you black hole mother fucker!
Current mood: determined
A bump in the road?
Nope, more like a fucking enormous black hole that is about to suck me in and take my shoes. Don’t care much for shoes anyway but these are my birks and we all know this granola lives for her German made natural cork foot beds. Damn, they are ugly but they make my feet so happy and shiny!
I am not someone to toot my own horn. Quite the contrary. I am in every sense of the word my own worst enemy. I find something fundamentally “broken” about me and breaking free from that mindset is taking a lot of work. Hell, I have a fantastic man in my life who loves the real me, fat rolls and stretch marks included, and I find myself asking questions like “why does he love me”, “he deserves someone better, cuter, skinnier, funnier, smarter”. It’s a vicious cycle but I’m ending it. The progress is there and I feel loved and accepted. It‘s really a lovely feeling. What was my point again?
Oh yeah, the tooting of the horn.
I will give myself some credit here. I have successfully moved away from a relationship that puts the “dys” in dysfunctional (always wanted to use that cliché). I have kept my cool, even when being inundated with bullshit, trivial, absurd question and answer sessions on a daily basis. Why did you spend this? Do you think I’m made of money? Oh, you’re taking that painting from the house too? Did you call this person, change this address, what, where, why, when, who? Shit, go ahead and ask me if I wiped my ass today. I’m sure I didn’t do that to your liking either. Damn, he drives me up a wall with the condescending tone and general disapproval of my decisions.
On top of the daily stress of dealing with the fun sucker that is my husband, I am unpacking a home that includes two young children, putting together bunk beds alone (and almost killing myself), moving one box at a time since the prick only helped with the “big” items. And to make it worse, we just finished Christmas and it all needs to be boxed up and put away and so do all the toys that are included in the gift giving season. Merry fucking Christmas! I have done everything on my own, but that’s nothing new. Hence, the end of my marriage.
Meanwhile, I am taking the kids to school, putting on a happy face for them and continuing to be a nurturing, fun loving, free spirited mom, friend, daughter and all around pretty good person. I’ve shown hairline cracks along the way via some conversations that involved a louder than normal voice, calling of names, some crying, some laughing, more crying, hard, deep crying from the gut. It’s tough. It’s really fucking tough. But I have successfully kept my shit together. I am far stronger than I give myself credit and am really proud of myself for seeing this through.
But tonight for some reason, I am vulnerable. Reality is hitting me in the face and I feel like it was Tyson doing the punching. And what the hell happened to my ear? It was there just a minute ago.
What I mean to say is that this tough exterior that appears to be unflappable is coming apart. I am doing my best to patch the holes, seal the cracks, repair the failing foundation and hoping like hell that this renovation goes smoothly. But I am a mere mortal and incapable of doing everything, all the time, and not show the stress that is bubbling under the surface.
I will not fail. I will not turn around. I will continue to move forward. This is the first of many times when I will feel out of control, misjudged, disrespected and frankly, it is par for the course. My depression will come and go as it always does and I’ll be just fine in the end. Marriage isn’t easy and neither is divorce. It’s just that sometimes one is a clearer choice than the other. This is one of those times.
So this black hole. Fucking black hole that is about to open beneath me. Well, you can take my birks, take my ruby slippers, take all the shoes you can get your black hole sucking mouth around and leave me alone. You can take my shoes but that doesn’t mean I won’t still be standing. I‘ll still be walking down to the corner for a pint and the company of friends. Barefoot. With blisters, shards of glass and dirt under my nails. But you can’t make me sit down.
Take that you black hole mother fucker!
january 3, 2010
sixty nine...get your head out of the gutter you dirty birds!
Current mood: rockin
As I sit here writing this blog, I am reminded that it was just a few short months ago that I started to open myself up again to the blogosphere. Sixty eight. Sixty eight posts since early august. And I have lots of personal shit I keep to myself too! I have never given the proper time to writing down my thoughts, my life, the way I see things, until right now. And now I can't stop. Damn addictive blog bullshit. Seriously.....
So post number sixty nine is quite a daunting task. it does give me a great deal of pleasure that the connotation of the number "sixty nine" is sexual (and fun!), dirty, silly and makes me sound like beavis and butthead because I chuckle just saying it. Huh-huh, sixty nine…gonna have to add this to my repertoire this year. Ooo, I think this is my first new year’s resolution!
So, not only is it the first blog of the New Year but it is also the close of a chapter in my life. I have grown. The sound of my own voice now is deafening. I find that I am in a state of constant motion, never stopping, and no looking back. And yet I feel that I need to look back before I look forward. Take the lessons for face value and push forward.
I have gone from discontent, misunderstood and feeling lost to having a pretty good idea of where I’m heading. I’ve had some lovely bar-bee-que along the way, a few drunken escapades, marriage counseling, personal therapy, an updated tattoo that rocks, ups and downs, substantial crying followed by serious soul searching, some good photography, a rebirth of my creative spirit, all peppered with great friends and family. I finally demanded an end to this dead end marriage. I made the decision to move out of a house I love for a place that I can finally call home.
I have learned who stands by me no matter, who believes in me, how to believe in myself again. I have had diets, binges, tons of great fucking sex (this one makes me a very happy girl). I have explored the depth of the love I hold for my kids. I have chosen to give them a better understanding of what life can hold for them. That all things are possible. Just watch mommy do it!
I am energized, refocused, scared like a mother fucker, could shit in my pants at the thought of having to find a job and finally serving my prick of a husband with divorce papers. I have no idea where I’ll be in a year. With photography, graphic design, teaching, reconnecting with my inner hippy and beer loving wench that I am deep down. Well, the possibilities have my head swirling in a great way. All the while I’m thankful, blessed, even when it's rough. I have space to move and I feel like filling this fucker up with all sorts of great things.
To sweeten the pot, I am madly, deeply in love with an unlikely hero. He’s genuine, his love for me is pure and I don’t doubt his honesty or integrity. Truly a one of a kind person all around. I would go so far as to say that he’s the real deal. He once said that he has “nothing”, but he would risk it all for me but that if he had everything, he would still feel the same. Incredibly simple and beautiful, just like him. Yeah, I think he’s a keeper.
I’m reminded of the often commercialized mandala symbol. A full circle, contemplation from beginning to end. It is used to represent chakras, spiritual energy, and focus. You know all that hippy dippy ass bullshit that I do love so much. I know…you can’t take the birks off this girl, no matter how hard you try! And although I am acutely aware that this is nowhere near the end of this journey, mind you it is really just the beginning, I do feel like I have shed some skin along the way and it feels really fucking good.
Wonder if they have a “sixty nine” mandala symbol…I feel a new tattoo coming on!
Current mood: rockin
As I sit here writing this blog, I am reminded that it was just a few short months ago that I started to open myself up again to the blogosphere. Sixty eight. Sixty eight posts since early august. And I have lots of personal shit I keep to myself too! I have never given the proper time to writing down my thoughts, my life, the way I see things, until right now. And now I can't stop. Damn addictive blog bullshit. Seriously.....
So post number sixty nine is quite a daunting task. it does give me a great deal of pleasure that the connotation of the number "sixty nine" is sexual (and fun!), dirty, silly and makes me sound like beavis and butthead because I chuckle just saying it. Huh-huh, sixty nine…gonna have to add this to my repertoire this year. Ooo, I think this is my first new year’s resolution!
So, not only is it the first blog of the New Year but it is also the close of a chapter in my life. I have grown. The sound of my own voice now is deafening. I find that I am in a state of constant motion, never stopping, and no looking back. And yet I feel that I need to look back before I look forward. Take the lessons for face value and push forward.
I have gone from discontent, misunderstood and feeling lost to having a pretty good idea of where I’m heading. I’ve had some lovely bar-bee-que along the way, a few drunken escapades, marriage counseling, personal therapy, an updated tattoo that rocks, ups and downs, substantial crying followed by serious soul searching, some good photography, a rebirth of my creative spirit, all peppered with great friends and family. I finally demanded an end to this dead end marriage. I made the decision to move out of a house I love for a place that I can finally call home.
I have learned who stands by me no matter, who believes in me, how to believe in myself again. I have had diets, binges, tons of great fucking sex (this one makes me a very happy girl). I have explored the depth of the love I hold for my kids. I have chosen to give them a better understanding of what life can hold for them. That all things are possible. Just watch mommy do it!
I am energized, refocused, scared like a mother fucker, could shit in my pants at the thought of having to find a job and finally serving my prick of a husband with divorce papers. I have no idea where I’ll be in a year. With photography, graphic design, teaching, reconnecting with my inner hippy and beer loving wench that I am deep down. Well, the possibilities have my head swirling in a great way. All the while I’m thankful, blessed, even when it's rough. I have space to move and I feel like filling this fucker up with all sorts of great things.
To sweeten the pot, I am madly, deeply in love with an unlikely hero. He’s genuine, his love for me is pure and I don’t doubt his honesty or integrity. Truly a one of a kind person all around. I would go so far as to say that he’s the real deal. He once said that he has “nothing”, but he would risk it all for me but that if he had everything, he would still feel the same. Incredibly simple and beautiful, just like him. Yeah, I think he’s a keeper.
I’m reminded of the often commercialized mandala symbol. A full circle, contemplation from beginning to end. It is used to represent chakras, spiritual energy, and focus. You know all that hippy dippy ass bullshit that I do love so much. I know…you can’t take the birks off this girl, no matter how hard you try! And although I am acutely aware that this is nowhere near the end of this journey, mind you it is really just the beginning, I do feel like I have shed some skin along the way and it feels really fucking good.
Wonder if they have a “sixty nine” mandala symbol…I feel a new tattoo coming on!
december 24, 2009
a winged heart
Current mood: blessed
I had a dream last night and it has me reeling.
I got to rest my very weary head in the arms of my love. I needed him. I needed that safe, soft place. Tender, loved and I fell asleep for a short time. But it was long enough for me to fall into a deep sleep and dream. I dreamed of a specific image that has been haunting me lately. The image was being painted, not by me or anyone that I knew but I was a voyeur in the dream, watching it being painted. And as this mystery person was painting, in my head I *heard* a poem that I know by heart.
When I was 15, my best friend gave me a collection of writings by Kahlil Gibran. It moved me and continues to resonate with me all these years later. As a young woman, I would study those pages, knew all of the writings by heart. This particular poem speaks beautifully to the gratitude of loving. It sways me and makes me soar. I have not read it in many years but for some reason, there it was last night. Word for word.
But this image, it’s something that has been haunting me. Dark, unedited, raw. Raymond Pettibon, Winged Heart…A somewhat universal symbol but it can be interpreted in so many different ways. Pettibon was familiar to me. He is an icon for a very specific generation of artists. His work can be emotional, expressive but is often simply graphic and elemental.
I became aware of this particular piece for several reasons. An edited version is used on the cover of a Foo Fighters album, and we all know I’m a Dave Grohl junkie. But it is also adorning my true love’s arm thanks to a beautifully crafted Italian tattoo. Although it’s representation, this heart with wings, can take on many familiar meanings, I had not been able to figure out exactly what it held for me.
Now I could have dreamed of these two distinctive parts of my subconscious for many reasons. It could be something as simple as being so physically and emotionally exhausted that I put them together, with no real meaning behind their joining. It could be because I was wrapped in this sweet man’s arms where this version of Pettibon’s imagine lay. But for some reason I just don’t buy it.
Instead I feel like I finally understand. I feel dizzy yet decidedly focused. So this holiday, I am thankful. Thankful for so very many things and people in my life. But I am especially thankful that my heart is soaring and that I have the freedom to let it go. I can’t wait to see where it takes me.
To melt and be like a running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.
- Kahlil Gibran
Current mood: blessed
I had a dream last night and it has me reeling.
I got to rest my very weary head in the arms of my love. I needed him. I needed that safe, soft place. Tender, loved and I fell asleep for a short time. But it was long enough for me to fall into a deep sleep and dream. I dreamed of a specific image that has been haunting me lately. The image was being painted, not by me or anyone that I knew but I was a voyeur in the dream, watching it being painted. And as this mystery person was painting, in my head I *heard* a poem that I know by heart.
When I was 15, my best friend gave me a collection of writings by Kahlil Gibran. It moved me and continues to resonate with me all these years later. As a young woman, I would study those pages, knew all of the writings by heart. This particular poem speaks beautifully to the gratitude of loving. It sways me and makes me soar. I have not read it in many years but for some reason, there it was last night. Word for word.
But this image, it’s something that has been haunting me. Dark, unedited, raw. Raymond Pettibon, Winged Heart…A somewhat universal symbol but it can be interpreted in so many different ways. Pettibon was familiar to me. He is an icon for a very specific generation of artists. His work can be emotional, expressive but is often simply graphic and elemental.
I became aware of this particular piece for several reasons. An edited version is used on the cover of a Foo Fighters album, and we all know I’m a Dave Grohl junkie. But it is also adorning my true love’s arm thanks to a beautifully crafted Italian tattoo. Although it’s representation, this heart with wings, can take on many familiar meanings, I had not been able to figure out exactly what it held for me.
Now I could have dreamed of these two distinctive parts of my subconscious for many reasons. It could be something as simple as being so physically and emotionally exhausted that I put them together, with no real meaning behind their joining. It could be because I was wrapped in this sweet man’s arms where this version of Pettibon’s imagine lay. But for some reason I just don’t buy it.
Instead I feel like I finally understand. I feel dizzy yet decidedly focused. So this holiday, I am thankful. Thankful for so very many things and people in my life. But I am especially thankful that my heart is soaring and that I have the freedom to let it go. I can’t wait to see where it takes me.
To melt and be like a running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.
- Kahlil Gibran
december 20, 2009
this old house
Current mood: thoughtful
The double edged sword, Catch-22, robbing Peter to pay Paul, it all comes with a price. I have to pay the price and the price is my house, my sweet, sweet house.
In many regards I am more than ready to move on with my life as a single, divorced mother of two. The idea of having my own home, even in the form of a temporary apartment, is exciting. No maintenance, no lawn to mow and some room to finally breathe deeply. It has me bursting with possibilities. It’s a welcome relief to my weary mind and body. I have longed for this day. Dreamed of being out of this marriage that has never fulfilled me the way I hoped it might some 12 years ago. To be comfortable in my own skin again, or perhaps for the first time in my life, is something I long for and now have within my reach.
Everyday I feel stronger, more confident that I can handle the stress and burdens that are associated with all of these decisions. I take nothing lightly, leave no stone unturned and I’m preparing, planning, strategizing and getting my ducks in a row. I look forward to getting back out in the real world, with a real job (gulp) and real responsibilities. I feel ready, even if I’m not.
As badly as I want it, as much as I want this to be done and over with, for the divorce papers to be signed, sealed, and delivered, it will not come quickly or without a price. The price is something I have been aware of from day one but Mark is making it, well, far more expensive. He has raised the price.
He has refused to leave our home of 9 years. He simply doesn’t want to and so he will not leave. He’s a stubborn fucking bastard. Granted, he has every right to be here, as do I, but I have given him many valid reasons why he should leave and I should stay. I won’t go into it. Instead I’m well on my way to moving out. With the help of my parents cosigning an agreement with me, because Mark refused to help, I will be in a new home by the end of the month.
But I am sad. I am disappointed. I am in mourning. My sweet little house on a sweet little street in a sweet little neighborhood will no longer be my home. Legally, yes, but it will never be my “home” again. Granted, it represents years of being in a loveless marriage with the wrong man but there have been good things along the way. I have been pregnant in this house, experienced motherhood in this house, experienced laughter and goofiness and kindness in this house, explored the depth of love that I have for these two beautiful children and rediscovered myself. It has been with me the last 9 years of my life. I have poured myself into every nook and cranny. Every wall has been painted, every fan hung, fixture installed, floor refinished, board replaced, corner cleaned has all been done at my hand. I have crawled in attic spaces, I have refinished original 1944 hardware, and I have planed doors so they will close more easily. I have been under the house installing water lines, re-plumbing, rewiring and redoing everything with love and care. My love and care has gone into this house. It is truly my house.
Now I will walk away from all of the love I’ve given to this old girl. I am walking away from the potential in this sweet little bungalow. All the plans, ideas, sketches that have been drawn in my head over the years, the additions, the remodeling that I have dreamed of doing, they will not come to fruition. I will not be the one to see the potential in this house come to life. I will miss the creaky floors, the drafty windows, the texture of the walls and the way the light comes through the oaks. It is, however, just a house. It’s a simple little piece of the pie but it was my piece of the pie.
But it’s a price I’m willing to pay. It appears to be the price of my well being, my peace of mind and my resurgence, independence and love. It’s the beginning of the end that can only lead to new and wonderful things. It’s time to say goodbye and good luck to the old girl. Good luck sweet house. I leave you with my love. I will mourn you but I will never forget the wonderful things you have given me in return, especially this new beginning.
Current mood: thoughtful
The double edged sword, Catch-22, robbing Peter to pay Paul, it all comes with a price. I have to pay the price and the price is my house, my sweet, sweet house.
In many regards I am more than ready to move on with my life as a single, divorced mother of two. The idea of having my own home, even in the form of a temporary apartment, is exciting. No maintenance, no lawn to mow and some room to finally breathe deeply. It has me bursting with possibilities. It’s a welcome relief to my weary mind and body. I have longed for this day. Dreamed of being out of this marriage that has never fulfilled me the way I hoped it might some 12 years ago. To be comfortable in my own skin again, or perhaps for the first time in my life, is something I long for and now have within my reach.
Everyday I feel stronger, more confident that I can handle the stress and burdens that are associated with all of these decisions. I take nothing lightly, leave no stone unturned and I’m preparing, planning, strategizing and getting my ducks in a row. I look forward to getting back out in the real world, with a real job (gulp) and real responsibilities. I feel ready, even if I’m not.
As badly as I want it, as much as I want this to be done and over with, for the divorce papers to be signed, sealed, and delivered, it will not come quickly or without a price. The price is something I have been aware of from day one but Mark is making it, well, far more expensive. He has raised the price.
He has refused to leave our home of 9 years. He simply doesn’t want to and so he will not leave. He’s a stubborn fucking bastard. Granted, he has every right to be here, as do I, but I have given him many valid reasons why he should leave and I should stay. I won’t go into it. Instead I’m well on my way to moving out. With the help of my parents cosigning an agreement with me, because Mark refused to help, I will be in a new home by the end of the month.
But I am sad. I am disappointed. I am in mourning. My sweet little house on a sweet little street in a sweet little neighborhood will no longer be my home. Legally, yes, but it will never be my “home” again. Granted, it represents years of being in a loveless marriage with the wrong man but there have been good things along the way. I have been pregnant in this house, experienced motherhood in this house, experienced laughter and goofiness and kindness in this house, explored the depth of love that I have for these two beautiful children and rediscovered myself. It has been with me the last 9 years of my life. I have poured myself into every nook and cranny. Every wall has been painted, every fan hung, fixture installed, floor refinished, board replaced, corner cleaned has all been done at my hand. I have crawled in attic spaces, I have refinished original 1944 hardware, and I have planed doors so they will close more easily. I have been under the house installing water lines, re-plumbing, rewiring and redoing everything with love and care. My love and care has gone into this house. It is truly my house.
Now I will walk away from all of the love I’ve given to this old girl. I am walking away from the potential in this sweet little bungalow. All the plans, ideas, sketches that have been drawn in my head over the years, the additions, the remodeling that I have dreamed of doing, they will not come to fruition. I will not be the one to see the potential in this house come to life. I will miss the creaky floors, the drafty windows, the texture of the walls and the way the light comes through the oaks. It is, however, just a house. It’s a simple little piece of the pie but it was my piece of the pie.
But it’s a price I’m willing to pay. It appears to be the price of my well being, my peace of mind and my resurgence, independence and love. It’s the beginning of the end that can only lead to new and wonderful things. It’s time to say goodbye and good luck to the old girl. Good luck sweet house. I leave you with my love. I will mourn you but I will never forget the wonderful things you have given me in return, especially this new beginning.
december 16, 2009
i'm anxious for a shower curtain Current mood: focused
and then it's up down, left, right, dodge, curl, wipe, sweep, under, over, thrust and pull. talk about having multiple personalities! jeezus-age-christ (dad still says this all the time) i am confused as to who is walking in and out of this house. and to think that just a few short weeks ago he was accusing me of being bipolar. pot...kettle....black.
emotions have run the gamete since the days following thanksgiving (to be expected but still a royal pain in my arse). he has been passionately in love with me and wanting nothing more than to have me run into his arms saying i'm sorry and that everything will work out just fine. the next minute he looks as if he could kill me right then and there. and then, after he's gone from one extreme to the other, he is willing to sit, talk and consider being civil. and i thought i was hot and cold.
i won't go into details about all of the hurtful, accusatory and unflattering things he has said to me or about me. i admit, it gets to me. he has been far more cruel than i ever imagined and i am still reeling from disbelief but i'm starting to sober up to the fact that i have to play hardball with the prick that i call my husband. most of what he has said is unfounded, untrue and irrational. however, he has brought up some issues that are most certainly true and have hurt him on a very real level. for those things, i am sorry. truly sorry.
to make a long story short, or a short story long, i'm moving out! seriously. it's really happening. no more hiding, worry, stepping on toes, nope. i'm hitting the road!!!
i am being the bigger person on this one and moving out of our home. i'm not giving it to him and have made that very, very clear. instead i am making a decision to move forward and out of a volatile situation. i should preface it by stating that i met with my attorney yesterday, began the divorce proceedings and will be serving mark with official divorce papers after christmas. this step alone was a huge load off my mind. then i got uberlucky by finding a wonderful new bachelorette pad!
it's a lovely, quiet, well loved condo/apartment just 1.2 miles from the house and directly across the street from my daughter's elementary school. i saw the apartment today and i'm super, super impressed and i believe i have fairly high standards so that's saying a bunch. some say i'm spoiled but i consider it selective ;) it's beautiful, everything that i need (roomy, private, safe), everything that i don't need (yard, maintenance, worry) and i find myself excited to be moving in after a few weeks prep time. likely i will be setup and ready to roll between christmas and new years. mark is on board with this plan and seems relieved that i will be leaving soon. i think deep down that he will be happier in the end and he knows it, just isn't ready to admit it.
i will be able to set up a life for myself outside of these walls. in a few short weeks, independence, freedom and responsibility. my own goddamn responsibility and i can't wait. oh, how i love my little house and it's walls but they represent so many limitations for me. i have spent 9 out of nearly 12 years of marriage in this house and walking away from it will be difficult. i was pregnant with my daughter when we moved in, both children know nothing but this house as their home and they love it here. despite all the wonderful things, the memories that i've made here with my children, i am taking a positive step by walking away from an unbalanced life. an unbalanced and skewed sense of self. my skin has never fit well here and it's time to change that. i actually feel incredibly lucky to have the chance to change. without change there is no growth, without growth there is no personal discovery and without discovery, no change.
so my eyes are open, my head is swirling with planning, strategy, research and excitement. the packing, the money involved, the furnishings, the list of to-do's and to-buy's. and as i make my mental checklist of shit that has to get done (on top of having a nice christmas), i am reminded of the first time i moved into my very own place. the first thing i did was put up the shower curtain. weird but ever since that first little apartment in savannah when i was just 18, i have done the same thing. even did it when we moved into this house. so i look forward to opening up that new shower curtain, painstakingly hanging it one hook at a time while i stand on my tippy toes and taking a deep breath of that sweet freshly unfolded vinyl. lovingly laying down white bath rugs and hanging freshly laundered towels. that's when i know i'll be safe. when i can smell the vinyl. then i'll be home.
and then it's up down, left, right, dodge, curl, wipe, sweep, under, over, thrust and pull. talk about having multiple personalities! jeezus-age-christ (dad still says this all the time) i am confused as to who is walking in and out of this house. and to think that just a few short weeks ago he was accusing me of being bipolar. pot...kettle....black.
emotions have run the gamete since the days following thanksgiving (to be expected but still a royal pain in my arse). he has been passionately in love with me and wanting nothing more than to have me run into his arms saying i'm sorry and that everything will work out just fine. the next minute he looks as if he could kill me right then and there. and then, after he's gone from one extreme to the other, he is willing to sit, talk and consider being civil. and i thought i was hot and cold.
i won't go into details about all of the hurtful, accusatory and unflattering things he has said to me or about me. i admit, it gets to me. he has been far more cruel than i ever imagined and i am still reeling from disbelief but i'm starting to sober up to the fact that i have to play hardball with the prick that i call my husband. most of what he has said is unfounded, untrue and irrational. however, he has brought up some issues that are most certainly true and have hurt him on a very real level. for those things, i am sorry. truly sorry.
to make a long story short, or a short story long, i'm moving out! seriously. it's really happening. no more hiding, worry, stepping on toes, nope. i'm hitting the road!!!
i am being the bigger person on this one and moving out of our home. i'm not giving it to him and have made that very, very clear. instead i am making a decision to move forward and out of a volatile situation. i should preface it by stating that i met with my attorney yesterday, began the divorce proceedings and will be serving mark with official divorce papers after christmas. this step alone was a huge load off my mind. then i got uberlucky by finding a wonderful new bachelorette pad!
it's a lovely, quiet, well loved condo/apartment just 1.2 miles from the house and directly across the street from my daughter's elementary school. i saw the apartment today and i'm super, super impressed and i believe i have fairly high standards so that's saying a bunch. some say i'm spoiled but i consider it selective ;) it's beautiful, everything that i need (roomy, private, safe), everything that i don't need (yard, maintenance, worry) and i find myself excited to be moving in after a few weeks prep time. likely i will be setup and ready to roll between christmas and new years. mark is on board with this plan and seems relieved that i will be leaving soon. i think deep down that he will be happier in the end and he knows it, just isn't ready to admit it.
i will be able to set up a life for myself outside of these walls. in a few short weeks, independence, freedom and responsibility. my own goddamn responsibility and i can't wait. oh, how i love my little house and it's walls but they represent so many limitations for me. i have spent 9 out of nearly 12 years of marriage in this house and walking away from it will be difficult. i was pregnant with my daughter when we moved in, both children know nothing but this house as their home and they love it here. despite all the wonderful things, the memories that i've made here with my children, i am taking a positive step by walking away from an unbalanced life. an unbalanced and skewed sense of self. my skin has never fit well here and it's time to change that. i actually feel incredibly lucky to have the chance to change. without change there is no growth, without growth there is no personal discovery and without discovery, no change.
so my eyes are open, my head is swirling with planning, strategy, research and excitement. the packing, the money involved, the furnishings, the list of to-do's and to-buy's. and as i make my mental checklist of shit that has to get done (on top of having a nice christmas), i am reminded of the first time i moved into my very own place. the first thing i did was put up the shower curtain. weird but ever since that first little apartment in savannah when i was just 18, i have done the same thing. even did it when we moved into this house. so i look forward to opening up that new shower curtain, painstakingly hanging it one hook at a time while i stand on my tippy toes and taking a deep breath of that sweet freshly unfolded vinyl. lovingly laying down white bath rugs and hanging freshly laundered towels. that's when i know i'll be safe. when i can smell the vinyl. then i'll be home.
december 14, 2009
The monsters in the closet are real....
Current mood: bullied
I’ve come to realize a few things in my short 37 years. Trust me on this one. This list will undoubtedly bore some of you and if it does, well, fuck you. Sorry, I’m in a punchy mood tonight and just can't tolerate any more bullshit. I’m knee deep in it at home and tired of the stench.
These little thoughts are probably nothing profound or significant to anyone besides me. Hell, I don’t know that they hold much importance to me either but they sound good to me right now. I’m likely looking like a serious tool. Could be the Monday evening cocktails that aren't generally part of my repetoire. Just gonna blame it on the booze....
But right now I’m trying to ground myself, reinvent my belief system, rediscover, recharge, regroup and this is a good distraction. It’s called the human experience, perception, reality, proportionate upon your unique circumstances. My own circumstances are currently, well, fucked in a really fucking fucked up fucking way. Profanity makes my tongue happy.
So I’ve taken it upon myself to come up with a list of the few things of which I feel confident. Most are just silly musings but, well, I’m feeling quirky and need a good belly laugh.
Without further ado or wavering…
1. On a deep down level, I am scared of myself. There are times that I feel like I can’t handle myself so how will anyone else?
2. I fucking love peanut butter. When I drink a wee bit too much, feel my blood sugar plummet or when it’s Africa hot outside (I know, weird right) I grab a large spoon, dig into that jar and walk around with what my family refers to as a peanut butter spoon. Apparently I have been doing this since I was a toddler and still find myself revert to it in times of peanut butter crisis.
3. Tanning is not and never will be a part of my existence.
4. Never say never…..except for the tanning.
5. I cannot turn off my brain, ever. I remember even as a young child sitting up at night thinking of hair brained ideas and lists of “to do’s”. As I’ve become older, it has lead to a great deal of debilitating anxiety. Good news is that I’m starting to mellow out a bit thanks to a certain someone who has shown me that doing one thing at a time, doing it well and doing it with your all is most certainly a lovely way to approach life.
6. I dream in color. Always in vivid, touchable color.
7. If you cross me, truly cross me with malicious intent, I will forgive you but will not be crossed again.
8. IOU’s don’t mean shit to me and I take them as words with no merit. Shit or get off the pot! I have things to do.
9. I am cautiously optimistic but miss my youthful, full on, electrifying optimism.
10. I don’t give myself enough credit where credit is due. Instead, I have a knack for undermining and demeaning self dialogue.
11. Art = Me
12. The monsters in the closet are real. You just don’t see them until they are backed into a corner. Then they are far worse than anything you could imagine.
13. It is safe to say that my sexual response system is in overdrive 24/7. I am 37 so it could be related to my “sexual peak”. However, I am of the belief that I am simply a sexually charged person and have learned to embrace it. Also helps having a yummy man to take along for the ride…no pun intended!
14. Love is real and attainable.
15. Marriage is not about compromise or unconditional love. It’s about many things but those two things are simply illusions to help us sleep better at night.
16. Music moves me and I’m envious of folks who can make it so naturally, freely, organically.
17. I am not for sale.
Current mood: bullied
I’ve come to realize a few things in my short 37 years. Trust me on this one. This list will undoubtedly bore some of you and if it does, well, fuck you. Sorry, I’m in a punchy mood tonight and just can't tolerate any more bullshit. I’m knee deep in it at home and tired of the stench.
These little thoughts are probably nothing profound or significant to anyone besides me. Hell, I don’t know that they hold much importance to me either but they sound good to me right now. I’m likely looking like a serious tool. Could be the Monday evening cocktails that aren't generally part of my repetoire. Just gonna blame it on the booze....
But right now I’m trying to ground myself, reinvent my belief system, rediscover, recharge, regroup and this is a good distraction. It’s called the human experience, perception, reality, proportionate upon your unique circumstances. My own circumstances are currently, well, fucked in a really fucking fucked up fucking way. Profanity makes my tongue happy.
So I’ve taken it upon myself to come up with a list of the few things of which I feel confident. Most are just silly musings but, well, I’m feeling quirky and need a good belly laugh.
Without further ado or wavering…
1. On a deep down level, I am scared of myself. There are times that I feel like I can’t handle myself so how will anyone else?
2. I fucking love peanut butter. When I drink a wee bit too much, feel my blood sugar plummet or when it’s Africa hot outside (I know, weird right) I grab a large spoon, dig into that jar and walk around with what my family refers to as a peanut butter spoon. Apparently I have been doing this since I was a toddler and still find myself revert to it in times of peanut butter crisis.
3. Tanning is not and never will be a part of my existence.
4. Never say never…..except for the tanning.
5. I cannot turn off my brain, ever. I remember even as a young child sitting up at night thinking of hair brained ideas and lists of “to do’s”. As I’ve become older, it has lead to a great deal of debilitating anxiety. Good news is that I’m starting to mellow out a bit thanks to a certain someone who has shown me that doing one thing at a time, doing it well and doing it with your all is most certainly a lovely way to approach life.
6. I dream in color. Always in vivid, touchable color.
7. If you cross me, truly cross me with malicious intent, I will forgive you but will not be crossed again.
8. IOU’s don’t mean shit to me and I take them as words with no merit. Shit or get off the pot! I have things to do.
9. I am cautiously optimistic but miss my youthful, full on, electrifying optimism.
10. I don’t give myself enough credit where credit is due. Instead, I have a knack for undermining and demeaning self dialogue.
11. Art = Me
12. The monsters in the closet are real. You just don’t see them until they are backed into a corner. Then they are far worse than anything you could imagine.
13. It is safe to say that my sexual response system is in overdrive 24/7. I am 37 so it could be related to my “sexual peak”. However, I am of the belief that I am simply a sexually charged person and have learned to embrace it. Also helps having a yummy man to take along for the ride…no pun intended!
14. Love is real and attainable.
15. Marriage is not about compromise or unconditional love. It’s about many things but those two things are simply illusions to help us sleep better at night.
16. Music moves me and I’m envious of folks who can make it so naturally, freely, organically.
17. I am not for sale.
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