behind the green door

I bought a house. A great house with great bones. With incredible history and a great deal of “mojo”. It was once owned by an old friend and her husband. In fact, they started their family of three in this house 10 years ago. I have to say, knowing this fact made the house that much more attractive for some reason. Perhaps it was in knowing that there was a good amount of joy and memories made behind that front door by someone I know. Maybe it was the fact that I knew this couple took impeccable care of the house and knew its history and maintenance. Not sure but whatever the reason, I found it especially appealing. So in I jumped with both feet and I haven’t looked back.

The exterior had an enormous flaw that I couldn’t help but notice. Here was this beautiful circular brick entry way with very detailed, very well cared for, wrought iron railings that wrapped the steps. Absolutely beautiful and such character in the entryway. But instead of leaving well enough alone, the prior owners (not my friends) added full door length shutters, teeny tiny exterior lights, an awning and a bright silver kick plate and hardware. It was too much. Like someone took the Mona Lisa and decided she needed a low v-neck, some dangly earrings and a perm. Less really is more sometimes and in this case, it’s definitely the right way to go.

A few weeks ago, Justin helped to remove the black plastic monstrous shutters. Instant face lift! We have both wanted to rip those fuckers off since day one and over a few bottles of beer, it was finally time. I also love that Justin did it. Made it feel like it was ours in a way and not just mine. Back to the door dilemma. I decided it was time to paint the very dull black, sun bleached door a more distinct color. I should preface this by saying that the house has gone uninhabited and without a caretaker for nearly three years before yours truly. The projects are maintenance, maintenance and more maintenance. I’ve spent more hours than I can count redoing floors, painting cabinetry, having the plumbing replaced, cleaning, and painting 7 out of the 10 areas of the house from top to bottom. You name it, I’ve done it. I still have plenty more to accomplish and have been attacking things a little at a time. The exterior needs a ridiculous amount of work getting the yard back into presentable shape, pressure washing, pruning, shaping, caring. The list continues. But this front door was really bugging the shit out of me.

Honestly, I should have been doing more yard work but I just couldn’t stop obsessing about getting this door painted. So I started thinking about painting the door a nice green color to contrast the dark red brick, white trim and black iron work. That was my first inclination. Yes, it will be green. I knew the shade, not too much blue, not too much yellow, mellow but not Forest green. Just a nice subtle, won’t compete with the house but will feel inviting, kinda green. Yep, Green. But then the strangest thing happened. I began second guessing my gut instinct. Wha? Who am I and what did I do with Iris? I don’t second guess my gut. That’s why it’s my gut and no one else’s. Fuck. This one had me perplexed.

Instead of going with the initial thought, I painstakingly started to assess colors, took photos of the front entry and started photoshopping the fuck out of them. Even downloaded the Benjamin Moore color palette into Photoshop. I tried different colors. I tried painting the coffered inset paneling a contrasting color. I must have virtually repainted that door a hundred times. And still, no answer. This past weekend I got in the car, went to the paint store, picked out 10 different color chips and closed my eyes, not one of them was green. They were all shades of beige. The one my finger landed on was going to be the color. Sure enough I come home with a quart of something called Tea Stained. It’s a good thing they didn’t have me name the color or it would have gotten something along the lines of “camel shit” or perhaps just “blegh”. Yeah, it was just that exciting. But I convinced myself that this lovely shade of newborn baby shit was my destiny. My doors’ destiny was to be Tea Stained and nothing else.

So I primed, I sanded, I filled holes, I removed hardware and I got that door ready for its money shot. On went the first coat, then the second and a final third coat for good measure. I stood back to look at my handy-work and what I saw was something that left me empty. How in the world could I call this “my” door? This wasn’t my door. This belongs to someone else. Someone who knows little about what they want or need or feel. That’s not me. Or is it? Here I was standing at a door that by all accounts is my future. Behind this door is my life. A new life with my kids and Justin and ME. It’s my door. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t swallow this color. I couldn’t do it.

After all this time and this incredible journey of self discovery that I’ve been on over the last 2 years, I still doubt my voice. I still doubt that what I feel and the way that I think is precisely the way it’s supposed to be. I still doubt that I’m okay. That my life is good. That I am deserving of something more than Tea Stained. I realized I doubted my love of green. I realized in that moment, right there in the street, that no matter how many times I had painted that door, no matter if I had picked a glorious red or a pop of purple, it wouldn’t have been my door anymore than it was my door before I lived here. It stood there as a reminder that I didn’t have a voice…but that wasn’t true. I do have a voice and it keep saying green. Fucking green!

Today I went back to the hardware store where they know me by name. Literally. I’ve become the crazy paint lady. Hey, you buy 19 gallons of paint from someone (to repaint the entire house, not just a door) and they remember you for a while. I had them mix up the exact shade of green that I imagined. I could have done a million and one things this morning but instead I stood at my door and painted. First coat, second coat and a third just for safe measure. I removed the hardware and faux finished it in a nice black/bronze color and got rid of all the nasty silver shit. 

It finally feels like mine. The entrance to my house. The entrance to my life. A reminder that it’s much more than just a front door. A reminder that the choice is mine and the choice that is mine is the right choice for me. It might not be for anyone else but it is for me. I can’t wait to see what happens behind this green door. Got a feeling it’s gonna be good.

centrifuge

i'm an artist. plain and simple. i'm eccentric, a little off center. so when i started thinking of how a centrifuge works today, well, let's just say i was caught off guard. i truly ain't no rocket scientist so humor me here folks.

i've been feeling down the past week...or maybe two. i'm not sure anymore. it has started to blur together in a haze of "fuck it, i don't care". multifaceted reasons for the melancholy... my right ankle and foot are giving me a great deal of pain. so much so that i'm considering seeing a podiatrist. p.s. i hate doctors. along with this foot injury i have also been living in a state of disarray. i think all the frenzied work on the house initially wore me the fuck out. i have lacked motivation to make things "homey" and organized for the last two weeks and the house is essentially a mess. dishes in the sink, shoes everywhere, things scattered around with no rhyme or reason. a real fucking mess. no motivation. and how do i deal with anything and everything...binging! i am eating everything in sight. it's sickening. i gave into the temptation of weighing myself while little man was a tae kwon do the other day and thought i may just throw up right there and then. it's stuck with me every since but hasn't stopped me from eating what isn't nailed down. let's face it, even nailed down i would find a dadgum hammer and pull that sucker up!

so what got me thinking about how a centrifuge works is the fact that i just can't seem to separate what is wrong right now from what is right. it's incredibly discouraging since things are simply going very well in most parts of my life. but i know there's something amiss, and something that just right. personally i think they might be one in the same but humor me on this whole centrifuge idea.

when centrifugal force is applied by way of a motorized rotor or in the early years by hand, along with the angle of the test tube in the unit, a separation process is achieve. the heavier sedimentary qualities drop to the bottom of the test tube while the lighter particles come to the surface. what i find so fascinating about the mechanism and this process is that it is not about the propulsion of the rotor but instead seems to rest on the combination of the motor and the perfect angle. if the test tube is angled properly, the particles have less distance to travel to "hit the wall" before being separated. if the angle isn't correct then the particles don't separate, no matter how quickly they travel.

interesting. it seems to be about the angle of the dangle...oh come on. that's just funny! if i'm following the logic here, it makes perfect sense. perhaps i'm looking at things from the wrong angle. instead of standing still and letting things move around me, perhaps it's time to jump in there and find my place. find the position in my life that will rid me of what i don't need and concentrate on what i do need. whatever that might be.

but here's where it gets scary. if i just jump in and don't stand still then i will have to move. i will have to change. i will have to change my habits, my crutches, my addictions and my motivation. i can't eat my way out of this one. i will have to believe in everything i talk about. about loving myself, treating myself respectfully, accepting the things i can't change, accepting erin just as is. just as erin. it scares the fuck out of me. it's letting go, stepping a little to the left, lean in a bit and wait. maybe that will be the right angle. maybe not. then i'll have to move again, give up more control, more expectation, be vulnerable to myself, be aware. what does that look like anyway.

honestly i don't have a fucking clue how that looks but i know how it feels. if feels uncomfortable and frightening and insurmountable. then again i thought changing my life 2 years ago was insurmountable and look at me now. blows me the hell away. it feels like i have to rip off my skin and put on a new one to see how it fits. i hope this new one can get a tan. i'm so over this pale shade of buttercup ivory.

the man, the myth, the tepee

there's a running joke around here that my lovely man will someday live in a tepee in the backyard. we're silly that way. one of us comes up with a ridiculous notion and the other runs with it until boom, it becomes a goofy scenario. it's just a comical musing really and i'm not even sure how it originated. probably has something to do with some language that fucktard wanted to have added to the divorce decree.

when the divorce process was nearing the end, the negotiating became something of a three ring circus. no really. i can't tell you the amount of times that i would read something he proposed and have to pick my head up off the floor. it was excruciating and could be considered highly amusing if it weren't happening to me. example: he wanted me to make all a's if i went back to school and take a full class load so i would "qualify" in his mind of deserving alimony. not just that but he wanted to be able to stop alimony if i didn't make all a's or didn't take the proper classload. yeah. fuck you asshole. that one wasn't gonna fly. neither was the whole non-roommate clause he wanted to add. it stated, in plain terms, i could not have a roommate either of the opposite sex or the same sex and that if i did have a roommate that the alimony would stop. again, i laughed but my attorney laughed even louder. this guy was a serious piece of work and trust me on this one, he's no different than he was a year ago. still trying to be controlling and has taken the art of douchebaggery to an entirely new level!

when i received the documents and picked my jaw up from the floor...and immediately sent back a nicely worked fuck you letter via the attorney...the idea occurred to me. what if my sweet westley came to live with me? someday? when? did he want to? what if? what if he wanted to? how would it work? when? where would he put his things? all those crazy questions of what would my life look like with him in it full time. and don't get me started on his sudden appearance in my kids' lives. sure, he loves them on a biweekly basis but come on, full time kids? he doesn't want to be a father figure, and i never want him to be. they have a father. he's a douche but he is their father. but how would it work? he would have me in his life all the time, not just every thursday night for date night and every other weekend when i'm not playing mom. what would happen? how long before we are on each others last nerves? what if he leaves? the what if's are endless and fruitless.

suppose that's where the whole tepee discussion originated. here we were. two people madly in love with each other and madly in love with the idea of each other. a year ago it was just that, the idea. but things have evolved. yes, we are still madly in love with each other...he still gives me butterflies when he kisses me...but we aren't in love with an idea of each other. it's the real deal. the longer i spend with him, the more deep it seems to grow. i'm not sure about other folks but i can honestly claim that i've never felt this kind of rooting, grounding before. it's natural. organic. some may say the real deal. he is sticking and i like it.

so here we are nearly 2 years into this unlikely love and each day in my new house feels more and more real. it's mine. every square inch is literally mine and i'm loving the freedom that these new roots are carrying. but with that comes more and more discussion about sharing a life together. a real life. not some made up fairytale. an honest to goodness sharing a bathroom, cleaning the kitchen, yardwork kind of life. it frightens me and excites me at the same time. i have admit that the times the house feels the most like home is when he's next to me. sitting on the couch, making coffee, outside with the kids. doesn't matter what we're doing. but if he's with me, it feels more real.

the big difference is that i don't need him here. i'm fine on my own. weird. what. me. okay. on. my. own. damn skppy! i have myself, my own tastes, my own freedom of expressing myself and loving myself. i have the kids and a family who loves me and the friend list is beyond plentiful. i really don't need a man to help me paint a wall or maintain a yard or carry my trash to the street. i don't need someone else to pay my bills and plan my future. i've got it covered. and even though i don't need him, i want him. i want him here. i want him in my life. i want his input and his natural curiosity and insight. i want his opinion of where to hang art and what to have for dinner. i like it. in fact, i love it. i love having him with me. not a "part of me" but with me. that whole two people becoming one thing is a bunch of horse shit in my opinion. we are two people but we share parts of each other that no one else knows or sees or feels. let's face it though. at the end of the day we are two people. trying to figure out how to fit into one house. maybe. someday.

so the tepee discussion will continue. and so will the man. and so will the myth of happily ever after. only time will tell but i'm keeping my backyard options open. after all, a tepee would be a fun addition to the yard...not to mention the feathers, warpaint and loin cloth. me likey.

I wanna....

damn. the inspiration around me is just flowing like mad. it's insane the amount of good people i have in my life. another one of my homeslices posted a short list of things she wants to do. not before she dies. not when she reaches a certain age. nope. just a simple list of things that she wants to do. it inspired me to start thinking of things that i would like to do. now, later, someday, yesterday. my mind started racing around and below is what culminated. it's by no means a complete list. how could it be? i would imagine there are things here that won't interest me tomorrow and i'm sure there are things to be added to the list everyday. but for now, here's a list of things that i wanna do. let me know if you are up for helping me do any of these things. i welcome the company...if you're brave enough, or crazy enough depending on the subject matter :) and thanks to my soul sister for inspiring this list. damn skippy!

things i wanna do....in no particular order


1. vacation in europe via "adult" backpacking (i.e. plenty of hiking and foot traffic minus the hostel accommodations)
2. fill an entire sketch book from beginning to end, no matter how long it takes, no pages torn out, no regrets, no erasing, just my sketches.
3. own and help restore a classic muscle car
4. learn to play the guitar...well (i know some basics but would like to be able to play a few tunes well)
5. go swimming in the carribean - never been, even on a cruise
6. drive a race car on a professional race track

7. foo fighters in concert ~ it would be epic for me!
8. learn to roller skate again. it would have to involve the knee high socks and short shorts though...complete with an abba soundtrack.
9. go surfing ~ never had the nerve to try it
10. jump out of a plane, preferably with a parachute and a bottle of jack daniels handy upon landing
11. ride in a hot air balloon (may need another fifth of jack for this one)
12. have a nude photo taken that is tasteful and flattering thank you very much (on second thought, make it a case of jack)
13. write a book, even if it never gets published. non fiction, inspirational or just plain nutty rants (see this blog)
14. make peace with my addiction/compulsion to food
15. paint a masterpiece...maybe only in my eyes but that's enough
16. make peace with fucktard and forgive him for his wrongs
17. forgive myself for my past
18. love myself more than anyone else could ever love me
19. graffiti something, anything. have never vandalized anything in my life!
20. tp someone's yard. it's true. my badass has never toilet papered a yard. juvenille item on my list but still one i would like to do.
21. have sex in public. not "hey, watch us bone" kinda thing. just somewhere in public without being obvious. perhaps a movie theater, on a ride at disney, a blowjob under a restaurant table. something with the potential of being caught but not incarcerated.
22. speaking of which...i've never been tied up or blindfolded during any sex play. now that i have a partner i trust, those might be things i want to try. just sayin.
23. smoke a big fat joint again. haven't gotten high in years and want to at least one more time in my life. ganja good!
24. one word...ZIPLINE! preferably somewhere exotic.
25. cover my "W" tattoo from my marriage to fucktard. yes, it's been enhanced and changed to signify a different meaning but when the time is right, i want it replaced all together.
26. donate my hair to locks for love. i need 12 inches in order to donate.
27. get married again...maybe ;) yes, i said it. i would marry my sweet westley in a heartbeat. on our own terms and perhaps even without terms. but there's a part of me that would like nothing more than to wear a white dress...a very short tight one mind you...and profess my love to this man in some kind of ceremony. maybe just the two of us, maybe a big keg party. don't know but yes, i can't think of one single day without him in it.
28. run a 5K in its entirety. no walking. just pure running.
29. run a half marathon. puking optional.
30. run a marathon. puking required.
31. while doing item 1. (european vacation), i want to take a bath in beer. there are spots in germany and austria where they have warm beer baths. i want to go to there (said in my best liz lemon voice).
32. speaking of which...oktoberfest in germany. the whole shabang. i want to see it all, do it all, drink it all and just live it up via some wiener schnitzel and uber-brew. 
33. set a world record. balancing quarters on my nose, having the most consecutive minutes without using the word fuck (hey, that one would be tough for me), anything. just some world record with my name next to it.
34. karaoke. never done it.
35. make a difference to someone, somewhere, at some time in my life. if i haven't done it yet, i want to do it. if i've already done it, i want to do it some more.

times like these

so the title of my blog tonight is inspired by a favorite foo song but enough about my increasingly creepy obsession with all things dave grohl. hey, there is a new album out today and i've been in grohl heaven the last few weeks. but really, that man cranks me up! he rocks my soul.

back to times like these. there are moments in your life, words that you read on a page or something someone says to you that sticks with you. i like to compare them to drops of dew. add them up and you have a beautiful pool of water. each time another droplet falls, it makes ripples. good or bad. they all add up and make you what you were meant to be all along. i know, ridiculous imagery but for some reason it all comes back to water for me.

well, i just received one of those little drops. it made an enormous impact on my small pond too and i was not at all expecting it. iback in the day it was a phone call or a message or a note. not anymore. now it's a post or an i.m. or a message sent via some social network. some people say it's an impersonal way of expressing yourself but i disagree. if i had never reached out on a social network, well, i would never know how many people love and care for me and vice versa.

i am finishing up for the evening and went to check my emails and what do you know, a message from a friend on fbook. and it wasn't just from any "friend". it was from one of my soul sisters. i know, i know...put away the fucking hippie shoes and stop dreaming of rainbows and dead shows. but it's a real thing. my soul sisters. there are probably more of them than i realize and for those that i do recognize, well, there isn't anything in this world that could break them from me. we are one in the same.

this particular soul sista is one with whom i hold a great deal of respect, admiration, general blissful love for the person she has become. we've known each other for decades now. several years ago she came to a realization that her life needed to become sober in order to be full. that right there speaks volumes to me. she's sober, she faced her demons, she continues to face them every damn day. her feet hit the floor and she fights another day and you know what, that day doesn't stand a fucking chance. she is a force unlike any other i've ever had the pleasure of knowing. i am in awe of her strength, love, determination. sounds like i have a girl crush and perhaps i do. she's pretty damned fine too.

i struggle to explain my relationship with her but only one thing comes to mind. i always feel as though she cradles me. she has a way of cradling me and supporting me with only the tiniest word or acknowledgment. unfortunately for both of us, we have incredibly busy and complicated lives right now. she's finishing an amazing journey through a medical program in school - hollee shitballs right there! - and i'm, well, being the spitfire that i am by nature. in ten places at once. but when we have the chance to communicate, even via email, it's something special.

tonight i got a message that simply said how proud she was of me. picking. jaw. up. off. the. floor. how she felt i had handled things so well. that i had walked through a lot of fear and scary things this past year and had done it beautifully. i am in awe. the tears came quickly. happy tears. tears of mutual respect and love. to think that this woman, who has pulled herself up from so much pain in her past, who has turned her life around one day at a time. for her to say she is proud of me, well, i'm humbled and feel very lucky to have her in my life.

and it's corny to say, and it's so foo of me, but it really is times like these that make it all worth it. it's time like these. time and time again.

nay-ked

i've recently started to workout on a regular basis again. i even have a friend helping me get in shape for a 5K that i want to run in may. i've been eating more nutritious meals and am giving it a real effort to become a healthier and more comfortable woman. i don't need to be a size 8 but this size 18 is getting old real fast! for whatever reason, i've been thinking of myself naked these days. suppose it's because i'm more aware of the effort i'm giving to a healthy lifestyle. today i did something that is absolutely, totally, completely uncomfortable for me. as silly as it might sound, and as normal as it is for so many people to do, it's something i just don't do. never. ever.

today i stood completely naked in the mirror. head to toe. naked. you heard me correctly. stripped down nay-ked and i stared. i felt. i turned and twisted and swiveled. i lifted and dropped and squished and mashed. i even did the famous turn to the side in the mirror and suck things in and lift things up with my hand. even that didn't help. then i cried. and cried. and sobbed and cried. by the end of this experiment, i was a puddle on the floor. disgusted. nauseous. totally devastated with what my body has become. more so, what i have done to my body over the last 15 years. it was a moment of grief.

but you know what. i had to do it. i had to just strip it down and take a look at what i saw. not what i think my reality is but what it really looks like. in the raw. and it was sobering.

now i don't know if other people do this on a regular basis. i know people who are completely comfortable in the buff but i'm just not one of those people. there are days, just like most women, when you feel absolutely beautiful. sexy. vivacious. irresistible. up until recently those days were a thing of the past but when i met "switch"...shit, who am i kidding here. it's justin. plain and simple, remarkably, it's justin. so until justin came into my life i felt as if i would never feel like a woman again. now there are more days than not when i feel like a force with which to be reckoned.

even with this fine ass man who desires me to no end, i still hate to be naked in front of him. what the hell? he loves me, he obviously can see past the extra stay puft marshmallow layer so why am i so uncomfortable with it myself. i make sure the lights are off. i cover myself if even a little light comes in under the door. i'm incredibly self conscious about my body. always have been but even with the latest feeling of empowerment and exploration, i'm still just a scared naked girl.

what i found when i took my clothes off today, in the daylight, and really took a close look at myself, well, i was surprised. yes, there's more of me than i would like. things are no longer firm and svelte. there are ripples and bumps and lumps. after i picked myself up from the floor and decided that this just wasn't how i wanted this experiment to end, i took another look. and then another. and another. the more i looked, the more i saw. it's not all flaws. it's not all fat. it's not all lumps. my skin is still smooth and firm, milky white and soft. i still retain more of an hourglass figure than one of a round apple. my waist is still defined, my breasts round and somewhat firm, my ass is still kickin. it's just that there is far more of me than is comfortable or healthy.

but guess what? i didn't like what i saw but i was comfortable with it. i was comfortable with the damage that i've done to myself over the years. it's acted as a means of defense. this extra layer of me has served its purpose as a guard. it has protected me from what i feared most. myself. but i'm not so scared of her anyone. everyday i like her more and more. the layer isn't needed anymore and i refuse to hate it for one more minute. suppose you could say it was an "aha" moment.

so the next time the light comes under the door, i will not apologize or scramble for the covers. i will enjoy my body the way that it was meant to be. in all of it's nakedness. bare. real. and beautiful.

great expectations

i need to loosen my grip. on reality? nah. that one could probably use some tightening up but that would be entirely too depressing so i'll just stay in lala land for as long as they have me.

i need to loosen up and stop being so hard on myself. the self negating voice that is yelling in my head is a tough one to quiet. it's been there a long time and frankly it's quite comfortable there telling me all the things i'm not. telling me how i have nothing to give but instead take, take, take from everyone and everything. it tells me i'm ugly and fat and uglier and fatter. it tells me that when i feel accomplish or good about myself that it's all just an illusion. that i'm lying to myself and to everyone around me. as if i'm an impostor in my own life.

lately there have been loads of examples of this self loathing mindset. in the past 15 plus months i have taken on more than many people do in 15 years. i picked up the pieces of an entangled life and moved away from a terrible marriage to a man who never loved me, i'm raising two children, i bought a house and have successfully moved into it over the last week, i have met a man who treats me with respect and love, i have great friends and family, etc. etc. etc. yep, blessings are abundant. i should be proud. there's a part of me that's proud. but you wanna know what's so scary and self defeating about all of it...i don't feel i deserve one single bit of it. not one single part of all the good things unfolding in front of me. it's not for me. it's for someone else. it's for someone better. it's for someone else but it's definitely not for me.


i've worked hard. i've worked damn hard to get here. i should be basking in the joy that has become my life and yet all i want to do, all i feel i can do is cling to the things that i know. what do i know? i know how to hate myself. i know how to hurt myself. i know how to eat and then eat and then eat some more. i know how to second guess myself and everything about me. i know how to fuck things up. and for me, that's comfortable. the rest of this, all the good, is so incredibly uncomfortable that it is literally filtering itself through my body. i'm exhausted, i'm tattered, i feel physically ill.

so what's the deal? why can't i get past this feeling? how? why? where does this "root" lead? it has to lead somewhere deep and not easily touchable. otherwise i would have found it by now. all the discovery, all the breaking away and breaking out that i've done is exhilarating, freeing, liberating and yet i feel more trapped than ever. trapped with myself. trapped by myself. trapped in this belief that i am less. i am less than what i've become.

yep, i'm a woman of great expectations. i have great expectations of myself. and i' fear i'll never meet them. something's gotta give.