Cleansing

As I have been sitting here enjoying my day off, I’ve been going through pictures on my photobucket account. Now normally, I am a person who will save old photos, memories. After all, they were part of my life, for good or bad. Every person is brought into your life for a reason.

But today I find myself wanting to rid that account of any memory of S. Unlike other photos of people from the past, I can’t look at these photos without complete and utter disgust. Probably because I can’t think of S without complete and utter disgust. So I’ve been debating all day, should I just delete them? Get them out of my life? Cleanse my soul? Move on to bigger and better things? I have gotten S out of my life, cleansed my soul and have definitely moved on to bigger and much better things. But will I one day regret having deleted this part of my life? Will I regret having deleted perfectly good target practice pictures?

 

Putting Yourself Out There

In life, they say you have to lay it all on the line sometimes. Whether it’s with your job, on the Blackjack table, with your kid’s teacher or in love. And in so many cases, we don’t hesitate. We jump when we feel our child has been wronged by another child or their teacher. With our job, if you have any balls and/or any respect with the company you work for, you will stand your ground. Hold strong to your convictions. Battle to get what you know is right. On the Blackjack table, it’s a gamble. You may bet big and lose big. Or you may bet small and win big. So why is it, when it comes to love, we are so afraid to lay it all on the line? Put ourselves out there? Hold strong to our convictions? It’s sometimes so easy to do those things in other areas. Not for all, but for some. At least in one area. The one we all seem to falter on is love. We hold back. We’re scared to lay it (our heart) on the line. Expose our true selves.

I have this argument all the time with male friends. How they have it so easy. They can control the situation. Men (in my old-fashioned mind) lead the way. They make first contact. Whether it be at a bar asking a woman to dance and then asking for her number. Then it’s up to him to make that first call. Even if it’s just to say “Hey baby! You looked hot last night!” We wait for them to make contact. I realize, in my old age, that younger generations may not wait for that. In fact, I’m told the women don’t. They jump. They make that first leap.

At heart, I am that old-fashioned girl. I won’t make first contact after you’ve asked for my number. When I’m silly tipsy or drunk, yes, I will make first contact. I’ll walk up to you and tell you to smile. Or hey, you totally screwed up hitting on that girl. Some of the time, it’s just me being drunkenly friendly. Sometimes, it’s absolutely, I’m giving you an opening. But most of the time, it’s, let’s be honest, me being a tease. You’re not getting anywhere with me. But I’m going to have fun talking to you. Mean, maybe. Meant to hurt someone. Never! It’s all in good fun. Men do it all the time. Talk a girl up, buy her a few drinks and walk away. Me, I’m just trying to have fun and make friends. And honestly, it works for me. I have more guy friends than girl friends. And I”m ok with that. In fact, I get along better with boys. I am a boy with boobs. And I love it!!!

But now I find myself in a position I’ve never been in. And I hate it. And I don’t know how to handle it. So I turn to my guy friends. Who, for the most part, tell me the same thing. Take the leap. Try. What harm can it do? Well, boys, let me tell you. While I may be that quintessential boy with boobs, I am, at heart, still a girl. And laying my heart, my feelings, my dignity on the line, takes a lot. And yet, for some reason, I find myself in unknown territory. Putting myself out there. Taking risks. Taking chances. And I have my reasons. I do. I am not going into them here. Not ready to expose that part of me yet.

(Side note: The reason for this entire rambling just responded. How, after I’ve already gotten into the whole woe-is-me mood do you respond? I’ll tell you. Calm, cool and collected. Or at least, I hope that’s how it is received. And if said reason ever reads this: Please laugh and make fun of me. I know you will. You know you will. And it will be all good.)

I know it takes a lot for you boys to put yourselves out there and ask for our numbers. Or to ask us on a date. Trust me. I know.  I know because I’ve been putting myself out there. For someone who I know, so very deep down, is worth it. And know that it will all work out. But it’s still hard. I’m attempting to chip away at the ice. And let’s be honest. I don’t know what I am doing. Hell, I’ve never, and please don’t take this as conceited or uppity, truly had to try in dating. It just happens. And maybe that’s where this is different.  My mom said nothing worth having is going to be easy. And I know that. What I didn’t know is that it would be THIS hard.

I know I need to stop over-analyzing and over-thinking things. Trust me, I wish I knew how to turn it off. But I don’t. So until then, this is me, putting myself out there, and completely flipping out. Please be patient.

 

Long Lost Sisters?

Since my new single status I’ve been hanging with my other single friends more and more. Which makes sense. Let’s all get together, get drunk, flirt with too many guys and go home alone. Perfect way to deal with your singledom, right? Well, we do more than that. I mean we don’t always flirt with too many guys. Really, is there a thing as flirting with too many guys? It’s not like we are taking said too many guys home.

But I digress. One single friend is B. B has been an acquaintance for several years. We’ve known the same people. I worked with one of her very long time friends C. Then I left there. And I met W. Who as it turns out was dating F at the same time as I was dating S and guess what? F and S worked together. Oh yeah and W and B are friends. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this city is one small world. Because I’ve since found out that C’s brother is great friends with Br (to help you differentiate between the two B’s in this story) who is childhood friends with J who is best friends with my bro. Are you keeping up yet? There is a quiz at the end. And yes, I have digressed yet again.

So anyway, from the first time B and I went out people asked us if we were sisters. WTF? Neither one of us thought we looked alike. But every time we’ve been out, we’ve been asked. One night we got so sick of it we actually started responded to people with “Her? I don’t even know that Bitch!” Yeah, we were sick of it. But we couldn’t see it. So one night, Bro met B. And I told him that was the girl that we were always asked if we were sisters. He said “Yeah, I can actually see that.”

Even after that, I wasn’t convinced that we looked anything alike. Queue our recent weekend trip to Vegas. On the way down we braced ourselves for the end question of “Are you two sisters?” Alas, we never got it. Not once! We even brought it up to a few guys, they couldn’t see it. We felt vindicated. Not that either one of us think the other is ugly. ON the contrary, we are both quite cute. Or so we’re told

Yet on the drive home, as I was perusing the pictures taken on my camera it hit me. I could finally see it. Not a complete match, but I could see it. So tell me, do you?

 

Without Her, I’m Not Here

It’s that time of year again. When legs are bared, bikinis are dreaded, BBQs are burning and the sun is shining. It’s also that time of year when you wish the one who gave birth to you a very Happy Birthday. Because let’s face it, without her, I wouldn’t be here. Which means I wouldn’t be writing this, which means, this blog wouldn’t be here. But enough about that. I was going through what pictures I could post here that you wouldn’t kill me for posting for the world to see. But then, I remembered, that I am your first born, your favorite, the one you will always love no matter what I do to try and embarrass you (Lowe’s on Sunday. I mean, how many daughters would stand there and randomly start talking about surgical butt tucks in front of the little Lowe’s cashier? Not many, and that is why I am your favorite!)

So armed with this information, I give you memories of your favorite child. I mean, I don’t see any of your other kids dedicating a blog post just to you and your birthday. Honestly, if they did, prove it. That just means they don’t care about you like I do! And honestly, from looking at these pictures, and how adorable I was/am, how could I NOT be your favorite. It’s ok, you don’t have to tell me, I know!

Here’s looking at you, Kid!

We’ve been there together from the beginning. Well not from your beginning. I mean, I’m not THAT old.

We’ve weathered the storms. It’s been a great ride!

Even when you wanted to choke me. And I’m sure that you NEVER had those moments. I mean see above… I am your favorite!

You’re still one of my best friends. You’re always there for me. To support me when you know you shouldn’t. To cheer me up when you know I need it. To listen when I ramble. To advise me when I ask for it (and sometimes when I don’t!). Thank you for being born. And for always being there for me.

Happy Birthday! I Love You!

 

A Future Politician?

Two photos my lil sis found in a folder next to each other. Coincidence?

Yep, I see a future Governor. Or actor. Or terminator. Last one is more probably given her attitude.

 

Bad, Bad Mom

There has been a lot of internet buzz about being a “bad parent”. While I have been too busy to actually read all of the posts, the news stories and the comments, I got the general idea. The media feels that mommy or daddy bloggers are glorifying the fact that they screw up or they sometimes don’t like being parents. And they are reveling in the fact. Promoting it. Rolling naked in it like Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal. They are not glorifying it. They are not promoting it. They are sharing their struggles. They are showing others that “Hey, it’s ok not to be perfect. I’m not perfect, neither are my children.”

This debate couldn’t have come at a more perfect time in my life. I’ve been struggling with the fact that I occasionally feel that I am not cut out for this parenting game. I’ve been feeling awful in the sense that I have been desiring a break. That I don’t want to be around my children all the time. That sometimes, they drive me absolutely out of my mind. And it makes me feel so guilty. I love my girls with all my heart and cannot imagine my life without them. But sometimes, I get overwhelmed and exhausting in trying to keep them from fighting, forcing them to get along, making them clean up their messes. Sometimes I just want to come home and not have to cook dinner for them. Not clean up the mess. Not feel like I HAVE to spend the entire evening talking to them. All these pressures that moms are suppose to do.

It’s been ingrained in our heads that we have to get up, make them a fabulous breakfast (in the lace-lined apron, mind you), run to work, bust your ass while there (which BTW, you’re made to feel insanely guilty if you are not a SAHM, but if you aren’t, you better be pulling things off like you are), come home, cook a 5 course meal, clean up and do the dishes after, sit and play game after awful childhood game (seriously, I cannot believe we LOVED these games as children) and then lovingly put them in bed and then clean the messy house they left and finally fall exhausted into bed. Oh but don’t forget, if you’re living in sin with someone or married to them, you better be willing to still perform your “wifely” duties before passing out. And we moms feel like we have completely and utterly failed if we are not able to perform to these standards. I feel like I have failed.

How have we gotten back to the 1950’s way of thinking? Growing up, we had chores. We helped cook dinner. Our parents didn’t sit playing games with us for hours on end. We had to work in our homes. Now, if you tell your children they must clean or they have a night to cook, you’re failing. We broke free of this way of thinking, and now, those parents who are attempting to get their children to do these things are failing and passing the buck and they are “bad parents”. How dare we ask our children to do a little hard work? This way of thinking is exactly the reason why the world is now filled with the “Me, Me, Me” generation. Today’s kids are all about what’s in it for me? What do I get? Why should I do these things? Why aren’t you doing all of these things? That’s you’re job, you’re the mom. These children will and are growing up with no work ethic. No sense of earning the things they want.

I am fighting this constant battle every day with my girls. I want them to have the worth ethic that I have. That my brother has. That my mother has. We aren’t afraid to put in 12-15 hours in at work. We aren’t afraid to spend a day laboring in our yards so that it looks great for the neighbors or just for ourselves. We aren’t afraid to clean every day so that our home always looks presentable and clean. No, I don’t want a spotless house, but a clean, uncluttered home, yes. Absolutely. And they just don’t get it.

And in them not getting it, comes my “bad mom” label. Because I do get frustrated. I do feel a little resentment. I do wish to have a break. To run away. That doesn’t make me a bad mom. That makes me human. If a friend were doing this to you, you’d feel the same way. If your boss was treating you the same way, you’d feel the same. Just because we gave birth to these beings, doesn’t mean that they are immune. No, we can’t yell and scream and throw things when we feel this way, but it’s ok to feel this way.

Don’t ever tell your children you feel this way because of them. That’s where it differs. You can’t tell your children you want to run away from them. That you resent them. That you need a break from them. Someone I know recently said this (and worse) to their children. And my heart broke. Those words will forever stay in their minds. They may forgive you, but words like that, they will NEVER forget. And I, knowing those words were said, even if not to me, will never forget. It’s having a breakdown and saying those things that make you a bad parent. Not feeling that way every now and then.

 

Pump Up The Volume

The following conversation was had this morning with my daughter while back-combing my hair.

M: Mommy, what are you doing?

Me: Back-combing my hair to add some volume to it.

Silence for a moment

M: I want my hair to talk.

Me: Huh?

M: Well, you’re turning up the volume in your hair so it can talk. I want my hair to talk.

 

My Mind

Sometimes I so wish I could turn my mind off. That I could make it stop thinking for just a few moments. Hell, I’d give anything for just a few seconds. Anyone who knows me knows that I tend to fret and over-think about everything. Ok, maybe not everything. You can sometimes tell me something and quiz me a minute later and I’ll have no idea what you are talking about. But anything of importance… I will think and think and think. I will analyze. Come up with all the possible outcomes. Worry too much. Express too much doubt or fear.Waffle back and forth as to whether something is the correct decision. I will decide to do things one way. Five minutes later I will decide to go the other way. And then I will start the decision making process all over again.

It’s EXHAUSTING!!!

I’ve tried to stop. I use various sleeping aids at night to help it at least stop for a little while in hopes of getting SOME sleep. But then my dreams take over. And when I remember certain dreams, I will spend days analyzing them in my head. Trying to figure out their meaning. If there is any meaning at all. Sometimes there are logical explanations. Other times, no explanation can be found and I give up on trying.

And then there are those events, those moments, that send me into a tail spin of thinking. Yesterday was one such day. I won’t go into what all happened. But the day started out great. Well as great as it can when you wake up at 7:30 on your day off. I had an ok day planned, but a great evening awaited. But then slowly, ever so slowly at first, it all started unraveling. And so did I.

Life has been great since January. I’m happy. I’m healthy. I’m not stressed 24/7. But when I spiral down, I spiral fast and hard. Last night was a prime example of that. Something happened that forced, no caused, me to start thinking about where I am. What I want. Who I want. What can I have. What is unattainable. What is attainable but I’ve convinced myself isn’t. And my poor brother had to deal with it. I’m sure he was sick of hearing about it. I’m definitely sure he is sick of me talking about HIM. But I can’t stop thinking about HIM and what could be. Is it attainable? Depends on who you talk to, I guess. And like a foolish woman that I am sometimes, I like to believe it could happen. It might not happen now. It might not happen in six months. It might never happen. But since January I’ve had a renewed hope in life and so I try and hold onto the hope that it will.

But patience has never been my cup of tea. Or coffee. And with HIM I am having to exercise extreme patience. And it’s killing me. It’s causing me to think and think and think. And I’m convinced I’m slowly driving myself insane. Or maybe that’s what like/love/passion is all about. Finding that one person that drives you wildly mad. That’s what the movies and romance novels tell you. But is that real life?I don’t know. Let me think about it.

 

I’m Back

Ok, so I know it’s been almost a month (a month!) since I posted anything. And it’s not because there has been nothing going on. There has. Oh there has. But ever since I moved (yes I moved in case you didn’t know) my wireless card has SUCKED. And when we found out we could get cable and internet and it would cost me the same amount of  money a month, I jumped on it. But then came the problem of my wireless router. I cannot for the life of me remember the password for the network set up on it. Nor can I get it to work by setting up a new network. So I am left to the mercy of the geek squad.

So to answer any burning questions:

1. Yes I am still alive
2. Yes I have a lot to talk about
3. Yes there is a lot I can’t talk about
4. Yes there is a lot I won’t talk about
5. No I won’t even hint as to what it is
6. No I shouldn’t be posting this as work, but when else can I?

Have a great day. And if you’re where I am…Enjoy this PERFECT weather!

OkThanksBye

 

Comfort Zone

In order to live life, experience life, push ourselves, we must step outside of ourselves. Outside of our comfort zones. Push our boundaries. And it’s scary. Because for some, it might not be who you are. You are comfortable inside your zone. You know you are one way, but yet  to truly live, you must step out of being THAT person. I’ve been trying to do that lately. I think I pretty much know who I am, what I want out of life, who I want to be with and be surrounded by in that life. Yet, until I know how to achieve all that I know and want, I feel like I must live life and push myself. Try new things. And while this thought process and way of living is very new, I’m already not liking the way I am feeling inside. I’m not saying that I am doing anything morally or ethically wrong. Not at all. Just living outside my comfort zone.

As I sit here and debate whether I should continue to push myself to experience things and try to work through the uncomfortableness of it all or simply go back to being who I am, I wonder how many others struggle with these feelings. I’m sure I’m not alone. I’m sure any single person has experienced it. Do you continue doing the same things hoping for a different result? No, that’s the definition of insanity. Or do you force yourself to do different things hoping for an unknown result? And yet, still feel like you’re insane?

I’ve wanted to blog about so many things. But I feel like my thoughts are so random, so jumbled (see previous post) that I feel stupid, inarticulate, messy, insane. Even this post is all over the board. And for that I apologize. I sit here, computer at hand, trying to compose myself, my thoughts, but I can’t. Don’t get me wrong. I am soooooooo happy with the life choices I have made since January. Amazingly happy. But with that happiness comes a journey. A journey to find your true place. A journey to find your true friends. A journey to find your true self. And that can be so damn confusing that it’s exhausting.

If you know me, then you know that I am not a patient person. And even more so lately. Because since making all these changes, after wasting so much time, I’ve come to realize how precious and short life is. And I know what I want. And I don’t want to wait. And I’m telling myself don’t waste the time. Don’t wish it away. So often we find ourselves wishing it was Friday when it’s only Monday. And wishing it would be 5:00 PM when it’s only 10:00 AM. I’m guilty of this myself. But I’m trying to change that. But to change that, and to change life, I have to step out of my comfort zone. And I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.