Say Cheese!

My maternal family comes from Argentina.  My grandfather came from a very small mountain village called Cosquin and had solid Native American blood, there were many children and very little money.  My grandmother's family were Spaniards who made their way south, they were very average middle class, which means that  they were far whiter and more affected, the money situation wasn't all that different.  Once they became engaged, married and eventually had my mother, they carved out a decent life for themselves.  My grandfather made sure that they never wanted for anything, oftentimes working sixteen hours a day without one bit of complaint, but money never became bountiful.

You'd never be able to tell this fact by the plethora of photos I have from those days.  See for yourself.  This is their engagement picture.  They were always impeccably dressed and carried themselves impressively.

You see, I have what I'd estimate at a couple of hundred beautiful photographs very similar to this one, many of them professionally taken, others are incredibly amusing candids which displayed every subject's personality in ways stories could not.  Fact is, someone thought it was very important to do this, and I'm eternally glad that they did.  Anyone that knows me understands that I have close to no solid connection to blood family anymore, most of my maternal family is dead and unfortunately I have little contact with my paternal family.   If I did not have these tangible images, I would feel lost.  I'm absolutely sure of it.  

Which leads me to the here and now.   My parents did a darn good job of documenting my childhood in photos until approximately the age of twelve, which is when I turned into a nasty beast that staunchly refused to pose for a picture.  If I did, it sure looks like I was trying to break the camera with the death lasers that you could practically see shooting out of my eyeballs at the offending photographer.  I continued to avoid cameras until I had kids of my own.  Almost every parent I know feels the need to document the evolvement and growth of their offspring, and I'm no different.  It's just what we do. 

It wasn't until quite a bit of time had gone by before I realized that there were virtually no photographs of me for a block of years.  Some of it was surely the fact that I felt uncomfortable being photographed, the other has to admittedly be that there was no one in my life that felt at all inclined to take my picture.  As a mother, you find yourself taking endless images of your babies, your husband, your friends…. you're like the ghost in the background.  You know you were there, but there is no real evidence of it.  That may not be everyone's experience, but it's definitely how it was for me.  

The moment that I realized this, it must have been around 2006, I started making a concerted effort to take photographs of myself. I knew that if I didn't start, no one else would.  Do not confuse this with the modern day duck-faced teenagers riddling the internet with vain attempts to get attention by taking angled bathroom shots.   I literally panicked at the realization that I probably wouldn't remember what I really looked like at thirty….. shit, I can barely tell you what I ate for dinner last night.   I'd hope that one day someone related to me would care to know as well, just like I hold all of my family photographs dear, so I sucked up the feeling of being a fool taking self images and started snapping away.

Now we are in the age of Facebook, Instagram, smart phones, ect.  It's so easy to grab my iPhone, turn my camera self facing and snap a shot of me at the zoo with my kid, being pissed off in traffic, or giddy at the delight of my day being brightened by a visiting friend.  The world we live in has made it easy to provide a 'my life in pictures' story, and I'm not ashamed to say I do just that.  Why?  It's not because I think I'm beautiful and love taking my own photograph so that I can stare at myself.  That couldn't be further from the truth, believe me on that one.  I do it because I don't want to forget.  I want to remember as much as I can. The important things are critical, the mundane things are just extras that could one day make me smile, laugh or frown, but hopefully trigger a memory that would otherwise be lost forever.  I don't want to disappear completely after I'm gone, either.  That's just raw truth.

So y'all can keep on shaking your heads at my endless stream of photos.  Whether you enjoy them or roll your eyes is not exactly at the forefront of my mind, but I honestly don't mean to be intentionally tiresome.  Promise.   Trust me, I realize that taking pictures and slapping filters on them is an extremely far cry from the artistic and beautifully authentic vintage images that I have in my possession, but I do what I can.   Hopefully someday, someone will be glad that I tried.  

Bring it, Fall.

I do realize that frustration, sadness and tragedy lends me to write in an attempt to purge emotion and work out my thoughts.  The result tends to be a very one dimensional perspective of my personality.  Granted, I am snarky, blunt and (I hope) amusing at times, but I'm not all bitter kitten.  I have some folks that I'm friendly with that consistently spout anger and I don't know any of them that wear it well, so here I am, making a terribly benign post with not the least bit of the usual emotion driving my writing.   I certainly hope that it doesn't have a melatonin-like effect.   If it does, please do tell me, I can summon rants at will.

As I sit here, right at this very moment, it is sixty four degrees here in Atlanta.  I can only half stifle my cackle of delight at this number.   Fact:  This season brings out the very best in me, if I could, I'd kiss Lady Autumn right on the mouth repeatedly in thanks.  I am at my most genial and energetic.  Thankfully, I live in a state where this pocket of weather has the ability to linger far longer than in other places, and that's lucky not only for me, but for all of the people around me.  I try hard to not be the textbook Dennis Leary asshole that is constantly complaining about the weather, but I suspect that sometimes I become that person.

The closer I get to forty, the more like a ninety year old bird of a woman I become.   I realized this while taking Mother out to lunch last week.  As I found myself enviously eyeballing the new black shawl draped around her  instead of listening to her talk about her doctor's appointment, I realized that I could easily fall into imagining myself yanking it from around her shoulders, then screaming and running down the street waving it through the air like a movie style Native American giving a victory war cry and displaying a freshly scalped trophy.  It was eighty five degrees that day.

What do you want from me?  Knitwear has that effect on me.    Capes, huge sweaters, scarves, jackets…. I am absolutely convinced that wearing them gives a person magical powers.  Pancakes taste better, coffee is more effective and my hair requires less hairspray.  I become less surly, more energetic, ready for travel and more apt to meet up with people socially.  I'll even spend a greater deal of time outside.  I start wistfully pulling out my favorite fantasy:  Breaking away from my quiet spells of writing and drinking tea to walk on a rocky Northern beach in front of my very own  lighthouse to watch the ocean while wrapped in layers of clothing.  My hair doesn't even blow into my mouth and smear lipstick all across my cheek, (because I obviously still wear lipstick despite being a recluse and that's always an issue with wind and long hair).  That's how amazing and perfect this scenario is.

(side note:  The above admission is proof that I am not just a hardened and callous realist.  I am a dreamer approximately 27% of the time.) 

For those of you absolutely shocked at the potential for the vast personality change that the weather can bring out of me, fear not.  It won't last.  Once the colder spells set in, I will start ridiculously shivering every time I step outside, much like a Chihuahua exposed to the harsh element.  I will start lengthening the times spent at home curled up into a ball in a dark corner with my nose in a book while wrapped in seven blankets next to a space heater.  I will once again begin grumbling under my breath, alternating between the complaints of cold and griping about the inevitable tragedy of ending up in a retirement community in Boca Raton just to escape the suffering that settles deep into my bones and tortures me.

My observations tend to have some bite to them, typically.  Seemingly for as long as I can remember, every change of season inspired sadness in me because it reminded me of those that weren't there to see it.  It's nice to be able to recognize the shift now.  I'll hold on to that, because one must white knuckle grip the good things in life.   Amidst all of the craziness in my world these days, the 'transitional period' that just won't seem to wrap up, I need it.   Never underestimate the powerful feeling about being excited about life…. it's a shot of beauty, hope and promise straight into the vein.

I'm trying to not delete this passage out of fear that it's just not interesting.  Whether it is or not, I'm going to leave it.  If anyone wants to capitalize on hanging with  the Autumn Tania (probably the best version of me), you'll find it less difficult than normal, given the drug like effect of the weather.   Only, that is, after I've completed the quest to find the perfect tall boot for the season, the elusive leather jacket I've been searching for since 2010 and some vintage sweater hunting.   Shopping is my crystal meth.  You know this and I'm not sorry.

((As a small side note, I'm trying to begin revamping this blog since I seem to be paying more attention to it.  If you have a blog that you'd like linked to mine, feel free to let me know.  I was annoyed to realize that I've been away from here for so long that many of my links are no longer even functioning. I think I'm finally ready to give this much neglected page some attention.))

Y'all did it now. Rant time.

My kid came into the bedroom at ten thirty last night screaming, crying and with a face that resembled a bruised tomato. (He's a ginger and had a fever, what do you want?)  Then he proceeded to puke for two solid minutes, at least he made it to the toilet. I had to be a good mom and hold his hair, so I was holding back the puke reflex myself.  Fact: No one vomits alone when I'm around.  SO GROSS.   Anyway, after he calmed down he proceeded to tell me about his feverish nightmare.  He said that he came home and asked me who won the Presidential election and that I said it was Mitt Romney.  Though we do not discuss politics with him at ten years of age, this was apparently horrifying enough for him to wake up hysterical.  So, that was sort of funny.   What's not funny is that he's sick and I had to miss work today.

Did I mention that Wifey is in NYC without me?  While I won't expound on my apparent co-dependant relationship and the effect that this fact is having on my emotional well being, rest assured that despite the constant text messages and conversations, the distance is messing with me.  Throw that into the mix of being quarantined with Fever Boy and toss in the fact that I've had two huge cups of strong coffee and a giant Red Bull in an attempt to be productive and clean my dresser drawers.  The result?  I'm about to say too much again.  Cause when I'm crazy and over-caffeinated, I give even less of a shit than usual.  Let me get some things off of my chest.  So without further ado, I bring to you my list of grievances, in no particular order.

1.  I'm sick and tired of Women Weight Wars.  Listen, if I were to go online and scoff at heavier women, I'd be a right asshole.  Why is it, then, that there seems to be a surge of women who feel totally within their right to openly degrade, insult and make fun of thin women… right to their fucking face?  I'm sick of it.  If I say that I'm trying to eat clean, don't make fun of me and say I'm going to disappear and that no one likes a protruding ribcage.   First of all, being fit isn't the same as being anorexic.  Second, it's not my fault I don't have tits.  My ribcage is always going to stick out.  Don't be a dick about it.   Also, please stop posting memes about how 'real men like curvy women.'   I'm quite sure that's true in many instances, men like big boobs and a stacked ass.  I happen to have neither, thanks for the reminder.  But do the world a favor and stop lumping yourself in with Marilyn Monroe and Betty Page if you're just overweight.  There's a difference there, too.  
Just stop it.

2.   I don't put myself out there often.  I'm socially awkward,  thus I don't seek out lots of new relationships/friendships.   If I've ever made a modicum of an effort with you, then you're probably genuinely a person that I'd like to spend some of my rare free time with.  If I've gone so far to ask you to specifically hang out with me and you've blown me off, don't ever expect me to ask you again.  Much as I may think I could like someone, I will never chase them.  I just won't, I'll shut down and assume that you probably can't deal with hanging with me.  I'm judgmental, have incredibly high standards and will probably insist on some sort of intelligent conversation thrown into the fun.  I'm not a dumb ass who is only interested in getting shit faced five nights a week.  There's a time and place for everything.  But I digress in my random rant.  As a textbook introvert, it takes incredible gumption for me to pull my nose out of my book and put myself out there for someone I find drawn to.  Don't expect me to repeat it incessantly.  The ball will now forever be in your court.  I assure you that you've missed the boat on me making it easy and reaching out, know that I'm completely content with never doing it again.   That's the beauty of being 94% self sufficient.  I only need my animals and a select few.  So there.

3.  This whole PMA (positive mental attitude) movement makes me want to hurl.  Good for you and your 'glass half full' bullshit.  Do what legitimately works for you, but don't get all superior about it.  If you really naturally had that mindset, you wouldn't have to fucking tattoo it on your body to remind yourself how to react to things.  Know what works for me?  Some people call it negativity, but that's not true. I call it a realistic world view.  No, you CAN'T be anything you want to be if you just work hard enough.  I hate it when people tell kids this and I detest it even more when adults delude themselves with the same crap.   Good thing I didn't want to be a WNBA player and have parents that fed me that shit.  I'd have surely put a bullet in my head when I stopped growing at five foot two inches.    I could go on and on with this crap, but I'll just end with this.  Take your PMA crap and your inspirational quotes and shove them where the sun don't shine.  This cantankerous broad doesn't want to hear it 24/7.  

There you go.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it.  I've got a closet to clean.   

Mommy Wars

 I'm recovering from a weirdo massive headache and fever combination that I was struck with yesterday and am still a bit foggy.  This probably isn't the best time to make a blog post, but since I live on the edge, I'll do it anyhow.  Plus, since there's a 94% chance that I'm going to insult a ton of people, this is a good excuse.  "I know not of what I speak, I'm still sort of sick."   Heh.

I made a Facebook post last week about how I really wish that I had more friends that are mothers, but that there are many reasons why I don't.  I got replies that implied that I was about to go on the attack.  That's possibly a valid assumption for those that know me casually, but I don't hatefully go after people with this blog, I simply feel that writing things down is the healthiest way to vent.  It avoids direct and random freak outs on the public at large, which could result in my being punched in the face.  After 30 years of age, you're just not as physically resilient as you used to be… regardless of how fearless you are about being hit.  Fact.

I am a judgmental person, and I'm not sorry.  When it comes to parenting, I admittedly tend to border on self righteous about my views.  Maybe it's because I've spent years dealing with the children of many parents and have seen it all.  I feel that has given me a unique perspective about the direct correlation between how folks parent, the effect it has on their kids, and how it has an impact on the way other people see those kids because of it.  Maybe it's just how I'm wired.  I don't honestly know, but I either way, I'm not likely to ever change.  So without further ado, here goes.

I don't always dislike children, but when I do, it's usually because their parents aren't doing their job."

(This is not universally true.  There are some great parents I know who realize that their kids have behavior issues, they do everything in their power to address it and find strategies to help their kids succeed.   I am NOT talking about this group of people. None of us got handed a guide book after delivering our babies and the majority of the folks I know love their children desperately and just do the very best they can do.)

I am your quintessential loner and have never envisioned myself even considering being a part of a mom's playgroup, even as a new mom… it's just not me.  That doesn't mean that I don't see the value in having other people in your same boat to share your trials and tribulations of parenting with.  After all, it's the hardest job anyone will ever do.  You really do need support and reinforcements.  Since I don't usually connect organically with most folks I meet, and since I'm also reticent to lots of socializing, finding other parents to pal around with was always recognized as an uphill battle.  What I did not take into consideration in the beginning was how much of a divide different parenting styles could be in a friendship.  Whoa, let me tell you.  It singlehandedly overshadows any of my other obstacles in finding other moms to have as friends.  Let me break down some classics that are easily recognizable.

1)  The "Laid Back" Parent: We all know them.  You agree to go out to dinner with a family for the first time.  Ten minutes into the meal, their kids are running around the restaurant, throwing food,  siblings hitting each other, screaming, being disrespectful to their parents, ect.  The parents are drinking their sweet tea and completely disregarding the fact that everyone is put out with their children and it's not even a blip on their radar.   It's happened to most of us.  I am instantly mortified when I find myself in this sort of company.  If my son decided to lose his mind and act like this in public, he would immediately been removed from said place and taken directly home to be dealt with.  Inappropriate actions have consequences just like good behavior is always praised and recognized in my home.

Some people think I'm too rigid.  But they don't consider the elephant in the room.  When you allow your kids to act in this manner, you are doing them a great disservice.  Why?  Because EVERYONE HATES THEM and it's YOUR FAULT.   This has been weighing on me for a while and it feels damn good to say it.

2)  The "Screamer"Parent:  This species of parent is the loudest and usually the most ineffective.  They can usually be found in their natural habitat, like a Wal Mart or Winn Dixie.   Sometimes though, their skills of disguise will make you befriend one before you realize what you've gotten yourself into.  It's only when you finally hang out with them in their home (or yours) that you see the truth.  Usually it will go like this:  The child(ren) are typically wild, that's already established, but in an attempt to not be too judgmental, you go against your instincts and assume it's a phase.  While attempting to have an adult conversation, you find yourself distracted by inappropriate behavior by one of the kids.  You look at the parent and may see irritation, but no action.  The behavior continues, the parent finally says, "Stop it."  They are ignored, blatantly.  This is when your eyebrow raises slightly.  Then the child just continues to push the envelope and you see the parental explosion when it's three seconds too late to back away safely.  The parent proceeds to scream wildly (now you know where the kids get it from), sometimes they curse at their kids, threaten to beat the shit out of them, possibly smack them on the butt if they can catch the offending child, blah blah blah.

Here's the kicker.  It doesn't matter.  The kid doesn't give a shit.  Why?  Because all of that screaming means nothing and the kid knows it.  They don't actually deliver an effective consequence, follow through consistently or make good on their stupid threats in any way.  They just scream, shake their heads and give up as their child carries on doing whatever they want until the whole process starts over again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.   Fantastic!  Now you not only have a headache from the kids, the parents have made it a migraine and the kid is still an asshole despite the big scene that was just made.   This is when you get an imaginary call that your bird died and you have to haul ass out of there before your own child thinks that this is normal or acceptable in any way.   (Yes, we all lose our tempers and freak out during our careers as parents.  Anyone that says they don't is a liar and I'll tell them so.  I am specifically referring to those that do this chronically.  I can't believe I'm even spelling this out.. it's that obvious.)

Again, parents… a disservice is being done here.  Why?  Because EVERYONE HATES YOUR KIDS and it's YOUR FAULT.  In addition,  you have shown a really ugly side of yourself and now no one wants to be your friend, either.   Congratulations.

3) The 'Isn't She Cute?' Parent:  I won't delve into this type with too much detail.  It's self explanatory.  The child talks back to them (or you) rudely and disrespectfully.  The parent says, "Isn't she SO smart?"
The child tears ass through the Target aisle, knocking everything over and the parent says, "She has so much energy, she's surely going to be a great athlete!!!"
The examples go on and on, but at the end of the day all I have to say is this…. That shit isn't cute.  Disrespectful back talking isn't cute, physically hitting others isn't cute,being ugly to other children isn't cute, acting like a savage in public isn't cute, none of it is cute to anyone but YOU.
EVERYONE HATES YOUR KIDS and it's YOUR FAULT.

4) The 'Stripper in Training' Parent:  This category is specifically for parents of little girls, and it may just be the most disgusting and scary.   If your daughter is ten and comes to school dressed like she's about to leave at two fifteen and go work the late afternoon lunch shift at the Pony, please go kill yourself.  Kids should dress as kids and act like children.  Allowing and encouraging 'boyfriends' in elementary school, giving them cell phones and letting them leave the house with their little kid asses hanging out and a face with make-up on it is vile.   That is all.  People don't hate your kid, they feel sorry for them.  They hate YOU.

Seriously, I could go on and on, but enough people probably already think I'm directing this at them and are mad at me.  To that I say, 'Don't be.'  Everyone knows at least five parents in each category, if you see yourself in one that I described, that's not on me.  That's on you.  Besides, what do I know anyway?  It's just my lowly opinion and I never claimed to be an expert.

Fact is, there are a lot of parents who may look at me and then read this and be surprised at how I view things.  Good, I say.  Don't assume anything by the way I look.  I take parenting very seriously and realize that I border on 'old school' in regards to certain opinions… why is that a bad thing?  Older generations as a whole seemed to do a much better job than many nowadays.  Besides, you could do everything to the best of your ability and right and still end up with a teenager or older child that goes off the deep end and takes a totally messed up path.  I know that all too well.  Why not give them every tool available to ensure that they have the skills necessary to be everything they can in this difficult world we live in?  We all mess up no matter how hard we try to do right by our kids.  It's just the parents that so blatantly do a crap job that upset me so.

Ultimately, it boils down to the fact that it's not so easy in this world to find people who have similar world views, lifestyles and passions.  When you're looking for a support system as a mother, it gets even harder.  Much as many wouldn't like to admit it, how people parent their kids matters a whole lot.  I've met more than a handful of women who I like very much on a personal level, but who I simply cannot get very close to because of their familial dynamic, parenting style, and ultimately and sadly, their kids.   I suppose that makes me the bad guy because I can't set those things aside for a friendship, but anyone that knows me knows I'm totally ok with that.  

Leave a message… But really, don't do that.

I know, I'm running the risk of making a liar out of myself.  I haven't delved back in to the blogging world with as much gusto as I would have liked when summer arrived.  But if you look back at my last post, I really only provided an estimated percentage of chance, I made no vows or promises.  I have been writing quite a lot this summer, only it's been taking pen to paper and then hiding it in corners of my house so well that sometimes I even forget where I've placed my moleskin journal.  I know that I have used this blog to put myself out there and be more open than I would have initially imagined, but damn.  Trust me, you don't want to read what I've been writing about. (Actually, I'd probably get mass amounts of followers and at least three publishing offers, it has all the elements that inspire folks to come back for another look, much like rubbernecking a car crash.  People are sick and weird… I'd wanna read it)

What I need is a new song challenge of something to make me stop in and jot things down like in the beginning when I was blogging every day.  I'll have to look into that, but for now, brace yourself.  I HAVE NO TRAUMA TO SHARE OR SAD BASTARD POST TO MAKE.  I know it's unlike me lately, as I mainly hop on the blogging train to therapeutically exorcise my internal demons, but it's true.  Since so many of the folks that read this stuff are buddies scattered all over the globe, I will just accept that if you could, you'd pat me on the back in thanks. You're welcome.  The flip side is that I really have nothing deep or important to say.  I'm ok with that.

Anger has been on my mind.  I haven't been hulking out lately or anything, and when I really examine what's going on inside of me, I am finding that in the midst of this shitty transitional period, I'm not as angry as I probably would have once been.  When I mean anger, I mean fury that comes from deep within, powered by reason and strong emotion.  I am not carrying as much of that around recently.  I do, however, still possess a wealth of irrational anger and will probably always be that way.  No, it's not the same thing.  Let me explain.

Irrational anger example:  When Kroger does not have the cream that I like to use for my coffee.  This is not a big deal, but upon realization that this has happened, I immediately black out and envision myself trashing the dairy department and verbally berating the manager to the point of tears when he comes over to investigate what the hell is going on.  Poor guy, he didn't stand a chance.   All of this happens in the course of three seconds in my brain before I regain my composure, shake my head at the fact that I'm irrationally angry over something that isn't important and keep pushing my cart.  See?  Irrational anger is not the same as the real deal.  I am always able to recognize it for what it is, play the scenario out in my head and keep on truckin'.  Real anger inspires well thought out action that results in   some sort of evident damage to the target… it means someone ought to run, though there is no real point because I can wait anyone out.  Told you it was different.

side note:  I'm not crazy.  I'm just more introspective than some people and am more willing to admit what goes on inside my head.  I accept fully the nature of the beast.  Deal with it, cause I'm fine with it.


This brings me to my phone.  Bear with me, it will tie in (I hope).  We've established here before that I don't like talking on the phone for various reasons.  Everyone knows this, but they call me anyhow.  That's fine, because all of these folks KNOW that I only answer the phone for three people and that hence, they've wasted their time.  No irrational anger on this end.  Not yet, anyway.  What throws me into a tailspin is when I get the awful sound notification from my phone telling me that they have left me a voicemail.   Seriously?  Thanks, friend.  You just jacked up my whole world.

In case you don't know this about me, I have voice message phobia.  Don't judge me, or do.  It won't change it. Maybe it's because I've gotten a lot of bad news via telephone or message, I don't know. While I could speculate wildly about the origin of this issue, it really doesn't matter in the end.  When I hear that noise and see that dreaded red circle with a number in it on my iPhone, it just wrecks me.  That stupid circle just sits there, taunting me and not letting me live my life because it's not supposed to be there and I know it won't go away until I listen to the damn thing.

Listen, don't do that.  Please.  Just send me a text and you will likely get an immediate answer because I'm not rude and I don't ignore text messages. (Oops, almost went off on a pet peeve rant.  Maybe some other time.) If it takes me a while to reply, it's for a reason.  Some may say I'm rude because I don't reply to voice mail messages, but it's not true.  You just don't get me.  Truth is, I never listened to it.  I simply hit 'play' and yell "BLAH BLAH BLAH"until I can immediately delete it just to get rid of the notification icon.

It's not because I don't care about what you have to say.  It's because I have an issue, much like diabetes.  You wouldn't get mad at a diabetic for having dietary restrictions, so don't get mad at me for how I cope with my affliction. Ok, maybe it's not exactly the same, but the point is that it's not personal.  It's not you, it's me. Usually in all other cases it's you, but this time it's not.

So in an attempt to avoid irrational anger on my end and hurt feelings on your end, I am going to change my voice mail.  "Hi.  You've reached Tania.  Please do not leave me a message because I will not listen to it.  Text me for a timely reply.  Thanks in advance for your cooperation."  This will be a project of epic proportion, because it takes me all day to record myself speaking and willingly save it for others to hear.  It's an awful process, full of cringing, large doses of wrinkling my nose and feeling shame and remorse that I expose and assault people that I care about with the sound of my voice.  But I'm intent on following through.  It's the only responsible thing to do.

Until then, if you must be a rule breaker and a bad direction follower, call me if you must.  But please, do not leave me a damn message.  You just never know when a bout of irrational anger could tip me right over the edge of sanity, and you don't want to carry that guilt around for the rest of your life, do you?

Thanks in advance for your cooperation.

This is the end.

I'm back…. promising with 59% certainty that I'll regularly be blogging again.  It doesn't matter much to me if no one reads it, it's cathartic for me and that is truly all that matters.  Why now, you ask?  It's a milestone day and I must chronicle it.  But fine, I'll preface it with a very brief catch up paragraph.

I vowed to make lots of changes this year in hopes that it would crush my horrid two year run of crap.  Well, I did make a huge leap… I just didn't anticipate that it would coincide with the rest of the good things in my life falling right apart.  I know I tout myself as outspoken, but my silence here has partly been an inability and unwillingness to put my mess out there for everyone to see.  Funny how when you could really use the outlet, you just can't seem to do it.   I don't know what's going to happen with any of it, but that seems to be the running theme I've had to uncomfortably become used to.  We'll leave it at that and focus on THE BIG DAY.

For someone that loves structure, I sure can't seem to stay in one place for too long.  I get that urge to roam and that nagging feeling that I'm missing something.  Maybe it's not really that complicated… but regardless of the reasons, I've racked up a resume that would make anyone furrow their brow or laugh, depending on what sort of person you are.   I'd like to think that the schizophrenic list of jobs and positions is a testament to my ability to thrive in just about any environment, but it may be more likely to solidify how off the wall I am.  I've worked in retail, restaurants, nightclubs, strip clubs, in a hospital emergency room,  was in corporate customer service, have been a receptionist and a dance teacher,  was a hairdresser for many years (probably my only true career)  and did a couple of stints as a stay at home wife and mother (my hardest job, that shit is not for the faint of heart)…. some of my other jobs are left out on purpose so that you can't use it against me later.   Most recently, I've put in five years with the public school system, working as a translator/interpreter (believe it or not, I speak three languages fluently but only curse in English), teaching Spanish and holding the Director position in an elementary After School Program.

Most folks that knew me in any capacity were equally amused and surprised that I was doing this.  Maybe I'm not the first person that would come to mind when thinking of the sort of woman to work with kids, but fact is, I'm good at organizing, managing, hiring, firing, dealing with conflict resolution and I'm a kick ass nurturer when it's called for.  So technically on paper, I'm perfect for the job.  Besides, while I'm not your textbook people person, I actually appreciate children far more than adults. I shouldn't have to explain why…. they just haven't lost what so many of us grown ups did a long time ago.  Not to mention that for some strange reason, kids like me.  It's true.  Even though I hold them to ridiculously high standards and speak to them as if they were 41 years of age, they like me.  I'm glad about that.

I've spent the past three years vowing to quit my job at the end of my school year.  I know I said I like kids and I do.  But I also like not sweating.  I know it sounds trite, but I've always had to cover my tattoos in school, and you really don't know what hell feels like until you wear long sleeves, high collars and pants in Georgia heat every day and have to constantly endure being asked, "Aren't you hot?".   Ugh.   Besides, my job hasn't been so easy.   Part of my job description says somewhere that you have to maturely take verbal abuse and idiotic behavior from unreasonable adults.   I haven't actually seen it, but I'm certain it's in fine print and I just glossed over it.  I spent so many years in a career that I chose specifically because it was important for me to look how I pleased/ not have to compromise myself in any way and now I was dealing with this.  Maybe it shouldn't matter as much to me as it does, but I don't question it.  It's just how I am.

So I took an amazing job offer in January (which I'll delve into later this week) and went part time at the school.  I've been working two jobs, six days a week since then in order to fulfill my obligations at the school for the remainder of the year.  I've dreamt of this last day of work wistfully as I cussed the world out every day driving to and from school.  I'm supposed to be throwing a party, but true to myself, I'm not.   It's not even over until six o'clock this evening, but I'm already romanticizing the last few years…. and that's not an entirely bad thing.   There has been a lot of good in there, and this is my way of paying tribute to it.

I sat through the fifth grade graduation yesterday.  I've had lots of these kids in my program since they were six.  As I saw them, one by one, take the stage, I really could only try to not cry.  (it didn't work, my dignity was left somewhere on the cafeteria floor, I'm sure it's gone by now)  They all feel so grown but yet are still so young.  They all cheered for one another's accomplishments with a sense of camaraderie and joy…. forgetting their daily drama and conflicts, not realizing that everything will soon change for all of them.  They will lose their innocence.   The older they get, the more their camaraderie will splinter.  It's quite easy to tell which ones will fall into which social groups down the road, and like all of us, not all of them will have happy endings.  I know this, not because I am cynical, but because I'm a human being and that's life.  Besides, I've already seen my older son's set of peers grow up.  They are adults, and there are just as many, if not more, sad stories to tell than happy ones.   It's easy to dwell on all of that, but for once I allowed my affection and fondness for these kids (all of them for different reasons) to wash over me and I cried because of that, not because of the bad.

I have such a respect for those that make this their life's work.  Teachers know many children better than their parents do.  They put in countless hours of their personal time, dig deeper and deeper every year into their pocketbooks to supplement a failing system, give their all to make a difference in every young life they have in their classroom and do it all for shit pay.   I am honored to have been able to experience their world.  Never take these people for granted, folks.   You may not like all of your children's teachers, but I bet my ass you neither could, nor would, put up with half the crap they do.

I joined this school quietly.  I'll leave in the same fashion, many won't even realize what's happened until after I'm gone and that's ok.   Putting it here is good enough for me.   For all of my nomadic tendencies, when push comes to shove, I can have a tough time shutting a door and saying goodbye.  Today will be harder than I suspected, and I'll cry.  Bear with me, I do have a heart.   And when you see me in a sundress at the grocery store or in a short sleeve shirt volunteering in my kid's class next year, try not to look horrified.  Hold your judgements.  Remember that before you saw me this way, you developed a relationship with me and trusted me with your kids and I always took care of them and kept them safe.  It's not a bad life lesson to walk away with.

I'm truly happy to move on to the next phase of my life.  But honestly, for all the bitching and complaining that I've done, I would do it all again and not change a thing.   I'm not like most of my peers, and I'm aware that most did not know what to think of me and how to take me… that never changed for some of them.  But for the ones (staff AND parents)  that got to know me, embraced me, gave me kind words, hugs and appreciated my contributions and efforts (because I really do care about my job and those children), I am forever grateful.   I love you.   Thank you.   I don't typically show it, but your kindness has meant the world to me and touches my heart.   Believe me when I say that I will miss you.  I will miss your kids even more.  They've made me a better person.

Sing Your Life

Yesterday left me in a tailspin. Ever have one of those days where things hit you from all ends and you can't quite keep grasp of which way is up? That was me. I felt caught in a rip current.  The day brought very sad and surprising news that shook me up far more than my exterior will allow me to show.  I made some necessary realizations.  Other things made their way into the day that left me very pleased but pensive as a whole. By the time I walked into my home last night there was little else to do but fall into my bed in a heap. My eyes were far too heavy for me to continue fighting what my body obviously wanted to do, which was just to shut down for a bit.  Sometimes confusion and big doses of emotion make sleep evade me, this was not one of those nights.   

I'm glad I gave in, because this morning my eyes popped open far too early and I begrudgingly realized that there would be no more sleep for me. So here I sit, with coffee in hand and a racing brain. Instead of trying to explain by using this blog as a journal to share stories that aren't really mine to share, or to get too specific in terms of things I'd have to kill you for knowing, I'll just try to sort out the bigger picture the only way I know how. By writing it down here.

I am such a flawed woman. I can be uptight, difficult and moody. I am so judgmental that there are times when I surprise even myself. I straddle the fence between stating my opinions far too much (loudly, unabashedly and gratingly, I'm sure) and having to carry the fact that there are some things I'll always have to keep close to the vest, because honestly, the vast majority of people can't handle so many of my truths and ethics. I know I'm not for everyone, but I'll never apologize for being myself.

I'd like to think that my personal ethics are born out of an ingrained need to live life to the fullest, I was born this way. I want to have it all, I want to be the girl with the most cake. There is a realization always lingering in the back of my head, yelling to me that this here is my only shot….. no dress rehearsals for life, this is my one chance. It's far too short for me to miss a thing, to deny myself happiness or life experience when it's offered. It seems that death is lingering around every corner lately, it's so constant in the past few months that I'm slightly overwhelmed.  The fragility of life and the mortality we all share is thrust into my face as validation that I'm doing things the way I was meant to.  I don't know any other way to be and that's ok because I'm not wrong.  

But if you're reading this, there's a decent chance we've had a drink together. I don't have to preach to the choir about my flaws, to know me is to know what they are. The point I'm getting at is that despite the ever present side of snark that I serve up, long winded rants about things that make me angry and my predisposition to view the glass as half empty sometimes, it doesn't define me completely. Sometimes the rest is harder to see and get to because I tend to guard it, our tender sides need more protection. If you're one of those closest to me, you know just how soft I really can be. I have a lot of love in my heart.

Despite being a textbook introvert, I need my people. My inner circle of friends are not just friends, they are my chosen family in a world that's made the vast majority of my original family largely inaccessible to me for various reasons. I keep so much inside that if I didn't have the critically important few in my life with whom I can speak freely and frankly with, I think I would wither away or go insane. Neither seem all that much fun to me. Without my network of like minded cohorts and kindred spirits, I would be lonely and most certainly less happy as a whole. Hold on to your friends, people. I know I do. There's a reason why I keep such a small number of folks close to me and in my heart. I hold onto them with such a white knuckle grip of love and loyalty that it seems impossible to expand the circle too much. I don't have the strength.

Bad things happen way too much, good things come along far too rarely. Don't be complacent. Seize the moment when it arises and suck all of the marrow out of life with abandon and an unapologetic spirit. I say what I mean, good or bad, because I'm all too aware that I may not have tomorrow. Life is too short to put up with shit that you don't have to deal with. Life is far too short to not throw your arms around the people who put a smile on your face every chance you get, no matter if it's right or wrong. Those are undeniable truths. It's why I shut people out completely if they bring unhappiness to my life and also why I'll drop everything and go far beyond what's expected for those of value to me.

I don't tend to follow my bliss, I sprint after it with abandon regardless of how far away it may seem. Sometimes I catch it, sometimes I don't. I've given up on lots of things that I'm very good at lately simply because they don't make me happy.  Despite how some feel about it, those were right decisions.  For the same reason, I'll never keep stop doing things I'm not the best at it, because I'd be a fool to give up anything that brings me joy.   

Just ask anyone that's heard me sing.

That's right, bitches. I'm never going to stop. In my head, I sound like Ann Wilson from Heart circa 1979, and that's all that matters at the end of the day.  

Wrap up

 In recent conversation with my mother, I made a comment to her about how I tend to look at people born in the late 80's and 90's and am astounded by how much they think they know.  It led me to verbalize how I'm quite sure that when I'm in my sixties and seventies, I will look at my thirties and marvel at how I really didn't know shit.    That's right, people.  For all the 'know it all' comments and accusations I get, fact is that I'm well aware of how much I don't know.   


2010 was a horrible year.  I had very high hopes for 2011.  Looking at the year in a quick glance, it would be easy to say that it fell terribly short as well, but upon further inspection, that's not completely true.  Brace yourselves, I'm doing the 'cup half full' thing.  New territory for me, but terrain worth exploring.   I learned and realized so many things.  Some of them hurt badly, and some realizations had to come painfully slow and at an emotionally detrimental cost to myself and others around me.  Still, I'm coming out of this year smarter, tougher and because of those things, more happy.

Being a parent has been the happiest, rewarding, scary, most painful and gut wrenching experience of my life.  I have a grown son (grown by legal standards, that is.)   I spent the better part of the past two years trying to save him from himself...from making  bad decisions that could affect the rest of his life.  I failed, probably because it was never my battle to win.  The more frightened I got about his chosen paths, the more I attempted to tighten my grip and control.  Seeing my young self in him was terrifying to me, you never want your children to go through the same horrible phases you went through, you want them to learn from your experiences.  Funny how they don't see it that way.  Yeah, we didn't take anyone's word for it either.  Go figure.

After beating my head against  the proverbial wall repeatedly, wasting away for months crying and wringing my hands in turmoil and worry, I had an epiphany. None of this was necessary because I was done.  Not done with my son, but done with my job of raising him.   We instill in them what we think is important, we try to provide the tools that they need to be productive members of society and then we're supposed to let them go live their lives however they choose to.   Regardless of the mistakes that I see him make, I now refuse to let myself try to intervene.   He doesn't want my advice, input and saving.  He's got this.  Even if he doesn't, he's on his own supporting himself and that makes it not my business anymore.  I learned a valuable phrase this year.  Instead of my head spinning around and my blood pressure rising every time I hear a new ridiculously bad idea, I pull it out.   "Well, son, I hope that works out for you the way you want it to."   And with that, I leave it.     Everyone must carve out their own path in life, how I personally feel about his path is less important than I once thought it may be, which was not the easiest pill to swallow.  Hey, that's life.

It may not seem like a hard thing for most of you to do or understand, but it took a lot to get me here.   And I'm not leaving.   I have retired my moonlighting job as Captain Save a Ho.     Not only with my son, but with everyone else around me.   The only saving I'm doing is the saving of my own sanity.   It's a good place to finally be.   I've lost some relationships due to my newfound resolve, but there are always casualties when it comes to finding your own happiness.  I wouldn't trade it.

I have spent the past seven and a half years in a profession that is as curious to me as it is to the people that knew me before I ended up there.  It was taken up strictly because of the benefits and flexibility that it provided me in terms of being a mother.  My younger child has spent every school vacation with me and not in a camp or daycare.  I have been incredibly involved in every aspect of his life and we are thick as thieves and love spending every moment together.  That I would not trade.  But as he grows older, I see that it's time for me to take some of my life back.   I have done what I have been threatening to do for so long….. I have made a change and set the wheels in motion.

Before I go patting myself on the back, I must admit that this change should have happened two or three years ago.  Frankly, fear of change, failure and the unknown have kept me from making good on my never ending promises to just pull the damn trigger.   This year threw me right over the edge, and for once that is a wonderful thing.  I found my proverbial balls and stopped complaining and sulking about how miserable I was and started living differently.  It began with small things and snowballed up to bigger life changes.   I see opportunity everywhere, right there for the taking.   It is invigorating.

A woman like me has to admit, even if my life for the past decade had been all puppy dogs and roses, the wanderer and bohemian in me would have started nagging in an increasingly louder voice inside my brain for something different, for a change.  I know myself too well to blame it solely on circumstance.  Instead of trying to fight that part of my personality, I have just accepted it.  What a damn relief.    I have to keep moving, and that doesn't mean blowing apart everything that is good right along with the bad.  It means allowing yourself continuous evolvement without guilt.

I made the tragic mistake of thinking that all of my self sacrifice would raise me to a new and awesome level of impressive wife and mother.   It didn't work out that way.  Instead my family got the worst parts of me more often than they should.  No one wants a bitter and cranky Me around.  The normal Me is hard enough to take.  Besides, unlike 91% of Latin females out there, I don't wear martyrdom well.  It just doesn't  look very good on me.

 So really, it basically comes down to this.

1.  Learn when to let go.  You can't control everything. If you try, you will  either exhaust or destroy    yourself.  Hell, you may do both.
2.  If you don't like the life you live, change it now because it's yours.  Do it now, no one has an eternity to sit around and wait for the 'right time'.

It's hard to fathom that this seemingly unending rollercoaster  called 2011 can be summed up so shortly at the end of the ride.  But I'll take those two ideas, tuck them into my hat as hard earned life lessons and keep on truckin'.  Some of you may see these things as obvious, and the concepts are admittedly incredibly basic.  But real life application is much harder than spewing words…. at least I can say that not only do I 'get it', I'm now fully living it.

Ever Forward!

Ho, ho, ho….WTF?

I'm still alive and nothing tragic has happened to me.   Shocker, since I'm contributing to my own blog, I know.

To know me is to know that I hate Xmas season.  I hate buying mass quantities of gifts that people really don't need.   I don't like the decorations. I don't like how folks all of the sudden expect me to stop being my naturally snarky self and somehow start blowing reindeers and candy canes out of my ass, just cause it's December.  I despise the debate between saying Happy Holidays/Merry Xmas.  Who gives a shit?  Say what you want, celebrate however you wish.  It doesn't offend me.  Just don't expect me to go to church and go back to leaving me alone.

Most of all, however, I really tend to not like Xmas music.  It's pumped in to every public establishment that you have no choice but to enter from what seems like October thru the new year.  Ugh.    If it's not Dean Martin, Elvis, Frank Sinatra or Brian Setzer doing holiday songs, then I don't wanna hear it.  'Divas' doing endless runs… thus making a crap three minute tune into a five and a half minute session of torture?  Nope.  Not for me.

Trust, this is not just a bitch session.  I'm actually going somewhere with it.

While surfing the web last night, my partner in crime somehow ran across THIS.   Now, let me preface by saying that while I don't love Stone Temple Pilot, I've always thought that Scott Weiland was sort of hot (in a dirty, heroin scumbag sort of way.  Don't judge me.  I like what I like.)   I thought, "Hmmm.  This is strange, with a 59% chance of being interesting." and immediately instructed Big Guy to preview the songs.

What followed left me absolutely speechless, not an easy feat for a big mouth like myself.  First of all, he looks creep-tastic on that album cover.  I can't fathom him seeing that photo and saying, "HOT DAMN!  I think we have a winner, folks!"  Seriously?

The music.  Oh, the music.  Believe me, I get that he wasn't going for 'rocker' on this album, instead he's trying hard to tip his hat to the era of big band and go all old school on us.  Problem is, he can't carry it.  It doesn't work.  I appreciate that style more than anyone and have extremely varied taste in music (just ask The Kid, cause he's been listening to me sing along to Streisand's Broadway album for two days… I like to pretend I'm Liza in the car.)  So I'm not judging based on it straying from his normal output of sound.  I'm judging the level of assault on my ears.

Frankly, he sounds a little drunk most of the time.  In a bad way.  On rare occasion, he starts slipping into what I can only describe as a more on pitch version of Sid Vicious' version of "My Way".  I was dumbstruck and still can't believe some of the favorable reviews.  Cause I'm here to tell you it's crap.  It wasn't all just suicide inducing.  It slipped into varying degrees of boring, played out and just forgettable.   There was nothing the least bit interesting about this project.  Also, whoever did the orchestra arrangement needs a boot up the ass.  They did this no favors at all….. my personal favorite moments were the strange  island calypso/steel drum  inspired moments.  Again, WTF?

This is a case where I think that perhaps he ought to start doing really heavy drugs again, if by chance he has stopped.  And for Pete's sake, don't make another holiday album, Scott.  Go back to not showering and I'll stop being mad at you, it's all going to be alright.  But most of all, Scott Weiland….. shhhhhh.

Go ahead, preview the songs, if you dare.  

Life goes on.

We've all had pivotal incidents in our lives that change us forever.  Some for immense good, others leave ugly scars and cast a shadow over our heads and hearts forever.

I don't believe that everything happens for a reason.  I don't believe in a higher being and I don't believe in fate.  That leaves me with very little to grip and hold on to in times of trouble, but I am one of the few that has the gumption to go with it.  I was never a fan of fairy tales and hollow words of comfort, it's just not my style.  I know and love people who need those things to get through the day, and I would never begrudge them that, but I would rather experience life as I do…. knowing we are but insignificant specks in the grand scheme of things.  I'm ok with imprinting my mark on the lives of those who I love and who love me.  If they remember me, I will continue to exist in their hearts and memories.  I leave a blood legacy.  That's enough for me, it has to be.  

Still, at times I've experienced disbelief and wonder when the fact of our true insignificance is thrust into our faces in the most undeniable ways.   I remember when my father died… I took it in stride as well as a nineteen year old could.  I was capable and level headed in the midst of everyone around me falling apart because someone had to be.   I believe I stuffed everything down, and it only crept into my unraveling later on, seeping out over a long period instead of spewing out immediately in one go.   It was slow release poison.  

One clear memory sticks from after the whirlwind passed, after everyone went home and the initial shock was gone.   I remember waking up a couple of weeks after the fact, the sun was streaming in through my window and birds were singing.   I was immediately angry.  How could they dare sing while this was happening to me?  As I walked around in a zombie-like state for the next few days, I noticed that my child was still equally demanding and happy, apparently two year olds don't care much about letting you grieve.   Everywhere I went, people were living their lives.  Drinking coffees, shopping, smiling, walking their dogs… nothing changed.  The world hadn't stopped because mine had.  For weeks I fought the urge to run into the street shaking my fist at all these annoyingly clueless people and endlessly scream obscenities into the air.  I may have actually done so a time or two.  

I'm so much older now.  I know all of these things, not only from a pragmatic standpoint but from actual unsavory experience.   I don't remember that this is how the world is when I experience joy.  It's easy to not see the face sulking in the corner and drowning in their problems, completely oblivious to the fact that you had a great day.  Your hair looks fantastic, you have new boots and everything is awesome… but there they are, not rejoicing with you because you don't matter.   In those instances, they aren't a blip on our radar.  Well, maybe a blip if we know them and are emotionally invested in their well being, but let's face it, most of us don't care at all about the sea of faces that make up the background scenery of our little lives.  That's how it is, if you say otherwise I'll call you a liar.  

What happens, though, when the shoe is on the other foot?  You know, when our world seems to be crumbling to pieces around us and we're still expected to actually show up for life.  It's not so easy to ignore then.  I still want to feel indignant, I want to throw away the fact that no one actually knows I'm screaming on the inside and be furious that it doesn't matter to anyone but me.   Ultimately, I can't though, because I learned this lesson a very long time ago.  I don't live in a sea of mind readers.  In fact,  most of the people I know are just tragically unobservant (and the observant ones are usually far more curious than concerned).  Toss that in with general human apathy and you have undeniable facts to face.  

Our personal tragedies, troubles and disasters are only ours, we are just damn lucky if we have some understanding people who will listen to our troubles and lend a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold. ( I wonder how a narcissist handles this shit…. being faced with the realization that the world doesn't revolve around us.  How unimaginable it must be for them.   But I digress, really.)   I know that regardless of whatever I have going on, the birds are still going to sing and my dog is still going to want me to play with him.  The leaves are changing and still gorgeous. It's a beautiful day.  People are still going to smile at me at work today and I'll sit and listen to every trivial story that's thrown at me, smiling and nodding in understanding (all the while trying hard not to cry).   I know how to keep playing the game of life, and the kicker is that I won't even get mad about it.  That's the breaks.  

It's the best I can do.  Today,  I can take all that normalcy that surrounds my completely wrecked insides and use it as a crutch to make it through the day until I can crawl back into my hole and live in my own little world again, where everything that's wrong matters a whole lot.  I hate today, and I may hate tomorrow, but most of the folks I run into today won't know it… even if they did, an equal amount wouldn't truly care.  No one gives a shit except for those wading  knee deep in it.   You know what?  I can live with that.  I've lived with worse.  

Bad things happen.  The world doesn't stop turning because of it.   That's life.

(I realize that this blog is a total Debbie Downer as of late… mildly bordering on fucking depressing.  Sorry bout that.  I write because it's cathartic for me and when I'm pleased as punch with my life I am too busy living it and enjoying it to bother to chronicle the zany adventures I'm having… I know I should make more of an effort to balance out the content of these posts, but it just hasn't happened.   While I may be insignificant to the world at large, this is a piece of the net that is all about me.  So there. I'm off to go slap some cucumber over my ugly puffy eyes… because the truth of the day is that the only thing worse than feeling like shit is looking like it, too.)