Censorship Smensorship

Why do we not say the things we really want to say? I am actually quite well known for saying whatever the Hell is on my mind, but sometimes I find that I am stifled by some secret internal censor. Where did it come from, and why? I get that it's inappropriate to say certain things, that sometimes it's just plain rude to say others...That's not necessarily always gonna stop me, but I still get it. I remember a time, a long time ago, in what seems now like another life, when I was standing on the porch of a house I had never been to. I was going to a party with my husband, some friends of his, when he stopped me before I could ring the doorbell. He took me by the hand, looked deep into my eyes, and said, "Kate, promise me...Promise me that you will take 10 seconds and think about what it is you are going to say BEFORE you say it. Okay?" At the time, I thought it was funny. Maybe even a little cute. But as the evening progressed, all I could think was, "wait a minute...Am I really that bad?" And sadly, I think the answer (at the time) was yes. Yes, my dear, you are gleaming the event horizon of obnoxious...If you don't stop being you, people will not like you.

So. Where does that leave me now, 8 years later? I think I am still a little bit on the bright, gleaming edge of obnoxious, but I have learned a thing or two about how far I can go, and just how much people are willing to tolerate. Sage bit of advice here: No matter how close you are with your Boss, do not tell him to go fuck himself. Even if it's said with love. I am finding, however, that my internal censor has recently realized it's calling, and has begun the arduous task of preventing me from saying even the most seemingly innocuous of things. Things that aren't offensive, crass or just completely needless. This censor is taking his job far to seriously, and preventing me from saying the things that I need to say in order to remain me. I would like to tell the censor to go fuck himself, but I am finding that to be difficult! So here is a Top Ten List of the things I would say, if I could. But remember, I can't...So these don't really count.

10. Drop Dead
9. Go Fuck Yourself
8. I am so glad that I can make you feel better about yourself. Maybe I should go fuck myself, then!
7. Hey, I have a great idea! Get off your ass and help me!
6. I really think it's wonderful that I can make your life easier. That really is my purpose for existing, after all.
5. Is it possible that you could shut-up?
4. You are a selfish asshole, and I really think you should know.
3. I am so sorry that my life is in conflict with your needs. Please let me know how I can change to accomdate you.
2. Choose now.
1. I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore.

I think that If I practiced in the mirror long enough, some of these might actually make their way off of my lips, and fall into the public arena...I doubt it though. There was a time when I actually got a little bit of a rise from saying things that I knew would offend or hurt someone. Those days are long since past. I no longer think it's cute to be cruel or completely hard-core snotty. I can still be plenty snotty, it's part of my genetic make-up, but it's no longer intended to be hurtful. And for that, I am grateful. I don't want to be the girl that says mean things. I would like to be the girls that speaks her mind, yes, but not at the expense of others. Tempering that with censoring myself to the point of my own expense seems to be the real challenge. But to that, I say the following: I really think it's wonderful that I can make your life easier. That really is my purpose for existing, after all, and I am so sorry that my life is in conflict with your needs. Please let me know how I can change to accommodate you. I am so glad that I can make you feel better about yourself, and I think maybe I should go fuck myself. But I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore...You are a selfish asshole, and I really think you should know. Is it possible that you could shut-up, or hey! I have a great idea, you can get off your ass and help me. So choose now: Drop dead or go fuck yourself.

God, I feel better. Censorship Smensorship

I Am What I Am

I became a Buddhist a long time ago. Or, as I like to endear it to my friends, a Buddheo-Christian. It's easier for them...I get that. For those of you who don't really know me, or for those of you who are rediscovering me from times long past, I am a typical, Southern white girl from Alabama. We are typically Baptists or Methodists, or something in between. Generally speaking, not Buddhists. But I have always been different. Different in how I dress, different in how I speak, and different in my structure of beliefs. And I have always needed this difference. I have always needed to have something that put me outside of the norm. Did I need it to be popular? Well, no. I was never popular. Did I need it to get attention? Again, no. I always got a little freaked out by attention. I know now, that the difference I was creating between myself and my peers was in a desperate attempt to fill a chasm inside of me. If people were always wondering, "what's up with Kate", then I was always relevant. Being relevant is important when you have been marginalized by the very people you were taught to trust. And that is just sad.

So. What has this got to do with being Buddhist? A lot, actually. I found Buddhism because God was lost to me. I found Him once, when I was much younger. I was awake one night, late, as I usually was, because I have always had trouble sleeping. It was always the same fear that kept me awake. I became an insomniac, because the Hell that was being exhausted was much preferable to the Hell that was sleeping...and subsequently, dreaming. So, one night, in my attempt to exhaust myself into a dreamless sleep, I saw some shitty, low-budget movie about teenagers and sex. Not quite what you might be imagining...But potentially interesting for a 15 year old, nonetheless. In this particular flick, the two teenagers in question were very different. The girl was older, less cautious, wanted sex from her much younger, devout boyfriend. After lots of cat & mouse bullshit, the boy took the girl to his church so she could be saved (cause that's what all horny girls want on a second date). She felt the call, but refused to stagger to the pulpit for her salvation. On the way home from the church, the boy and the girl died in a horrible car crash...I think they might have even driven off a cliff...Anyway, after the dramatic death sequence, the boy ascends to the feet of the Father, and the girl...well, she goes straight to Hell. Probably not even in a hand basket. Although the movie and it's message were over dramatic and grandiose, I found myself on the floor of my bedroom praying. I prayed that God would find his way into my heart and that he could help me to please, please forget about the things that kept me awake at night. I cried and cried until I found stillness. In that stillness, I thought I could feel God calming me. I went to church for a while after that, and continued to search for the source of that stillness for quite sometime. Although I did not find what I thought I was looking for, I continued to feel the stillness. I know now that it was God. Telling my mind that being still is okay.

As the years passed, I forgot about God. I never forgot about the movie and I never forgot about the stillness, but the dreams came back and the plague on my brain spread, and my search for the stillness I thought God had given me ceased. But my mind works in overtime. It never stops...It constantly churns out thoughts, both good and bad. I continued the struggle to calm it. One day, I discovered meditation. Through the course of my meditative practice, I rediscovered yoga, and subsequently, Buddhism. Meditation freed my mind. It allowed me to control the thoughts, so that they became little more than errant drops from an ever so slightly leaky faucet. I had learned how to create the stillness in my mind that I had once viewed as nothing more than a reneged promise. And I still cherish the stillness. I need the stillness. The chaos of my mind and all of its dark crevasses and secret places is just too much for me. And so, I chant "Ohm, Mani Padme Hum" every chance that I get, and my mind receives the peace. For I am the Jewel of the Lotus. And should I ever forget that, I risk losing the stillness of mind that I have struggled so long, and so hard, to achieve.

We all have our dark crevasses and secret places within our minds. Sometimes, they are so deeply trenched, we feel like once we have fallen into them, we may never get out. But in my searching for my own peace, I learned something really quite spectacular...You can get out of the trenches. Your mind doesn't control you. It resides within you, and feeds upon you, but like all parasites, needs YOU in order to continue it's function. You, and only you, can silence the loud voices within your mind. And those voices may have horrible, no good, very bad things to say to you...Fuck those voices, and repeat after me..."Ohm, Mani Padme Hum"...For I am the Jewel of the Lotus, and my flower forever blossoms on the surface of this pool of muck, and I can guide you to the stillness...

And for those of you who don't really know me, or for those of you who are rediscovering me from times long past...I did find God again. And he told me that it's okay for me to be broken, and it's okay for me to not be like you. But most of all he told me that it's okay for my mind to be still. In the stillness I can find Him, and for me, that is a turbulent journey indeed. But in spite of all the dips and jumps, I know that it is a journey worth contnuing...For the alternative is to allow the chaos of my mind to overtake me, and I will be lost to everyone...Even to God. And as little as I know about Him, I know I don't want to lose Him. So I continue to chant. I continue to heal. I continue to seek the stillness that will ultimately save me from myself.

Is It Okay if I Quit?

I think that it might be time for me to quit. I can't pick a specific event that has brought me to this conclusion, it's more a culmination of things. But I think that I am here, now...Here in the place where weary people just turn in their notice & quit. I am not being an alarmist, nor am I attempting to frighten anyone. Quitting is not so much literal as it is metaphorical. Metaphorically speaking, I have been working at this job for quite some time, and the position that I have been put in is starting to make me long for some permanent vacation time.

I'm just not that hard of a worker, I never have been and I never will be. It's always easier for me to just quit. I am feeling resolved...Now, where is that resignation form letter I saw once on the Microsoft Word templates...Hmmm....

Jack's Mannequin - The Resolution



Lyrics:

There's a lot that I don't know
There's a lot that I'm still learning
When I think I'm letting go
I find my body it's still burning

And you hold me down
And you got me living in the past
Come on and pick me up
Somebody clear the wreckage from the blast

Yeah I'm alive
But I don't need a witness
To know that I've survived
I'm not looking for forgiveness
Yeah I just need life
I'll be lying in the dark
As I search for the resolution

And the bars are finally closed
So I try living in the moment
For the moment it just froze
And I felt sick and so alone

I could hear the sound
Of your voice still ringing in my ear
I'm going underground
But you'll find me anywhere I fear

Yeah I'm alive
But I don't need a witness
To know that I've survived
I'm not looking for forgiveness
Yeah I just need life
I'll be lying in the dark
As I search for the resolution
I'll be lying in the dark
As I search for the resolution

The resolution
The resolution

And you hold me down
Yeah you hold me down

Yeah I'm alive
But I don't need a witness
To know that I've survived
I'm not looking for forgiveness

Yeah I'm alive
But I don't a witness
To know that I've survived
I'm not looking for forgiveness
Yeah I just need life
I'll be lying in the dark
As I search for the resolution
I'll be lying in the dark
As I search for the resolution

I need life
I need life
(Lying in the dark as I search for the resolution)
Resolution
(Lying in the dark as I search for the resolution)
Resolution
(Lying in the dark as I search for the resolution)

Learn From My Mistakes? No, I Will Not.

One day, I will get it.

One day, when someone tells me a story about their life, a story from a time they were able to learn some very valuable lesson, I will know full well that they are attempting - however feebly - to impart their wisdom to me, and I will get it. Not only will I get it, I will actually follow their sage advice. Sadly, that day is not here yet. It's not here for me, and it's probably not here for you.

It is ironic, then, that I recently gave advice, advice that wasn't heeded, and I had to witness the fall-out from the plugging of the ears and the chanting of "I can't hear you, I can't hear you", and the advice simply falling away. I don't think that I give poor advice...I actually think that I give pretty decent advice. Were it not for my age and relative inexperience, people might take me more seriously when I dole out such nuggets of wisdom...But I think that most people (who really know me) see me repeat the same mistakes over and over and over again, and simply assume that I have no fucking clue what I am talking about. This time, however, I knew exactly what I was talking about.

It's hard to see people you love struggle. It's infuriating to see people you love struggle with things that could have been easier, or even prevented, if they had just listened to your advice. I may sound an awful lot like my Momma right now, but my Momma is a very, very wise woman and she don't fool around. She tells you just what she thinks you should do. And when you don't heed her advice, (which I almost never do) she will never really say "I told you so", but you can see it in her eyes. It's a little twinkle. So, in an effort to atone for all of the lost opportunities to take her advice, I will follow her lead and NOT say "I told you so." You may see the little twinkle in my eye, but it's not the reflection of my self-satisfaction. Because in this case, there is none. Instead, the twinkle is a direct result of a small shard of glass that was embedded in my eye 20 years ago, and has never made it's way to the surface of my cornea. That's what the optometrist
said, you know...that the shard would just make it's way out of my eye one day. Shouldn't ever cause me any problems or any pain. So I ignore it. I follow the advice of my optometrist, and I just let it be. Some things will not be ignored, however, and you can't just wait for them to find their way out on their own, organically. It just never happens without any problems or any pain. And I am sorry for your problems and for your pain. I am sorry things didn't go "as planned", but they never, ever do...And I promise I won't say "I told you so"...Because in this case, I wish I hadn't been able to tell you so in the first place. I wish I didn't have the horrible experience, that you are now going through, to draw advice from. But I did. Now it's over. And it has become just another story from my life that I can use in a feeble attempt to impart some wisdom on another.

I don't learn from my mistakes...So perhaps it is grossly unfair to think that anyone else could or even should. None of us listen. None of us take the advice that is given. We pooh-pooh it like so much leftover Thanksgiving turkey. That is just the way we are. And that is okay. Because when it (whatever it is for you) happens to you, and it's real and it's difficult and it's not just someone else's vignette...Then you get it. And it sucks. Learn from my mistakes? No, I will not...But maybe you can. Maybe not.

Saying Goodbye to My Dreams

I have started saying goodbye to my dreams. I think that I might have subconsciously started this process some time ago, but it has officially started, front and center of my consciouness, tonight. Through the process of realizing that I am not who I had made myself up to be, and that my life is not what I thought it was, it has occurred to me that the dreams that I have had were perhaps not the dreams that I wanted to have. And that, my friends, is much more like a nightmare. Sitting in my comfy, although really quite dirty, chair-and-a-half, night after night..alone...has given me ample time to think. Although my instinct is always to block out the bad things, ignore them until they go away, the matter of my divorce and the circumstances that surround it, is not one that will be ignored. So, the nightmares come and the dreams fade away...

One dream that I am letting go of tonight is the dream of wealth equalling happiness. I know...I know that is trite, and you are likely thinking, "duh, woman. Of course wealth doesn't equal happiness". But let's be realistic. With money comes the comfort of knowing you can take that trip to Paris, or you can afford to send your children to that private school, fill your call up with gas, or even just pay the power bill. When the dreams all revolve around that day, that day when money is a non-issue, you are just setting the stage for the nightmare. I have learned that it doesn't really matter your socio-economic status. Money impacts every relationship in a negative way at some point. Even the most wealthy among us have turbulent times when it comes to financial stability. It is the rare Bill Gates kind of money that can stay about the financial fray that the rest of us are constantly trying to prevent further unravelling of...And so, I am letting go of this dream tonight. The dream that having a sufficient amount of funds in my account will help me maintain a healthy and happy relationship. I get that it's a silly dream and one that's based on no merit whatsoever. I get that.

I may chronicle future jettisoning of vapid dreams in subsequent blogs...it makes for nice filler when I am struggling for a topic. But for now, I will think of the dreams I have yet to create. The ones that might impart some bit of comfort in an otherwise nightmarish time. I do have this one dream...One I am scared to share, for fear that it is only that...A dream. Never to come to fruition, only to replay itself in my mind to remind me of the things that I have cast asunder. However, this blog has become my open forum for such fears, and often by putting them into cyber-space, I can move past them as fears and learn to embrace them as reality. So here we go...

In this dream, I am whole. I am strong, happy, healthy, and successful. Not successful in a wealth accumulating way, but just an overall sense of success in living. I have a life that gives me purpose. My children are growing up to be strong, happy, healthy young women. In this dream, I live by the sea and I illustrate children's books. My life is simple, but with purpose. When I wake up in the morning, the sun shines into my bedroom. But the warmth I feel is not from the sun. It is from the person next to me that I have chosen to spend my days with. And there he sleeps, mouth open, softly snoring, until he realizes that I am gazing at him. He wakes. He tells me that I am the most beautiful woman he has even known, and that he is the happiest, luckiest man in the world. And I believe him. Although he has given me reasons to doubt him in the past, he always makes up for those transgressions, and then some. And so I believe.

We should all have dreams that fill us with warmth. We should all have dreams that fill us with hope. We should all have dreams that make us believe. For when we stop believing, the dreams have nowhere to go...And you have to say goodbye to your dreams. And really, my friends, that's just sad.

Due Time Can Kiss My Ass.

I have been told that it all gets better. I have heard that in "due time" things will change for me and I will be happy. I struggle with the vagueness of that. Point to a date on a calendar and tell me, "here, Kate...On this date you will be okay", then at least I have something concrete to focus on. And yeah, I know that you can't do that...But "due time"? Really? Can't we come up with something more reassuring than that? Maybe that is the biggest part of my problem...Maybe I am still hanging my happiness on some time frame that never had anything to do with me in the first place. I am overdue for my time.

Right?

Maybe "due time" is not an abstraction. Maybe it's not said to make me feel like I have no control over what is happening in my life. Maybe it's said to help me understand that, at some point, things will get better. Things will go my way. Things will change for me, and I will be happy. Perhaps it is meant to give me some semblance of control in an otherwise wildly careening existance. I'm just not so sure about that....

I worry that by putting things in terms of "due time", no real time ever has to be established. Somethings need to have parameters. Or, do they? I was told recently by a very, very kind and generous friend, that no one will ever be able to set timeframes for my life but ME. It will take whatever time it takes for me to pick up my mess, pack it away, and move on & out. Is it too soon for me to be ready to see that happen? Is it okay for me to say that the time is now? It seems like such a long time since I have had that kind of control...And I am not prepared to relenquish the newfound control that I wield. So, I say to those people that offer me "due time"...Due time can kiss my ass. Come up with something better. I think I deserve something better. Unless there is a 2009 calendar out there with "Due Time" day boldy circled in red, I just don't want to hear about it anymore.

But let me add a caveat: Just because I don't want to hear you tell me that in "due time" all my dreams will come true, doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the effort. I know that you care. And I am feeling reasonibly certain that, yes, in due time all of my dreams will come true. The thing I don't like is feeling that I am, once again, not in control. That I have to sit and wait...sit and wait...sit and wait for my due time to come. And I find myself reminded of my very, very kind and generous friend and her nuggets of wisdom. She told me that "people come into your life for a reason, and maybe we were brought together for a reason, that I might be an example of someone who went through a painful time and came out stronger because of it. And if you need me, I will always have time for you". Not due time. Just time. And I think that's all I have ever wanted...

Warning: This Post is Depressing. Read with Caution & a Side of Zoloft.

I just cannot come up with enough lucid thought to fill a blog these days. I must say, this only seems to add to my mounting depression. I used to look forward to blogging as much as I looked forward to sitting in my overstuffed, oversized, Restoration Hardware "chair-and-a-half" at the end of a busy day, with a glass of wine and my thin crisp Triscuits & Kaukauna port wine cheese. Now, the wine has turned, the cheese is gone & the crackers are stale. Even the guinea pig (yes, we have a guinea pig) recently peed on my chair. Everything I love is turning to crap all around me, and I feel like I am helpless to stop this slide down the slippery slope on the giant crap mountain that I formed.

So, I am learning how to fake it. Everyday, I am faking it more and more. I'm not even sure if people notice it...I mean, I am sure that the fact that I have all but dropped of the face of the Earth gives it away somewhat, but I'm trying to fake even that. I am working hard to "be there" for others. Working hard to get up in the morning and get dressed, get the kids dressed, go to work, smile and chat when I don't want to...And in spite of all the effort, I almost never see people anymore. I stood next to someone I have known for years, in line at a store, and never even noticed them until they asked me the dreaded, "are you okay"? And I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry and say, "no, I am not okay. I am sad and I am alone and I feel loss so deeply that it has cleaved my soul in two"...But I didn't. Instead I faked it. I faked like I was so lost in my own little trite world of nonsense that I just simply didn't recognize her "with that hat on". But in faking it, I spared her. I spared her the burden of knowing the real reason why she hasn't seen me in a while. The real reason I have lost so much weight. The real reason I am faking my life. It's my burden, after all...Not hers. I did this to myself and now I will pay the price. The currency is guilt, and I am a wealthy woman, indeed.

I know I should feel comfortable talking to my friends. I know I should be able to talk to my family. And they have all reached out to me...I can feel them reaching all the time. Yet when the phone rings, or the e-mails come, I just can't bring myself to open up and "burden" them. I am tired of crying and I am tired of explaining, and I am tired of feeling the burden of the weight on my heart. I have always had a very, very bad habit of ignoring things until they go away, and I am falling into those bad habits like a ton of bricks...But I don't want to ignore you, and I don't want you to go away...Please keep trying and please keep reaching. I promise, at some point I will reach back. I just hope that when I do, you aren't too far away...

Disappointment: My Nemesis, My Friend.

Whew. I have reached levels of disappointment that are beyond description. I have spent the last week disappointing myself, disappointing my spouse, and now, finally...disappointing my children. See, tonight is the night that my soon-to-be ex-husband and I decided to tell our beautiful, innocent babies that we were getting divorced. It was, without a doubt, a grand disappointment.

My oldest daughter was overwhelmed. She cried and begged us to stay married forever. She wanted to know if we were leaving her. She wanted to know where she was going to live. She wanted to know if we (my husband and I) would be alone forever or if we would find someone else. She had so many "adult" questions, it overwhelmed me...She is only 6 years old...It was just so disappointing for her. It broke my heart. My husband sat next to her, holding her hand, tears streaming down his face, trying to comfort her...when he needed to be comforted too. When his turn came to talk to her, he did an amazing job. He pulled himself together and explained things just as he needed to...It was more painful for me than anything we have gone through this far. I wanted to stand up on the couch and scream..."WHY! Why couldn't you have cared this much when it still mattered to me! Why couldn't you have been this involved in the emotional well being of your children all along"! Of course, I didn't. I sat on the couch and cried. I haven't stopped since.

My youngest daughter was underwhelmed, to say the least. And that was a blessing. She ran around, with scissors in hand (I am for real people...yeah, judge me. I don't care. Do it now while I am still to exhausted to kick your ass), and tried to eat a candle. She was fully unaffected by the conversation that was going on. But periodically she would come up to her Daddy and say, "Daddy, please don't go"...She too is disappointed. Her disappointment may manifest itself through symptoms of pica, but there is disappointment there just the same. She is only 3...I hope that she doesn't remember this painfully disappointing night 3 years down the line.

So...here I sit. Glass of wine in hand...blogging. Some people may think that's callous or even strange. But it's more obligatory catharsis. The girls are sleeping...exhausted from all of the disappointment that has been heaped upon them over the past few days, and I am just numb. Sometimes blogging allows me to get out all of the emotions that I keep bottled up inside in a way that makes me feel better, and sometimes amuses others. But now, I feel like I am telling a story that doesn't even belong to me. My heart feels empty. I don't really have any great emotional stories to share. I feel like I have been in a bloodletting, and all life in me has poured out onto the earth...absorbed and then gone. But yet, I feel compelled to write this blog and send all of these thoughts into the blogosphere...Because the part of me that takes my raw emotions and turns them into something creative and unique is dying. I am slowly starting to shut down and I am helpless to stop it. I have been trying to keep the people who love me close to me, but my heart is fighting that attempt, and I want to push all these people away. If I can just shut down and feel nothing, I can get through all of the disappointment...I wont have to feel it...and I can put all of my focus on helping those who are going to suffer the most...My girls.

So if I don't smile...Forgive me. If I don't want to talk to you...Forgive me. If I seem to lose some interest in the very things that used to bring me some measure of happiness...Forgive me. I know that I will disappoint you too. I am sure that I already have in some way or another over the years, so it is likely that you are used to it. Soon, I will not be myself anymore. I have already changed...There was once a girl who would do anything for a man that she met, until she had more disappointment than she could stand, and she began to shut down...and she began to change into someone that turned the disappointment table...But heaping disappointment on others doesn't make you feel better. In fact, it is as bad - or worse, than feeling the disappointment yourself. So I choose to feel nothing. In nothingness there wont be any disappointment. None to be delivered or received. So if I can't look you in the eye when we meet...forgive me. I am trying to spare you from disappointment. Because my tired, empty eyes will give it all away...That I have been friends with disappointment for years, and although she has been a hard friend to have hanging around all the time, she has always been there...Even though I have been a faithful companion, she is always looking for new people to be fast friends with. And I don't want it to be you.

Why Again? Well, Because...

I have this bad habit of recycling old blogs when I am either too tired to come up with a new one, or I have too much racing through my mind that i just can't articulate into the blogosphere. Well, tonight's excuse is soooo the former. Today has been draining and I just don't have what it takes to be witty. I chose this particular repeat blog, because sometimes, for me, it's so amazing to go back and look at what was going on in my mind three months ago. Three months? That's not that long ago! You are likely thinking...but yes, a lot can change in three months. My methods for conveying my emotions through my blog have changed, my writing style has evolved (somewhat), and yet somehow...the subject matter hasn't changed at all. A solid majority of my blogs are about the same thing. Even three months later. I am so grateful to have this muse, that inspires me to write things that speak to other people in a voice that they don't always have for themselves. So, I hope that the muse isn't too terribly disappointed when it sees that I am repeating a blog from times past. But at least I have chosen one that is muse-inspired, and I would like to point out the following lesson to take from this recycled blog: Life happens to all of us. Sometimes what happens is good, sometimes what happens is bad, and sometimes it is a combination of the two. But when life throws something inexplicably good our way, know how to recognize it, know how to cherish it, and figure out a way to take the something good and turn it into the best damn thing that has ever happened to you. Just a bit of advice...

Here's the oldie but goodie:

Why? Well, Because...

I have given up who I am to be someone I am not for someone else.

Why?

Well, because...I guess...

That's about the best answer I have for anything anymore. Amelia asks me why she can't jump on the couch, "because", I say. Isabella wants to know why she isn't allowed to swallow the toothpaste, "because", I tell her. There was a time I used to give them these absurdly complex answers...You can't jump on the couch, there is a chance you could fall and land on your head and have a spinal cord injury, then end up without the use of your legs. Or, you can't swallow the toothpaste, it has ingredients in it that although do a fine job cleaning your teeth, but they aren't made for consumption and can give you oily stools, potentially leading to hemorrhoids...I think you catch my drift. At some point, recently, I have just given up on the detailed answers. It's possible I might be too tired. It's possible I just don't know the answers. It's more likely that I have forgotten who I am, and thus, cannot come up with the witty responses quickly enough.

I feel dull. Like a Ginsu knife bought off an infomercial 20 years ago, used, then never really sharpened (it was a piece of shit knife, anyway). I feel nonabrasive. Quite frankly, I like being a little abrasive. I liked my serrated edge! WHAT HAS HAPPENED!

Life has happened.

But you know, my life is good. There are people in my life that make me feel very good. My children, for example. YOU, for example (yes, you...stop looking around, I am talking about you. What, are you surprised?) But something about my life has worn me down. Maybe it all goes back to not getting what I want, when I want it. But I learned a very valuable lesson this week...I think Mick Jagger put it best when he sang;

"You can't always get what you want.
No, you can't always get what you want.
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."

So, thank you. Thank you for not necessarily giving me exactly what I wanted, but for giving me just what I needed. Maybe if I can get a little bit more of that, I just might get my edge back, too.

And just as quickly as life happened, life has also changed. And it is good.

So Much More Than Top 40

So...I know that I am pretty much a giant loser, but I really do have a soundtrack for my life. I think music is the most incredible thing. It can convey any emotion, at any time. Remarkably, I am a much better writer than I am talker. When I try to express the things that go on in my mind, in actual words, sometimes I can't. I seem to get too caught up in trying to protect myself...It's quite odd really. Because truly, I feel quite safe.

Anyway, I get that this song is probably about Jesus, but since we all know that I am a heathen, I choose to interpret it in my own way.



Lyrics, cause I know you all like to have something to think about:

They tell you where you need to go
Tell you when you need to leave
Tell you what you need to know
Tell you who you need to be

But everything inside you knows
There's more than what you’ve heard
So much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words

And you’re on fire
When he’s near you
You’re on fire
When he speaks
You’re on fire
Burning at these mysteries

Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see
Give me everything you are
Give me one more chance to be...near you

Cause everything inside looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I’ll take

When I’m on fire
When you’re near me
I’m on fire
When you speak
And I’m on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries...

I’m standing on the edge of me
I’m standing on the edge

And I’m on fire
When I'm near you
I’m on fire
When you speak
I’m on fire
Burning at these mysteries...

Engrish Rocks!

That seems like happy hour to me!


more the engrish!

And after happy hour is over...


more the engrish!

In the event of an emergency…


more the engrish!

What if I want to be edible?


more the engrish!

I know a guy that really likes Baked Fire Cheetos. I have a feeling he might like this better:


more the engrish!

And finally, one that has no pornographic references…Unless you are as fond of bacon as I am. Then it’s really quite subjective:


more the engrish!

It's Mine

My children do not share very well. Sometimes, when they think no one is looking, they do an okay job...but generally speaking, they don't share well at all. I thought a lot tonight about this subject, and I came to the following conclusion: Sharing sucks.

It's true, right? It's not fun watching someone else play with your stuff. When we are kids, everyone tells us that we have to share with our friends, that we have to share with our classmates, that we have to share with that chubby girl sitting by us in the sandbox. And you know what? We never really want to. I used to pressure my girls to share more, and I always noticed how uncomfortable and slightly sad it made them feel, and I often wondered, why I am I making them do this? Is it so the other parent can see what a generous and "good" parent I am? Is it to make the other child happier? Why? Interestingly, I don't really know the answer to why we have to share, or why we have to force others to share with us. I get that if I have more than you, it's nice of me to share with you...I really, truly get charity and compassion...But often, those are not the things that compel us to share. It's almost like it's just what's done. It's so very status quo. For my girls, I have adopted the following attitude: If something is very, very special to them, I do not require them to share it with anyone. I do ask that they not bring it out and wave it about in the faces of others, but I don't force them to share it. It's special. It's important to them. They should not have to share.

It is the same logic, then, that should apply to adults. Somehow, though, in all of the effort we put forth in making other people share, we seem to forget that if something is special to us, it's okay to not want to share it. We don't have to make a big scene about it, we don't have to wave it about in people's faces, but we shouldn't necessarily be forced to share it, either. Sometimes we don't have this luxury. Sometimes the things that are most important to us, most special to us, are shared commodities. Then it's different. It's more complicated. Sharing becomes sort of like a bizarre dance that all the interested parties participate in...I'll step this way, you step that way, maybe if we are careful we won't step on anyone's toes and no one will get hurt...That's when people like me start to lose the rhythm. See, I am selfish. I always have been, and I always will be...especially when it comes to things that are special to me.

This is where readers who know me sit back, puzzled, and think..."Kate is always considerate and kind to me, I don't know her to be selfish". Oh, but I am. Sorry to disappoint you.

I am becoming that snarky girl in the sand box that glares disapprovingly at the chubby girl who wants me to share with her. "Oh, no" I will think to myself, "I am not sharing with you...You are unworthy, you might break this, you might try to take this, shit...you might try to eat this". I am every parents nightmare. Every parent, except for me. 'Cause I totally get the snarky girl. She doesn't want someone else to have their grubby, chubby hands all over their something special. I can get that. And that's why I don't force my kids to share the things that they consider to be the very most special things. It's just not cool. And don't even try to come at me with Karma, right and wrong, good vs. evil...That's all bullshit where "sharing" is concerned. Sharing is a ruse that we foist upon others to try and make ourselves feel better at the expense of those who just can't quite speak up for themselves. It's all crap. So, my dear reader, if I haven't completely lost your readership yet, let me just say...I am not starting my "Down With Sharing" campaign quite yet, but if you are interested in joining the cause, please sign my guestbook and I will contact you when we have our first committee meeting. Feel free to deny your agreement all you like, but the more you think about it, I am sure you will agree...You don't want grubby, chubby hands all over your something special either, now do you?

A song from the soundtrack of my life. Enjoy.



The telling lyrics:

You don't have to lie about where you've been.
We both know you've been screamin'.
So why don't you give your little voice a rest,
climb on up inside my bed, and just pretend you need me?

You don't have to lie about what you know.
We both know that I've been sufferin'.
And I don't need to be your only one,
and I don't need your comforting,
I just need you with me.

Stay, Stay, Stay with me.
Stay, stay with me.
Stay, and don't you ever run away from me.

Oh, and if she ever let's you down,
after she has run out of your money
Well then just crawl on back to me, I'm the one that
sets you free, and I'm the one that needs you.

And if she ever let's you go,
we both know what you'll be needin'.
And if you need somewhere to rest,
somewhere to lay your
head, you'll know where to find me.

Stay with me!

I can't live another day,
I won't live another day without you baby!
Stay with me!

Turn down the headlights. Empty the ashtrays.
Sweep out of the airway, what's left of our time.
Oh, you can use my body to
do what you have to, but stay a little longer, stay with me.

The Heart

The heart is an amazing muscle. It is responsible for keeping us alive. My three year old likes to lay her head on my chest sometimes, and listen to my heart beat...She calls its sound the "heart fart"...She's a classy girl like that. I am undeniably proud. She likes to draw little hearts (poorly, but I know what they are...It's a Momma's job to know) and tell me that the little hearts are all her love for me, and it's flying all around...For as much as the heart does for keeping the blood pumping through our body, keeping us alive, we don't often credit it for that amazing work. More often, like children, we credit it for acting as the keeper of our emotions. Admittedly, I can be a bit of a drama queen, but I am actually quite a pragmatist. I seek out the logical explanations for things. I like to look at the science of something. Generally speaking, I can't believe something is real unless you can prove it to me. So, for me, my heart wasn't anything more than a self-contained, constantly exercising entity. It needed no input or direction from me...It did it's own thing. Describing my heart in terms of emotional jargon never seemed appropriate coming from me, unless I was using my oft quoted phrase, "black like my heart". Now, don't misunderstand, I am not cold or cruel, and I do not believe myself to truly have a black heart. It's just not really in my outward nature to offer up my proverbial emotional heart for what ever sacrifice is deemed necessary. I guess I have always though it was too childish, or might lead to some embarrassment on my part, something I hate...

Lately, however, I have been wondering if the child-like representation of the heart might be more accurate than I had previously assumed. I have said before in this blog, that sometimes I am overwhelmed by my capacity to love. I would lay down my life for my children, my love for them is limitless, and I have loved other people in my life deeply and with much passion...But I am not sure that I had loved with my full heart. Maybe I was stuck between being too old to remember how it was done as a child, and too young to know how it should be done as an adult. I think that perhaps now I am unstuck. My heart is a capable muscle, yes, but it seems that it may also be a capable haven. A haven for the heart of another. A heart that I can hear and feel physically, but that I can also feel emotionally. It's amazing to me to think of the cavity within my chest as a safe-place for not only my emotions, but those which are not mine. And safe they are. Because in both pragmatism and emotionalism, my heart is nothing if it isn't strong. And although the defenses around it are built solidly and with fortitude, I can lower those defenses to let this other heart in. It seems that I have more than enough room in my own heart...Who knew.

I think I am on a literary bent. The second post this week with a poem. Next thing you know I will be wearing a beret, drinking a tiny coffee, and smoking a cigarette in some back-alley beatnik bookshop...Nah, I don't look so good in berets, I really do look much better in a fedora.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

The End of The Road

When I was a little girl, I loved Shel Silverstein. I still love him, and have gotten most, if not all, of his books for my daughters. My favorite compilation was "Where the Sidewalk Ends". I remember the cover art, with the kids and the dog hanging over the craggy end of the sidewalk, staring down into the nothing below.

The most interesting thing about the cover art versus the poem, I always thought, was that the art seemed to invoke some sense of impending doom, as the sidewalk's end seemed to crumble - little bits by little bits - under the weight of the children. Yet the poem speaks of a beautiful place...

*There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Maybe this is an intentional dichotomy. I couldn't say. As a child, and even now as an adult, it's really the cover art that speaks to me. Sometimes I feel like I am standing on the edge of the precipice, and the sidewalk is crumbling beneath me. My sidewalk is coming to it's ending, and I am not feeling so certain that there is going to be a peppemint wind to soothe me when I finally reach that end. I can feel it ending, even now, as I write these words in an effort to convince myself that what lies ahead is beautiful, like in the poem...Yet there is the ever-present, nagging voice that assures me I am only in for more of the same...I cannot walk this walk, however measured and slow it may be, if I cannot enjoy it. Sometimes, I don't seem capable of allowing myself to just enjoy it. It's the years of self-doubt and denial that continue to push me down the rocky path, staggering past the danger signs, and then blindly off the edge.

Endings aren't always bad things. Sometimes endings can create beautiful new beginnings. Sometimes they don't. I believe that we are responsible for the outcomes...our actions are what determine them. Fate, chance and hope are lovely, but they don't stand a chance against determination, force of will and fortitude. And although I wish I were the kind of person who could just let go, and be carried off by the peppermint winds of fate, in the off chance that my hopes for an amazing future will manifest themselves, I simply know better. I know that when my sidewalk ends, the only way I can save myself from plummeting into the unknown is by simply counting to three...and jumping.

*"Where The Sidewalk Ends", Shel Silverstein, 1974

It's Totally a Reflection on Me

I have the most hilarious friends in the world. Or as one friend would put it, "HI-Lairous"...It's so very Dane Cook of her. Well, tonight's blog is pure, unadulterated plagiarism. The following is a comment left by perhaps my most witty and sardonic friend...She may just upstage me here...but that's okay. I know that she will never find the time to sit down and write a blog of her own, as she is too busy picking out pavers for her new pool. Ooh, la la! The spotlight shall remain mine!!

Anyway, here is a comment left by said friend. Just for her, I will use the word "fuck", as in, this comment is just so fucking funny! (Look, I even conjugated that shit!) And a big thanks to my friend, for making me laugh out loud, in public, seemingly at random, allowing all those around me to fear for not only my sanity, but their safety. Damn iPhone...Always alerting you to new e-mail at the most inopportune of times! So as promised, LWS's Top Ten Reasons Not to Abandon Your Blog comment:

Ten Reasons Not to Abandon your Blog:

10. Real therapy is damn expensive.

9. You have no one to blame but yourself for high expectations--you created them by being brilliant.(Sorry, but feel pretty sure shameless flattery might work for you)

8. In Blog, one day of depression followed by a day of euphoria is interesting. In real life they call it Bipolar.

7. Blogging is one of the few hobbies that can be pursued while eating bacon.

6. Blogging increases your Facebook friend count.

5. Allows me to live vicariously through you while I am too lazy to create own blog.

4. Can discuss reckless alcohol usage while seeming edgy and fun!

3. Writing on the job loses its charm. So, with Blog you get "the beds of boat world."

2. Where else can you write "Fuck" and get away with it?????

1. There's a dude in Denmark with a cat who reads your Blog. Isn't that enough?????

Close to Perfect

It is just so like me to quit.

Anytime I start to enjoy something, creatively at least, a point comes when people develop expectations of that creativity. Then, sadly, I lose all interest in doing said something. Isn't that pathetic? No, really...It's okay to say "yes", because I am fully aware of how pathetic it actually is. I have been blessed with some interesting creative skills...Dabble a little bit here, dabble a little bit there...But once anyone notices what I have done, expresses an interest in what I have done, or really freaking likes what I have done, I don't want to do it anymore. What is up with that? Suggestions and comments are welcome, cause I don't think I have a clue why this phenomenon occurs. What I do know is it has occurred time and time again. I'm not really proud of it, and I don't really like it, but it seems to be an infallible reality just the same. I worry my blog is succumbing to the same fate. It's a little disappointing.

I work my ass off to exceed people's expectations. So much so, that sometimes I get pedestalized, for better or for worse. In spite of this insatiable desire to be the best person/lover/mother/wife/worker/friend/etc that I can be to whomever is needing it, I feel like I need to prepare those individuals, immediately, for the fact that I will disappoint them. It has occurred to me recently, however, that everyone disappoints some one at some time. Hell, I am disappointed by something almost everyday...Actually, no, I take that back...There is a big difference in being "disappointed" and being bummed-out or let down. I may get bummed-out by something everyday, but that can be as minuscule as chipping one of my black lacquered fingernails. Saying you are disappointed, on the other hand, is just so final. So grave. Usually quite unnecessary, really. I mean, think about the last time someone told you they were "disappointed" in you...It really hurt, didn't it? Made you feel a bit like a failure, right? Even if the expectations were never made clear to you from the beginning...So how can we justify being disappointed if we never articulated exactly what was expected? When did it become okay to anticipate the expectations of others and strive for over achievement of something that may, or may not, even exist....

It would be so much easier if the expectations people have of me could be put into a neat little list. Then I would know just what to strive for. Instead, I overeach...overextend...then find myself over my head. It's just what I do. I understand that this list will never materialize, yet I will never stop trying, trying, trying to make all the people in my life as pleased with me as they can be.

But still I wonder what would be on your list. What is it that I can do to keep you from ever being disappointed in me? Is that even realistic? No, it's not. To be fair, you have never made your expectations clear, and maybe it's because you don't really have any. Maybe that's just what you do. If you never place your expectations of others into the ether, maybe you will never have to say they have disappointed you...It's not a bad approach. But for me, it will never do. In my constant struggle to be perfect (a struggle that I will never win) I require expectations. They help me to know how close I am coming to my impossible goal of perfection. And when I fail, and invariably disappoint you, I can curl up in the dark little corners of what's left of my heart and listen to the voice that repeats, "I told you so, I told you so, I told you so". And although I really hate that little voice, her expectations are clear. Fail. And I will. And somehow, that makes me feel like I have gotten ever closer to my goal. It's Perfect.

The One That Started it All

This is the blog that started it all. I posted it on May 31st, 2008. It is a short blog, and didn't even touch on the reason I wanted to start blogging in the first place. I enjoyed it so much, I started blogging almost every night thereafter. Subsequent blogs were more "revealing". As you can tell from this entry, I started this blogging nonsense on MySpace. I got so many visitors, I decided to move to a bigger forum. I am glad I did! This free therapy thing seems to be really working out for me. Who would have thought that blogging would help me get where I am right now. Who would have thought you would benefit from my blogging.

Originally blogged on 5/31/2008

Really.
I just need to go to bed and end this endless cycle of feeling exhausted. Yet, here I sit, with my third glass of wine watching my third episode of Penn & Teller's Bullsh*t. It does get increasingly interesting based on the amount you have had to drink, I must say...So, instead of going to bed, I am creating this MySpace profile. Will my life become somehow more glamorous? Shit, I hope so! I am in desperate need of additional glamour.

My 6 year old has fully mastered the art of parental manipulation, it's freaky. She and her partner-in-crime, Olivia, came up with a brilliant scheme to have asleep-over tonight...and what monster parent says "no" to a simple sleep-over, right? Yah, right. THEY ARE STILL AWAKE!!! The best part is, they will wake up at 6:15 in the morning, as if they got a solid 8-9 hours of sleep. Youth is so wasted on the young.

All I know is, in 10 years, she better NOT try having sex in the front yard underneath the tree, cause I am so ON TO THAT YOUNG LADY!!! Oh, sorry..Memories

The Business End of Drama

Today I was told that I was a great butt-wiper.

No, I don't work in a Convalescent Home. The aforementioned high praise came straight from my three year old. Although she is fully potty-trained and has been wiping herself with some skill for many, many months now, she has recently decided that she would prefer that I do it. Well, lucky me. But that's how it is with kids. You will find yourself doing all kinds of things that you would have never imagined doing for another living soul. When you have children who are prone to drama, the requests become increasingly insane. "Here Mommy, I didn't like this Tic-Tac, you finish it", or "Mommy, Mommy, something is happening to my eye!!" (then when nothing is found to be wrong), "Mommy, Mommy something is happening to my other eye!!", or even, "Mommy, my butt itches, can you scratch it?" Nice.

I am so grateful to have my two beautiful, amazing, insanely articulate girls. They light up my day, even when I am completely in the dark. They probably deserve better than me, but I feel certain every Mother thinks that at some point. My Mom, on the other hand, has always been amazing. If she ever had a bad parenting day, I cannot recall it. I can remember getting mad at her for some misperceived injustice she caused me at the time, but now I can totally see she was always right. I hope she never had a day where she sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, and wept over mistakes made in the care and keeping of me. I am sure she did, but she should know that those tears were never necessary, because she is quite possibly the best Mom in the entire world - then and now. And such a Mom should never have to worry that what they are doing for their child(ren) isn't enough. Although I think the broader message is that, even if there were struggles, they were all unbeknownst to me. There is no greater gift you can give your children than the gift of blissful ignorance. As I begin to face the trials of my own making, I hope I can take a page from her book and never let my girls see my disappointment, sadness or dispair. I actually have much, much hope that these things won't play as big a role in my life as they might want to. Because I have an amazing support structure. Thank God there is a business end for all my drama...

Do you remember cheerleaders in high school? They would do all those crazy human pyramid structures...And do you remember those girls at the bottom of the pyramid? They were always the bigger, stronger, more hulking girls. They would be responsible for supporting the shorter, lighter, more nimble girls. Although I am a well-porportioned woman, neither short nor light, I feel like one of those cheerleaders on the top of the pyramid, getting ready to do my double back-flip high into the air, to the thunderous applause of the croud, and land safely in the arms of the support cheerleader below. My Mom, who on her worst day is a size 2...petite, delicate, non-hulking...is all of those support cheerleaders wrapped into one super-human mega-cheerleader. She has always caught me. Always allowing me to have the spotlight, the cheers of the crowd, never once seeking it out for herself when it came to me. It is my fervent hope that one day I can be like her. She may be diminutive to the casual observer, but she is more strong than anyone can ever know...That strength is what keeps me in the air...That and the hope that I can one repay her for the role she has played in my life. The support. The base of the pyramid. The one things that keeps the whole structure from falling apart. I hope I can offer that up to her when she needs it the most. I hope I can pass her lessons on to my girls. I hope that one day I can be worthy. Until then, I will continue to flip, flip, flip...And be eternally grateful for my support, because without it I would come crashing to the ground...

Shattered

I have been told that I am getting a little brazen in my blogging. A little to transparent, maybe? I suppose that may be true. I have also been told that my blog speaks to people in a voice that they aren't always able to find for themselves. That is a nice complement, indeed. I have never hidden behind my blog, I speak my truth, even if it is thinly veiled. I wrote a blog the other night that was so straight forward that I wont publish it here. Actually, that's not true. One day, I will...And when I do, it will be so much more than transparent...It will be fucking see-thru.

Need something to interpret? How bout this little ditty from the soundtrack of my life:



As per your request, lyrics are as follows:

In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you

Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you

But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around

I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you

But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around

Give it up, give it up, baby
Give it up, give it up, now
Now

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
All that I feel is the realness I'm faking
Taking my time but it's time that I'm wasting
Always turn the car around

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around

Don't wanna turn that car around
I gotta turn this thing around

So, there you go. I feel like I am shattered. The only difference between the song and my reality is that I am not turning the car around anymore. I have done that for the last time. I will slowly put the shattered pieces back together until I am whole again, and once I am, I will superglue all the little bits so they don't fall away, and I wont forget what it takes to fix myself...It's not long now, my friend. It's not long now.

Forgetting My Panties

Okay. I am a bit on the ashamed side to actually admit this to you, my friends, and even more so to you, random reader...But sometimes...I forget to wear underwear. I truly, truly forget. It is not that I don't like underwear. In fact, I almost exclusively wear these little numbers appropriately called "Hanky Panky". The Hanky Panky brand makes a multitude of different intimate tops & bottoms, but the very best thing they make is the original thong. This might encite quite a heated debate, between myself and those who prefer the "low-rise" version of the thong. Yes, the low-rise is cool. However, I am at an age where my pants don't end at my butt-crack, so I don't really have to worry about thong exposure. And what's with the whole "muffin-top" thing anyway? Don't you know that it just makes you look fat?

Anyway...The forgetting of the underwear...How does this happen, you might ask? Let me put it simply: Kids. Yes, I am blaming my children for the forgetting of my underpants. That's the kind of Mommy I am. And here is how it happens...I usually wake up (read: am jolted awake by the repetitive poking of my eye from my 3 year old) around 6:30 am. I have to leave the house with the girls NO LATER than 7:30 am to get them to school on time. If you don't have the kids in the school by 7:55 am, you are forced to park your car, and walk the walk-of-shame through the lower school parking lot, into the lobby of the building, where your kids have to wait until assembly is over and the can go on to their classrooms. The entire time they are waiting in the lobby they scowl at you and glare disapprovingly, because you (the parent) are just sooooo embarrassing. So, between 6:30 and 7:30 am I am forced to madly dash though out the house, feeding, dressing, collecting and otherwise preparing the girls for school. I also have to dress, feed and otherwise prepare myself for work. Sometimes, in all of the hullabaloo, I forget to put on my panties. It's really more important to me that the girls have on their underwear...See, for me, it's all about priorities.

Forgetting to wear underwear when I am running errands about town is just a bit of a nuisance, makes you feel a little naughty - like you have a little secret. Forgetting to wear underwear to work however, is no happy accident. I like to rock my sexy secretary look at work. Nice little sweater, nice little skirt, 80-90 mm heels...I digress. The point is, even though that whole look is naughty yet fun, it somehow takes on a borderline pervy feel when you know you don't have on your breeches. I get freaked out that I might pull a Fatal Attraction, a la Sharon Stone, during a meeting. I worry that people will just know that I have forgotten my skivvies...Like it's written on my face or something. I feel naked. Since I work for "whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble", it should be easy enough to mosey over to the intimate department and pick up a new pair of Hanky Panky, purchase them, and shuffle off to my office and slip them on. No one would need to know. Yet, I haven't ever done this...

Sometimes I am an enigma, even to myself. I like to think this just adds to my overall charm, but I am now thinking it makes me seem a little crazy. I'm not crazy, I 'm just tired. And in my exhaustion, I forget to do things, like put on underpants...In the grand scheme of things, though, this doesn't seem like such a big deal. Therefore, I wont let it bother me...for now. So if you see me at work, and I am looking a little sheepish, maybe even a little "frisky", then it looks like my secret is out. It very well might be that I have forgotten my panties, yet again...But don't think, for one moment, you can come up to me and ask me if I am wearing underwear, cause with or without my panties on, I can still totally punch you in the face.

More Engrish!!

I can't get enough of this! You can thank me later, after you have cleaned the pee from your pants!

To the blue water offer, I say, no thank you!


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I like my tooth paste to remove the crust…


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Some days, I really relate to this phone.


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Or rather, for my safety.


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If you had been thinking of my safety, this wouldn’t be an issue!


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There is No Medication to Fix Me Yet

My stress is taking on a life of it's own. I no longer know how to control it. It has taken on such wild proportions that I can't even eat! I have been on a "diet" for the past three months, and was trying to go about the process of weight loss rationally and sensibly. Now, however, I am dropping pounds like so many juggling balls...Did I mention I can't juggle?

I am prone to drama, and thus, prone to the stress that accompanies the drama. In fact, I am almost too stressed to blog, and that's saying something right there!! However, I have some very good things in my life that alleviate the stress somewhat. Unfortunately, I don't have access to those things in such a way that their healing effects can really take hold. They are truncated and abbreviated and generally leaving me wanting...And did I mention that I hate wanting?

But I have no choice, no real say. If I get what I want, then there is no need for wanting. But I am not in control here, I am just...just a piece of a puzzle that is so much bigger than me. Under normal circumstances, I hate not being in control, but right now, I relinquish it fully. What I wouldn't give for the pieces to just fall into place with out all of the posturing. There is a theory that all things happen for a reason, but do they? How much of the future are we willing to leave up to "reason" and how much are we willing to take into our own hands and manipulate. And what are these reasons, anyway? Are they reasons that we have predetermined, or do we make them up as we go...

No matter what, things in my life are happening. I am still unsure of the reasons, but I am not questioning them. I am grateful to them. I want more reasons. I am very, very selfish. Very, very, very selfish...

It's Official...

There are many crazy things about my blogging habits. Some nights, when I am feeling especially inspired, I will write multiple blogs. Sometimes, I will publish all of them, and other times I will save them for later...For nights like this one, where I don't have any creative juices flowing. I mostly just want to drink and be sorta numb. However, rabid monkey blog fans like YOU insist upon new material on the regular. Hence the need for the "older" blogs. This one is an "older"-new blog. You have never seen it before, so shoosh! Oh, and I always find it "fun" to see what point I was at in my life when I wrote these "older" blogs...What has changed, what has stayed the same...

Enjoy!

Yup. It's official. I am a lost cause. You might say that I am surrounded by a "bozone". Not familiar with the bozone? Well! Let me enlighten you!

The Bozone (n)
The substance surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The Bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Yup, yup. That's me. No, I is not a stupid people. Sometimes, however, I struggle to absorb mildly complex concepts. Take today for example...I had to write "reviews". I was informed that they had to fall within certain parameters. I didn't understand the forms. They could not penetrate my "bozone". I did have a great deal of fun laughing about them, but never quite got around to writing them. I am not only a bozo but a putter-offer-procrastinator.

It's okay, for today.

Today was a very, very, very good day. My Mom arrived from out-of-town, and I wasn't certain that she would make it, considering Tropical Storm Fay just couldn't take a hint & get the heck outta dodge! Plus, I got a great blog suggestion from my California Sister (and yes, being from California makes you infinitely cooler than me). And, I delivered a pretty decent speech on the merits of the Parents' Association to an entire student body (and their parents, otherwise it would have been pointless)...Also, a big thanks to my BFF for adding to the mindless glee-melee. I really like how with your help, I am able to rise above the bozone, and just make fun of the people around me. It's good times. And although I have little to no interest in swimming in a retention pond or toilet papering your place of business, I am eager to pursue other hazing avenues. Let's chat.

Until then, I will be floating about, oblivious, in the bozone. I like it here. it's warm...and they have beer in the bozone. And my dear reader, you should join me, sometimes playing stupid is a whole hell of a lot easier than having to plunge your own toilet or change your own tire, if you know what I mean...

Oh, I Have Peed My Pants!

As I mentioned before, I lived in Japan for a while. I saw this kinda stuff everyday. It's as funny now as it was back then...Which either means that it's hysterical, truly, or I am still totally immature! Check out EngrishFunny for more of these delights!


Oh, But I am a Smug Twat


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Sage Advice


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Again, Sage Advice


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I Wouldn’t Even Try!


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Hell, Ya! Take That Consumerism!


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More Angry Consumers!


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The Soundtrack of My Life

As I am sure you know by now, I have a song for just about every event in my life. They play on a loop in my mind. I think I might be a little bit crazy, but I kinda like having a soundtrack for my life. Right now, I keep hearing the Nine Inch Nails song, Closer...Ain't gonna put a link to it here, my Mom and Dad read this blog...But if you know the song, well...There you go then.

Instead, I offer you this fun ditty. I don't understand it, but I know it has to do with liking cake. If you like cake, the you will love the site Cake Wrecks. There is a link to it on the left. It's HI-Larious!

WTF!?!?

If you know me, you know my love of bacon. I think there is even a bacon lover's club out there, named in my honor. This video, however, disturbs even the most forthright bacon lover. Really, what the fuck is that thing flying around on the bacon? Something out of a Stephen King novel, perhaps?

Isabella's Expletives.

Expletive: The word expletive comes from the Latin verb explere, meaning "to fill", via expletivus, "filling out". It was introduced into English in the seventeenth century to refer to various kinds of padding — the padding out of a book with peripheral material, the addition of syllables to a line of poetry for metrical purposes, and so forth. Use of expletive for such a meaning is now rare. Rather, expletive is a term in linguistics for a meaningless word filling a syntactic vacancy (syntactic expletives). Outside linguistics, the word is much more commonly used to refer to "bad language". Some linguists use it to refer to meaningless, "filler" use of "bad language" ("expletive attributives"), distinguishing this from meaningful use.

Thanks Wikipedia.

So, referring to my giant ass as being expletive might have been okay in the seventeenth century, but now it will just get you a punch in the nose. Today we are exploring the secondary usage of the word, and how it relates to the world of Isabella.

Some of Isabella's expletives (verbatim. I am NOT exaggerating, people...I only wish I was):

1. Isabella drops a book on the floor. It hits her toe on the way down. She says, "God Dammit, that hurt"! I confess, she has heard this from me.

2. Isabella drops another book on the floor. It hits the same toe. She says, "God Dammit! That hurt like a Motherfucker"! Hmmm...I am not sure I have said this one in front of the kids...

3. We are eating dinner. I made mashed potatoes. Considering I hate mashed potatoes (unless I am in the last trimester of pregnancy, then I LOVE them), it's unusual for me to make them. Anyway, Isabella takes a bit of the mashed potatoes and says, "Holy Shit! Those are good mashed potatoes"! I consider this praise of the highest caliber.

4. We are watching SpongeBob SquarePants. An everyday occurrence in my house. I know all the words to all the SpongeBob SquarePants songs. My favorite is the "Sweater Song" that SpongeBob sings in the episode where his hat and spatula were featured in an infomercial for the Krusty Krab. Through a series of hilarious foibles, SpongeBob mistakenly thinks that everyone sees him as a local celebrity...So you can see how I love SpongeBob SquarePants so much...It's in keeping with my everyday life. Isabella says, "SpongeBob is one stupid Fucker". Yes, Isabella, yes he is a stupid fucker...But we don't really need to say that out loud. Somethings are better left unsaid. We don't want to hurt SpongeBob's feelings.

5. Isabella also likes to say "shut-up", "stupid", and "crack-head". I can tell you for a fact that I have called both her and her sister not only "crack-heads", but "crack-babies". But I have NEVER called her "stupid", and I mostly only tell her Daddy to "shut-up". And Butters. He gets a whole shit-pile of "shut-ups".

So, anyway...I know your hand is at the ready to speed-dial the Department of Children and Families, but before you do...For every "Holy shit! Shut the fuck up you stupid crack-head motherfucker" there must be a bilionty "I Love You" and "You're So Special"s. The curse of cursing is no matter how innocuous you think it might be, there is always a three year old out there prepared to say the "F-word" over and over and over while you are standing in the line at Target. So I think the lesson here must be, don't cuss in front of kids. I also think this is a great example of the Mother's Curse. No, not a string of expletives, but the curse that every Mother places on their child just before they are about to bear the new generation..."I hope your children turn out to be JUST LIKE YOU". And if Isabella's sheer mastery of profanity tells you anything at all, then my Mother certainly cursed me...Just ask her to tell you the story of me, the custard store and the f-word. Or me, the bald man and the airplane. Or the time we spilt the soda in the elevator....Yah, it's definitely the curse.

Pon & Zi

My daughter is so cool. She doesn't even know how cool she is. But I do. And if you have ever met her, you know it, too.

She loves Pon & Zi, even though she doesn't really get them. She does get that they are basically about love. A little too "EMO" for me, but what do I know...I like Nine Inch Nails.

Anyway, I found this video for her, and I feel compelled to share it with y'all. I am a good friend like that. The Meiko song playing is on my MySpace page, as well. I like it. It makes me smile. And, well, I kinda like Pon & Zi...They're cute.

Shit...I am EMO, aren't I? No! I couldn't possibly be...I like Burberry & Chloe waaaay to much! I swear I haven't shopped at Hot Topic in years!!

A Calculated Risk

An older blog, with some newness thrown in on the end. Sorry, I know I promised to limit the repeats. And this one is in sharp contrast to the previous night's entry. See, sometimes, when we are happy, it is important to remind ourselves of the reasons we weren't happy before. That way, we can stay the course. Plus, I am in kind of a bad mood...

Originally blogged 5/12/2008

Ah, catharsis. This blog is acting as such tonight. I hope that I do not bring you down, my maybe friend, but shit...I am sad. I have been sad for so long, I don't think I really feel "sad" anymore, more like - chronic melancholy. But for some reason, true, deep sadness had made it's way into my consciousness. The kind that only happens when you have been hurt so many times you are no longer numb. I read a clipping on a bulletin board once that said..."My soul is like a wooden fence. You can hammer nails into my fence and I will bear them all. But if you change your mind, and pull them out, the holes will always remain". How many holes until the fence falls down? Is that like how many licks it takes to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop? (A little levity, forgive me). To my credit, I am a great fake. I can fool the world, and it's all good. And in the life I have created in my mind, it is all good. The future is filled with good things that push the hurt away, and those things don't seem so far out of reach. It is the future that I want for not only me, but for the Amazing A and Incredible I. I will ensure that they don't know this level of sadness...Unless of course, it is hereditary, then I will make sure to recommend a great shrink and help them choose the proper medication. It's the least I can do.

The addition: Blogged 8/31/2008

So, there is my depressing blog of the month...Well maybe I should say week, I can be a little dramatic. I know that it can be a little risky to place emotions in a public forum like this, where just anyone can see them, including the people/places/things you are actually blogging about. Some may say this is a calculated risk, because really, in your darkest of hearts, these are things you want people to know...You are just to afraid to tell them to their face. Sometimes, the risk pays you in dividends. Other times, it goes unnoticed, or hurts people unnecessarily. Hurting people is almost always unnecessary, but in truth-telling, there is always fallout. In some cases, it rains down upon you, clean and clear and it revitalizes your soul. In others, it carries the toxic, acrid scent of something that has died, long ago. Only the truth-teller can clean up whatever mess they leave behind. So you see, a calculated risk is one that I will take again tonight. I have taken them many times in the past, whether it's with this blog or my actions in my daily life. So far I have been lucky, and reaped the rewards of my risk-taking nature. Soon, though...Soon my luck will run out, and I will be forced to bear the brunt of the risk that I am taking now, and clean-up the mess that I will make. And it will not be pretty. But do not fear for me, for I am perfectly aware of the consequences of risk-taking. I will do my best to contain the collateral damage. I am strong and I am determined and I have held the hands of happiness...And I am not afraid. So don't you be.

You Gotta Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em...

Sometimes giving up is easy. Other times, giving up isn't an option. And not because you are some elite para-military freedom fighter and that's, like, the motto you have tattooed on your bicep. Instead it's because you just CAN'T give up...It's just not physically, mentally or emotionally possible. What do you do then, my friends? Do you hold 'em or do you fold 'em?

I have never been a quitter. Yes, I have admitted to being lazy when it comes to trying things that are hard, and I have confessed to my general ambivalence to most things involved in the nature of just living, but I wouldn't necessarily categorize myself as a quitter. So when it comes down to the simple pursuit of being happy, what makes one think that it's okay just to quit seeking it? For some of us, seeking it is too exhausting or it's just hidden away too well. There is a saying, "we will all choose Happiness, when Happiness is actually a choice". I am quite sure that I would have rolled my eyes and walked away from you if you had said something that saccharine-laden to me, before I too made the choice. I used to believe that happiness was something that you had to be medicated to achieve. But I get now that it's not. Happiness is a right, not a privilege. If you squander that right on things that are fleeting and without deep connection, it doesn't make you any less happy, it just truncates the feeling somewhat. Or, you can pursue the kind of happiness that changes your life, long-term. What I have chosen for myself is the latter.

It is a decision that is going to change my life. It may not change it today, tomorrow or ten months from now...But the choosing of happiness will change who I am and who I will ultimately become. It will change the lives of those around me, because they will learn that happiness is a choice that is available for them, too.

Kenny Rogers (Thanks, BTW...My true friends wont let me look like a moron for too long, and that's one of the myriad reasons why I love them) sang:

You gotta know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away, know when to run.
You never count your money,
While you're sitting at the table.
There'll be time enough for counting,
When the dealings done.

So for the sake of the analogy, I just sat down at the proverbial table and I, for one, will continue to hold the cards that I have just been dealt. I want to stay at the table, and frankly...I don't give a fuck about the money to even bother with the counting of it. When the dealing is done, I just hope that I am holding the winning hand, cause I really don't plan on ever folding these fucking fabulous cards.

Paramore

I like to think I am a pretty cool Mom. I let my girls wear black nail polish and skull & crossbone Vans. Some may call that projection, but I disagree. These are things that they have decided are cool. I don't even own any skull & crossbone Vans!

My oldest daughter is getting to that age where she wants to like what her little friends like. Most of them like Hannah Montana, Camp Rock and the Jonas Brothers. I am quite proud to say she doesn't really like any of the above. In an effort to help her stay current on post-toddler/pre-tween goings on, we will listen to Radio Disney when we are in the car. As a direct result, my youngest daughter, at three, loves to sing the following lyric from Hannah Montana, Best of Both Worlds, over and over and over...

You get the lemons in the front, oh, oh, oh, oh...
Every shapes, every shoes and the colors...
You get the beds of boat world!
First you (mumble mumble mumble), then you rock out the show!
You get the beds of boat world!

Now, these are not the actual lyrics. I am not entirely certain just what the actual lyrics are, and I don't care. I like Isabella's version. It's not only clever, but it really makes you think. I mean, why are there beds at boat world? Are the boat Captains sleepy?

Today Radio Disney played a song by the group Paramore. I am a fan of Paramore, and have never really considered it a kid's group. Just goes to show what I know! The people in this video are NOT in my demographic.



When you look at the lyrics, however, I think it speaks to a much older crowd. Here they are, and not Izzy's version of the lyrics, the actual lyrics:

No sir, well I don't wanna be the blame, not anymore.
It's your turn, so take a seat we're settling the final score.
And why do we like to hurt, so much?

I can't decide
You have made it harder just to go on
And why, all the possibilities where I was wrong

That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating.
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.

I wonder, how am I supposed to feel when you're not here.
'Cause I burned every bridge I ever built when you were here.
I still try holding onto silly things, I never learn.
Oh why, all the possibilities I'm sure you've heard.

That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
I drowned out all my sense away, with the sound of its beating. (beating)
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.

Pain make your way to me, to me.
And I'll always be just so inviting.
If I ever start to think straight,
This heart will start a riot in me,
Let's start, start, hey!

Why do we like to hurt so much?
Oh why do we like to hurt so much?

That's what you get when you let your heart win!
Whoa.

That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.
That's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.

Now I can't trust myself with anything but this,
And that's what you get when you let your heart win, whoa.

Right. Cause nothing says childhood like singing about emotional distress and pain. Fun! But that's the thing about "tween" music. It's so cross-generational! I have actually grown quite fond of some of these "tweeny-bopper" bands. Mostly because I am subjected to the extremely short playlist that is Radio Disney, but also because sometimes, the lyrics do actually speak to me. When they do, I find it a bit frightening, but I also think the Grateful Dead song "Casey Jones" speaks to me, and I have never even done drugs...So there goes that faulty logic. Take the Jesse McCartney song, "I'm Leaving", for example. In it he sings, "Why don't you tell him that 'I'm leaving, never coming back again, I found somebody who does it better than you can'". And it leaves me wondering, does what better, exactly? Aren't these singers, like 16? Well, I can't lie, it doesn't really leave me wondering, I get it, but my 6 year old asked me the other day, "what does he do better Mommy?". To which I felt obligated to say, "the New York Times crossword puzzle, honey". She totally bought it.

So anyway, I am putting ONE more song in this post. Yah, some adults might say Howie Day is a pussy. You are probably right. But in the Radio Disney world in which I live, this one song seems to stand out as having the potential to be slightly more adult. Plus, it speaks to me. So enjoy, and know that the next time I catch you singing "you get the beds of boat world", it's okay by me. I can totally rock out that show, too.



Oh, and in case you are wondering why there are Disney characters in this video...It's for Amy and Traci. Two beautiful faces that I don't get to see enough of anymore. Yes, girls...Disney did distort our concept of what love can be, but I am certain Prince Charming is out there. He might be just around the corner.