...when the words won't come

Lately, when I had sat down to try to write...I stare at a blank screen and muse what I should write or what I could write. The millions of half thoughts going around in my head that really should be committed to written word...and thereby worked out in my head...

Recently, I've felt more and more like my head is a jumble of words and thoughts that won't come out. No matter how many times my writing mentors tell me just to dump the words in my head into sentences and paragraphs, it seems like an overwhelming and exhausting task. Although, admittedly, no more exhausting or overwhelming then linking thoughts in my head over and over in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. 

Action begets action, but to quote Bunny Berrigan, I can't get started. 

I write, 160 character statements, pithy Facebook status and an above par email or two. I write, a card to a friend or a short note...

But I can't just write. I can't find the words or the words can't find me. I'm not sure which side of the problem I'm actually coming down on here. Not certain which part of the story is the problem...but my narrative is off...

But thoughts fly around in my head bouncing off the insides of my skull. Presumably this is what keeps me up at night. Also presumably, the fact that most of these thoughts are in my head and not out, on paper where I can be accountable to them is what's giving me the perpetual feeling of unrest I've been feeling lately. 

Here are a few things I'm thinking about.

1) I'm bored. Not bored in my work or bored with my spot in life. Just bored. It's causing me to make poor decisions. That's frustrating to me. It's causing me to care about shit I don't care about it. I'm not sure how to change it. 

2)I'm in my own head a lot. Too much, actually. The other night Emcee coerced me into meeting her out in the virtual middle of the night, which I did solely because I realized how much I'd been in my own head and how much I needed out of it. It worked...sort of. I need to do more of it. 

3) The end of year assessment of the year is not my fondest one. This year has been rough on a girl. It seems as though it will end on a high note...but it hasn't been the easiest year I've been alive...it's been a year of real transition and while I welcome the transition...certain things are charging ahead and certain things are stalled which makes me un-easy, overall. I'm not trying to undermine my days in the sun this year...but there has been some pretty significant shade as well. All and all...2015 is a year of much change and much transition, a lot of tears, a lot of up all nights worrying. 

4) But it wasn't all bad. I started living this year and I'm getting the hang of it. I'm trying to set up for 2016 to charge on at a full and happy speed. For areas of my life to catch up with each other and for their to be more sunny side up...Am I laying the groundwork or just getting worked over...time will tell. 

But words...they are not flowing. I have loads of thoughts of things I want to write about...and a blank screen for all my efforts. I need to work on that. 

However, the process of writing is soothing, the process of typing my thoughts is calming. Although the pre-prep is fucking exhausting. For my own sanity, I need to worry less about the product and more about the process. Worry less if it's "the best thing I've written" and more on if I've written at all. 

So that is what I'll expect from myself right now. More stream of consciousness  writing, less cohesive thoughts on a topic. Less humor and wit...more just fucking writing. 

Remind myself that it's a blog, not the Pulitzer. It's my sanity and nothing more. 

Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs...

There is a strong but steady list of things automatically cause me to make a strong and less than complimentary judgement of people as I meet them.

Irrational love of Disney? Check. Improper use of basic grammar?(including but not limited too "your" v "you're" and there, their, they're) Check. Drinking white zinfandel? Check. 

Each of these things evokes an involuntary response from wherein, I automatically think less of you. The list is not comprehensive and is ever growing...As I get older, I find more and more things that illicit an automatic and negative response from me. 

There are a host of other things that trigger this response from me. 

One of them is car signage and vanity license plates. 

*Disclaimer to those of my friends who possess either of these things. I've already judged you and may or may not have deemed your other qualities a sufficient offset or I might make fun of you behind your back. You'll never know...

However, it's safe to assume that if your car features a "Baby on Board" sign, I'm judging you for your own stupidity each time I see you or whenever I think about it. Which ever is more frequent. 

Straight talk: Those little signs are eff-ing stupid and if you have one on your car, you are eff-ing stupid as well. 

It's generally considered in poor form to ram other vehicles while driving...and there are a bevy of ramifications that come to pass if, while in the course of operating a motor vehicle, you choose to ignore this general rule and go blithely on ramming vehicles. Namely, they will cease to allow you to drive. 

There are also a number of "Road Rage" laws in place, which give strict stipulations as to the consequences of driving like an asshole. 

Because, in general, you should not drive like an asshole, no matter what the passenger situation is in the vehicles surrounding you.

I am uncertain what the purpose of these bold yellow signs are, other than to serve as a general warning to the surrounding divers, that you, in fact, are a moron. Somewhere along the way, you registered for this item or purchased it yourself and went to the trouble to place it in your car. Somewhere along the line you decided to put up a bold sign that proclaims you as someone who not only makes poor decisions about automobile signage, but about spending money in general. It's like you are driving around with a little yellow sign that proclaims you to be a sucker. 

Do the drivers with these signs think that people who pass them, see the sign and say to themselves, "Oh shit, better not ram that car, there is a BABY ON BOARD...and I wouldn't want to cause harm to them. I'll go ram this car on the left, it's filled with completely disposable adults." 

or

"That car has a representative of the next generation of drivers in it, I need to slow down and follow all major driving laws, so that this youngster sees NOTHING but good examples of automobile operation. "

The answer is...no. 

According to my very unscientific poll (in which I texted the Emcee and asked for her thoughts on the issue)...most of us see those signs and think:

"That driver is a moron. I'm glad I don't know them...and eff them if I do. I think less of them now."

or

"Maybe I should zip up and whip around that car at breakneck speed and shout, "I WANTED TO SEE THE BABY!"

I'm just kidding about that second one, although the thought crosses my mind when I see those signs. Much like laying on my horn for a significant amount of times crosses my mind when I see people with a "honk if you love XX" sticker. Even if I don't love XX, I'm more than willing to scare the shit of said person in the name of loving XX. 

I am certainly not driving any differently around you because you have a baby on board and I'm no less forgiving of your poor driving if you do have a baby on board. Shitty driving is shitty driving. If you are driving slow in the left lane, I don't care who's safety you are protecting, you are in my way.

The most comical thing is when I see a sign on the car of someone who is ALSO driving like an asshole. I truly miss the point of these signs at this point. Is that an excuse? ("The baby's crying and I had to drive this way to get home faster") 

Unless you are targeting yourself for natural selection, it's really just time to take down these signs. As a car driving public, we will make every attempt to NOT ram your car. 

But not because there is a baby on board, but because its just a damn good idea. 

There's PLENTY of room on this Cubs bandwagon...

If your daily schedule takes you to the North side of Chicago today, I highly recommend speaking with your inside voice. There is an overwhelming chance that the person you are speaking too is some mix of hungover and tired and would deeply appreciate the consideration.

You see, for the first time since 2003, victory unfurled it's mighty baton over Wrigleyville last night and Cubs fans are basking in the glory of heading to the next round of the playoffs. While northsiders and Cubs fans alike are accustomed to going to Wrigley for a kick ass time and more than enough beer; we are less accustomed to the night ending in such a huge victory. There is a better than likely chance the person you are speaking too mayyyy have overdone it last night or may have been amoung the revilers surrounding Clark and Addison last night. 

However, the victory is not limited to the northside of Chicago, or even the state of Illnois...the Cubs fan base stretches both far and wide...and we're willing to let anyone join the party. 

Yes, that's right sports fans, if you'd like to jump on this Red and Blue bandwagon, we've got a seat with your name on it. 

Articles like this are popping up everywhere. http://www.si.com/cauldron/2015/10/06/chicago-cubs-bandwagon-fan-application ...and I see the humor...

Wrigley didn't gain it's reputation as "the World's greatest beer garden (oh and sometimes they play baseball too) without reason. 

Our "victory" song is fairly illogical and any number of people (including your author) can only name a handful of players. (ASC, try not to be too mad at me about that.) 

We have our fair share of colorful fans and strange traditions and no one is trying to admit that the bathrooms don't have a distinct odor and depending on the day, temperature and amount of beers in your system. These things are either a) charming or b) annoying.

But isn't just about every victory song at least a little illogical? Show me a professional sports team that doesn't have it's own charming/annoying fans and traditions. Ballclub rosters change often, so give a girl a break.

...that does not stop me from very enthusiastically celebrating the Cubs successes...

...and it shouldn't stop you either. 

The fact is the Cubbies are playing some great ball and it's exciting. The excitement is compounded by the large gaps between bouts of being a respectable ballclub. Give us the nod, it hasn't been October in our calendar for awhile. 

For years now, we've cheered on your teams in the post season. Maybe our cousins are your fans or our father was born in your city. Maybe our favorite Cub was traded to your team..and without a dog in the fight, we've added our voices to yours and passionately backed your playoff run and appreciated your silly fight songs and strange traditions. 

So now, as we move into the somewhat unfamiliar territory of not only being in this series, but having a strong team, playing great ball...join us! You can be a fan of another team or a fan of nothing. You can have a deep understanding of the nuances of baseball strategy or not know the difference between a ball and a strike. We won't hold it against you. Can't find Chicago on a map? Blame your junior high social studies teacher, but we'll be happy to point it out. 

It's no big deal to us who you cheer for during the regular season or if you cheer at all. A team with a storied history and exciting future makes no distinction. We won't hold you to being a fan next season, unless you want to be. 

The Friendly Confines are just that...friendly. Welcoming. We'll offer you a seat on our bandwagon and a beer to go with it. Some peanuts too if you're lucky. 

Why? Because its good for baseball and any true Cubs fan, at their core, loves baseball. We love it and throw a fit when it's bad. We love it and throw a party when its good. 

And thanks to Sensi Epstein, we're starting to be able to throw those parties. 

So while Sports Illustrated or disgruntled fans of other teams might throw jabs at the "new Cubs fans", we're excited to have you with us! Welcome to the bandwagon, here's your Old Style. Now, let us teach you how to say "Holy Cow" just right. 

Because it's Root! Root! Root! for the Cubbies...and we're thrilled to have you rooting with us.

Now, Play Ball! 

The good old days...and other cloudy truths...

Jersey, who has been my friend since we were nubile freshman at Indiana University posted this on Facebook the other day.

https://bendlikeabranch.wordpress.com/2014/12/11/its-more-about-cupcakes-than-you-think-how-our-educational-system-is-failing-our-children/

I agree with about 95% of what this author is writing about and applaud it. I often look over my own public school experience and compare it to the things I am learning about education in the year 2015. There are so many things that this piece nails right on the head. I found myself saying "Yep! and you're RIGHT!" while shuffling my feet and muttering something about walking to school in the snow, 6 miles, uphill, both ways.

However, there was one paragraph that I have to comment on.

"While ADD and ADHD were unheard of in my time, they now seem prevalent. Or is it the fact that downtime for our kids has all but disappeared, leaving children who need to be active and moving locked to more and more desk time?"

From the outset, yes, I agree. Kids need more time to be kids. A lot more time. Kids need more time to that is not regulated with an outcome in mind. Kids need more time to make their own decision and figure it out.

Except for one thing...I WAS a kid in public school in the 80's with undiagnosed ADHD. and it sucked. and it was hard. really hard.

I've been thinking about writing about my dealings with ADHD for awhile now and I still have parts of the topic I will address elsewhere...but in regards to the schooling portion...I'm saying this and I want to be perfectly clear.

If I had been diagnosed properly as a kid, I can't imagine how different my life would have been.

To my parents credit and in their defense, they didn't get me tested because it was just too much of an unknown. While today, there are more resources to provide assistance in the course and manner it is needed, that just didn't exist when I was a kid. There just was not an option to have a little more time taking tests or a teacher who understood that you were not fidgeting at your desk and drawing elaborate bubble letter versions of your name because you weren't paying attention. It was because you needed to keep your hands occupied to have ANY HOPE of actually hearing what the teacher was saying. 

In those days, if you couldn't cut it in the mainstream, you were labeled, regulated to "special" classes. I didn't need those. I needed to walk around while my teacher was up at the front of the room...I needed to be able to read my tests out loud to myself so I could both see them and hear them. I needed a little assistance...I needed a little help.

And the author is correct, no one worried that you were going to compromise your success in life if you neglected to bring your pencil to class. When I was in the 3rd grade, I kept forgetting to bring a potato to class for a science experiment. No one assumed I'd be a failure at life. My friends mom, who lived right by school, brought one over on recess. Problem solved.

I got diagnosed with ADHD in my early 20's. It took me a long time to accept it and to accept the fact that to be a productive adult, I needed pharmaceutical intervention. Everyone I knew who was my age told me, when we got to talking that my issues were "mind over matter" and that i just needed to "knuckle down" and "figure it out."

...and that is what I had been doing...most of my life. I'd been doing all that.

I'd been dealing with ADHD by playing games with myself and tricking myself into bouts of conversation. But my mind was a mess and my thoughts were a mess and I still wasn't all that much better at just "getting it done."

Even as an adult, with her own bills to pay, I'd spend an hour manically google searching some irrelevant detail, all the while knowing that I had a stack of invoices that needed to be loaded into our accounting software. I actually KNEW the conversation I'd have with my boss in the morning, but I wouldn't be able to start concentrating on the reality, I was too busy with the fantasy.

So often, when I think about my childhood. I'm reminded of the epic battles I had with my parents regarding my homework. I remember being required to do my homework at the kitchen table, where it was easier for my mother to monitor my progress...and still, I'd sit at the kitchen table and become fascinated with something, anything that had nothing to do with whatever I needed to be studying. The vast majority of my educational knowledge coming from whatever I could cram in an hour before the test and spit out in rapid succession.

My mom's nickname for me as a kid was "dreamy smurf." I was constantly distracted by the smallest things and unable to keep my mind on the task at hand, like learning multiplication tables or writing out notecards.

I wonder, what would have life been like if there was person in our tiny elementary school in New Jersey who realized that my issues were due to an actual problem with an actual solution. That adjustments, understanding and a few pills a day might have provided relief.

I spent so much time as a kid feeling like if I could just get myself to focus and take care of business, that my life would be easier, my fights with my parents would be fewer and my ratio of success would be astronomical.

So while I agree with the somewhat nostalgic notion that our educational practices helped us prepare for life and learn to deal with curveballs, because it certainly did...I can't help but be thankful for the increased focus there is on learning disabilities and be a little jealous...what might my educational experience had been like if that had been part of my reality?

But the cupcakes...I loved the cupcakes. More of those please.

The Third Date

On our first date, I sat awkwardly across the table at an Italian Restaurant, absentmindedly drawing bubble letters on the butcher paper and downing entire glasses of Chianti each time he excused himself to use the restroom.

On our third date, we spent the weekend in Las Vegas being VIP guests of the MGM Grand and attending the U2 concert.

Right around the time that my divorce finalized, I met the kid...he was young...much too young for me (actually even younger than I was aware at the time.) He had an adorable baby face and a passion for the industry we were both working in. He was immature, ridiculous and that made him perfectly irresistible.

"We probably need to sober up a little." I stated as we walked back from lunch at Wolfgang Puck's then somewhat new place in the middle of the MGM. We were punch drunk and who wouldn't be? There had been drinks on the plane, a glass of champagne as they ushered us into the the special VIP check in area and gave us all the information on the next two days and where they had made us reservations and informed us what time things were happening.

I sipped my drink and tried to pretend that this was de rigueur...but I my eyes were frantically darting around trying to take mental pictures of everything. Capturing everything since we ascending the escalators and there was a little sign with our names on it being held by uniformed driver, who ushered us into a silver stretch limo and  shepherded us into the little lounge where, apparently, important people check in.

"A nap would be good." He confirmed as we stepped back into our suite of a hotel room.

I was just sitting down on the end of the ottoman taking of my shoes when there was a knock at the door. Not expecting anything, I opened it somewhat cautiously...and found myself face to face with an entire rolling table of goodies...a welcome "treat" from the Event Manager who was hosting us for the weekend.

and we were going to ignore it too...stick with the initial plan of a disco nap. Until my eyes closed in on the bottle of French Champagne and I realized not uncorking it immediately would at the very least, be irresponsible.

Which is how I wound up sitting in the middle of a giant chair, shoes off, in the kid's t-shirt and throwing back glass after glass of bubbles and toasting myself for my own good fortune. It was, after all, a few days before what would have been my first wedding anniversary. However, by that point, there was no anniversary to celebrate and no husband to celebrate with. Somewhere between my 2 and 3rd flute, I wondered vaguely what he was doing...and quickly mused that he was probably not in a suite at a hotel in Las Vegas, knocking back a bottle of gifted French bubbles and getting ready to attend the U2 concert as a guest of the venue. Who said I wasn't winning this divorce?

The next morning, I woke up and looked at the table, now mocking me with 2 empty bottles of champagne and the business end of a dozen or so chocolate covered strawberries...

"Water..." I mumbled as I reached for one of the water bottles. Where had the second bottle come from and who decided that was a good idea.

Whistling, the kid stepped out of the giant bathroom and looked at me, "Rise and Shine!" He screamed as he walked towards me. Or maybe he whispered. It sounded very loud, but I was not entirely certain if that was real or an amplification from the empty champagne.

"I...need...food..." I stammered as I looked at him, fresh from the shower, not looking the least bit worse for ware. I pulled the sheets around me and hoped that not ALL of my eyeliner had migrated to the other side of my eyes.

He informed me that he had placed the order for the breakfast we had decided on the night before. I smiled to acknowledge this...knowing full well I had no memory of discussing breakfast, much less debating on an actual order.

"Now get in the shower, you're due in the spa in an hour."

I was?

After my shower, I pulled on a robe that I would have sworn was about 2 inches thick and joined him in the dining area of our room, which of course we had and of course now was featuring the Eggs Benedict I had apparently decided on the night before.

At least it sounded like me...there was even extra hollandaise.

Afterwards, still in the abnormally thick robe, I shuffled down to the spa, where I learned I had a massage and a mani/pedi scheduled. News to me, but never being the type of person who turns down either of these things, I smiled. Again, frantically taking pictures in my mind and alternately acting as if this was just another day.

Over the next 24 hours, I continually added to the list of "things I had never done before." Order a $300 steak as an entree? Check.  Have a variety of dresses/shoes and accessory options brought to my room, choose which one I liked and wear it out the door? More fun than I gave it credit for. Be ushered out of a stretch limo, past a line of waiting people and behind the velvet rope of a Vegas club. Done. Sipped drinks with a few Playboy centerfolds and discuss favorite kinds of candy? Complete.

The images of the weekend played through my head on the flight back...I realized no one would believe me and I took no pictures the entire weekend. I had told a total of one person where I was and under the pain of death was she to disclose my whereabouts. It was 2005, I didn't even take my cellphone.

There are honestly only a few pictures I wish existed from that weekend. Mostly, I'm glad it's featured only in my memory. It lives in there as a very happy memory from an otherwise sad time. It served as a new starting point for me and a reminder that good times would still be had.

...and it was one hell of a third date.

I'm tired...

I am tired...

I'm tired of saying yes, when I want to say no to plans and I'm tired of feeling bad when what I'd rather do is lay on my couch, wrapped up in my ugly chenille blanket and sweat pants and watch whatever TV show I'm binge watching. I'm tired of apologizing that I don't feel like going to your social event because I'm feeling a little anti-social right now and I really just want to watch the West Wing...yes...again.

I'm tired of being told that because I don't have kids I can't possibly know what real love is or real tired is or real fulfillment is. Guess what...not everyone sees kids and a house in the burbs as being aspirational. We all aspire differently.

And for goddsakes, please stop telling me that when I "meet the right person" I'll suddenly want kids. I'll leave room for that to happen, but serious consideration should be taken into account that in 36 years I've never longed for kids, years ago, I thought i had to have them and that when they came along, i'd be ready for them. Life changed and i realized that I didn't have to have kids and it came with an overwhelming feeling of relief. I'm tired of being told I'd be an awesome mom. Maybe I would be? Who knows. But I'm tired people acting like offspring should be my destination...it might not even be part of my journey. (Unless it's THE OFFSPRING, the band, and then they can be both my destination and my journey, as I rarely tire of that band.)

I'm tired having to stay on my toes when I'm talking to a guy and deflect all their annoying sexually laced comments with grace. It's impolite to tell someone to fuck off, but I find myself wanting to say it often. I don't really care about your apartment with the amazing view or your "toys"...do you have actual interests? Past trying to get me to sleep with you, do you have interests? Do you have friends? Do you have someone in the world who will tell you to stop being so damn creepy?

On that note, I'm tired of having to pretend I don't like someone I do, because of this whole "chase" mentality. You can't act like you like someone, or they will stop liking you and you best not admit that what you want is a boyfriend. Kiss of death. Act like you like someone, that you actually have a vested interest in spending time with them.

Apologize when you are wrong, quickest way I know to get someone to never speak to again.

I'm tired of wearing heels. They hurt my feet and any girl who says that they are not is a fucking liar.

I'm tired of having three bites of pizza when I want to have the whole goddamn thing, of laughing at jokes that aren't funny and having to wear eyeliner every night. I want some nights off from eyeliner wearing and to rock kicks on a date. I want to only wear heels and eyeliner for important occasions.

Write anyway...

My writing has been fairly shitty lately...so to all 6 of my readers, (Gucci and SlyKitten and Emcee MC especially, whom generally read this shit as amusement) I'm sorry that you have to read such sub-pair verbal nonsense. 

As I have referenced before, I received some advice from a literary friend of mine once, who told me to just fucking write. Action begets progress...or something like that. Sam Seaborne (my second or sometimes third character on West Wing) states something similar when he tells Toby he's "just not writing well." 

I hate when I'm "just not writing well." Usually, I stop writing for awhile...take a break...

...and subsequently go insane with all the thoughts in my head that are clawing for a way out...

Sooo...as I'm trying to work on a few other bad habits lately...(Coca Cola, I'm looking at YOU...and giving you a fierce side eye) I'm going to just keep writing. 

These may not be my best work. BUT I'm probably the only one who will expend any time reading them. 

Oh dear sweet 6 friends who read this blog and therefore keep up with what my real thoughts are vs. my social media nonsense...I'm apologizing in advance for the literary shit that you might find...

So a few things that I am working on:

1) Went to a baby shower today and came home with 15 reece cups. At press time, there are still 12 and half a can of coke. This is progress. 

2) The drop leaf desk is painted, put back together and mounted on the wall in the Reading Room. So is the "shelf" which is actually just the other leaf on some wall hangs I found in the basement when I was down there searching for my stud detector. Found it. As of this moment, I have detected no studs. 

3) The corner cabinet is assembled. With almost no thanks to the instruction manual that arrived with the damn thing. It took forEVER due to my desire to paint it and that sort of thing that I do because I take the long way around on just about anything I do. But it's up...and there are even a few things in it. 

4) I decided my new goal is to try to run 10 miles a week. It's a manageable goal...but I like my goals to be achievable at first. If I can ramp up my running to this point then MAYBE i will trot out the 1000 mile goal for 2016...but let's not hold our breathes here. 

5)I did NOT finish cleaning the kitchen. I need magical elves or singing birds or something. That joint is a mess. 

6)I need another day on this weekend which I'm not getting. I'll cry myself to sleep over this. 

7) Listened to the newest Front Bottoms Album over the weekend. I had been holding off because I love the other ones so much I was worried I would not love this one as much. I was wrong. It's an melodic and darkly funny as their other albums. Cough it out and Help are my two new favorites. I have tickets to go to the show on Halloween. Need to find a date to that. Maybe something else the magical midgets can work on. 

So that is where we are write now...writing stupid lists. Sorry folks...

But hey, at least at my worst, my shit will still be better written than 50 shades. 

Things that make you go hmmmm...part 1

Admittedly, I have a short fuse today...

I've been keeping a list in my head of various things that have been annoying and/or pissing me off lately...these are things that are either directly happening to me or things that are just in general happening...in no particular order...the list includes. 

1) The Donald. Can this entire pretend run for the white house be over already? Honestly, it's making a mockery of the political system. (I'm not suggesting that he's the ONLY thing mocking the political system, but he's the one that really sends it over the edge.) Let's as a nation take a collective step back and assess the situation. 

Yes, there are benefits to him being able to say whatever the fuck he wants because he's not beholden to donations...and yes, I'll be first in line to say I've grown extremely weary of our nation being in a state of perpetual "offended-ness" (is that a word? No? Make it one.) People "taking offense" is exhausting...because absolutely everyone seems to have jumped on the bandwagon of offense and it's become a real problem.

However, the Donald has taken his campaign against political correctness to new heights and managed to offend even people whom I previously believed were un-offendable. In that respect, he's managed to take our collective IQ and knock it down a few pegs. The longer he talks, the bigger fools he makes out of us collectively. It's getting rather embarrassing.

Build a wall with Mexico and make them pay for it? Exactly how will this work Donald? Ask the Germans how well that wall thing worked.

The Donalds ideas are stupid at best, frightening at worst. But what's doubly terrifying to me is how many people seem to stand with him. I'm all for making America great again, but I can't see how anyone could look at the Donald and see him as the guy for the job. His behavior is pure amateur and his childish barbs continually expose him as a fraud. I hope he gets this "run" out of his system soon.

2) The proposed defunding of Planned Parenthood is another topic which quickly raises my blood pressure, especially because those who advocate for it, at least on my Facebook feed, are all dealing with inaccurate facts. I won't go overly into all the details which are continually inaccurately reported... but if you are of the persuasion that has taken the overly edited and ,by their own admission,  coerced  videos posted by a ridiculous fractal group as truth, then please, volunteer yourself for an upcoming firing squad. We need to thin the gene pool.

Planned Parenthood saves lives. Access to contraception saves lives. Abortion does not save lives. Ask any person who's found themselves in a situation that requires testing. If you've managed to come this far and life and have no benchmark for such a situation, please direct yourself to this post and read about when it happened to me. http://charismajones.blogspot.com/2014/08/inappropriate-jokessomewhat-appropriate.html) Planned Parenthood isn't about abortions, it's about necessary and life saving reproductive health. As anyone who's found themselves without health insurance and needed assistance or someone who is scared and uneducated about their reproductive health about how important Planned Parenthood is. And shut up otherwise.

The very wording "planned parenthood is selling chopped up babies" is meant to be inflammatory. Because who in their right mind would be for the chopping of babies. Notice, that in these arguments, there is very rarely the utterance of a clinical term. The words are chosen for a reaction. No one is "for" chopped up babies...but I am squarely behind clinical research using fetal tissue and the potential it has to save lives.

Overall, I'm pretty tired of people who are not me attempting to educate me on my own reproductive system and mandate what I am allowed to do with it. Not that I have any idea what I would do if I was faced with an unplanned pregnancy, but I want the right to decide. I'm not anti-life...I'm very PRO life. I'm just also pro my life. And pro you not being the ruler of my life.

It's pretty simple really. If you don't want an abortion, don't have one. If you can't stomach the thought fetal tissue being used for research, don't donate it.

Somehow, we've gotten to the point as a society where we are so worried to offend anyone that we are unable to lived and let live. It's not about you...it's about me, or its about her, or it's about him.

Just like our quest to rid the world of any objectionable comments, we seem also on a quest to rid the world of any differing opinions.

3) Gun Control. Deal with it, we live in a different time than when our Bill of Rights was written. I highly doubt our forefathers intended the Second Amendment to cover the right of a citizen to own an Uzi with a 100 shot clip. It just wasn't like that.

I grew up around guns. There has never been a time in my life that there was not a gun in my home. My dad had 'em. An old 22 rifle, a Lugar pistol, some other ones...they were always there. I honestly don't think there has every been much ammo to accompany said weaponry, but I was never much interested.

I spent a number of my formative years in Texas around little girls who's dad's and older brothers were hunters. Hell, one of my best friends in elementary school had two brothers who recalibrated their own ammo in the garage. They had a whole set up. Guns were always around, but I never felt much cause to examine them, because the were there, we knew what they were and we didn't have to feel curious. We could just ask our parents. (Honestly, I don't think I could ever really hunt, but that's more because the thought of having to get up early to go sit in a tree and be quiet all day sounds horrible to me.)

However, as long as we are going to ignore the rapid decay of metal health and the absolute lack of resources available for those in the midst of a mental crisis, we are always going to have a gun issue.

As long as we continue to blur the lines between fantasy and reality in gun play, we are always going to have a gun issue.

As long as we devote countless hours to the reporting of gun violence and it's perpetrators, rather than the victims, we will always have gun violence.

There is no reason a reasonable person needs an semi-automatic rifle and a large magazine. There is no sport in that...if you need a lot of bullets at one time and quickly, you have a more nefarious plan.

I am so tired of hearing people say that anyone is trying to swipe their guns. No one is.

We are so worried about offending each other, so worried about protecting the unborn and we are not the least bit concerned the deep offense of murdering an actual human being in cold blood.

Until we change that reality, we will ALWAYS have gun violence.

This sums up my big three on the list of national issues which are pissing me off. I initially planned on supplementing this list with things in my personal life that I'm also driving up the walls about...things like, how damn ineffective my health insurance's website is, the fact that some moron attempted to steal used oil and destroyed my garage door today and a conversation I had last night with someone I had truly liked that pissed me off enough that I had to engage a few members of the squad to return me to the previous even keel I was on where I purely thought the person was pathetic.

But, these national issues are enough. I'll save my personal rage for later. 

Kids...I don't know what's wrong with these kids these days...

It's noteworthy to mention that I had two actual heroes as a kid. Sally Ride and Robert Ballard. I've confirmed this with my mother. This is noteworthy in that my first two heroes, who inspired everything from my TV watching to my Halloween costumes, were both scientists. It's been generally acknowledged that science was never my strong suit. In fact, math and science were my weakest subjects, however my strongest fascinations. Later in life, I would find a hero in Lindy Boggs and her daughter Cokie Roberts...these heroes were more in my wheelhouse...English, Political Science...giving my opinion.

But I've never stopped loving the exploration of space and the deep ocean and I've never stopped considering Sally Ride and Robert Ballard to be my heroes.

Granted, I grew up in a time prior to the existence of the Disney Store and for most of my formative years, there were a limited amount of Princess options available. My "costume trunk" featured an impressive amount of dance recital ware, outfits fit for one who was planning a life on The Prairie and as I recollect, one polyester long white dress and a matching dress in a bold purple. I remember these dresses because, obviously, the white dress was the "brides" dress and in what was likely an exasperating moment, my mother informed me that the purple dress was the "grooms dress." Hence, why I believed throughout most of my childhood that proper wedding attire for a groom was a long boldly colored dress.

I also recall, at the age of 9, loving the New Kids, Debbie Gibson and Tiffany. But I never recall aspiring to BE like them. I was trying to go explore the deep oceans and locate long forgotten shipwrecks. I was going to pilot a shuttle through the atmosphere. Although, admittedly, I was a little concerned about the G-Forces and that I might throw up. It would all be worth it to be weightless!

I was INTENSELY jealous of my sister, who through a series of unrelated events got to go to Space Camp...and in my mind, accidentally get launched into space. She was going to live my yet unfilled dream of zipping through zero gravity and communicating in Morse code with Mission Control. At the very least, she was going to get to play in the Gyro-Machine and hang out with Tom Skerrit. Bitch.

Much to their credit, my parents rarely interjected reality into my world to Titanic related make-believe. My aunt event worked with Woods Hole Oceanographic Laboratories and brought me a t-shirt. (She also bought me my first microscope and slide kit, which proved a useful random skill long about the 10th grade. Even after we had admitted defeat on any career I was going to have that included "o-grapher" in the title.) I had free reign to watch my VHS of  Nat Geo's "The Secrets of the Titanic" until I wore out the tape. I hung pictures of the deep seas and the heavens all over my room. (Not using tape or push pins, because THAT would have been a straw dog with my father. Hang whomever and whatever you want on the walls...but don't make any holes in them.)

I was never all that fascinated by princesses. They didn't seem to do to much and who wanted to be in a castle all day when there were pretend submarines to man and deep secrets to find. Who wanted to be stuck waiting for the prince, when I had an entire forest in the backyard and there were endless "Little Houses" that needed to be built?

I grew up with dirt under my fingernails and parents were bold enough to only make me stop long enough to scrub them at night. The indulged my interests and my heroes and gave me a unique freedom to learn as much as I could about them. I can't recall how many book reports my mother edited regarding Titanic books or how many class speeches I gave about my ocean liner.

But I can't imagine it would have been different if my main interests had been playing "Princess" and going to make-believe balls. I'm fairly certain that my mother would have allowed me to stage said balls in the living room, as she allowed me to stage faux-press conferences and a wide variety of concerts. However, I just wasn't interested in that shit...nor was I all that interested in girls who were.

I'm not sure, exactly, when and where we separated the world into "girls toys" and "boys toys"...and when it was decided that anything "girl" needed to be pink, purple or turquoise. I'm not sure when it was decided that to be feminine you had to be a puff of glitter and high heels.

Don't get me wrong. I love being feminine. I'll admit to loving high heels and dresses. After several years of diligent lessons, my hairdresser finally taught me how to curl my hair. (I think she almost lost her mind in the process, but that's neither here nor there.) Being a girl is fun. Red lipstick is wonderful and something I truly, cannot have enough off.

But I'll be more than happy to take my red stained lips and my carefully curled hair, kick off my high heels and run around in the grass on a perfect summer night.

Go for it, little girls, buck the pink and turquoise. Don't wait for prince charming to come save you from the castle, build a ladder and save yourself. Prince charming may or may not be coming, so don't waste a whole bunch of time looking for him. If he's going to show up, you'll find him. In the meantime, you'll have something interesting to talk about.

Choose your own adventure...

My mother always reminds me, particularly when I'm in the midst of feeling sorry for myself regarding some real or perceived injustice, is "Life is a long race, this is only a lap."

And it's true. Life is a long race...and the leader changes. The main reason that one should not judge their successes and failures by the measure stick of others is because those variables can change. It's also true that within those changing variables is an unfinished story. You are only somewhat privy to another person's reality and therefore what standards they are holding themselves too. What injustices they feel, where they feel they measure up. 

This is especially true for me sometimes as I look over my adult life and wonder "what might have been." Personally and professionally, I find myself wondering if I had made different choices, what options might have been presented too me? In my minds eye, I wish I had a "Choose Your Own Adventure" style book wherein I could just see what "might have been."

For instance: The night of the NCAA Final Game which IU was playing in back in 2002, what if I had gone to Bloomington as planned? What if I had not beaten my friends there and therefore not stolen a chair from a boy who turned out to be my ex-husband. Would we ever have met? Or would I have met someone else, possibly someone else more suited to the life I wanted to live. 

Or: What if I had taken the job I was offered in Chicago when I was 22 and moved then? I know one part of it, I would have needed 6 roommates and a second job to keep it all together, but I wonder, what would have my career looked like then? 

Or: What if my mother had appeased my bratty 22 year old self when, in a state of panic about leaving the country for an extended time by myself and being woefully unprepared, I stated that I was "Not going." What if she had actually cancelled my Eurail Pass and my plane ticket and I never went to Belgium?

Sometimes, I think the biggest bogey is, what if I had stayed married? As well chronicled in these pages regarding my husband leaving me, the fall out and the eventual put back together of that...I wonder, what would have happened if I had succumbed to his desire to be a "Stepford Wife", moved to my parents zip code and started popping out babies. It's long been my contention that at this point in my life, I'd be popping valium just to get through the day and probably have a significant drinking problem. (Touché) But maybe, not knowing the path my life *might* have taken, I would mistake suburban sprawl for actual happiness. Or maybe it would be actual happiness. I have no idea. But I do wonder what that life would have been like. Only for a moment and usually it stops as soon as I think about children crying. 

And of course, what if, on that fall day in Raleigh, Nas had not pulled out of our show at the last minute and Smash's artist wasn't filling in...and if he was there...what if we all didn't go out that night. 

...and if we all DID go out that night, what if I hadn't (in a decidedly saucy move) taken Smash's phone and programmed my number into it...telling him..."You'll want to have this..." What if I had just drank the beer he bought me (still shocking that he paid for it...) excused myself politely and went back to my hotel room and went to bed, as has been the plan.

What would the last 5 years of my life have looked life without the trainwreck roller coaster that was my relationship with Smash. Who might I have met instead? What might I have done? Where would my confidence be if I hadn't put myself in a position to allow someone else to dictate how I felt about myself?

But also, when I think about these things on a grander scale...and you almost have too...I think about all the things that I've learned through these situations. I have a working knowledge of the freight industry from my ex-husband which has proven very helpful over the years when things go missing. I know how to drive just about any truck and just about any truck in reverse from my years in production. I can read and execute a tech rider as well as set up all sorts of AV. I'm also really good at going to concerts. 

Of course I have some great people in my life who would have never been there had my life not turned out the way it did...I can't imagine my life without ASC and her sister, Sher, Mols, B, SJ and the rest of the pack that I met solely because of people I was around and things I was doing. These people and a host of others, make up the fabric of me and they would be hard to trade. 

And while I'm more than ready to call it quits on these "character building experiences." and ready to lead my own lap for awhile, I recognize that life is a series of little decisions and sometimes you do actually "have to get knocked down to get up." So possibly, by facing many of these struggles head on, I've built a sturdier leg to stand on, strong roots and more ability to face a storm. 

Dodged a Bullet...

i really wish i could write sometimes when i am driving. that's horrifically unsafe...but i have loads of ideas of things i want to write about when i'm driving and i wish i could compose them into tidy little blogs. 

a) this would get them out of my head and 

b) this would get them out of my head. 

both of these options would be fantastic.

I'm sitting typing this while finishing a workday and coming off a  12 day "yes-a-palooza"...which succeeded in my having a ton of fun and exhausting me. Mostly at the same time.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I had been dating someone. Also as I had mentioned, I succeeded in screwing things up with a fair amount of panache, which is generally my habit...in many ways, I live up to my family motto of "anything worth doing is worth overdoing."

I beat the crap out of myself for this for awhile...it was on my mind constantly. Thinking how if I had only zigged instead of zagged, held on to my emotions, not been possessed by old arguments...well, if  I had done that, I would still be seeing Buttercup. Since dating Buttercup was pretty much a good time (and also, the sex was good) it seemed like a genuine loss.

Now, with as much time around it as I had in it...I can safely say...from where the sun now shines...

Dodged a bullet.

Yep that's right. I went crazy, contained myself and in the meantime realized that it was me who was dodging a bullet.

In general, I agree with my previously stated feelings that I should have controlled my emotions better and I could have...that's something I take with me to learn from.

But I also learned that someone who runs for cover at one clap of thunder, well, that can't be the person for me.

I suppose one would say I'm built for speed. I love hard. I love a little foolishly, but I'm caring and loyal to a fault.

I'm wear my heart on my sleeve and when your heart is located within easy reach of anyone, it can take a beating.

I love anyway. I live anyway.

I also realized that it wasn't me who was pressing things to move forward. I wanted them too, but I kept reassessing and asking questions. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop...waiting to return the position I am more familiar with, of being the option and not the choice. I also realized somewhere along the line that it felt nice to be the choice.

I also kept getting positive responses. I didn't make things up in my head. I was present and in the moment. I kept trying to pump the breaks while not seeming disinterested...

That can burn you. I learned that.

...it's good lessons learned...something to take forward and remember...the "fighting like an adult" thing...I'll keep learning, keep doing, keep on keeping on, keep on rocking in the free world...and in some respect I owe Buttercup a debit of gratitude for giving me a hands on lesson pretty quickly...for giving me a moment to come back to the next time I feel like I'm fighting for relevancy...

...to remember that I'm relevant. My feelings are relevant. My words are relevant, but that's where it ends. I can be angry, but it doesn't give me the right to be mean.

I can remember that my life is not scripted. If I want an answer, I need to ask the question. Not wait for the other person to say the right lines from a script they don't have. My life is not a rom-com. Rom-coms were written by huge teams of people and edited to perfection. Actors, costumes,  scenery and lighting are chosen.

My life is not scripted.

I will remember this and that I cannot be upset for someone saying the right words, this is real life.

I take these things with me and think that it's lucky that I didn't spend much more time falling so hard for someone who would just let me down and leave me with my heart in my hands. I've had plenty of that. Someone who saw me at "my worst" and shut the door instead of looking past it to a solution...(to use one of my most overused "quotes" in "American single girl lingo": if you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best.)

(Officially, I realize we're "on a  break". Except I don't know what that means. I didn't know this person in July...and while we had a great August, there really isn't anything to break from. I say my life is not a rom-com and Buttercup drops the most "Ross and Rachel" move of all time. But they had a history and something worth saving. I'm not sure why some "false hope" was offered. Maybe because he's a sensitive artist? Geez, thought I was done with that type!)

(Also, all these conversations took place via text message. Which, in all honestly, I think is annoying. We're FUCKING ADULTS. Grow a pair, ask me to meet for a drink and talk like adults...text message is for amusing repartee, sexting and trying to find each other in the middle of a crowded festival. Not for relationships...next time, I'm going to chronicle the whole thing on snapchat. Check my story, yo. I can be a Faux-dult as well)



-30-

It's HOT in Herre...

It's taken me a solid 10 years of adulting to get over my fear of touching the thermostat...and still almost every time I do, my father appears in a thought bubble over my head and shakes his finger at me.

"Don't TOUCH the thermostat."

Which may be why I didn't completely take notice that the numbers on the thermostat were quickly rising until they had hit the high 80's. It also might have been the moment that I realized that I was sweating sitting at the kitchen table. I was cocktailing...I really don't know.

I couldn't do anything about the rising numbers, so I solved the problem with a 3rd dark and stormy  and half an ambien. If it was going to be hot, there was no real need for me to be conscious for it. And generally, these problems correct themselves overnight.

But not, of course, this time.

I awoke with a vague hangover and a house that was still resting at 85 degrees. I had not planned for hot yoga in my living room this morning, but apparently it planned for me.

I took a cold shower, put my hair in a bun and started my day. Proving that with careful consideration, I can ignore just about anything.

However, when I looked at it again, the thermostat was reading 93 degrees. Or "just too fucking hot if you're indoors" on a gage. I retreated to the cool, breezy outdoors, which at only 85 degrees felt almost devine. I took myself on a date for ice cream.

I sat in front of my laptop and I tried. I mean, I TRIED to pay attention to my work. I made an effort to read emails and respond. But the only response I could think of was "Hi, I'd really like to read all the words you took the time to type...but it's stifling hot in my house at the present time and I just can focus on all your stupid words." It was at this point that I realized I needed to stop working.

Impressed by how comfortable to outdoors felt, I pulled my yoga mat and a pillow out on the deck and took a few moments to cry on the phone, mostly to my mother and sister, but to a few other people I thought would be responsive. I started texted my landlord tiny skeletons and wildly making claims that I was going to melt or boil, but either way, I was preparing to expire. I decided it was too hot to eat and settled on a rum drink instead. or two.

Finally, after my second phone call to my mother to let her know that I continued to be hot...I became concerned for my nights sleep. The fan I purchased earlier in the day was making no difference...and I realized I needed to go ninja in order to survive this heatwave.

Which is how I found myself at home depot, with a room AC in hand a short time later. A well spent $150.

The AC is presently resting in my bedroom window, where I have barricaded myself. The rest of the house is covered in lava and going out there requires quick movement. I have the necessities in the room with me. The necessities are as follows: 2 water bottles, 2 laptops, 2 phones, 1 bottle of rum, 1 bottle of Ting (so I can make Mass Appeal jealous), pita chips, peanut butter and ambien. Check. check. check.

Tomorrow, my landlord has promised someone is coming to look at the AC and figure out how to fix it. Hopefully. I don't have much hope. I'm predicting my barricade to remain enforced...

Presently, I'm laying here in my bed, while the AC and the fan hum along. I almost need a light blanket over my arms. This must be what victory feels like.

Sure shot...the big sister of infertility...

As the sun rises on today, my sister will start her second week of IVF treatments. This means, that for the past week or so, every day, her husband has been giving her shots that will increase the follicles in her ovaries (where the eggs live)...so that hopefully later this week they can reach in, swipe the eggs and get to work. 

...i make light of this, because that's what I do...but really...it's a fairly harrowing process. Not just because she's been getting shot up with hormones like crazy or because her ovaries are the size of oranges...but also because it's mind-wrecking emotionally. There are no guarantees. This could all be for nothing. 

I really never knew or completely understood my sister and her husband's desire to start a family. Our parents were married for 5 years before they started a family, so for a long time, I just assumed they were enjoying the relative carelessness of youth and the spoils of having two incomes and no children. Perhaps I should have asked more questions...

What I didn't know is that behind the scenes and quietly, they'd been trying for several years. Nothing was going correctly and by last year they were getting medical professionals involved. 

She didn't tell anyone. Which I suppose is somewhat normal. But as the big sister, this makes it somewhat hard to be supportive. 

But it must have been painful, watching her friends have kids and having them ask, "so when you are you two going to start a family?" Going to baby shower after baby shower, kids birthday parties, christenings, the entire gambit...and quietly and painfully want all of this for yourself. 

It was not until a year ago I was even aware that the project was even in progress...much less experiencing some hiccups. Even then,  she made it very clear that she wasn't all that able to talk about it. So I would ask, from time to time, what was going on and if she needed anything...but it was hard...I didn't want to catch her in a moment that would upset her...so I probably didn't ask as much as I could have or supported her as much as I should have. 

Fast forward to recently, as IUI treatments (where doctors try to "help" everything along) had failed and it became apparent that this project was going to be more complicated than planned...my sister is starting the process to "juice up" her body...in hopes that they can swipe some viable eggs, inject with viable sperm and create little embryos...from there they will return those to my sister, hope they attach and that project baby can be labeled a success.

Except it's not just that easy...

From what I am learning, it's a painful, mindwracking and invasive procedure.

...It's also a lonely one...

...and one with no guarantees...

In order to have a chance at having a baby, there are shots and ultrasounds and doctors appointments on doctors appointments. Bloodwork and testing and getting very aquatinted with one's reproductive system.

And it's not exactly something you can talk about. So while my sister is emotionally charged up and full of enough hormones to make the worst PMS seem laughable; she still must, for the most part, continue to function in the regular world, go to work and deal with people who have no idea that what she's going through. While her emotions are completely out of whack, she doesn't have the pleasure of posting up away from people and sparing them from her mood swings.

She's also a pincushion at this point, getting multiple shots every night...even with ice and care and just in general getting used to it...she's bruised and uncomfortable. If you think about the most recent time you had to get a shot at the doctors office...and how the area bruised up around where you got the shot and probably how you complained and whined around the shot hurting and the area being tender...multiply that by three and then think about getting that EVERY NIGHT for 7-10 days...in the stomach. Ouch.

So she's bruised, bloated, tired and pumped full of hormones. What about this sounds fun? Nothing. But these are the lengths my sister, and thousands of other women, are willing to go through for a person that doesn't exist yet.

All I can say is...to my future niece/nephew...your parents want you...you do not even exist yet and they already love you and they are already sacrificing for you. When you are teenager, filled with angst and angry at your parents...You can call up your aunt and say a million things...your mother is crazy...(I'll agree) your mother is a pain in the ass and trying to ruin your ability to have fun...(which may or may not be true.)

But, if you ever come close to saying the words "My mother doesn't love me." I'll stop you right there. Your mother and father love you intensely...and as I type this, you do not yet exist! Your parents love you so much that all the shots, the pain, the exhaustion seem WORTH it. Just for you! You little special baby! You are so lucky, you're getting the apex of all that love from two people who want nothing more than for you to exist.

(and you're getting a pretty incredible aunt too...it's a packaged deal)

Her husband doesn't get off easily either. Besides the jokes about having to deal with my sister, who on her WORST days operates at 110%...he's the one who has to inject her. Imagine the difficulty of doing something you know is going to hurt your wife...even if it carries with it a (hopefully) positive end.

As the sister who is on the outskirts of these issues, I am coming to terms with my own feelings on the issue. Or moreover, making sense of a problem my little sister has which I cannot do anything to fix. As a qualified older sibling, it's been in my DNA for 36 years to help my sister. Driving to Bloomington with new contacts when she cried so hard about some boy she tore hers...helping her decorate her first apartment, her dorm, her first live out house...playing patsy to our parents when she was in high school. The stuff big sisters do. Fix things. Make things easier. Clear the path.

...and on this issue...I can't fix anything or make anything easier. I've got fairly limited options when it comes to helping my sister feel better about this situation...and i'm exercising ALL of them.

It's humbling, frustrating and harrowing to be useless. I find myself in a hard spot, for most of this past few weeks, it's been on my mind constantly and yet, I have almost no idea what to say. The majority of the time, I'm convinced I'm saying the wrong thing. Although I'm assured there isn't a wrong thing to say...I'm not sure I believe it.

We have had our laughs. My sister and I share the same flair for being somewhat ridiculous. This situation has allowed us to up the ante on ridiculous. Each day, I send her a song regarding "shots"...(see: I shot the Sheriff, SHOTS, Shot Caller, Shot through the Heart, Hit me with your best Shot, Sure  Shot) and she's making a "fertility playlist"...It's been sort of a bonding thing. At first, I was unsure if it was welcomed, but then she emailed me and said she needed that days song...so in some way...my wacky musical knowledge serves some point.

I can serve some purpose.

But it's hard...I can't do this for her or make it better. I can give her all the support, humor and love I can...but that's it. They have to face the hard questions and do the heavy lifting. (One strange question which came up, if this is all successful and they freeze embryos, what happens if they both perish in an accident. It's a serious question and one that requires some thought...but also one which has to be countered with some humor. I offered to grow little "Frankenbabies" if all else failed. I've been assured I'll never have to make that decision and furthermore, I feel like I found the topic for Jodi Picoult's next book)

And I truly don't completely get it. I've never felt the intense desire to have a baby. It is an emotion that skipped me. Rarely have I ever found myself longing for children. So in some ways, I truly have to think outside myself to understand how someone would want this so much they would be willing to go to this extreme. That's been humbling for me, as a sister and a person.

It's taught me a new way to look at things and a new way to ask questions. I never realized how insensitive certain questions could be...it never occurred to me the wave of despair I may be creating just by asking "are you thinking about starting a family." I've learned that this is a question better left un-asked until brought up by someone.

Here's a tip. Never ask a woman questions about starting a family. As much as you should never ask a woman if she is pregnant, you should also never ask a women when she is going to be pregnant. It's sort of irrelevant information for you anyway. Family having decisions require a mother and a father...not a mother and father and a chorus of casual observers.

We're learning through this and as my sister and my life long best friend, we'll love through this too. We will celebrate what there is a to celebrate and mourn as needed and necessary...But mostly, we will keep moving forward and keep loving forward.

...and no matter what...we'll keep our sense of humor and flair for ridiculous.

Message not recieved

Sometimes I mention to my friends how ridiculous and strange the texts that Smash sends me are. (and they are strange)...

and the first question they usually have is, "Why don't you have him blocked."

I have a long and drawn out answer for that...but it boils down too..."because I don't want too."

Which makes no sense to some people, but all the sense in the world to others. I suppose it boils down to how much you've been hurt in the relationship field of play. 

When I first found out about the craigslist emails, I was understandably devastated. Our relationship WAS shitty, even without this new twist and I WAS unhappy...but part of me felt like I had fought so hard for this practicular brand of unhappiness, so in a way it became my cross to bear. I would tolerate and deal with the lies and cheating. I would put a bright face on his general lack of empathy towards me and I would smile through all the times that I felt devalued. No matter how many times I actually teared up during sex or cried myself to sleep because he was withholding affection or just plain being mean...I fought for this relationship, ignored all the people who thought differently...

I bet the house on wildcards...I shouldn't have been a surprise that a house of cards will blow over and leave a big mess in their wake. 

At that point, I did have him blocked. Because I was too fragile to deal with his messages and too angry to process them. 

and he started emailing me. And the emails were harder to take than a text message. 

...slowly, we started to talk again in secret. Mostly about things about the house that we still shared a lease on...but over time, we started talking again. In a shaky, secretive way. 

When that imploded, I blocked him again, because I did NOT want to talk to him. 

...and then there was the day when he just showed up the house and I had to deal with him without any advance warning. He claimed to have texted me, which I did not get, naturally. Having him standing in my living room with no warning was a talespin, one I vowed to not have happen again. (Locks changed, thank you very much) If he's going to show up in my neighborhood...and means to tell me about it. I want to know. If only so I can barricade myself in my house.

Since then, I have left him unblocked. 

There have been a few times when we have exchanged messages and truthfully, I have never seen him again. 

But mostly, I receive the messages and ignore them. I learned, the hard way, that he is oddly turned on by my being rude to him via text messages, so it's best to ignore them. 

In the year that has transpired since our relationship dissolved, I have worked very hard to change the variables of my life. I extracted myself from a painful work situation and found a much more rewarding one. I have spent time re-claiming all the friendships that I alienated either because I was too miserable from work or too miserable from Smash. I have spent time reclaiming the most important relationship- the one I have with myself. 

And while this is all a work in progress, I look back at pictures of myself from a year ago around this time and compare them to recent pictures. Gone is the girl who's smile always looks a little bit forced.  Missing from my own face is the vague look of someone who has given up and accepted their fate. It's somewhat astonishing to compare. 

And I don't have Smash blocked on my phone. This is by choice. I want to know; need to know, that my not responding to Smash is a choice I'm making. A choice for me, a choice for my future and a choice for my own happiness. Ignorance may be bliss, but for my own evolution, I need to know that these are choices I am making and not my reaction to things that are happening to me. 

These days I'll stack the deck with wildcards, but not build a house on it. 

The only thing I'm betting on these days is me...and I'll bet the house on that.

Crazy? I was Crazy Once...

"...And then when they encounter someone who has actually lived, they are not really sure how to handle it and walk away calling the girl nuts when the reality is she lived through at some point was nuts. Not her..."

-Gucci last night in the midst of our therapy/olivia pope session.

For someone that I have not even seen since the second month of the year, Smash is doing a hell of a job continuing to fuck with my life. And not only because he sends me strange text messages at strange hours for seemingly no particular reason. He's actually managed to fuck with my actual life...and I didn't have to see him or talk to him for it to happen. 

It was all in my mind. 

I've noted that at this stage in my life, it's pretty hard to meet someone. I've been set up on dates by friends and upon arrival I feel the need to reassess my friendships...thinking only, "what...in the world...made you think...that we would have something in common...." so that route has not panned out for me and quite frankly...it's been pretty lonely in my world. 

there is only so much pintresting and drinking one can do before one must re-evaluate their life choices. As the summer has waned on and with all the professional drama that inhabited the early part of my summer...it's pretty safe to say that i was there. 

so i met this guy...Buttercup...with a little help from a dating website...and he was normal...and he liked to do stuff and talk about things! and talk about things and do stuff...simply put...i quickly developed quite a little crush on him and seemingly, he did the same. Since we met, we'd spent a disproportional  amount of time together...and it was going well....

and then...i jinxed it. 

I headed out to the land of Rum and Ganja for the Royal Wedding last week. Honestly, spent the trip in equal thirds. Text-Flirting Buttercup/Thinking about Buttercup/Wishing I had met Buttercup just a few weeks earlier and I would have brought him with me to the Royal Wedding. While spending my days practicing being a pirate by partaking in rum drinks prior to 10 am and I was coming to the conclusion that I when I got home...I was going to need to spill the beans that I was pretty smitten. 

Fast forward to actually getting home, American Airlines loosing my bag, finding my bag and loosing it again, coupled with an early day of travel and no food, by the time I saw Buttercup...well...i wasn't the nicest person. He was sort of in the same boat...having had a long meeting and not having eaten either...and we had a little tiff...

it should have been over there...because it was stupid and silly and a bunch of miscommunications. 

...and then...I went crazy...got PTSD if you will. In the midst of the conversation something that was said sounded so damn much like something Smash would say that the lines became blurry and suddenly, I wasn't discussing things with Buttercup...

Oh no, now I was fighting with Smash...and in fighting with Smash, one was always fighting, in general, for their lives. 

Smash claims to very easy going...which is not true. Smash is only easy going because he ignores anything anyone asks of him that he does not want to do...or is quick to point out how one is unreasonable for even asking. 

Me: "Smash, since we're both traveling now, I would really appreciate it if when you leave and I'm not here if you would make sure to leave the house clean. If you can't do that, can you at least tell me? It was upsetting to me to come home to dishes that had been in the sink for 2 weeks and dirty dishes in the dishwasher."

Smash: "Well sometimes you leave the house messy and I don't say anything."

Well then, since this is already starting out on a kick of maturity...

and the fights would start there. With him ignoring me and dismissing me. With me asking for a partnership and him informing me that I had no say in the matter and that he would prefer to do exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted and would accept absolutely zero in the way of requests otherwise. 

...and the only way to remedy that was for me to up the ante. To kick it in high gear and repeat myself again and again until I was blue in the face and then he would finally hear me...or at least then he would finally notice...and occasionally, he'd change courses. 

This is NOT a healthy way to conduct disagreements, nor is it remotely acceptable in the adult world. However, I can't say we were all that squarely in the adult world. I mean, Smash was still allowing his parents to give him money for bills. 

It was, however, the only thing that worked.

So, for those playing along at home...the only way for me to have any say in any situation was for me to literally get mad enough to loose my shit...flailing and crying and saying just about anything to try to find words that would get through his thoughtless mind so that he would see me. 

I hated it...but I got used to it. So much so that I started to skip the part where I would actually start to become frustrated and try to have a logical adult conversation and move right to the part where I went off. It was a real timesaver in my life. 

...i'm not proud of it. 

Suffice to say...i have NO idea how to disagree like an adult and have NO practice at it. 

So when my relationship PTSD struck, it was not that I was talking something through with someone who has done me zero wrong...

...I was suddenly fighting a battle in my own head...

and really really pissing off Buttercup. 

I TRULY could not help myself. I was so riled up and angry I cleaned the entire house. I was stewing and moving around fueled by anger. 

and poor Buttercup bore the brunt of my rage and he didn't really do anything. 

Very fair of me. 

I've said numerous times that I was going to fuck things up with the next person i dated...and I certainly did. and I have to own that. 

Upon returning to the real world, I forced myself to re-read the texts I had been sending and try to remember the words that  I venomously spit from my mouth. As I read and remembered my own words, my stomach dropped. I had become that person that I hated, the one I have been afraid would pop up again. The one that was constantly fighting for her place in the relationship. 

...and not a single part of that had ANYTHING to do with the conversation I was actually having. It was the misspent words of me fighting an old fight, in the only manner I ever knew how to fight it. The moment that I felt like I didn't have any control, whether real or imagined, I fought as hard as I could to get it back. 

The only problem was, this wasn't Smash on the other end of the conversation. This was someone who actually IS an adult. Someone who actually now thinks I'M not one. 

and I can't blame him. 

And I spent the entire day being horribly embarrassed for my behavior and wishing that the conversations had happened over cocktails i could blame them on. Nope. not so lucky. I can only blame me...

...But I blame Smash, for once again silently reaching in and fucking up something for me. Something good. He must have happiness radar or something. 

In the end Buttercup said he needed time to think about what happened and that we'd talk when I get back from my business trip. Truthfully, I know there's a 90% chance I'll never hear from him again. I can't say I blame him. He's probably thinking "Dodged a bullet there with that crazy bitch."

But i'm not...i mean really, i'm not. My reality has, at times, been seriously crazy...but for all of it, I like to think i've held it together pretty well. Sometimes better than others. 

I'm going to have to learn my jump points and where I start to loose it, so that I can see the warning signs of an impending collision and correct my steering. I need to learn to be an adult in a relationship...not a little girl fighting for relevancy. A woman building a relationship, not a woman begging for one. 

Adulting...something I need to learn about a decade into being an adult. 

Do they host remedial classes on the topic? If so, can a girl get a course guide?