One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Showing posts with label This has nothing to do with my life list at all. Show all posts
Showing posts with label This has nothing to do with my life list at all. Show all posts
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
On God, Same Sex Marriage and the First Amendment
In case you're living under a rock and haven't noticed, there's been a ton of HRC activity on Facebook lately. I didn't change my profile picture or anything, mostly because those that know me know that I ardently and avidly support equal rights (and I don't need to change my profile picture to prove it). For a while there, I was also a card carrying member of the ACLU.
Once-upon-a-time, I had a supervisor at my old job who, in retrospect, was actually a really good supervisor, though at the time I thought she was a bitch. It turns out, she just knew how to keep business and personal separate. We're Facebook friends now and I'm glad for it. She's a pretty cool person. Anyway, she posted an eloquently stated status opposing the use of biblical symbology in support of anti-gay marriage stances. Fuh real, it was REALLY good.
I don't presume to have her eloquence or her diplomacy (she was REALLY diplomatic on the topic. A lesson our congress could take a page from), but she inspired me to pipe up and chime in. Here's what I had to say.
Once-upon-a-time, I had a supervisor at my old job who, in retrospect, was actually a really good supervisor, though at the time I thought she was a bitch. It turns out, she just knew how to keep business and personal separate. We're Facebook friends now and I'm glad for it. She's a pretty cool person. Anyway, she posted an eloquently stated status opposing the use of biblical symbology in support of anti-gay marriage stances. Fuh real, it was REALLY good.
I don't presume to have her eloquence or her diplomacy (she was REALLY diplomatic on the topic. A lesson our congress could take a page from), but she inspired me to pipe up and chime in. Here's what I had to say.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
My letter to a Christian Nation
Dear Bible Thumpers, Proselyters, Born Agains, et al
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Insert long suffering sigh here
So I had every intention of hanging out in the studio all day. Then The History Channel sucked me in. This is why TV is bad.
I also had every intention of cleaning today, since our house is in that lovely half-way-packed stage that makes people inclined to live like slobs. Between our room and The Trolls' room, we're starting to look like an episode of Horders.
The fact that I keep making television references ought to tell you that I've been watching entirely too much TV lately.
Speaking of cinematic badness, don't see Dark Shadows. I was absolutely champing at the bit to go see this movie. It's Tim Burton! It's Johnny Depp in a Tim Burton movie! I love Tim Burton with a love so fierce that it must rival Helena Bonham Carter's. I settled in to my too small movie theater chair, with my large tub of popcorn, The Boyfriend™ by my side, prepared to be wowed. I left disappointed. Actually, I left the theater more than disappointed; I left feeling let down.
So it's a weekend action packed full of let down. Which, I suppose, is the nature of the life. I mean, not all the time. But some of the time we're all going to be let down.
The cleaning didn't get done.
I eventually got into the studio, but felt no creative compulsion (I blame Tim Burton).
Dark Shadows left so much to be desired that I want the two hours of my life that I spent watching that tripe back.
It's insanely hot right now, and the air conditioner unit in my car is broken.
Monday is the day-after-tomorrow, and I have to go back to my day job.
In the grand scheme of things, my list of let downs isn't so bad. And I guess that's the point of this whole blog: it could be worse. It could be a lot worse. I'm grateful that it isn't. The house will get cleaned. I'll have another creative stint that will rival Picasso. The weather will cool back down; and shortly after Monday is another Friday that I can look forward to.
... I don't know if Tim Burton can recover from the travesty of a movie he created, but I remain ever hopeful.
I also had every intention of cleaning today, since our house is in that lovely half-way-packed stage that makes people inclined to live like slobs. Between our room and The Trolls' room, we're starting to look like an episode of Horders.
The fact that I keep making television references ought to tell you that I've been watching entirely too much TV lately.
Speaking of cinematic badness, don't see Dark Shadows. I was absolutely champing at the bit to go see this movie. It's Tim Burton! It's Johnny Depp in a Tim Burton movie! I love Tim Burton with a love so fierce that it must rival Helena Bonham Carter's. I settled in to my too small movie theater chair, with my large tub of popcorn, The Boyfriend™ by my side, prepared to be wowed. I left disappointed. Actually, I left the theater more than disappointed; I left feeling let down.
So it's a weekend action packed full of let down. Which, I suppose, is the nature of the life. I mean, not all the time. But some of the time we're all going to be let down.
The cleaning didn't get done.
I eventually got into the studio, but felt no creative compulsion (I blame Tim Burton).
Dark Shadows left so much to be desired that I want the two hours of my life that I spent watching that tripe back.
It's insanely hot right now, and the air conditioner unit in my car is broken.
Monday is the day-after-tomorrow, and I have to go back to my day job.
In the grand scheme of things, my list of let downs isn't so bad. And I guess that's the point of this whole blog: it could be worse. It could be a lot worse. I'm grateful that it isn't. The house will get cleaned. I'll have another creative stint that will rival Picasso. The weather will cool back down; and shortly after Monday is another Friday that I can look forward to.
... I don't know if Tim Burton can recover from the travesty of a movie he created, but I remain ever hopeful.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Inch by Inch
The Etsy shop is growing! I've added more items -- earrings, for now -- and will be adding more very, very soon! The Boyfriend™ fixed my loaner sewing machine, so after I'm done being a little one-man Christmas sweatshop, I'll return to making my fun and whimsical fabric jewelry.
I plan on making the investment -- time and money-wise -- to get more traffic to my page. However, I definitely want a bigger selection up there before I start directing a ton of traffic to my Etsy shop. In the mean time, I'll promote it here and on my web page -- www.samandsady.com.
I have some other updates that I'll get up here in the next couple of days -- including: how I lost the Mother of the Year Award; why I'm considering a career change (to waitressing, actually); how The Best Friend® abandoned me to make herself happy; and the great Christmas Tree Debacle... OK. It was neither a debacle or much of a story, but I'm wicked excited to have the first real Christmas tree I've had since I moved to this godforsaken state (and it's officially The Boyfriend™'s first real tree, period).
Until I can get back to the computer, I leave you with this outtake from this year's Christmas card:
I plan on making the investment -- time and money-wise -- to get more traffic to my page. However, I definitely want a bigger selection up there before I start directing a ton of traffic to my Etsy shop. In the mean time, I'll promote it here and on my web page -- www.samandsady.com.
I have some other updates that I'll get up here in the next couple of days -- including: how I lost the Mother of the Year Award; why I'm considering a career change (to waitressing, actually); how The Best Friend® abandoned me to make herself happy; and the great Christmas Tree Debacle... OK. It was neither a debacle or much of a story, but I'm wicked excited to have the first real Christmas tree I've had since I moved to this godforsaken state (and it's officially The Boyfriend™'s first real tree, period).
Until I can get back to the computer, I leave you with this outtake from this year's Christmas card:
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
So, as it turns out, The Boyfriend™ needed stitches...
We're hosting Thanksgiving at Casa de Our House this year. Originally The Boyfriend™'s idea (though he'll never admit it), I ran with it like the wind. Because, really, it was kind of my idea -- insofar as the direction I was turning the topic of conversation was most decidedly heading in the "Let's have the parents over for Thanksgiving" direction.
...Because I'm nuts.
So, because The Boyfriend™ and I would rather hang out watching horrible television, while completely pretending that we don't have stuff we should be doing instead (see The Boyfriend™! TV is bad!), our house had kind of, sort of gotten rather... let's call it "lived in." Not that our parents would be all judgey about it or anything, but still. I'm not comfortable sitting in seven year's worth of someone else's dust; I wouldn't want to do it to anyone else.
...And also because The Nancarita ingrained the whole "when having company, one must clean every possible surface EVAR" thing in me. The bitch.
So, The Boyfriend™ was doing the dishes last night and gashed hand WIDE open (well, the webbing between two fingers). Like, I could see his shoulder, the gash was so deep. I told him he needed stitches, but The Boyfriend™ thought it would be a MUCH better idea to make the gaping wound in his hand talk to The Trolls. Totally gross.
Flash forward 24 hours -- past the point of safely stitching the wound closed (unless you want to run the risk of massive infection) -- and we're at an urgent care clinic getting the talking wound checked out. The doc said The Boyfriend™ should've had stitches (while implying -- really strongly -- that The Boyfriend™ was a jackass for not getting Handy, The Talking Gash checked out sooner). I gloated. The Boyfriend™ got a tetnus shot. It was awesome.
And in other news, the cleaning-in-preparation-of-cooking festivities continues. Ironically, I'm not mad about doing most of it myself. It's the price I have to pay for being right. Totally worth it.
It's not The Boyfriend™'s hand, but this picture is another from the bajillion I unloaded from my camera. I don't know why, but I heart this picture so much. It's The Nugget, being unusually camera shy.
...Because I'm nuts.
So, because The Boyfriend™ and I would rather hang out watching horrible television, while completely pretending that we don't have stuff we should be doing instead (see The Boyfriend™! TV is bad!), our house had kind of, sort of gotten rather... let's call it "lived in." Not that our parents would be all judgey about it or anything, but still. I'm not comfortable sitting in seven year's worth of someone else's dust; I wouldn't want to do it to anyone else.
...And also because The Nancarita ingrained the whole "when having company, one must clean every possible surface EVAR" thing in me. The bitch.
So, The Boyfriend™ was doing the dishes last night and gashed hand WIDE open (well, the webbing between two fingers). Like, I could see his shoulder, the gash was so deep. I told him he needed stitches, but The Boyfriend™ thought it would be a MUCH better idea to make the gaping wound in his hand talk to The Trolls. Totally gross.
Flash forward 24 hours -- past the point of safely stitching the wound closed (unless you want to run the risk of massive infection) -- and we're at an urgent care clinic getting the talking wound checked out. The doc said The Boyfriend™ should've had stitches (while implying -- really strongly -- that The Boyfriend™ was a jackass for not getting Handy, The Talking Gash checked out sooner). I gloated. The Boyfriend™ got a tetnus shot. It was awesome.
And in other news, the cleaning-in-preparation-of-cooking festivities continues. Ironically, I'm not mad about doing most of it myself. It's the price I have to pay for being right. Totally worth it.
It's not The Boyfriend™'s hand, but this picture is another from the bajillion I unloaded from my camera. I don't know why, but I heart this picture so much. It's The Nugget, being unusually camera shy.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Here those sleigh bells jingle...
Halloween and Christmas decorations co-mingled in store aisles? Check!
Christmas carols clogging up the airwaves -- before Thanksgiving? Check!
Black Friday gossip floating around the workplace -- before Halloween? Check!
Nary a gift idea thought up nor handmade goods started? Double check!
Panic that I can't possibly get it all completed and still pay my bills? You betcha!
'Tis the season for panic, resentment and grinch-like behavior. I'm determined, this year, to get with the holiday spirit; to throw myself head first into the joy of finding just the right gift for just the right person. I love nailing the perfect gift!
What I don't like is the pressure. I don't like the consumerism that's become par for the course during the holidays. I hate that the Trolls' Christmas lists look like the inventory order form for Toys 'R' Us. Ironically enough, I hate that The Boyfriend™'s wish list is decidedly sparse -- mostly because he's impossible to shop for.
But this year, more than anything, I am steadfastly determined to do it much differently than last year! We'll be decorated and festooned. We'll have a big ole real tree, too! We'll put up Christmas lights outside and rack up the light bill! This is The Boyfriend™'s first Christmas with Trolls, so... we need to show him how it's done. I actually can't wait to get out the lights and the decorations and rig up the house until it looks like the north pole's sister location. I can't wait to intermingle our old Christmas traditions with the new ones that include The Boyfriend™. This Christmas will be very good!
Right now, though, I should be in the study and turning all of my down time hours into a veritable one-person sweatshop of Christmas making. Right now, I'm procrastinating by rambling here about how much I'm panicking about Christmas. Oh, the sweet irony.
Christmas carols clogging up the airwaves -- before Thanksgiving? Check!
Black Friday gossip floating around the workplace -- before Halloween? Check!
Nary a gift idea thought up nor handmade goods started? Double check!
Panic that I can't possibly get it all completed and still pay my bills? You betcha!
'Tis the season for panic, resentment and grinch-like behavior. I'm determined, this year, to get with the holiday spirit; to throw myself head first into the joy of finding just the right gift for just the right person. I love nailing the perfect gift!
What I don't like is the pressure. I don't like the consumerism that's become par for the course during the holidays. I hate that the Trolls' Christmas lists look like the inventory order form for Toys 'R' Us. Ironically enough, I hate that The Boyfriend™'s wish list is decidedly sparse -- mostly because he's impossible to shop for.
But this year, more than anything, I am steadfastly determined to do it much differently than last year! We'll be decorated and festooned. We'll have a big ole real tree, too! We'll put up Christmas lights outside and rack up the light bill! This is The Boyfriend™'s first Christmas with Trolls, so... we need to show him how it's done. I actually can't wait to get out the lights and the decorations and rig up the house until it looks like the north pole's sister location. I can't wait to intermingle our old Christmas traditions with the new ones that include The Boyfriend™. This Christmas will be very good!
Right now, though, I should be in the study and turning all of my down time hours into a veritable one-person sweatshop of Christmas making. Right now, I'm procrastinating by rambling here about how much I'm panicking about Christmas. Oh, the sweet irony.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Super Delicious American Chop Suey
I don't think there's a person alive who hasn't had American Chop Suey. Seriously, it's the easiest, simplest, yummiest thing in the world. OK -- maybe not the yummiest thing in the world, but it's quick and easy and darn tasty [when made right].
Related to the post at hand -- one of my "selling points" to The Boyfriend™ was my love of and ability to cook. I am no Gordon Ramsey, but I can hold my own in the kitchen. Whoever it was that said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, was right.
So, The Boyfriend™ and I are on our own with no Troll supervision until the middle of next month, and we're trying to keep the grocery budget smaller. Recipes like American Chop Suey are easy on the budget and rely fairly heavily on things already in your pantry (and in your garden). The Boyfriend™ had never heard of chop suey until I introduced it to him, and still doubts that what I make is actually chop suey (which is when I point out to him that it's American Chop Suey... and there's a whole, 'nother different Chinese version). So, for him, I dedicate my first cooking blog
(Oh, I forgot to mention that, from time to time, I'll be posting recipes up on here now):
Step 1: Gather your ingredients from your cupboards, garden and pantry shelves. You will need:
- Peppers
- Onions
- Garlic (either fresh or the stuff in olive oil)
- Tomatoes
- Tomato sauce
- Meat or tofu crumbles
- Pasta (pick your poison. I usually use macaroni noodles)
Step 2: Boil some water in a big pot. This is important, because when I asked The Boyfriend™ to get the water ready for me, he put it in a sauce pan. Umm.. no. BIG pot. After you get the right size and put the water on to boil, add a little olive oil to it.
Step 3: Grab a frying pan and start warming the beef, turkey or tofu (really, it's up to you what you use. I used beef in this recipe). After it gets nice and brown, drain off the excess fat. Because, seriously, fat is nasty.
Step 4: While the meat is browning and the water boiling, start chopping up the veggies. Watch out for those pepper seeds; the oil feels like BURNING!
Step 5: When the water gets roiling and boiling, add your pasta to it and turn the heat down to medium. Cook according to package directions.
Step 6: While the pasta's cooking, after the meat is all browned and drained, toss your chopped veggies into the pan with meat.
Step 6a: Add a ton of garlic. The more, the better in my opinion. I love garlic! I love it so much that I use it in everything possible AND take garlic pills. The Boyfriend™ doesn't seem to have a problem with my breath. Why do you ask?
Step 7: Stir the meat and veggie concoction around a bit to warm the veggies a bit and get everything mixed up right. Now add the tomato sauce -- not too much, but just enough to sort of coat the meat/veggie mix.
Step 7a: Let the mixture simmer for about five-seven minutes. I usually do the prep dishes during this time, cuz I'm good like that. A clean kitchen makes for a happy me. Every once-in-a-while, go back over to your stove (which, because you're better than I am, I'm sure is cleaner than mine) and stir the meat/veggie/sauce mix.
Step 8: When the pasta's ready, drain it and toss it back in the pot or put it in a serving bowl. Whatever works for you -- American Chop Suey is not picky. Then toss in your meat/veggie/sauce concoction. Give it all a big stir or two (to combine):
Step 9: Grate some Parmesan (or use the sprinkle kind), put some of this deliciousness in a bowl, topped with the Parmesan and enjoy!
Related to the post at hand -- one of my "selling points" to The Boyfriend™ was my love of and ability to cook. I am no Gordon Ramsey, but I can hold my own in the kitchen. Whoever it was that said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, was right.
So, The Boyfriend™ and I are on our own with no Troll supervision until the middle of next month, and we're trying to keep the grocery budget smaller. Recipes like American Chop Suey are easy on the budget and rely fairly heavily on things already in your pantry (and in your garden). The Boyfriend™ had never heard of chop suey until I introduced it to him, and still doubts that what I make is actually chop suey (which is when I point out to him that it's American Chop Suey... and there's a whole, 'nother different Chinese version). So, for him, I dedicate my first cooking blog
(Oh, I forgot to mention that, from time to time, I'll be posting recipes up on here now):
Step 1: Gather your ingredients from your cupboards, garden and pantry shelves. You will need:
- Onions
- Garlic (either fresh or the stuff in olive oil)
- Tomatoes
- Tomato sauce
- Meat or tofu crumbles
- Pasta (pick your poison. I usually use macaroni noodles)
Step 2: Boil some water in a big pot. This is important, because when I asked The Boyfriend™ to get the water ready for me, he put it in a sauce pan. Umm.. no. BIG pot. After you get the right size and put the water on to boil, add a little olive oil to it.
 | ||||
| Ignore my stove. It's gross |
 |
| For grain fed, organic beef, there's a helluva lot of fat in here. Gross! |
 | ||
| Why yes. Yes, my counter DOES have '70s era Formica on it. Why do you ask? |
Step 6: While the pasta's cooking, after the meat is all browned and drained, toss your chopped veggies into the pan with meat.
Step 7: Stir the meat and veggie concoction around a bit to warm the veggies a bit and get everything mixed up right. Now add the tomato sauce -- not too much, but just enough to sort of coat the meat/veggie mix.
Step 7a: Let the mixture simmer for about five-seven minutes. I usually do the prep dishes during this time, cuz I'm good like that. A clean kitchen makes for a happy me. Every once-in-a-while, go back over to your stove (which, because you're better than I am, I'm sure is cleaner than mine) and stir the meat/veggie/sauce mix.
Step 8: When the pasta's ready, drain it and toss it back in the pot or put it in a serving bowl. Whatever works for you -- American Chop Suey is not picky. Then toss in your meat/veggie/sauce concoction. Give it all a big stir or two (to combine):
 |
| Please just pretend that my stove isn't disgusting. I blame The Boyfriend™. He did horrible, bachelor things to this stove |
Step 9: Grate some Parmesan (or use the sprinkle kind), put some of this deliciousness in a bowl, topped with the Parmesan and enjoy!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Laundry and other lists (subtitle: don't bother reading this. It makes no sense)
Laundry piles up quickly in my house - even with one troll who insists wearing the same pair of white socks until they're a decided shade of dark brown. Load after load of laundry makes it's way to the garage (where the washer and drier live), very often finding its way back out, though sometimes not.
I'm not good about putting laundry away.
I might've mentioned once that I have a lot of weird food allergies (all poultry, eggs, bananas, avocados, cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower). Occasionally, I will convince myself that an allergy is all in my head and attempt to eat something on my allergy list.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to give bananas another whirl, since that particular allergy showed up after my pregnancy with The Monkey, along with a temporary allergy to strawberries. I was amazed that I was able to enjoy a banana with no pain, and so tried it again the next day and the next day. It was a miracle! I was cured.... For about a week. Weekend before last, I ate a banana with my morning breakfast. About 20 minutes later my belly was decidedly NOT happy and five more minutes after that I threw up.
Side note: throwing up when you have gallbladder issues is NOT fun. Hurts like a sonofabitch.
I didn't know if it was the vitamins that I added to my regimen or the banana made me toss up the contents of my digestive tract, so I decided to give a banana another whirl today. Five minutes after I finished my last bite, my tongue started itching. Five minutes after that, my throat got scratchy and ten minutes later, I found myself upchucking in the bathroom at work.
This was weird, because my allergies usually just caused gastrointestinal issues (severe pain), not the itchy, hive response.
So, note to self...
It just occurred to me how absolutely insane it is that I'm blogging about vomiting. Really, does anyone care? Screw it... It's my blog. If you don't want to read about vomit and, potentially, pterodactyls (which I mention only because I can spell that word without the need of spell check), then you should probably mosey on over to another, different blog.
Anyway...
So, this latest incident has underscored the point that, despite the annoyance factor of having to ask, "does this have.... In it? I'm allergic to... " or my friends having to find creative ways to cook for me, I really need to honor the restrictions in my body.
Not for nothing, but weird food allergies are not fun, though they are interesting. Who'd have thought avocado is in every damn thing?
So moving on...
This blog is starting to resemble a Chuck Pahalunik novel(in that I'm just stringing together a bunch of random thoughts completely unrelated to each other. Not I. The way that I think I'm a literary genius better than everyone else, when I'm actually not).
The Boyfriend™ is going to be home soon and while I'm legitimately home sick, I kind of want him to come home to at least partially cleaned house, but I'm feeling lazy...and nostalgic for my home town. I wish upon wish that I was able to be even a fraction of the woman my aunt Deb is, or www.SouleMama.com is. I really want to live those lives. Dammit...I will!
And this blog is a complete waste, but I'm gonna post it anyway.
I'm not good about putting laundry away.
I might've mentioned once that I have a lot of weird food allergies (all poultry, eggs, bananas, avocados, cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower). Occasionally, I will convince myself that an allergy is all in my head and attempt to eat something on my allergy list.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to give bananas another whirl, since that particular allergy showed up after my pregnancy with The Monkey, along with a temporary allergy to strawberries. I was amazed that I was able to enjoy a banana with no pain, and so tried it again the next day and the next day. It was a miracle! I was cured.... For about a week. Weekend before last, I ate a banana with my morning breakfast. About 20 minutes later my belly was decidedly NOT happy and five more minutes after that I threw up.
Side note: throwing up when you have gallbladder issues is NOT fun. Hurts like a sonofabitch.
I didn't know if it was the vitamins that I added to my regimen or the banana made me toss up the contents of my digestive tract, so I decided to give a banana another whirl today. Five minutes after I finished my last bite, my tongue started itching. Five minutes after that, my throat got scratchy and ten minutes later, I found myself upchucking in the bathroom at work.
This was weird, because my allergies usually just caused gastrointestinal issues (severe pain), not the itchy, hive response.
So, note to self...
It just occurred to me how absolutely insane it is that I'm blogging about vomiting. Really, does anyone care? Screw it... It's my blog. If you don't want to read about vomit and, potentially, pterodactyls (which I mention only because I can spell that word without the need of spell check), then you should probably mosey on over to another, different blog.
Anyway...
So, this latest incident has underscored the point that, despite the annoyance factor of having to ask, "does this have.... In it? I'm allergic to... " or my friends having to find creative ways to cook for me, I really need to honor the restrictions in my body.
Not for nothing, but weird food allergies are not fun, though they are interesting. Who'd have thought avocado is in every damn thing?
So moving on...
This blog is starting to resemble a Chuck Pahalunik novel(in that I'm just stringing together a bunch of random thoughts completely unrelated to each other. Not I. The way that I think I'm a literary genius better than everyone else, when I'm actually not).
The Boyfriend™ is going to be home soon and while I'm legitimately home sick, I kind of want him to come home to at least partially cleaned house, but I'm feeling lazy...and nostalgic for my home town. I wish upon wish that I was able to be even a fraction of the woman my aunt Deb is, or www.SouleMama.com is. I really want to live those lives. Dammit...I will!
And this blog is a complete waste, but I'm gonna post it anyway.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The blog in which I share some unpopular opinions and some other stuff
I have these friends who recently split up. The separation was unexpected and, to my mind, came out of nowhere. One minute She was here and making tutus for her daughter's birthday, and the next minute she was packing up her worldly possessions to move 3000 miles across the country.
She called me the day she was leaving. She didn't place blame on anyone, but I blamed her. I blamed her for leaching His wallet dry. I blamed her for not considering couples counseling before bailing. I blamed her for promising my nephews that she'd be there and then taking off.
I put on the non-committal "whatever you have to do" voice, and firmly committed to being Team Him.
And He was a mess. He needed all the help and teammates He could get. She wouldn't even take his calls. We were there for Him and I stayed Facebook friends with Her, mostly just to check in on the kids.
Then things started changing. He got weird and his story kept changing. It was hard to tell the difference between truth and fabrication and I got to the point where I simply assumed everything was fabrication. There really seems to be no end to the depth of his weirdness and inappropriate behavior. So I've put some distance between us.
I don't know how to segue into this next part, so...
Among so many of my other flaws, I am an extraordinarily lazy friend. I'm bad about phoning, I'm lackadaisical about answering emails, and deliberately keep my phone on silent, so I don't hear the text message notification. Most of my friends have accepted this about me, as shitty as it is. This is one of the reasons I love Facebook - I can keep up with everyone from a safe, stalkerish distance.
As I mentioned, I kept up with Her through Facebook, mostly to check on the kids. But after getting some perspective about Him, my anger shifted into understanding. I became aware of the factors that drove Her to move away so quickly and fully, and break promises to my nephews. I was filled with sadness at having let our friendship drift so far apart... Long before she actually left... But didn't know how to breach the gulf that I had forged.
This sadness was further underscored when she had reached out to our mutual friends about Him, but hadn't touched base with me. I felt left out, as selfish as that is, but understood why she hadn't sought my counsel, too. But then she did.
And that brings me to the point of this whole blog entry:
She is HAPPY. She is a wholly different person than the one that I first knew, though I should've known that THIS version of her was always present underneath the materialism and selfish facade she wore for so long. She is cognizant and present, accepting of her role in the breakdown of her marriage, which started long before She ever met Him. She is in a place of honesty and peace, not altogether untinged by sadness at the waste she laid in her quest of self re-discovery.
She is a person I am not only proud of, and admire to a degree, but am envious of. She was Brave enough - or scared enough - to say fuck it and trudge forward to seize what would make her happy, despite the consequences. She is in a more honest place, that has little room for living according to other people's dictates.
I'm closer to where she is than I have ever been before, but not close enough, though every day brings me closer. And one day soon, I'll be there with Her in the redwoods.
She called me the day she was leaving. She didn't place blame on anyone, but I blamed her. I blamed her for leaching His wallet dry. I blamed her for not considering couples counseling before bailing. I blamed her for promising my nephews that she'd be there and then taking off.
I put on the non-committal "whatever you have to do" voice, and firmly committed to being Team Him.
And He was a mess. He needed all the help and teammates He could get. She wouldn't even take his calls. We were there for Him and I stayed Facebook friends with Her, mostly just to check in on the kids.
Then things started changing. He got weird and his story kept changing. It was hard to tell the difference between truth and fabrication and I got to the point where I simply assumed everything was fabrication. There really seems to be no end to the depth of his weirdness and inappropriate behavior. So I've put some distance between us.
I don't know how to segue into this next part, so...
Among so many of my other flaws, I am an extraordinarily lazy friend. I'm bad about phoning, I'm lackadaisical about answering emails, and deliberately keep my phone on silent, so I don't hear the text message notification. Most of my friends have accepted this about me, as shitty as it is. This is one of the reasons I love Facebook - I can keep up with everyone from a safe, stalkerish distance.
As I mentioned, I kept up with Her through Facebook, mostly to check on the kids. But after getting some perspective about Him, my anger shifted into understanding. I became aware of the factors that drove Her to move away so quickly and fully, and break promises to my nephews. I was filled with sadness at having let our friendship drift so far apart... Long before she actually left... But didn't know how to breach the gulf that I had forged.
This sadness was further underscored when she had reached out to our mutual friends about Him, but hadn't touched base with me. I felt left out, as selfish as that is, but understood why she hadn't sought my counsel, too. But then she did.
And that brings me to the point of this whole blog entry:
She is HAPPY. She is a wholly different person than the one that I first knew, though I should've known that THIS version of her was always present underneath the materialism and selfish facade she wore for so long. She is cognizant and present, accepting of her role in the breakdown of her marriage, which started long before She ever met Him. She is in a place of honesty and peace, not altogether untinged by sadness at the waste she laid in her quest of self re-discovery.
She is a person I am not only proud of, and admire to a degree, but am envious of. She was Brave enough - or scared enough - to say fuck it and trudge forward to seize what would make her happy, despite the consequences. She is in a more honest place, that has little room for living according to other people's dictates.
I'm closer to where she is than I have ever been before, but not close enough, though every day brings me closer. And one day soon, I'll be there with Her in the redwoods.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I also vomited up my sense of humor...and other graphic blog titles
So, I'm home sick right now, after having vomited up the entire contents of my digestive tract last night. No, I wasn't drunk, but thanks for asking.
Right now, I have some unexpected free time on my hands, while I'm waiting to see if I can keep the saltines down. I rather relish these middle of the week days off. Unexpected and, even if I'm sick, I have an extra 12 hours to use however I wish. The Trolls even got an extra day to use.
So, I've started journaling again, trying to clear a lot of the crap out of my head. There is a LOT of crap in my head. My mind chatters away at me constantly, like a tree full of monkeys. It gets noisy up in there. The journaling helps a great deal.
I want to get back to my life list and hammering that out. There's something extraordinarily gratifying about having goals and accomplishing them. Unfortunately, my adult onset ADD (self-diagnosed) keeps getting in my way. I've become quite the sewer lately. No, I don't know how, either.
Once I find the cable for my camera, I'll load up some new pictures of the paintings I've been working on, as well as my efforts at sketching without a pencil (a la Roz Stendahl...check her out. She's AMAZING!) then there's the garden (currently still in pots). I am utterly and completely amazed that I've been able to grow herbs and vegetables from SEEDS. Holla atcha girl!!
When our first harvest happens, I'll be throwing a harvest dinner party. Consider this your invitation.
In the mean time, between work and ADD, Ive been rather relishing my roll here. Well, relishing MOST of it. The fleas and endless piles of laundry I could do without. I think I took up sewing just so I wouldn't have to do laundry anymore, and making clothes is cheaper than buying them. Yet, I still haven't gotten around to fixing the hole in The Boyfriend's pants. Some home maker I am!
As much as I want to sit here and continue updating you about my very unexciting Life, I have few precious hours left to fill. I have the outline of a couple really kick ass blogs roughed out...about my battle of the little big flea and why freaks are better than normal people. Until then, I'm going to go sew. Or something.
Right now, I have some unexpected free time on my hands, while I'm waiting to see if I can keep the saltines down. I rather relish these middle of the week days off. Unexpected and, even if I'm sick, I have an extra 12 hours to use however I wish. The Trolls even got an extra day to use.
So, I've started journaling again, trying to clear a lot of the crap out of my head. There is a LOT of crap in my head. My mind chatters away at me constantly, like a tree full of monkeys. It gets noisy up in there. The journaling helps a great deal.
I want to get back to my life list and hammering that out. There's something extraordinarily gratifying about having goals and accomplishing them. Unfortunately, my adult onset ADD (self-diagnosed) keeps getting in my way. I've become quite the sewer lately. No, I don't know how, either.
Once I find the cable for my camera, I'll load up some new pictures of the paintings I've been working on, as well as my efforts at sketching without a pencil (a la Roz Stendahl...check her out. She's AMAZING!) then there's the garden (currently still in pots). I am utterly and completely amazed that I've been able to grow herbs and vegetables from SEEDS. Holla atcha girl!!
When our first harvest happens, I'll be throwing a harvest dinner party. Consider this your invitation.
In the mean time, between work and ADD, Ive been rather relishing my roll here. Well, relishing MOST of it. The fleas and endless piles of laundry I could do without. I think I took up sewing just so I wouldn't have to do laundry anymore, and making clothes is cheaper than buying them. Yet, I still haven't gotten around to fixing the hole in The Boyfriend's pants. Some home maker I am!
As much as I want to sit here and continue updating you about my very unexciting Life, I have few precious hours left to fill. I have the outline of a couple really kick ass blogs roughed out...about my battle of the little big flea and why freaks are better than normal people. Until then, I'm going to go sew. Or something.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Insert blog title here.... And other updates
Ok...so I'm not much for the catchy blog titles today, but can you blame me?
Well, since I haven't updated in a while, I guess you can, since y'all have no idea what's been going on. With me, that is.
So...what have I been up to lately? Moving. Sweet merciful Christ this is the move that will never end. If, God forbid (knock on wood, ptew, ptew), The Boyfriend™ and I don't work out, HE can move because I am never doing this again. Now I remember why I prefer precipitating factors for co-habitation.
But in fairness, The Boyfriend™ has been an absolute dream about all of this. For all intents, I have completely taken over his previously "pristine" domicile and action packed it full of my crap. And the man has HELPED me do it. He's packed and loaded and unpacked and moved stuff around, just so I have enough space for my stuff. And he hasn't bitched once. Outloud, anyway.
have I mentioned, lately, how grateful I am for him? Well, I am.
And The Best Friend® has been remarkably patient with me, too. I haven't exactly been attentive or a very good friend these days, and most of my conversation has been filled with moving updates and Boyfriend chatter. She hasn't even so much as rolled her eyes... In front of me, anyway.
Have I mentioned how grateful I am for her? Well, I am.
And there is a whole slew of other people I am grateful for, too, who have done everything to make this go as smoothly as possible. Even The Ex has been a trooper about it, taking The Trolls so I could move.
So that's what's going on. A whole bunch of moving and a whole bunch of gratitude. All in all, life is pretty good.
Very soon, I hope to get back to the whole life list living and updates about my quest to achieve the dream. But I'll have to find that box first.
Well, since I haven't updated in a while, I guess you can, since y'all have no idea what's been going on. With me, that is.
So...what have I been up to lately? Moving. Sweet merciful Christ this is the move that will never end. If, God forbid (knock on wood, ptew, ptew), The Boyfriend™ and I don't work out, HE can move because I am never doing this again. Now I remember why I prefer precipitating factors for co-habitation.
But in fairness, The Boyfriend™ has been an absolute dream about all of this. For all intents, I have completely taken over his previously "pristine" domicile and action packed it full of my crap. And the man has HELPED me do it. He's packed and loaded and unpacked and moved stuff around, just so I have enough space for my stuff. And he hasn't bitched once. Outloud, anyway.
have I mentioned, lately, how grateful I am for him? Well, I am.
And The Best Friend® has been remarkably patient with me, too. I haven't exactly been attentive or a very good friend these days, and most of my conversation has been filled with moving updates and Boyfriend chatter. She hasn't even so much as rolled her eyes... In front of me, anyway.
Have I mentioned how grateful I am for her? Well, I am.
And there is a whole slew of other people I am grateful for, too, who have done everything to make this go as smoothly as possible. Even The Ex has been a trooper about it, taking The Trolls so I could move.
So that's what's going on. A whole bunch of moving and a whole bunch of gratitude. All in all, life is pretty good.
Very soon, I hope to get back to the whole life list living and updates about my quest to achieve the dream. But I'll have to find that box first.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Typos...I blame the iPad
So, my self-imposed move in date with The Boyfriend™ is next weekend, and I am so not going to make that. Well, I will if I somehow can magically fit 48 hours into a day. But that's about as likely as a Republican coming to his senses, so I will have to work with my limitations.
But I'm sort of de-motivated at the moment. I just finished taking down all the pictures in my living room and it's just so...bare. Depressing as all get out. Sad as it is, Its rather bittersweet letting this place go. It was my first honest-to-God adult apartment (that's pretty sad, too) and it was wholly mine. Well, mine and the complex's, but I digress...
I'm having a hard time finding the desire to get back out in the bare and echoing root finish what I started, so that I stay on task, so I'm hiding in my bathroom, blogging.
But all good change comes with its share of challenge and I guess I should get back out there and pack some more boxes before bed. I'll be so much happier that I did.
But I'm sort of de-motivated at the moment. I just finished taking down all the pictures in my living room and it's just so...bare. Depressing as all get out. Sad as it is, Its rather bittersweet letting this place go. It was my first honest-to-God adult apartment (that's pretty sad, too) and it was wholly mine. Well, mine and the complex's, but I digress...
I'm having a hard time finding the desire to get back out in the bare and echoing root finish what I started, so that I stay on task, so I'm hiding in my bathroom, blogging.
But all good change comes with its share of challenge and I guess I should get back out there and pack some more boxes before bed. I'll be so much happier that I did.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
We'll return to your regularly scheduled program soon...
You hear that sound?
...That's the sound of no more Christmas music on the radio. Except when I went to AT&T to replace the SIM card in the iPad The Boyfriend™ got me for Christmas.
,...Oh. Wait! I can tell y'all now. The Boyfriend™ got me an iPad for Christmas!! He is incredibly indulgent, that one is. He can't pay his mortgage this month, but at least I'm happy. Materialism aside, how can I not love that man?
But I am sorely glad Christmas is over. I was not feeling it at all this year. Due in large part, I think, to my new found anti-materialistic mentality (iPad cravings notwithstanding). I just couldn't wrap my head around obligatory purchasing, because that's what Christmas has become. Next year, I hope that we can all just do something wonderful and nice for each other, rather than go broke trying to one-up each other on the gift giving scale.
But that's not what I hopped on here to tell you.
The next couple of weeks are going to be a maelstrom of packing, moving, unpacking, working, packing, moving, unpacking, cleaning, working, cleaning, packing, moving, and more unpacking. I have all of January until I have to be officially out of my humble abode, and safely ensconced in The Boyfriend™'s bachelor pad, but that's really only eight days, where I will be unencumbered by work. So I gotta get this shit done, y'all.
The Boyfriend™ keeps saying things like, "you still have a month. What's your hurry?" which infuriates me to NO end, because he's not the one trying to work, parent and pack. I really just want to hang back and play with my iPad until I get iPad pointer finger syndrome or something, but I don't have that luxury right now. I mean, I put a shit load of holes in my walls (from hanging pictures, people. My temper isn't that bad). I need to patch and paint and steam clean.
...I'm toying with the idea of blowing off my security deposit, just so I don't have to do all this work. But I don't want to end up owing anything when I leave here, either, so I'll do the work. I'm not about burning bridges.
In the midst of all this chaos, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel so clearly that I need to wear sunglasses, it's so bright. That light is what's keeping me from completely going out of my tree, so I'm grateful as all get out for that.
And as scary as this move is, I know that nothing but good is going to come from it. Ironically, I'm fairly scared of that good, too, but not in a bad way. In a "woo-doggy!" kind of way. Like wedding day jitters.
What that means to my blog, though, is that I'm not going to be a frequent poster for the next thirty or so days. I mean, hopefully, I'll be able to check in and blow off some steam here (and, hopefully, be ironic enough to invoke a chuckle from y'all), but I don't want any of you to bank on it. I just can't stand the thought of letting you down. Because I've got nothing but love for y'all.
And really, at the end of the day, I want to give you quality of content and not some blathering tripe tossed against the wall just because I want to feel like I'm keeping up. Frankly, I don't have the energy to keep up anyway. Moving SUCKS.
Next time I have a few spare minutes to catch my breath, I'll send some love by way of posting to y'all. In the mean time, keep the positive energy and love flowing this way. I promise I'll pay it back.
Peace!
...That's the sound of no more Christmas music on the radio. Except when I went to AT&T to replace the SIM card in the iPad The Boyfriend™ got me for Christmas.
,...Oh. Wait! I can tell y'all now. The Boyfriend™ got me an iPad for Christmas!! He is incredibly indulgent, that one is. He can't pay his mortgage this month, but at least I'm happy. Materialism aside, how can I not love that man?
But I am sorely glad Christmas is over. I was not feeling it at all this year. Due in large part, I think, to my new found anti-materialistic mentality (iPad cravings notwithstanding). I just couldn't wrap my head around obligatory purchasing, because that's what Christmas has become. Next year, I hope that we can all just do something wonderful and nice for each other, rather than go broke trying to one-up each other on the gift giving scale.
But that's not what I hopped on here to tell you.
The next couple of weeks are going to be a maelstrom of packing, moving, unpacking, working, packing, moving, unpacking, cleaning, working, cleaning, packing, moving, and more unpacking. I have all of January until I have to be officially out of my humble abode, and safely ensconced in The Boyfriend™'s bachelor pad, but that's really only eight days, where I will be unencumbered by work. So I gotta get this shit done, y'all.
The Boyfriend™ keeps saying things like, "you still have a month. What's your hurry?" which infuriates me to NO end, because he's not the one trying to work, parent and pack. I really just want to hang back and play with my iPad until I get iPad pointer finger syndrome or something, but I don't have that luxury right now. I mean, I put a shit load of holes in my walls (from hanging pictures, people. My temper isn't that bad). I need to patch and paint and steam clean.
...I'm toying with the idea of blowing off my security deposit, just so I don't have to do all this work. But I don't want to end up owing anything when I leave here, either, so I'll do the work. I'm not about burning bridges.
In the midst of all this chaos, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel so clearly that I need to wear sunglasses, it's so bright. That light is what's keeping me from completely going out of my tree, so I'm grateful as all get out for that.
And as scary as this move is, I know that nothing but good is going to come from it. Ironically, I'm fairly scared of that good, too, but not in a bad way. In a "woo-doggy!" kind of way. Like wedding day jitters.
What that means to my blog, though, is that I'm not going to be a frequent poster for the next thirty or so days. I mean, hopefully, I'll be able to check in and blow off some steam here (and, hopefully, be ironic enough to invoke a chuckle from y'all), but I don't want any of you to bank on it. I just can't stand the thought of letting you down. Because I've got nothing but love for y'all.
And really, at the end of the day, I want to give you quality of content and not some blathering tripe tossed against the wall just because I want to feel like I'm keeping up. Frankly, I don't have the energy to keep up anyway. Moving SUCKS.
Next time I have a few spare minutes to catch my breath, I'll send some love by way of posting to y'all. In the mean time, keep the positive energy and love flowing this way. I promise I'll pay it back.
Peace!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
 |
| Yes, I have a painting of the word "if". I also have it tattooed on my shoulder. Don't judge. |
I stuck to the shed-yule and put up my Christmas tree. The Trolls helped and fun was had by all, until it was time to go to bed, because the Christmas music was making them sleepy.
As soon as the Christmas village was put up and all a-glow, I started feeling more in the spirit of the holiday. Sure, I still have to pack. Sure, I have so much going on that I have to schedule it. But... well... there's something to be said for feeling a hell of a lot less grinchy than I have been.
It turns out that my artistic self was simply shoved into a cage while I was letting my crafty-for-Christmas self play. It also turns out that my artistic self is a loud-ass and wouldn't leave me alone until I created some art stuff. I feel much better now that I'm all covered in ink.
And I feel almost hopeful that I'll pull everything off without collapsing into a crying, nervous-breakdown-having heap by December 23rd. I can feel some Christmas miracles eeking their way in and I may very well end up being all Tiny Tim-ish before all is said and done. Honestly, I really hope so.
Update on the Battle of Mrs. Bitch-face -- the war wages on. It seems that she's upped the ante by threatening to send The Nugget to the office if he doesn't stop fidgeting. I'm going to threaten to put Ex-Lax in her coffee if she doesn't get less bitch-tastic. I say to her: BRING IT! I will go down in your memory as the Parent You Hated to Deal With of All TIME! And I will wear that badge with pride!
So... yeah, Merry Christmas 'n' stuff.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The sexiest women in the world? Really??
As I may have mentioned, I don't have cable. As such, I'm not subject to as much commercialization as the bulk of America. For this, I give thanks.
But I do have internet access, which means that I am kinda sorta aware of what's going on in the world around me. I guess, earlier this week, Victoria's Secret had some sort of runway spectacular, where a bunch of emaciated-looking, scantily-clad women trotted around making approximately 99.74565% of the women watching this thing feel like utter and complete shit about themselves.
It didn't help that the show advertised that the sexiest women in the world would be modeling.
Really? Really?! These are the sexiest women alive?
This is a rhetorical question, really, but when in the hell did Victoria's Secret become the standard to which all beauty must be held?!
When did this become beautiful?!
Seriously, I want to take this girl home and force feed her a sandwich.
But it's not her fault. Not really. She's just as much a victim of fashion's pervasive hold on our aesthetic psyche.
And when Victoria's Secret touts this as one of the sexist women in the world, the world is clearly sick. As far as I'm concerned, this is socially sanctioned abuse of women.
Worst of all, we allow it to happen. We allow ourselves to be abused.
As a student of history, I know that women have almost always been expected to shape their bodies to someone's ideal of perfection. We pluck, we tuck, we paint, we dye. All in the vain attempt to look different from ourselves; to be desired not for our inner worth, but our outward appearance.
Even the Rubenesque ideal, as more honest a depiction of real women as it was, was still not attainable by the average woman of that time:
Ironic, I know.
I spent the last 11 years of the 13 I spent with The Ex concerned about how I looked, lest I get too heavy for him to love. I knew -- intellectually -- that I was better than that, but still allowed myself to feel less than because I couldn't get rid of the baby weight. I knew that I was intelligent, beautiful, witty and charming. I knew, on some level, that I was, in fact, sexy. But because I was heavy; because I didn't still possess my swimmer's body, the value I gave myself was close to nothing. Any worth I had was closely tied to his opinion of me.
It's bullshit, really, but it's a mindset that isn't easily shaken. Even now, I have an adoring loving boyfriend, who finds me ridiculously sexy, and I still won't let him see me naked because I don't look like a Victoria's Secret model.
I even have a hard time finding this picture of me sexy, because I know that I deliberately positioned myself so my mom apron wouldn't be in the picture. I made Miguelito take the picture using the whole depth of field trick so my stretch marks wouldn't show. I wore the shirt so my droopy, saggy boobs wouldn't be too obvious:
I don't find this picture of me really sexy and yet, this is The Boyfriend™'s favorite picture of me.
What's worse, is that I still have a hard time finding myself intrinsically valuable despite all indications to the contrary.
There is something inherently wrong with that. Fo'reals... how am I not one of the sexiest women in the world? How is The Best Friend (R) not? How is The Nancarita not?
Fact is, we are some of the sexiest women in the world!
I can't change the world over night (until such time as I become the ruler of the world, which will happen. Mark my words), but I can change how I view the world -- and myself.
All of you fabulously un-airbrushed women out there! Those of you without personal trainers and personal chefs. Those of you that stay at home raising your children, or are out in the world working your heinies off to feed your children. Those of you without children, or with grown children, or with grandchildren. Those of you who can comfortably wear a size four and those of you who squeeze into a size fourteen. And everything in between -- all of you, join me in declaring yourselves THE SEXIEST WOMEN IN THE WORLD!
Because YOU ARE the sexiest women in the world! Let your light shine through and LOVE YOURSELVES. Turn off the TV and go stand in front of the full length mirror and love the hell out of those curves and stretch marks and saggy boobs. Worship yourselves for the goddesses you truly are!
Then, when you're done, remind yourself that it's what's INSIDE that makes you truly beautiful!
But I do have internet access, which means that I am kinda sorta aware of what's going on in the world around me. I guess, earlier this week, Victoria's Secret had some sort of runway spectacular, where a bunch of emaciated-looking, scantily-clad women trotted around making approximately 99.74565% of the women watching this thing feel like utter and complete shit about themselves.
It didn't help that the show advertised that the sexiest women in the world would be modeling.
Really? Really?! These are the sexiest women alive?
This is a rhetorical question, really, but when in the hell did Victoria's Secret become the standard to which all beauty must be held?!
When did this become beautiful?!
 | |||||
| Image taken from http://ednosgirl.wordpress.com/thinspiration/ |
But it's not her fault. Not really. She's just as much a victim of fashion's pervasive hold on our aesthetic psyche.
And when Victoria's Secret touts this as one of the sexist women in the world, the world is clearly sick. As far as I'm concerned, this is socially sanctioned abuse of women.
Worst of all, we allow it to happen. We allow ourselves to be abused.
As a student of history, I know that women have almost always been expected to shape their bodies to someone's ideal of perfection. We pluck, we tuck, we paint, we dye. All in the vain attempt to look different from ourselves; to be desired not for our inner worth, but our outward appearance.
Even the Rubenesque ideal, as more honest a depiction of real women as it was, was still not attainable by the average woman of that time:
 |
| Paul Rubens - The Three Graces |
I spent the last 11 years of the 13 I spent with The Ex concerned about how I looked, lest I get too heavy for him to love. I knew -- intellectually -- that I was better than that, but still allowed myself to feel less than because I couldn't get rid of the baby weight. I knew that I was intelligent, beautiful, witty and charming. I knew, on some level, that I was, in fact, sexy. But because I was heavy; because I didn't still possess my swimmer's body, the value I gave myself was close to nothing. Any worth I had was closely tied to his opinion of me.
It's bullshit, really, but it's a mindset that isn't easily shaken. Even now, I have an adoring loving boyfriend, who finds me ridiculously sexy, and I still won't let him see me naked because I don't look like a Victoria's Secret model.
I even have a hard time finding this picture of me sexy, because I know that I deliberately positioned myself so my mom apron wouldn't be in the picture. I made Miguelito take the picture using the whole depth of field trick so my stretch marks wouldn't show. I wore the shirt so my droopy, saggy boobs wouldn't be too obvious:
 |
| Yup, this is me. Picture taken by Michael Barnard |
What's worse, is that I still have a hard time finding myself intrinsically valuable despite all indications to the contrary.
There is something inherently wrong with that. Fo'reals... how am I not one of the sexiest women in the world? How is The Best Friend (R) not? How is The Nancarita not?
Fact is, we are some of the sexiest women in the world!
I can't change the world over night (until such time as I become the ruler of the world, which will happen. Mark my words), but I can change how I view the world -- and myself.
All of you fabulously un-airbrushed women out there! Those of you without personal trainers and personal chefs. Those of you that stay at home raising your children, or are out in the world working your heinies off to feed your children. Those of you without children, or with grown children, or with grandchildren. Those of you who can comfortably wear a size four and those of you who squeeze into a size fourteen. And everything in between -- all of you, join me in declaring yourselves THE SEXIEST WOMEN IN THE WORLD!
Because YOU ARE the sexiest women in the world! Let your light shine through and LOVE YOURSELVES. Turn off the TV and go stand in front of the full length mirror and love the hell out of those curves and stretch marks and saggy boobs. Worship yourselves for the goddesses you truly are!
Then, when you're done, remind yourself that it's what's INSIDE that makes you truly beautiful!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Oh HEY! There you are!
So, I know I promised that I would try to update daily... or at least more frequently than I have been. And, yes, I know that as a new blogger, I need to keep blogging like I'm getting paid for it (if I ever expect to get paid for it). I know all this. But I have a really good excuse...
I'm still busy as all git out.
So here's what's been going on, in list form (and in no particular order):
1. Right now, I'm cooking lunch for work. My kitchen looks like something exploded in it, which is how it should look.
2. Because I'm cooking lunch for work, I'm not doing my laundry. I'm also using the fact that my laundry basket is full of clean clothes, so I can't use it to haul the dirty clothes to the washer, as a handy-dandy excuse to avoid laundry.
3. I'll get to the laundry. I have to. I'm down to the unmentionable underwear and it's not even that time of the month.
4. I dropped my phone yesterday and it is no longer in working order. Apparently, when I purchased insurance when I replaced the last phone I dropped and broke, the idiots at the Sprint store put the insurance on the wrong line. So I had to pay for the replacement.
5. I've been knitting and looming (is that a word?) like it's my full time job. I kind of wish it was my full time job.
6. All this constant motion is making me feel incredibly artistically drained. I may have to resort to purchasing pre-made Christmas cards this year, rather than making them like I usually do.
7. I've been in cleaning and sorting and throwing-out mode for the last week, in preparation for The Move™. It's actually quite fun... sort of. I like the whole getting rid of stuff part. I've even been clearing out email, which is not like me at all. I have email in my inbox from 2007. No, I'm not kidding.
8. All this cleaning and getting rid of stuff has made realize that I have a LOT of shit. This is making me want to toss it all in a big ole pile and set it all on fire and just start over.
9. The Boyfriend™ won't let me set anything on fire... the bastard.
10. The Move™ is the official name for the moving in with The Boyfriend™. Adding ™ to the end of things makes them more amusing... and less scary
11. The Boyfriend™ has made noises about getting me an iPad for Christmas. If he does, I will officially be his slave for the rest of my and/or his life (whichever comes first... or until something shinier impresses me more).
12. I discovered that no matter how good you are at poker, you can't win when you're playing against beginner's luck. And settling for second place isn't settling; it's just good financial planning.
13. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I. Can't. Eat. Any of it!!! Between my weird food allergies and my stupid gallbladder issues, I'm down to salads and fat free chocolate pudding. I take comfort in the fact it's how the Pilgrims did it.
14. The lunch I'm making for work is all British food, because I'm ironic that way.
15. I had my first unadulterated road rage moment the other day. I enjoyed it probably more than I should've. But I was totally justified, y'all. Home boy was at a full stop at a green light.
16. I have to go roast some hazelnuts, or I'll be up until tomorrow morning cooking.
Yeah... I'll stop listing things now.
I'm still busy as all git out.
So here's what's been going on, in list form (and in no particular order):
1. Right now, I'm cooking lunch for work. My kitchen looks like something exploded in it, which is how it should look.
2. Because I'm cooking lunch for work, I'm not doing my laundry. I'm also using the fact that my laundry basket is full of clean clothes, so I can't use it to haul the dirty clothes to the washer, as a handy-dandy excuse to avoid laundry.
3. I'll get to the laundry. I have to. I'm down to the unmentionable underwear and it's not even that time of the month.
4. I dropped my phone yesterday and it is no longer in working order. Apparently, when I purchased insurance when I replaced the last phone I dropped and broke, the idiots at the Sprint store put the insurance on the wrong line. So I had to pay for the replacement.
5. I've been knitting and looming (is that a word?) like it's my full time job. I kind of wish it was my full time job.
6. All this constant motion is making me feel incredibly artistically drained. I may have to resort to purchasing pre-made Christmas cards this year, rather than making them like I usually do.
7. I've been in cleaning and sorting and throwing-out mode for the last week, in preparation for The Move™. It's actually quite fun... sort of. I like the whole getting rid of stuff part. I've even been clearing out email, which is not like me at all. I have email in my inbox from 2007. No, I'm not kidding.
8. All this cleaning and getting rid of stuff has made realize that I have a LOT of shit. This is making me want to toss it all in a big ole pile and set it all on fire and just start over.
9. The Boyfriend™ won't let me set anything on fire... the bastard.
10. The Move™ is the official name for the moving in with The Boyfriend™. Adding ™ to the end of things makes them more amusing... and less scary
11. The Boyfriend™ has made noises about getting me an iPad for Christmas. If he does, I will officially be his slave for the rest of my and/or his life (whichever comes first... or until something shinier impresses me more).
12. I discovered that no matter how good you are at poker, you can't win when you're playing against beginner's luck. And settling for second place isn't settling; it's just good financial planning.
13. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I. Can't. Eat. Any of it!!! Between my weird food allergies and my stupid gallbladder issues, I'm down to salads and fat free chocolate pudding. I take comfort in the fact it's how the Pilgrims did it.
14. The lunch I'm making for work is all British food, because I'm ironic that way.
15. I had my first unadulterated road rage moment the other day. I enjoyed it probably more than I should've. But I was totally justified, y'all. Home boy was at a full stop at a green light.
16. I have to go roast some hazelnuts, or I'll be up until tomorrow morning cooking.
Yeah... I'll stop listing things now.
Monday, November 1, 2010
So I get a little obsessed sometimes. Doesn't everyone?
When The Boyfriend™ and I first started dating, and up until very recently, most of my conversations were peppered with mentions of "The Boyfriend™ did this..." and "The Boyfriend™ said..." This was due in large part to his novelty. The relationship is still pretty new (we haven't even hit the 18 month mark yet), and because the bulk of my dating experience happened during high school, most every event and milestone in our relationship was new. So I talked about it non-stop.
Suffice it to say, The Best Friend ® is very patient and long suffering. She only called me out on the obsessive boyfriend chatter once.
Despite the continued novelty of The Boyfriend™ and his deliciousness -- and in no small part due to my undiagnosed ADD -- my gallbladder is my latest obsession. I mean, I was just told that I have an affliction that will effect the rest of my life y'all... like having kids, except that my gallbladder won't ever move out. And I can't ground it.
What's worse is that most people who have low gallbladder ejection fraction results just get the thing removed and deal with the dietary restrictions that come with having no gallbladder. Seriously, I scoured the internet for more information about LGEF and there is nada out there, except forums for people who just got their HIDA scan results back and are moving onto the forcible eviction of their gallbladder stage.
WTF, people?! Seriously WebMD? You've got nothing?! And don't think I've forgotten about YOU, homeopaths and holistic healers! Where are my remedies? Where are the teas and tinctures and tonics to get my gallbladder to start pushing out bile like it's supposed to?
Oh and Google? You're supposed to think for me! Why aren't you popping up search results that don't include "gallstones" in the posts?! I don't have gallstones; I have a practically non-existent gallbladder ejection fraction (I'm not being hyperbolic here. It really is practically non-existent. Normal function is between 35-75%. Mine is 3-7%).
Internets, you have let me down. You have not given me the magical answer to make my gallbladder behave itself. I thought you were omnipotent, God-like... dare I say you were actually God. But, you have limits and I have found them.
So now I'm back to obsessing about my gallbladder. I'm trying to send it lots of love and healing energy (the opposite of what I do when The Trolls misbehave). I'm taking it to fat-free dinners and speaking to it in soothing and dulcet tones. I'm also talking about it non-stop to anyone who will listen. What I can and can't consume will keep me chattering for literal tens of minutes on end and I'm debating getting "Pavlov's Bitch" tattooed on my ass, because I totally feel like a Pavlovian dog at the moment.
Or maybe I should name my gallbladder Pavlov.
Suffice it to say, The Best Friend ® is very patient and long suffering. She only called me out on the obsessive boyfriend chatter once.
Despite the continued novelty of The Boyfriend™ and his deliciousness -- and in no small part due to my undiagnosed ADD -- my gallbladder is my latest obsession. I mean, I was just told that I have an affliction that will effect the rest of my life y'all... like having kids, except that my gallbladder won't ever move out. And I can't ground it.
What's worse is that most people who have low gallbladder ejection fraction results just get the thing removed and deal with the dietary restrictions that come with having no gallbladder. Seriously, I scoured the internet for more information about LGEF and there is nada out there, except forums for people who just got their HIDA scan results back and are moving onto the forcible eviction of their gallbladder stage.
WTF, people?! Seriously WebMD? You've got nothing?! And don't think I've forgotten about YOU, homeopaths and holistic healers! Where are my remedies? Where are the teas and tinctures and tonics to get my gallbladder to start pushing out bile like it's supposed to?
Oh and Google? You're supposed to think for me! Why aren't you popping up search results that don't include "gallstones" in the posts?! I don't have gallstones; I have a practically non-existent gallbladder ejection fraction (I'm not being hyperbolic here. It really is practically non-existent. Normal function is between 35-75%. Mine is 3-7%).
Internets, you have let me down. You have not given me the magical answer to make my gallbladder behave itself. I thought you were omnipotent, God-like... dare I say you were actually God. But, you have limits and I have found them.
So now I'm back to obsessing about my gallbladder. I'm trying to send it lots of love and healing energy (the opposite of what I do when The Trolls misbehave). I'm taking it to fat-free dinners and speaking to it in soothing and dulcet tones. I'm also talking about it non-stop to anyone who will listen. What I can and can't consume will keep me chattering for literal tens of minutes on end and I'm debating getting "Pavlov's Bitch" tattooed on my ass, because I totally feel like a Pavlovian dog at the moment.
Or maybe I should name my gallbladder Pavlov.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
On Book Banning (also, I totally just used bronzer as eyeshadow*)
*I'm all about the levity. Or that's what I tell myself to make myself feel better when I interject inanity into an otherwise important topic.
As a rule, I usually don't like most of what I hear or read. No, really, I don't. It's because, in my opinion, most people are inherently full of shit or have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about. They'll extrapolate the fuel for their fire to prove a point, completely ignoring the rest of the content, which would invalidate their point.Then there's just bad writing (*cough*Chuck Palahniuk*cough*).
It really gets my goat, y'all.
Just because I don't happen to like what you say or write, doesn't mean I think you should stop saying or writing it. I'm not going to ask my local library to ban your book, or call your producer and have him fire you. That would be insane. You know what I'll do instead? Turn off the radio (I don't have cable, so changing the channel is rather moot for me), put the book down or stop reading the article. It's really that simple.
Let me go on the record, again, as saying I am not a Christian. In fact, I find most organized religion rather hypocritical, but Christianity takes first prize in the hypocrisy contest (hey all you Presbyterians! Thanks for still going to the church my grandfather's family established. No, they really they did.). I'm not going to go running around to libraries and bookstores demanding that the bible be banned, or anything written by a Christian author be removed from the shelves. I'm not going to ask the FCC to remove Christian broadcasts from the airwaves. Why? Because I have the option to just not read it or listen to it. That's right, I can choose.
I can choose whether or not I want The Trolls to be exposed to viewpoints I don't agree with, or to let them be exposed to explicit (sexually and otherwise) material, violence, radical concept or alternative lifestyles.
When people insist on banning or removing a book, it speaks volumes about the character of that person (or lack thereof). It reeks of laziness and implies that you think that your opinion is the only one that matters. And you know what? I can choose to ignore you and go ahead and read those banned books.
Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do. To celebrate Banned Book Week, I am going to have The Trolls read the Bill of Rights, specifically:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
And we will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird together. If we have time, we might even get to Huck Finn.
As a rule, I usually don't like most of what I hear or read. No, really, I don't. It's because, in my opinion, most people are inherently full of shit or have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about. They'll extrapolate the fuel for their fire to prove a point, completely ignoring the rest of the content, which would invalidate their point.Then there's just bad writing (*cough*Chuck Palahniuk*cough*).
It really gets my goat, y'all.
Just because I don't happen to like what you say or write, doesn't mean I think you should stop saying or writing it. I'm not going to ask my local library to ban your book, or call your producer and have him fire you. That would be insane. You know what I'll do instead? Turn off the radio (I don't have cable, so changing the channel is rather moot for me), put the book down or stop reading the article. It's really that simple.
Let me go on the record, again, as saying I am not a Christian. In fact, I find most organized religion rather hypocritical, but Christianity takes first prize in the hypocrisy contest (hey all you Presbyterians! Thanks for still going to the church my grandfather's family established. No, they really they did.). I'm not going to go running around to libraries and bookstores demanding that the bible be banned, or anything written by a Christian author be removed from the shelves. I'm not going to ask the FCC to remove Christian broadcasts from the airwaves. Why? Because I have the option to just not read it or listen to it. That's right, I can choose.
I can choose whether or not I want The Trolls to be exposed to viewpoints I don't agree with, or to let them be exposed to explicit (sexually and otherwise) material, violence, radical concept or alternative lifestyles.
When people insist on banning or removing a book, it speaks volumes about the character of that person (or lack thereof). It reeks of laziness and implies that you think that your opinion is the only one that matters. And you know what? I can choose to ignore you and go ahead and read those banned books.
Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do. To celebrate Banned Book Week, I am going to have The Trolls read the Bill of Rights, specifically:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
And we will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird together. If we have time, we might even get to Huck Finn.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
On Honoring... Authenticity
Another theme I'll be running through this blog is "honoring." "On Honoring..." will be a series of entries about accepting, allowing and honoring something about myself -- and, hopefully, by honoring that something in me, I can give someone else the foundation to honor it within themselves. Honoring is something I'm learning how to do, mostly because I've find myself rather defective in a lot of ways.
But you know what? Defective is OK. Actually, strike that -- defective is fucking fantastic!
When we say no, or when we follow our dreams or true callings -- people might be disappointed in our choices. Allowing people their disappointment sets us free." (Attributed to Christine Kane, from Boho Girl's blog)
Living authentically has always been difficult for me -- mostly due to my innate fear of disappointing anyone. I mean, it could be a distant cousin, the stranger in the passing car, or the telemarketer on the phone -- I don't want to disappoint any one of them. Most especially though, I don't want to let my family down.
I'm rather phobic about it, actually.
My disappointment phobia is a fairly large hindrance to living my most authentic life, because living the way I want to will inevitably disappoint someone -- most likely my parents. I will undoubtedly make a choice for my life that someone else would not have made for me.
Woah. Wait. Let's pause here and take a look at that last sentence. It encapsulates my thought process rather nicely:
I. Will. Undoubtedly. Make. A. Choice. For. My. Life. That. Someone. Else. Would. Not. Have. Made. For. Me.
Anyone else see something wrong with that? Yeah, me too.
That very disturbing sentence really does explain why I am constantly afraid of trying... of succeeding... of failing... of taking a stand... taking what's mine... of being brave... of saying, "This is YOUR prejudice. I will NOT let it inhibit my life anymore!"
I will honor my authenticity -- and all that fabulous defects that go along with it. I declare:
I will try...
I may stumble and fall, but...
I will get back up.
I will succeed!
And while I'm at it, I'm changing the definition of defective, too!
With or without anyone's approval, MY life begins now!
But you know what? Defective is OK. Actually, strike that -- defective is fucking fantastic!
When we say no, or when we follow our dreams or true callings -- people might be disappointed in our choices. Allowing people their disappointment sets us free." (Attributed to Christine Kane, from Boho Girl's blog)
Living authentically has always been difficult for me -- mostly due to my innate fear of disappointing anyone. I mean, it could be a distant cousin, the stranger in the passing car, or the telemarketer on the phone -- I don't want to disappoint any one of them. Most especially though, I don't want to let my family down.
I'm rather phobic about it, actually.
My disappointment phobia is a fairly large hindrance to living my most authentic life, because living the way I want to will inevitably disappoint someone -- most likely my parents. I will undoubtedly make a choice for my life that someone else would not have made for me.
Woah. Wait. Let's pause here and take a look at that last sentence. It encapsulates my thought process rather nicely:
I. Will. Undoubtedly. Make. A. Choice. For. My. Life. That. Someone. Else. Would. Not. Have. Made. For. Me.
Anyone else see something wrong with that? Yeah, me too.
That very disturbing sentence really does explain why I am constantly afraid of trying... of succeeding... of failing... of taking a stand... taking what's mine... of being brave... of saying, "This is YOUR prejudice. I will NOT let it inhibit my life anymore!"
I will honor my authenticity -- and all that fabulous defects that go along with it. I declare:
I will try...
I may stumble and fall, but...
I will get back up.
I will succeed!
And while I'm at it, I'm changing the definition of defective, too!
With or without anyone's approval, MY life begins now!
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