Hope March 19, 2009

I have always been a firm believer in “Things Happen For A Reason” and “What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us Stronger” and multiple other optimistic mantras.  But the past 6-12 months have been very trying for me, and many times I have lost sight of my Big Picture (interpret how you will.) It took an act of God to put me back in the right mindset. Literally.

Growing up, my family was not what you would call a Religious Family. My sister and I went to church on occasion with friends, our babysitter and her family, and my aunt who later grew up to be a pastor. As I grew older and entered my teen years, the church visits decreased quite a bit. As I came into my own, and started my life as an “adult” I did a lot of soul searching on religion, and God. I came to the conclusion it all sounded like a bunch of hocus pocus. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for loving one another and doing good deeds and helping man kind. I’m certainly not a satan worshiper or a member of a cult. But the whole, “On Day Whatever, God Created Whatever”…well, I just couldn’t buy into that.

I’ve written before about discussing religion with my son, especially the newness of it since discovering our beliefs lie within different camps. I’ve written that I have a desire to believe in a higher power, but am a ”got to see it to believe it” kinda gal.

Well folks. I saw it. By “it” I don’t mean I saw God, or Buddah, or whoever the Great Being in the Heavens is. I didn’t have a vision. I didn’t see the light. But about a month ago, when my world was falling apart and I felt more helpless than I have ever felt in my life, when I couldn’t even hold myself up because every ounce of energy I had in me was coming out in the form of tears, I prayed. My prayer was not directed to any one being or entity or ideal. I just put it out there for anyone, if anyone was listening, to pick up. I prayed for help, and for strenth and for hope.  And in a matter of days, things were looking up. Within a week they had improved, and a month later not only are the not as equally bad as they were that day when I felt I could do nothing, they are 500 gazillion times better.

I could spend hours thinking about what would have happened had I not asked for help, and if that had anything to do with what has improved since that day in the bathtub when I felt helpless. But why should I? Things are awesome now, not perfect, but pretty damn good. And if there is a chance that there is some kind of super awesome higher power that I haven’t totally offended already in my short life, and it is willing to help me out…well then, A-Freakin’-Men! Hope is a something that I have been loosing little by little in the past decade or so. It feels good to have a bit of that back in my heart.

It’s So Hard To Let Go… February 3, 2009

So…I have too many clothes. Well, let me clarify. I don’t think I have too many clothes, I don’t think anyone can ever have too many clothes. But I have too many clothes for Sushi Boy’s house. It was built in the early 1900’s, and apparently the term “clothes horse” hadn’t been, or needed to be, invented yet. Our bedroom closet is tiny. Like the size of a coat closet. It does have a second rod halfway up, but it still has a very small capacity.

I have taken over the closet in the office/nursery. And the bottom rod in Sushi Boy’s closet. And the closet in the play room upstairs.

My sister suggested that I go through and get rid of some of my clothes. Like the ones I’ve had since 8th grade. That’s a bit of an exaggeration though, I think my clothes only date back to high school. I can’t do it though!

When I was a Freshman, many of the styles I was wearing were styles my mom wore in the 70’s, and I hated that she hadn’t saved any of her clothes. I’ve often donated clothing, and then two seasons later seen the same styles on the runways and in magazines.

I’ve decided to start slow. Just get rid of things that I are really worn and even if they do come back in style, I would need to replace. So far I’ve collected 3 items to take to Goodwill. Hey! It’s a start!

What is hard for you to part with?

Thoughts Before I Go On Vacation November 20, 2008

I get to spend 9 whole days with my sister!!! 9 days! With my one and only baby sissy. I’m so excited, I actually have tears in my eyes right now because I am so excited. My sister is my best friend, my rock. She makes me laugh harder than any one else in this world. From our tumultuous childhoods to having children ourselves now, she’s been the only constant in my life. Aside from my son, she is my everything. I am so stoked to not only get to spend 9 days with her, but get to spend Thanksgiving with her, AND go on vacation with her.

And I get to spend 9 days with Julia Gulia, my neice who is taking steps now!!! Unfortunately my older princess, Riley, is going to be with her father, so that’s a bummer.

I wonder how many times my sister and I will fight. Of course we fight, we’re siblings. Just because I love her to pieces and think that she’s pretty much the shit doesn’t mean we never fight. I bet it’s within the first 4 hours in the car.

I’m going to really miss SushiBoy. I’m going to miss our first holiday together. Part of me really thought about canceling the San Fran trip to spend Thanksgiving with SushiBoy. As much as I want to be with him, I can’t pass up this opportunity. And I can’t take this away from Christian. He’s SO excited. And I am so excited. I’m just really going to miss waking up in Sushi Boy’s arms. And seeing his smile.

I don’t think I have enough luggage to pack for 9 days for 2 people. Crap.

I wish my digital camera wasn’t broken. I’ll have to make sure Brandi brings hers.

I really need to start my Christmas shopping. I can’t believe Christmas is only a matter of weeks away. Sweet! I can put up a tree when I get home from San Fran!

Pictionary Chemistry November 10, 2008

Friday was Sushi Boy’s moms birthday, and Sunday was Sushi Boy’s birthday. To celebrate both, his family decided on dinner and game night on Saturday. My son and I were invited.

I had met his parents, one of his sisters and her kids the previous weekend. Saturday was the whole immediate family. The 2nd sister and her kid too. What could have been an uncomfortable, intimidating evening was a wonderful, fun evening with SB’s family. His family is so much fun, and so very welcoming.

After dinner we played a game of Pictionary. After a bit of a slow start, Sushi Boy and I kicked ass! We were an awesome pair. I can’t claim that we won the game, because none of us could decide on the actual rules, so we just kind of made them up as we went along. (Although I’m pretty sure that I know the rules, and we were definitely not playing by them, I didn’t want to be the Know-It-All new girlfriend.)  We were a dynamic duo!

If Pictionary chemistry is any indication of relationship chemistry, Sushi Boy and I have it in spades!

Maybe I can get a grant to conduct a study on this. Partners who excel at board games together tend to have more successful marriages/relationships? What do you think? Does that seem the case with you and your significant other/partner or previous partners?

477 Days October 7, 2008

That is the number of days I have until my 30th birthday. No, I did not waste time counting them on a calendar, I’m not that neurotic. I found a fun little website that would do it for me. (Hurray for technology!) You know, because I was curious. And I want to know how long I have to plan (and save for) my 30th Birthday Vacation Extravaganza.

I’m a huge fan of birthdays, especially my own. My mom always made a big deal out of my sister and my birthdays and that has been something I just haven’t been able to shake. I’ve done two birthdays in Mexico, seeing old disco bands performing at a casino (The Village People and KC and the Sunshine Band), 80’s parties and big nights on the town. I’m thinking that my 30th needs to be a Destination Birthday. It may sound a little conceded and vain, but you know what…I don’t care!

This is how I see it. Most of my friends are married and have children. So I have attended bridal showers, bachelorette parties, weddings, baby showers, and numerous birthday parties each year to celebrate my friends and their families. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about this. Not at all, I love me a good party. I just use this to justify me being overzealous about my birthday.

I have 477 days to plan an amazing birthday for myself. My birthday is in late January, so I am thinking somewhere warm and sunny where I can drink fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. Ideally this place would also be relatively cheap, not in Western Mexico (I’ve been on 3 vacations there, so would like something different) and offer a nice mixture of cute boys and dancing with outdoorsy adventurous stuff.

Any suggestions?!?

Fighting With Myself October 6, 2008

B did respond to my email last week. He had been having a busy week, blah blah blah. It was nice to hear from him, but I’m certainly not feeling that anything serious is going to come to fruition with him. He initiated a text messaging conversation on Friday evening, which he usually never does. It was great timing because I was out with some of my girlfriends and had just been told by a total stranger that I was, “Really fucking hot!” The girls and I also had rounds of drinks bought for us by some sweet logger-like gentleman, so it was fun to get to tell him that. To remind him that I’m not just sitting around the house in sweats and curlers wondering what he is up to, waiting for him to call.

I am kid sitting for my friends Chris and Liz while they take a long weekend vacay at the beach. Last night after their daughter went to bed, B came over to watch a movie. It was good to see him, but it wasn’t anything special. It was nice of him to make the effort to drive across town at 9:30 on a Sunday night just to hang out with me for a few hours. Of course I made sure that The Girls were adequately displayed and not a hair was out of place, while still trying to give the impression that I did not spend any time on my appearance. It totally worked, by the way! ;0)

I am so bi-polar when it comes to dating. One minute I am totally fine with being single. I’m of the Screw Men, I Don’t Need One mindset. I’m okay with my son and my friends and my family being my great love affair. I am self-sufficient, I don’t need no stinkin’ man. During these times I realize that I am best staying single. That way I don’t have to worry about C getting attached to someone who may not always be around. I don’t have to worry about making the choice of having another child. I don’t have to answer to anyone or check in with anyone.

Then there are the minutes when it feels like I am the only single person left in this world. It feels like for some reason dating is so much more difficult for me, and it probably is because I am a mom. It feels like I will never meet that special man, and it honestly gets me down sometimes. I get scared that I will be so unbearably lonely when C grows up and leaves for college. It sometimes feels like the rest of the world is playing a game and I had to sit the bench.

There isn’t really anything I can do to change my situation without settling for someone who isn’t someone special. So for now I will be happy with “my people”, as I like to call them, and remind myself that all of those married bitches out there don’t have friends nearly as kick ass as mine. Or kids half as cute!

Who Knew I’d Have the Same Thoughts at 28, As I Did at 8 September 30, 2008

From the time I was 5 years old I knew that the small town I grew up in was too damn small for me. When I was 8 I was invited to be in a Little Princess Beauty Pageant, or some crap like that. I immediately started designing the gown I would wear when I was crowned Princess of All Other 8 Year Old Princesses.

As it turned out, the pageant was a big scheme for money. I didn’t participate in the pageant, but I continued designing dresses. And shoes. And sportswear, handbags and any clothing item that struck my fancy. I started watching Fashion File on E! (although I’m not sure if E! was around back then, maybe it was on a different channel then.) By the time I was 9 I was in love with Andre Leon Talley and Isaac Mizrahi. Not only was I probably the only kid in my small town who knew who these two were in the late 1980’s, but quite possibly the only person  in town who knew of these two genius men.

From that point on, I was going to be a fashion designer. That was my dream, my goal and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind. I was not just going to be some schmuck who worked for a sweatshop type company. I was going to be a Big Name, walk the red carpet, show my new lines at Fashion Week, and rub shoulders with Anna Wintour. That species of a fashion designer. My sister and I had it all planned out. I would be making a gazillion dollars a year, and she would live with me and cook for me. She would be the Cacee Cobb to my Jessica Simpson.

For years I drew and designed clothing and accessories. I always had a sketch book and colored pencils around for when inspiration struck. I was intimately familiar with the curriculum of Parsons Design School and Rhode Island School of Design by the time I was in high school. I had my eye set on the prize. And then I took a journalism class Fall of my Junior year in high school and that’s where things changed.

Within weeks I was promoted from first-semester staff writer for our high school magazine, to Editor In Chief. I loved it. It was creative and gratifying, as I was good at it. The praise from our advisor made me feel like a million bucks. Journalism was only a semester long class, but I followed it through until I graduated.

Sometime during my Junior year I decided that journalism was IT for me. I would weave my passion for fashion and my love for journalism and major in Magazine Journalism at one of the countries top 5 Journalism schools. I was going to be the Editor In Chief of Vogue. My mind was set, my plan was in place, and I was accepted to the college of my choice.

My plan did not account for the dynamics of college. I went from being an overly scheduled, over-achieving high school student who never had to study, to a college Freshman who had no responsibility and no one to answer to. I was surrounded in the dorms by people I loved to hang out with. It wasn’t long into my first semester of classes that I decided I hated journalism classes and preferred to watch reruns of Beverly Hills 90210 with the girls in my dormitory. As you can imagine, this choice did not do great things for my grades. Neither did the weekday nights spent binge drinking, and trips to other colleges to party.

After getting measly scores in my classes during my first (and only) year at college, I returned to my home town for the summer. I was in a very strange place. I had never not known what I was going to do with my life, what the goals I was working towards were. I was flailing.

Not long after returning home, I was reconnected with my first love, Matt. I broke up with my current boyfriend, whose name was also Matt, and began dating First Love Matt. It was a whirlwind, which led to me not going back to college in the Fall and moving to Portland. My plan was to go to community college beginning Winter term to get the rest of my general classes taken care of, and hopefully discover what my new passion was, hoping that I did have one.

As it turned out my new passion would not be found in a class room. It was growing in my uterus. A week after moving to Portland and starting a life that I knew nothing about or where it would lead, I discovered I was going to be a mother. This scared the shit out of me, as I had never planned on being a mother. I was going to be a fashion designer, or a high powered magazine editor. I was going to throw parties where guests would be famous and fashionable, not knee-high and covered in frosting.

Becoming a mother has been more than I have ever imagined it could be. You see the world through different eyes when you no longer have just yourself to look out for. You cannot accurately describe what it is like to be a mother to anyone other than a mother. Even then, there are not proper words, the other person just knows. It is hard to describe the all consuming feeling of loving someone immeasurably.

My son is now 8, and as hard as I try to make it, time does not seem to be slowing down any. Before I know it he will no longer think that I am worthy of spending an entire weekend with. His friends will be his priority, and I will be forced to find something else to occupy my time. This has led me back full circle to when I was 8. 20 years ago when I was my son’s age, and drew a dress that would never be sewn. I have yet to be disinterested in fashion or the fashion industry. It is a dream that I have never been able to shake, and a regret I will think of on my death bed if I don’t do this. I think it may be time to become familiar with the curriculum of a fashion design program again.

Of course, this second round of researching colleges, curriculum, and course loads will be much altered. The parameters will be drastically different. Not only will I have to support myself and my child while in school, I will have to schedule my education around his and around sustaining our home. All of the time I spent as a child and adolescent planning my education will be fruitless this time around. Everything will be as foreign to me as the concept of having a child was 9 years ago.

But look at how well that has turned out!

So much to write! September 8, 2008

And yet so little time!

This weekend I went home for my sisters’ future sister-in-laws quinceanera. (Would that make her my sister-in-law-in-law???) I had an eight hour drive round trip to think, as C slept most of the time. Eight hours in my head can be quite the experience.

I have so much I want to write! Hopefully I can get my thoughts out quick enough that they don’t disappear. So take heart, there are some great posts coming! At least they are great in my head…

Figuring it out! August 20, 2008

Okay, I’ve officially made it 24 hours without jumping into a relationship. Yay me! I had an epiphany yesterday though.

I realized yesterday while talking to Leann, that I tend to be in relationships with men are under me. Meaning that the men that I date are safe. They like me more than I like them, and I am settling. It’s self preservation. I suffered my first, and only, heart break when I was 23, and it hurt me more than anything I’ve ever suffered. Here’s the quick recap, which probably won’t be very quick:

Paul was the fiance of our receptionist at my previous office. They became friends with our group of friends, and then a few months later they mutually broke up and Laura moved away. 9 months after Paul and Laura broke up, Paul and I started dating. Apparently he had had a bit of an infatuation with me for quite some time, and I was totally oblivious to it. Immediately we fell in love. Paul was different than any other man I had dated up until then. He was brilliant, he was creative, he was domestic. He played the guitar and sang to me. It was the most amazing experience of my dating life.

And out of the blue, 2 and a half months later, he broke up with me. The excuse was lame. It wasn’t the real reason. The reason no longer matters, it was a mistake we both made. For the first time in my life I understood the meaning of heart break. I felt like I was dying inside. I couldn’t go to work for days. I didn’t stop crying.

Eventually Paul and I started dating again, never completely back to where we were, or exclusive. We just couldn’t stay away from one another. We’d date other people, but always come back to each other. I had no doubt in my mind that he was the man I would marry. That it would all work out at some point. How could I not end up with him? I was confident that he was the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I’d never loved another man so fiercely. I knew I never would again. Paul was it for me. I found my great love.

After 2 years of dating after the break up, I decided I loved myself enough to cut off all connection with Paul. He couldn’t commit, and I was about to be committed if I had to go through any more torture of being with him, but not having him. I deleted his number from my phone, deleted his email address, deleted him as a friend on MySpace. I deleted him out of my life.

That was about 2 years ago. Last September he got married. That day was really hard for me. I spent the day drunk, trying not to think about him but the alcohol didn’t help. I honestly think about him often still. I don’t hurt as much, but sometimes when I hear a song that he used to sing to me I ache a little bit. He is happy, and I am happy for that.

I think Paul broke me. My experiences with him made it so that I don’t want to make myself vulnerable to a man. Since Paul I have dated men that love me more than I love them. That way when the relationship ends, it doesn’t break me again.

So I am ready to throw caution to the wind now. I’m sure it will be a lot more difficult to do, than it is to declare. No more playing it safe. No more dating losers. I know that I deserve to be with someone who I love as much as they love me. But it is truly easier said than done. I will try though!

I want me back! July 28, 2008

Have you ever had one of those moments, when all of a sudden you don’t recognize who the hell you are anymore? That’s my today. I’m not sure who this cynical, negative woman is who I have become. I don’t like her one bit. She’s chubby, and not too motivated. She no longer sees the best in people, but their faults. She gossips.

I used to care about my body, and treat it with respect. Of course it got rewarded with Taco Bell on occasion, but not on a disgustingly regular basis. I used to be able to keep in contact with all of my friends, without having to have 4 hour catch up sessions because it has been so long. I used to laugh a lot more than I do now. I used to feel compassion for people, not think, “Well, they got what they deserved!” I used to be in control of every aspect in my life, and now I feel as though I’ve played a little Russian Roulette with it, and the ball is nowhere near the number I bet on.

As of today, I am taking my life back. I am ging to find the me I used to be. The happy, fun-loving, in control me.

What the hell happened to me? July 25, 2008

I used to be this really nice, kind-hearted gal. Not to toot my own horn, but seriously, probably one of the sweetest people you’d ever meet. Lately I’ve noticed that I’ve become kind of bitchy. And a total smart ass. And a lot bitchy.

Right now I’m helping plan my ten year high school reunion. Which apparently I signed up for when I became Associated Student Body President my senior year of high school (yes, I was that girl) I had no idea that was a life long gig when I ran for ASB President! Anyhow…in reconnecting with the 280-some people that were apparently in my graduating class, I received a very nice email from a girl that I was friends with in high school.  This is an excerpt…everything inside the ( and ) is added by me. Of course the names have been changed to protect the innocent, blah blah blah:

“I was thinking of you the other day.  I remembered how you let me be a prom princess, or whatever its called (Homecoming Princess), over Sally b/c both Joan and Diane (Joan and Diane were her best buddies, her posse, her peeps) were already voted in even though you and Sally had been friends longer – and then never told anyone (oops…so much for that now!) I thought then, and think now, that that was really a neat, mature thing for you to do.  It meant alot to me then, it would have really sucked to sit and watch them be a part of that, and while that seems so trivial to me now – the act of what you did still reflects so well on how thoughtful you were.  Anyway, that was just a long way of saying Thank you. ”

So what happened was that I was in charge of counting all of the votes for Homecoming Court. This friend, let’s call her Cathy, and Sally had exactly the same number of votes. I hadn’t voted yet. I knew that Sally had been on Homecoming Court previously in high school, and it wasnt’ that big of a deal to her. Sally is very down to earth, and grounded in reality and a very sweet, kind person. Far better than I am now, or ever have been! I mean, for God’s sake, she’s a special education teacher. Anyhow, I’m getting side tracked. I knew that Cathy would be bummed if both Diane and Joan were Homecoming Princesses and she was left out. So I cast my vote for her. I’m very happy that it made her happy. But in thinking on it now, which I had totally forgotten about until Cathy brought it up, why did I tell Cathy?!? I should have just cast my vote, and kept my mouth shut. Apparently I couldn’t stand it being just a good deed gone unnoticed, I had to tell her about it, so she could be grateful for it. And thank me for it. Ten years later. Wow…I’m something else, I tell ya.

So, in telling you that story, it doesn’t illustrate my point at all. It actually disproves my stand that I was the sweetest person you’d ever meet. Although it was a nice thing to do, I reaped the benefit of being this angelic, sweet as sugar friend in Cathy’s mind, even all of these years later. I would have been the sweetest person ever had I just let it go unknown to Cathy.

As it turns out, maybe I’ve always been a bitch. I’m sure my sister would say this last statement is true. She loves me to death, but will give it to you straight. Maybe I’m just a fake. Which is far more disturbing to me than being a bitch.

What do you think? Is it better to have a snatchy dialogue constantly through your head, while on the exterior you’re smiling and complimenting someones ugly shoes? Or is it better to just be upfront and honest, even if it’s not the nicest?