Labor Day - 2016

Labor Day Weekend. 
Four days of switching the summer closet for the winter one, storing away the strappy sandals, catching up on printing photos for the front of each shoebox, pulling the suede out of hibernation, re-evaluating everything I own for possible donation to those needier than I.

Every. Thing.

It's an habitual, annual "must-do-or-suffer-the-wrath-of..." situation. Honestly, I don't know who I think is going to make me suffer anything - but that's how I've gotten back here after a 35 month absence.

Normally I'd save the following pearls for a new year's day post, but I'm feeling like we can't wait. After all, the holidays are coming and it's a good idea not to murder anyone during the last quarter of the year... generally speaking.

The Short List.

1. You will NOT get what you want if you don't ask for it. Your spouse, employer, BFF, whomever - they cannot read your mind. CANNOT. If you're waiting around for that to happen, best lay in some significant wine supplies because it's going to be a while.
2. Stop giving in instead of holding your ground - when it's important. There's a difference between compromising, and being a doormat because you're scared.
3. Stop doing shit that IS NOT YOUR JOB! I'm the worst about this. Whether it's picking up Mr. Man's clothes in the bathroom (GRRRRR!), or finding creative ways to keep your boss' ass out of the fire. Not. Your. JOB. If that's a tough pill to swallow, ask yourself this: who's doing YOUR shit? Who's hauling YOUR ass outta the fire? Oh. Right. YOU are. Look around. You're on your own no matter what anyone else says.
4. You do not have to be anyone else's version of perfect. You don't even have to be your OWN version of perfect. It's okay, child. Just be your best you today.
5. If someone else is doing "him/her" and it doesn't sit well with your "you," get out. He/she will not bend to your will unless they actually WANT to, even if you implement #1 above. But you MUST ASK before you can legitimately pack his/her crap and leave it in the yard after changing the locks.

[Long sidebar: Number 4 is a daily battle for me leftover from those formative years between 7 and 12. The crazy thing is, not once has ANYONE opened my bureau and passed judgement on whether or not my four styles of panties are individually folded, stacked, and appropriately organized. And yet, I'm not comfortable in my own skin if anything in my life could POSSIBLY be, in any way, interpreted as less than perfect. From panties to hair, household to thighs - all of it creates chaos in my head. I've fired countless housekeepers due to dust on the baseboards - that NO ONE ELSE WOULD EVER NOTICE! I'm compelled to clear some nonsensical and unrealistic bar set by one of the many voices in my head that most likely belongs to some judgy family member who just isn't comfortable with the idea that it's okay to be more/different than they are/were.]

Six or seven years ago, my entire life was pulled from beneath me like a magic trick gone wrong. I was left with a whole lot of stuff I never wanted, and LITERALLY nothing that I did. But I righted myself. I dusted myself off. And then I made a whole pile of really, excruciatingly bad decisions. As one is wont to do... 

The thing about bad decisions is that there's a short window for undoing them. We're busy. We push it to tomorrow... or the next day.... because what we're doing now is infinitely more important than dealing with that steaming pile of crap we're otherwise embroiled in that, hey, might fix itself (*sarcasm**eyeroll*). In retrospect, I probably just shoud've let The Universe do whatever it was trying to do. But it's really fucking hard to look those decisions in the eye and say, "Oops. Sorry. Never mind. My bad." I get that. It's even harder when doing it is going to leave you facing fear greater than being caught wearing white after Labor Day.

*taps finger on desk*

I'm not really sure where I thought I was going with all this other than to say, you're doing yourself a huge injustice by selling out. No one is better than you. Different, perhaps. But that doesn't give anyone the right to tell you who to be, or for you to change who you are.

Say what you need to say - or stop bitching about it.

Don't be loud - be true.

You own your dignity - don't put a price on it.

You are a survivor - no matter what.

You be you - for YOU.

Postscript:

This was written as a single run-through. It hasn't been edited or re-organized, so it's probably imperfect... just like me.

Life Truths 2015 - Your Annual List

Here we are again, friends.
It's barely the end of 2014 and already 2015 feels weird. Somehow different and a little... sad, perhaps? I dunno. I mean, it's stupid, really. I've absolutely nothing to be sad about except for dreams unfulfilled - and everybody has those. I should mention here, Dear Reader, that I'll probably shut this blog down sometime in the coming year. Not because I don't love writing it - I've simply run out of uncensored things to say. So while I haven't been at all diligent about writing in 2014, expect that at some point in 2015, I'll stop altogether. THAT SAID...

I present to you, your harsh realities for use as you strive toward, well, whatever you're striving toward.

Here's The List

1. You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. You don't get to blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
2. It's okay to sweepingly eliminate people or situations from your life. If you weren't supposed to, The Universe will one day put them back - either to correct the 'mistake' or reteach you a lesson the hard way. Recognize the difference or that bitch will screw you twice.
3. Pay attention! This will solve almost all of your "problems." 
4. Yes. You're fat. Does that make you feel better? Get off your ass and do something about it. Otherwise, shut the fuck up and love yourself.
5. Do not spend more time in front of a mirror than is absolutely necessary to make your face or comb your hair. It only reflects your genetics. It is NOT who you are (regardless of what mass media or your mother would have you believe).
6. BE HUMBLE. That doesn't mean turning off your star-power. It means not tooting your own horn. Your sense of self-importance makes people roll their eyes.
7. Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with how you've been wronged, and paddle already.
8. Keeping your word - the promises you make - is a direct reflection of who you really are - as opposed to who you'd like people to think you are. Anyone can make a promise. It's in the keeping that that we separate the wheat from the chaff.
9. The things you do not say will speak as loudly as those you do. Choose your silence wisely.
10. Facial moisturizing potions, along with the mani/pedi, should never be considered an unnecessary expense. You'll thank me for this one when you're older.
11. At the end of the day, you and you alone must live with your own inaction.
12. Breathe easy - don't break the law.
13. Be decent. To yourself, to the people you know, and to the people you don't. Nice is easy.
14. There is almost always a Brutus in your midst masquerading as a confidant, so learn the difference between those who appear trustworthy, and those you can actually trust.
15. When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
16. Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
17. Do not lie. To me or to yourself.
18. You can rescue animals, but not people. So do that. People must sort themselves out.
19. The only "perfect" relationships exist in books and movies (no matter what bullshit your girlfriend feeds you), and that's only because The End appears before shit gets real. Every relationship is flawed. Every.
20. A few minutes of your time - especially when you don't 'have' it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
21. Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts. 
22. Girls: wear high heels as often as possible. Boys: learn how to 'wear' a suit. Both of these are incredibly useful skills.
23. People are going to talk. What're you giving them to talk about?
24. Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. Those are your only options.
25. We all humiliate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories that make you less unbearable.
26. Choosing not to engage in The Drama means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action - especially when you factor in karma, comeuppance, and the opportunity to secretly point and laugh later.
27. Never put anything in writing that cannot be aired publicly. I keep stuff. It's useful. And rightfully scares people.
28. Always remember that, on your very worst day, there are people who would give literally anything to have had your day at all.
29. If you don't want to be treated like a whore, stop dressing like one.
30. People will take advantage of you until you make them stop. The tricky bit is in the approach, and I can't help you with that.

So that's it.
Perhaps we'll meet again - here or somewhere else. Until then, refer to #13.

 Reuse of this photo without permission is strictly prohibited under U.S. copyright laws - and because I said so.

Profile This...

Today I’m accepting an award at work. They’re doing a profile about me for the global magazine and online presence, all set alongside a photo or two.

Photography. It’s problematic for me at best.

Mr. Man #1 once asked if we had a single picture of me without a cocktail in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and my mouth closed. Sadly, he wasn’t being facetious.  Simply factual because we needed to find one. But that was a long time ago, in a land far, far away. Still, I never did learn to photograph well. At the very sight of a camera it’s all clenched jaw, high shoulders, and a look as though I’m about to dive out of the frame.

In thinking about this whole thing – the questions they may ask, the witty repartee, and what this might do to/for my career – it occurred to me that I should probably not to show up looking like I just jumped out of the bottom of the Goodwill bin, complete with bird’s nest hair, as we all usually do.

So last night I began the arduous task of taming the tresses. This is a huge undertaking, and as such, I rarely bother. I generally just “shampoo and shake,” letting it follow its own path. My hair and I are Zen like that. Nevertheless, there I am, 25 minutes into:

Section…

Clip…

Blow straight…

Unclip…

Section…

Clip…

Blow straight…

(repeat until arms are sure to fall off)

…bored out of my mind with my own company and the whirring of 1875 watts, but feeling a little like a Miss America contestant, it seemed a good time to consider my animal advocacy platform – you know, in case it came up during the interview portion of my profile.

I absently began ticking off the name of every pet I'd ever had in order of appearance. First there was the Standard Poodle (I think. I was only 3 or 4 years old) whose name I used to remember but no longer do; followed by Harvey the German Shepherd who literally just showed up at our back door and never left when I was 5 or 6; the Miniature Collie so creatively named, that’s right, Lassie; then… then…

Romeo and Gertrude.

Oh how I’d begged for those gerbils and I was tearfully happy when my sibling’s mother bought them for my 10^th Christmas! Best. Gift. EVER.

Why Romeo and Gertrude? I wondered.

Unclip…

Section…

Clip…

Blow straight…

Unclip…

Section…

Clip…

Blow straight…

No disrespect intended here, but Gertrude is not the prettiest of names, while Juliette beautifully and easily presented for the choosing. And yet… Was I trying to be clever at the ripe old age of 10 years, 10 months? Seems unlikely. Clever, original, fanciful, grand, odd, unusual – these traits were neither fostered nor embraced by the matriarch. Instead, these things were met with ridicule, so how curious that I came out from under the radar when naming my two new best friends.

Perhaps everyone too was busy to notice.

Romeo.

Gertrude.

She was a chubby little thing. Kind of like me at the time.

Putting my blow dryer down a little harder than intended, I stared at my reflection, feeling a little unsteady. Was I already, at that tender age, assigning priority to the male of the species, while relegating the female to the role of less attractive, less important, just-lucky-to-have-someone-to-share-space-with role, mirroring how I felt about myself? Was I Gertrude? Am I still?

Gertrude was killed just a couple of days after Christmas when one of my sisters and her friend used my new BFF to play a prank.

Unclip…

Section…

Clip…

Blow straight…

Scruffy. Sir Biffington Spots-a-lot. Wallis. George. Flash. Angus. Fredo. Mia. Sophia. Donato. Giada. Paisano.

Big day today. Sure hope I brought a comb.

A True Story

Fade in
Interior
A well-lit kitchen. There are pans on the stove and the oven light is on, indicating something baking inside. A woman moves from prep area to stove and back again, singing under her breath to a song coming from the living room.

The phone rings.

I heard myself sigh as I wiped my hands on my apron so I could check the Caller ID without leaving garlic remnants behind. Picking up the phone, I promptly dropped it against a pile of unripened avocados - which naturally connected the call. With what seemed at the time to be no other recourse...

"Hello?"

"Hi." (pause) "Is this (my real name)?"

"Yes it is! Who am I speaking with?" I asked, shoving the phone under my chin, freeing my hands to lift a lid and stir the sauce bubbling away on the gas top. After what seemed like an awkwardly long pause with no response... "Hello?"

"It's John."

John... John... John... Nothing was familiar about the voice. Nephew John, maybe...

"Hi John. Are you looking for Stephen?"

"Who's that?"

Once again I wiped my hands on my apron and tried to focus on the voice. Nothing. I opened the oven and poked the bread. Not ready.

Turning to face no one else in the room I said, "John, honey, I'm sorry. I'm really struggling to figure out who you are."

"Oh... um, I met you with your dog." Okay! Now we were getting somewhere. Must be a friend of someone or other. Or maybe someone from kickball. Or the park.

"Ah ha! Which dog?"

"How many do you have?"

"I have four." I checked the Caller ID: Unavailable.

"The mini greyhound." Okay, okay, okay. Think! Where had we been recently. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to remember where we'd been lately, and feeling really embarrassed that this John person is someone I should probably remember. "Um," he started again, "I got out and I keep thinking about her and wondering how she is."

Got out... GOT OUT???
Oh, CRAP.
My stupid handler badge.

[This is probably a good time to mention that the dog in question, an Italian Greyhound, is the "working end of the leash" - my therapy dog. We do community events and visit various inpatient facilities, one of which is a drug and alcohol rehab center. And not one of those white collar, voluntary stay, cushy facilities where the clients sit around drinking cucumber water between massages, either. Nope. We work every weekend at a "you really fucked up" mandatory rehab whose clientele is comprised of multi-offenders from all over the tri-state area.]

"Well, John. She's good. How are you?" I asked, wondering if he heard the trepidation in my voice as loudly as I did.

"I'm okay. Are all your dogs small too?"

"I'm glad to hear you're doing well. Are you sticking to the program; going to meetings and all that?"

"You have a really small dog, too, one smaller than her. Didn't you tell me that?"

I was becoming unnerved. Clearly, he remembered my name from my badge, and I could only assume he found my phone number online, which means he probably got my address, too.

Shit, shit, shit, fuck. Breathe...

"My dogs are all different sizes. Some bigger than others." That wasn't a lie. Mia Macy IS the biggest, but no need to share that little tidbit. Let him think there's something bigger than 12 pounds in the house. That seemed like a good plan. "So, John. You're doing good, right? You're writing in your journal and going to meetings, right?" I don't know why I felt compelled to ask again.

"I have to because of the halfway house. I wish you could come here with your dog. She's really cool."

"I wish I could, too," I half-lied, "but we just do inpatient visits. Do you want me to see if I can find another dog to come see you, because I can ask if you want."

"Nah... well... maybe. I really just wanted to see you guys again because you're really cool too, and I felt better when you guys came and we hung out because no one else did. I mean, my mom said she would but she didn't and my girlfriend didn't either."

"I hate it when people say they'll do something then they don't. It's not fair. Sometimes family is like that. I don't know why though." I was getting more uncomfortable by the second, measuring my words, hoping I sounded empathetic, but not as though I might invite him to dinner. Speaking of... "So John, I have to finish making dinner for the family so I'd better go before I burn something."

"Oh. Sorry. Okay."

"Stick with it, buddy. Even if it feels like no one is paying attention. I'll tell Mi... uh, my dog, you said hello and give her a hug."

"Maybe I'll see you guys again," he said, his voice not quite despondent but nowhere near happy.

"And I'll find out if another dog can come see you if you tell me where you are."

"Nah. Thanks anyway."

"Okay. Well, then... bye John."

The phone went dead.

Fade out as the woman slides down the kitchen wall to sit, dropping the phone on the floor beside her.

An Open Letter

This was originally written on January 28, 2014, but for whatever shiny-object reason, it just sat.

I’m sometimes surprised to see that weeks and weeks have passed since last I posted. I mean, it’s not like I’ve run out of things to say. It's more like... I’ve run out of a reason to say them. I’m utterly bored with my own company, though I’m not in a big hurry to seek out the company of others. Mostly because their imaginary problems annoy me…

So because she has been weighing on my mind and I haven’t done anything more than say, “fuck. I really should send a card,” and because I really should write something - preferably something useful, I feel like the two-birds-one-stone thing just seems smart.

Dear Katie,
You’re 24 (or you were when I wrote this). Yeah, I know you know that – but it struck me in an odd way as I was thinking about your imminent move, far, far away from everything and everyone you know. Clearly because I’m so self-involved, I found myself on an involuntary trip down memory lane as I considered your new life.

I was 24 when I left everything behind and took off alone for parts unknown. I had a plane ticket, $800 in cash, no car, no job and no place to live waiting for me when I got where I was going. But still I went, so strong was that sense of self-preservation.I know you get that.

You’ve seen a lot of life already, too much of it not fit for polite conversation, and it breaks my heart. I remember how that feels; how things stop surprising you; how a now jaded view of people leaves you sighing with exasperation; how you seriously cannot understand why and how people can be so hateful and small, hurting others because they can. You want to ask yourself how this is your life, but that sounds self-indulgent and weak, even to your own ears.

We may be many things, but we are not weak. Horror makes a girl tough. I wish you were softer.

So! You’re off! Or nearly anyway and I couldn’t be happier for you. That said, I do worry about you. I look at my life, and I’m sure I can see you waaaaaay back there, unknowingly walking in my footsteps. Cripes, girl. No good can come of that. None. Please take two giant steps to your right.

Here’s the part where I give you a ton of advice:

1. Don’t put your dog in a hunt that you don’t actually need to win.
2. Don’t be too tough. It’s too exhausting… and it causes premature aging.
3. Always use diplomacy, but never back down when you’re right. People will take advantage of you when they think they can.
4. Choose your friends slowly. I was never good at that and, well, you saw how some of those ended up. Yeah. Refer to #3.
5. Don’t become rigid, married to a set of rules or the way life “should be.” You’re not a “should be” kind of girl and that’s too special to waste.
6. Remember that You define You – so You can change, or choose not to, every single day.
7. Keep a good pair of sunglasses and a pretty lipstick next to the front door – Always! You never know when you’ll need to bolt out unexpectedly and my Grandmother always said a girl can get by in any emergency as long as she has those two things.

Though we rarely spoke about the less-than-attractive bits of our lives (because that's just unseemly), I find myself wishing now that we had. You’re so smart, a true master of self-preservation, but still… there will be things. And people. And though people like us have grown quite excellent at protecting our physical beings, we’ll never be as artful at protecting our psyche. We throw ourselves into every situation with reckless abandon, regardless of its sometimes unfortunate familiarity. It's a brutal way to check for the winds of change, particularly when we already know that wishful thinking won't change the answer. A better “favorite older sister” would tell you to stop that! But I can’t. Just…. stock up on Band-Aids. Having a few scars doesn’t make you any less wonderful; it makes you even more fascinating.

So, go! Go be You! With reckless abandon! Know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m not so far away.

[Sidebar: yes, that includes bail, and emergency “Excuse me, I’m where??? How did I get to Minnesota last night?” airfare *grins*]

With a Little Help From a Friend

In my ongoing effort to find the end of the internet [read: waste time reading crap instead of doing my wash], I ran across a video that made me realize, in that weird "why do I stop moving long enough to mull?" crystal-clear way, two things:

First, I have no idea what it means to just "be." Like, in the moment or fully engaged in something or someone. I've read about this funny business, but by way of self-preservation I suppose, I'm way too busy for the sort of nonsense that can only lead to bottle after bottle of rethinking every decision I've made since I was 15 years old.

The second thing... well, that was more about who and what we choose to love. I mean, if we're really setting aside all of life's bullshit here, at the end of the day, we're in this life 100% alone, so what - or for the lucky - who, could instinctively bring you into this moment?

Here's a minute and a half of your life you won't want back...

http://laughingsquid.com/daughter-posts-video-catching-an-incredible-moment-between-non-verbal-father-with-alzheimers-and-loving-dog/

 

Load'em up, People!

Dear Parents:

If you insist on waiting for the bus with your kid at the end of your own freakin’ driveway, do the rest of us a favor and push the little brat out of your vehicle when you see the bus coming up the street, instead of forcing four lanes of traffic to stop while Little Timmy unbuckles his seatbelt (AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY FOR CHRISSAKE!), gathers his backpack, then hauls himself out of the backseat.

And while I’m on about it, if the bus is coming and you haven’t yet ensconced Little Tiffany into your cocoon of safety to make that 50 foot commute, DON’T! Just send the fatty down under her own steam. I promise it’ll be faster than:

1.    Open door

2.    Load backpack

3.    Load school project

4.    Load kid

5.    Buckle kid

6.    Close door

7.    Open driver’s door

8.    Get in

9.    Start engine

10. ROLL 50 FREAKIN' FEET!

11. Pop out of driver’s seat

12. Walk like you don’t have a care in the world to the passenger-side back door

13. Open door

14. Unbuckle kid

15. Unload kid

16. Unload school project

17. Unload backpack

18. Walk kid the remaining THREE FEET to the curb

19. Chat up the bus driver

20. Have conversation with kid while he stands on the bus steps

21. Wait for kid to FINALLY FREAKIN' SIT DOWN so that damned flashing red stop sign can be retracted.

Can you even begin to wrap your self-indulgent, paranoid, little pea brain around how much of MY TIME you’re stealing? Waiting on you leaves me with nothing to do but ponder what sort of consequences should be dealt for your total lack of consideration. I’m sure if I walked the line of 50 or so cars behind me, and the as-far-as-I-can-see number of cars in front of me, they would agree that your behavior is a stain on society.

Parents, if you haven’t taught/can’t teach your kids how to stand at the bus stop without getting into trouble, your troubles have just begun. You’re doing Little Timmy and Tiffany a terrible injustice; you’re stealing their baby-sense of independence; and you’re making me mad.

“Oh, but it’s so dangerous for kids nowadays!” you cry.

I cry, “Bullshit.”

Nothing has changed since we were kids besides the creation of the Amber Alert. I mean, it IS the fear of kidnapping that drives your ridiculous behavior, right? Cripes. Let’s put this in perspective. Those of us who are now over, let’s say 40, were in a much tougher spot growing up. We were taught to respect and always mind our elders. This was in direct opposition to “don’t talk to, or go with, strangers even if they say they know me.” There was the real danger, dear Parents. We had to be smart enough to figure out the difference between doing what we were told, and being “disrespectful” to an adult, all on our own. And apparently we did. (Probably all that time spent playing outside in the fresh air, and well away from where we could be seen by our parents.) As near as I can tell, most kids today are not taught anything that even vaguely resembles respect for their elders. And talking to strangers? That’s all they do on Twitter and FaceBook. I won’t even begin to get into their behavior on SnapChat.

So, tell me. Whose fault is it that “it’s so dangerous for kids today”?

Let me help: IT’S YOURS!

And you’re an ignorant, delusional ass if you believe otherwise.

By the way, I composed this entire post while waiting for your lazy ass to do something about loading your kid on the bus. Imagine what I might dream up if you had two kids.

Oh, it’s dangerous out there alright…