Good f'ing lord. At first I thought, oh great, this person is really challenging the way I think, what I stand for, and what I believe in. Now, I think that your version of what a friend is, is someone who just hops on to your bandwagon of beliefs. Well guess what, it's not the <>
15.10.10
To Be or Not To Be...It's not really a question
I was warned. I was told that when you're 'on' it's like the sun was shining, but to be careful because the clouds still followed. Of course I wrote it off like a barrel full of bullshit, because I'm right and that person was wrong and had no clue what they were talking about. Well here's me eating crow. They were right, I was wrong and I'm okay to admit it.
Good f'ing lord. At first I thought, oh great, this person is really challenging the way I think, what I stand for, and what I believe in. Now, I think that your version of what a friend is, is someone who just hops on to your bandwagon of beliefs. Well guess what, it's not the <> show. This is life, people are going to do things differently, think things differently, and believe in different things than you. Amazingly enough, it's not all about you.
Good f'ing lord. At first I thought, oh great, this person is really challenging the way I think, what I stand for, and what I believe in. Now, I think that your version of what a friend is, is someone who just hops on to your bandwagon of beliefs. Well guess what, it's not the <>
28.9.10
This Memory Brought to You by the Letters: WTF
"Hey, it's me." he said when I picked up the phone.
"What's up?" I replied, with no small amount of trepidation. It was, after all, only a month after I had broken up with him over the phone.
"Can you get away for lunch today? I haven't seen you and want to catch up."
"Um, okay I guess. Where were you thinking? I don't have a whole lot of time." I was already worried about where this was going to go.
"I'll pick you up."
It was a Friday afternoon in October 2005. He arrived in a car I'd never seen before. I hopped in and we sped off to: Mimi's Cafe. Take note, this location is important.
Once there, the servers seated us in a remote corner in the back. We ordered some lemonade and asked for a few minutes to order. Then he placed a dark blue jewelry box on the table and told me to open it.
"What's this?" I asked him laughing, thinking this was a joke. We had broken up. You don't give exes jewelry.
"Open it." he replied. I opened the box to find a piece of duct tape where one might expect to find a tennis bracelet. As I looked up at him, I remembered something he used to say, an analogy of love, and I felt the color leave my face as the bile worked it's way up.
"I need to give you this duct tape. It represents me. I have given this duct tape to only one person before, and it stayed for awhile until she gave it back to me. It still has a lot of stick. I still have a lot of stick."
I had no reply to that. What does one even say? Then he handed me a smaller box. "Open it." he said, waiting.
"This had better have a pair of earrings in it, or I'm going to be pissed," I told him, hoping to god it wasn't what I thought it was. I was horribly wrong. Nestled in that blue box was a princess cut diamond solitaire. The urge to throw up was equally strong as the urge to run. I remember thinking that this was not the reaction a girl was supposed to have at her first proposal. At the same time, everything else was wrong: Mimi's Cafe on a Friday afternoon with my ex.
I didn't know what to say to him. I tried to be gentle. "I can't accept this," I said, closing the box and handing it back. "I don't know what to say. We're not together. There are reasons for this. I hope you can return it." Okay, so maybe I wasn't that gentle.
"I had them inscribe our initials next to the EGL number."
"Why are you telling me this? Why would you do that? Shouldn't you have waited? Did you actually think I would say 'yes' after everything? You lied to me, you let your daughter move to Sweden without a second thought, you told me YOU were moving. No. This is not happening, I don't think you actually thought this through," I railed at him.
We got up quickly, never having touched our drinks, never having ordered our food. We paid the $4 plus tip and walked out. On the way back to my office he asked me not to tell anyone. I made no promises. I had just said no to unhappily ever after, and I have to say, it felt good.
"What's up?" I replied, with no small amount of trepidation. It was, after all, only a month after I had broken up with him over the phone.
"Can you get away for lunch today? I haven't seen you and want to catch up."
"Um, okay I guess. Where were you thinking? I don't have a whole lot of time." I was already worried about where this was going to go.
"I'll pick you up."
It was a Friday afternoon in October 2005. He arrived in a car I'd never seen before. I hopped in and we sped off to: Mimi's Cafe. Take note, this location is important.
Once there, the servers seated us in a remote corner in the back. We ordered some lemonade and asked for a few minutes to order. Then he placed a dark blue jewelry box on the table and told me to open it.
"What's this?" I asked him laughing, thinking this was a joke. We had broken up. You don't give exes jewelry.
"Open it." he replied. I opened the box to find a piece of duct tape where one might expect to find a tennis bracelet. As I looked up at him, I remembered something he used to say, an analogy of love, and I felt the color leave my face as the bile worked it's way up.
"I need to give you this duct tape. It represents me. I have given this duct tape to only one person before, and it stayed for awhile until she gave it back to me. It still has a lot of stick. I still have a lot of stick."
I had no reply to that. What does one even say? Then he handed me a smaller box. "Open it." he said, waiting.
"This had better have a pair of earrings in it, or I'm going to be pissed," I told him, hoping to god it wasn't what I thought it was. I was horribly wrong. Nestled in that blue box was a princess cut diamond solitaire. The urge to throw up was equally strong as the urge to run. I remember thinking that this was not the reaction a girl was supposed to have at her first proposal. At the same time, everything else was wrong: Mimi's Cafe on a Friday afternoon with my ex.
I didn't know what to say to him. I tried to be gentle. "I can't accept this," I said, closing the box and handing it back. "I don't know what to say. We're not together. There are reasons for this. I hope you can return it." Okay, so maybe I wasn't that gentle.
"I had them inscribe our initials next to the EGL number."
"Why are you telling me this? Why would you do that? Shouldn't you have waited? Did you actually think I would say 'yes' after everything? You lied to me, you let your daughter move to Sweden without a second thought, you told me YOU were moving. No. This is not happening, I don't think you actually thought this through," I railed at him.
We got up quickly, never having touched our drinks, never having ordered our food. We paid the $4 plus tip and walked out. On the way back to my office he asked me not to tell anyone. I made no promises. I had just said no to unhappily ever after, and I have to say, it felt good.
24.9.10
Fuck Cancer
2009 was a rough year for my family. And boy, do I mean ROUGH.
In January of 09 my uncle, my favorite uncle, the guy whom I called my 2nd dad was diagnosed with terminal stage 5 cancer. See, it started in '08 when he found out he had a tumor on his kidney. They removed the kidney and told him the cancer was gone. They never did a bone scan, and it turns out, they were wrong. By the time he found out the following January that the cancer wasn't gone, the tumors were in his bones and all over his body. They tried one round of an aggressive chemo/radiation cocktail. It caused his remaining kidney to fail. That landed him in the hospital for 3 months so that he could receive dialysis treatment twice a day, 5 days a week. He was finally able to go home, and that's where he passed away a month after. July 2, 2009 was the first time I was able to say 'fuck cancer'.
It wasn't the first time cancer had touched my life: my godfather's wife successfully beat breast cancer. However, it was the first time cancer had taken someone from me. Then in September of '09 my mother was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer. In December, she had surgery and had the pea sized tumor removed. She was lucky, it was caught early in her annual mammogram, and it was small. She's in remission, but I will always worry. Thus ended 2009, it began and ended in cancer. Fuck that.
This August, my friend Dave's wife passed after a long painful bout with Stage 5 metastasized cancer. It began in her breasts nearly 6 years ago. She had a double mastectomy and beating the odds, won another 5 years with her family. But the cancer fought harder, and it won. My friend is a widower at 30. He was only married a year. Fuck that.
Last fall, my dear friend J's father was diagnosed with brain cancer. A tumor had decided to wrap itself around his brain stem, and was deemed inoperable. The past year has had the family taking him to and from chemo treatments, waiting, watching...but not hoping. Instead, they learned to grieve in advance. Pre-emptive grieving. Learning to put things in perspective for the inevitable. The inevitable should have been old age. But in this case, as it is with so many others, it was cancer.
J's dad passed away this morning. She and her family have been a part of my life since 1994. She was the first person I met in high school orientation. We used to joke that our fathers were personality twins. He leaves behind a wife, two daughters, 5 grandchildren and countless friends and relatives. Like my uncle, and Dave's wife, Mr. D touched many lives before his own was taken before those of us left were ready.
I don't believe in the 'cure' for cancer. But I do believe in research and better treatment. I walk for various charities that donate the proceeds to companies that are researching treatment. So that one day, the word 'cancer' won't sound like the gavel on a death sentence. I ask that anyone reading this do the same. Walk, get sponsors, make a donation. Because cancer touches everyone's life in one way or another. It's only a matter of time before you too can say FUCK CANCER.
In January of 09 my uncle, my favorite uncle, the guy whom I called my 2nd dad was diagnosed with terminal stage 5 cancer. See, it started in '08 when he found out he had a tumor on his kidney. They removed the kidney and told him the cancer was gone. They never did a bone scan, and it turns out, they were wrong. By the time he found out the following January that the cancer wasn't gone, the tumors were in his bones and all over his body. They tried one round of an aggressive chemo/radiation cocktail. It caused his remaining kidney to fail. That landed him in the hospital for 3 months so that he could receive dialysis treatment twice a day, 5 days a week. He was finally able to go home, and that's where he passed away a month after. July 2, 2009 was the first time I was able to say 'fuck cancer'.
It wasn't the first time cancer had touched my life: my godfather's wife successfully beat breast cancer. However, it was the first time cancer had taken someone from me. Then in September of '09 my mother was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer. In December, she had surgery and had the pea sized tumor removed. She was lucky, it was caught early in her annual mammogram, and it was small. She's in remission, but I will always worry. Thus ended 2009, it began and ended in cancer. Fuck that.
This August, my friend Dave's wife passed after a long painful bout with Stage 5 metastasized cancer. It began in her breasts nearly 6 years ago. She had a double mastectomy and beating the odds, won another 5 years with her family. But the cancer fought harder, and it won. My friend is a widower at 30. He was only married a year. Fuck that.
Last fall, my dear friend J's father was diagnosed with brain cancer. A tumor had decided to wrap itself around his brain stem, and was deemed inoperable. The past year has had the family taking him to and from chemo treatments, waiting, watching...but not hoping. Instead, they learned to grieve in advance. Pre-emptive grieving. Learning to put things in perspective for the inevitable. The inevitable should have been old age. But in this case, as it is with so many others, it was cancer.
J's dad passed away this morning. She and her family have been a part of my life since 1994. She was the first person I met in high school orientation. We used to joke that our fathers were personality twins. He leaves behind a wife, two daughters, 5 grandchildren and countless friends and relatives. Like my uncle, and Dave's wife, Mr. D touched many lives before his own was taken before those of us left were ready.
I don't believe in the 'cure' for cancer. But I do believe in research and better treatment. I walk for various charities that donate the proceeds to companies that are researching treatment. So that one day, the word 'cancer' won't sound like the gavel on a death sentence. I ask that anyone reading this do the same. Walk, get sponsors, make a donation. Because cancer touches everyone's life in one way or another. It's only a matter of time before you too can say FUCK CANCER.
8.9.10
Pretty Sexy Things
I can delete someone from my life, almost like they never existed. Especially if no tears were shed. One minute there, the next minute gone and the past year is now just a warm memory. If I chose to think about it, which I don't. But it's funny how even though someone is deleted from my present, there are clues to their existence in my life that are left behind. That empty bottle of wine that is tucked behind the trash can that I keep forgetting to throw away. The toothbrush on the top shelf of my medicine cabinet. And then, my personal favorite, the underwear that I bought in the early days of the relationship.
Yep. The Victoria's Secret timeline of relationships. Single women should buy stock in Victoria's Secret (LTD, NASDAQ) so that we can at least have some sort of fiscal return on the investment. The VS timeline is a lace bordered reminder of every guy who got lucky enough to see the goods. It's also a reminder of how it felt buying that little scrap of nothing to wear for someone special. There's adrenaline involved when buying pretty sexy things for someone new to see. Along with a tinge of guilt when new guy sees something I've worn for someone else. But a girl is not about to throw away perfectly good panties just because of a breakup. We have way too much common sense for that. Consider it recycling.
Sometimes, it's a little baffling opening up the lingerie drawer and seeing the ghosts of boyfriends past staring at me through lace eyelets. Granted, since I'm all single mom and stuff, I have very few exes staring at me. They're all colors, black, white, pink, mauve...But the blue ones, those ones are for me. Along with all my sturdy cotton numbers. (Sorry boys, you get no credit for those) The nice thing is being able to close the drawer, and send those ghosts packing. Back to the deleted file.
Yep. The Victoria's Secret timeline of relationships. Single women should buy stock in Victoria's Secret (LTD, NASDAQ) so that we can at least have some sort of fiscal return on the investment. The VS timeline is a lace bordered reminder of every guy who got lucky enough to see the goods. It's also a reminder of how it felt buying that little scrap of nothing to wear for someone special. There's adrenaline involved when buying pretty sexy things for someone new to see. Along with a tinge of guilt when new guy sees something I've worn for someone else. But a girl is not about to throw away perfectly good panties just because of a breakup. We have way too much common sense for that. Consider it recycling.
Sometimes, it's a little baffling opening up the lingerie drawer and seeing the ghosts of boyfriends past staring at me through lace eyelets. Granted, since I'm all single mom and stuff, I have very few exes staring at me. They're all colors, black, white, pink, mauve...But the blue ones, those ones are for me. Along with all my sturdy cotton numbers. (Sorry boys, you get no credit for those) The nice thing is being able to close the drawer, and send those ghosts packing. Back to the deleted file.
15.7.10
An Open Bleeding Letter
I wish I had waited to write, instead of doing it at 1am when I was still worked up. I wish I wasn't the type to say things that aren't necessarily true in order to safeguard my feelings. I wish I hadn't felt the need to safeguard my feelings. I wish I had the courage to trust in someone else, but truthfully, I'm the biggest coward. I wish I hadn't been right.
You never made me promises, and I never asked for anything that I knew you weren't capable of giving. I should have asked anyway. We might have left off the same way, but without this feeling of betrayal. Betrayal which I would have forgiven then, had there been no deception, and could even forgive now. If you asked me. You haven't. In fact, you haven't even said you're sorry. An admission of guilt is not the same thing as an apology. I forgive you anyway. This is the story of my nurturing mother heart.
You say it was self sabotage, which is something to which I can relate. I caught myself repeatedly, but the difference is, is that I already know I'm broken. I told myself that it could never last, to just enjoy the time I had. I was setting myself up for failure. In short, I wrote my destiny. I only let you see the surface of me, and in this, I'm slightly thankful. This ordeal would hurt so much more if you had a bigger piece of me. I never let you see my whole life, the one behind the curtain. Would it have made a difference?
I don't think you realized that the wake of destruction behind your actions was going to be this wide. Did you think I was never going to find out? You were quite nearly in the clear. I can only imagine the panic you must have felt when I told you where I was going and with whom. I can only imagine the relief you must have felt when I didn't call you crying. Do you know how foolish I feel now? I was self righteous in my naivety. I had no reason not to trust you. I must have looked like some poor pathetic naive little girl with her head in the sand.
I hate that I miss you. I would have missed you without this mess. I would have missed our hikes, our talks, our tearing apart of your car. I would have missed you in bed and out. I would have missed you. I didn't need to hate missing you. I don't need to bleed over you. Yet here I am. Still waiting for you to say you're sorry.
You never made me promises, and I never asked for anything that I knew you weren't capable of giving. I should have asked anyway. We might have left off the same way, but without this feeling of betrayal. Betrayal which I would have forgiven then, had there been no deception, and could even forgive now. If you asked me. You haven't. In fact, you haven't even said you're sorry. An admission of guilt is not the same thing as an apology. I forgive you anyway. This is the story of my nurturing mother heart.
You say it was self sabotage, which is something to which I can relate. I caught myself repeatedly, but the difference is, is that I already know I'm broken. I told myself that it could never last, to just enjoy the time I had. I was setting myself up for failure. In short, I wrote my destiny. I only let you see the surface of me, and in this, I'm slightly thankful. This ordeal would hurt so much more if you had a bigger piece of me. I never let you see my whole life, the one behind the curtain. Would it have made a difference?
I don't think you realized that the wake of destruction behind your actions was going to be this wide. Did you think I was never going to find out? You were quite nearly in the clear. I can only imagine the panic you must have felt when I told you where I was going and with whom. I can only imagine the relief you must have felt when I didn't call you crying. Do you know how foolish I feel now? I was self righteous in my naivety. I had no reason not to trust you. I must have looked like some poor pathetic naive little girl with her head in the sand.
I hate that I miss you. I would have missed you without this mess. I would have missed our hikes, our talks, our tearing apart of your car. I would have missed you in bed and out. I would have missed you. I didn't need to hate missing you. I don't need to bleed over you. Yet here I am. Still waiting for you to say you're sorry.
25.6.10
Change of Plans
If you had asked me 8 years ago what I would be doing at 30, I would have told you without hesitating that I would be celebrating 6 years of marriage, living in Redondo Beach and have 2 children under my belt. I would never have considered for a second that I might be a single parent living in San Pedro, credit shot to hell, overextended and underpaid. I had a plan! But of course, 8 years ago I was 22 and what the hell did I know?
That's the funny thing about plans: they never end up how you think they will. At least mine don't. Ever. I wake up some mornings and wonder how I got here. But then I look over at my sleeping child and I know that I wouldn't change a thing. People often ask themselves if they could go back in time and change it, would they? I have pondered that same question, and even knowing what I know now, I know that I would go back and do exactly what I did before. I honestly believe that we do the best we can as we're doing it. Unless we're psychopaths, in which case, yikes. But the average person is a good person.
We make choices, good or bad. The outcome isn't known until it's done, and every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Our lives are dictated by the choices we make, and every choice made after is a product of that first one. It's a constant domino effect. I chose to destroy the relationship I had at 22. The one that might have landed me solidly in my 'plan'. I had my reasons for doing so, and I did. And every choice I've made since then has landed me here, wondering what today's choices will bring.
That's the funny thing about plans: they never end up how you think they will. At least mine don't. Ever. I wake up some mornings and wonder how I got here. But then I look over at my sleeping child and I know that I wouldn't change a thing. People often ask themselves if they could go back in time and change it, would they? I have pondered that same question, and even knowing what I know now, I know that I would go back and do exactly what I did before. I honestly believe that we do the best we can as we're doing it. Unless we're psychopaths, in which case, yikes. But the average person is a good person.
We make choices, good or bad. The outcome isn't known until it's done, and every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Our lives are dictated by the choices we make, and every choice made after is a product of that first one. It's a constant domino effect. I chose to destroy the relationship I had at 22. The one that might have landed me solidly in my 'plan'. I had my reasons for doing so, and I did. And every choice I've made since then has landed me here, wondering what today's choices will bring.
4.3.10
The Dreaded 3--0
Yesterday, when I woke up, I was 29 years old with mere hours left in my twenties. Last night/this morning when I went to bed, I had entered into a new decade. 30. Thirty. Thir-ty. I've been practicing saying this for a few weeks, so my tongue wraps around the number nicely. It's also a plus that I happen to prefer even numbers. Most odd number years just end badly for me.
Turns out, I'm actually happy to enter my 30's. Single mom sounds better in your 30's than 20's. As though having a child out of wedlock in your 20's labels you as a loose woman. Nevermind that it was late 20's and I have no regrets. Stigmas are what they are. I don't feel yet that I've reached my prime. Which is funny, seeing as when I was entering into my 20's that 30 seems far away and ancient. How very very wrong I was on both accounts.
There are things that I want to accomplish this year, regardless of age, but now I think I'm turning them into goals for the decade. Things to do before 40. Not a bucket list, but just goals. For example, I want to be a better cook. I was a late bloomer with cooking. I burned myself on a waffle maker as a child and it put me out of the kitchen until I was 19 and living on my own. Even then, it started slowly. I picked up things here and there working in the restaurant industry that I would take home and practice. I looked online for recipes to work on making what has already been made. Then I started to get fearless. Now I try and throw things together that I think will taste good. There are complimentary colors, I like complimentary flavors. I work off feel vs recipe (unless, I'm specifically working off recipe), and there are no measurements for what I tend to make. I like winging it.
Part of this particular goal in cooking is french food. I am, and have always been, something of a francophile. Which is hilarious to me considering that while I have a passporte, I have yet to exit the United States with it. I had meant to go for my 30th this year, but it didn't work out. Mostly because of actual work. But that's another story. I digress... So I've been looking for French cookbooks lately, something I can start working out of ala Julie & Julia, only without the Julia Childs bit. I've never been a huge fan, and French cookbooks for Americans just seems somewhat patronizing. I'm sure there are some out there that will label me as blasphemous, but that's how I feel. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I want authenticity. Which, let me tell you, is hard to find in the Barnes & Nobles and Borders of this world. I'll continue looking for what it is that I'm looking for, and hopefully will have some good stories to tell about the adventures in the kitchen which will ensue. In the meantime, I'm trying to build up my cookware. Today I added souffle cups to my wish list. Along with a terrine and a hand mandolin.
I hope by the time I hit 31 that I'll have come farther in my cooking goal. This year is going to be an adventure.
Turns out, I'm actually happy to enter my 30's. Single mom sounds better in your 30's than 20's. As though having a child out of wedlock in your 20's labels you as a loose woman. Nevermind that it was late 20's and I have no regrets. Stigmas are what they are. I don't feel yet that I've reached my prime. Which is funny, seeing as when I was entering into my 20's that 30 seems far away and ancient. How very very wrong I was on both accounts.
There are things that I want to accomplish this year, regardless of age, but now I think I'm turning them into goals for the decade. Things to do before 40. Not a bucket list, but just goals. For example, I want to be a better cook. I was a late bloomer with cooking. I burned myself on a waffle maker as a child and it put me out of the kitchen until I was 19 and living on my own. Even then, it started slowly. I picked up things here and there working in the restaurant industry that I would take home and practice. I looked online for recipes to work on making what has already been made. Then I started to get fearless. Now I try and throw things together that I think will taste good. There are complimentary colors, I like complimentary flavors. I work off feel vs recipe (unless, I'm specifically working off recipe), and there are no measurements for what I tend to make. I like winging it.
Part of this particular goal in cooking is french food. I am, and have always been, something of a francophile. Which is hilarious to me considering that while I have a passporte, I have yet to exit the United States with it. I had meant to go for my 30th this year, but it didn't work out. Mostly because of actual work. But that's another story. I digress... So I've been looking for French cookbooks lately, something I can start working out of ala Julie & Julia, only without the Julia Childs bit. I've never been a huge fan, and French cookbooks for Americans just seems somewhat patronizing. I'm sure there are some out there that will label me as blasphemous, but that's how I feel. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I want authenticity. Which, let me tell you, is hard to find in the Barnes & Nobles and Borders of this world. I'll continue looking for what it is that I'm looking for, and hopefully will have some good stories to tell about the adventures in the kitchen which will ensue. In the meantime, I'm trying to build up my cookware. Today I added souffle cups to my wish list. Along with a terrine and a hand mandolin.
I hope by the time I hit 31 that I'll have come farther in my cooking goal. This year is going to be an adventure.
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