Not Okay

I'm going to be REAL here for a minute.

I'm always real, but sometimes I try to really put my best foot forward on my blogs. I want to be inspirational. I want people to say "yeaaaah.... yeah, I feel better now! I'm gonna go conquer the fuckin world!" after they read my posts.

OK, that's a little much.
But I really don't want people to walk away going "what a fucking drag."

Well, too bad, tonight. Cause I'm going to be a drag.

The fact is, we live in such a fucking unrealistic world that it's.. fucking unrealistic.

I've learned in my 27 years on earth that people don't like you unless you are perpetually happy.
OK, let me rephrase. Unless you ACT perpetually happy. Your mom just died? Cry a little, but tell me a funny joke and say it's all okay because *I* can't handle the fact that you might not be okay.
Everyone has to be okay all the time.
Nobody knows how to handle "not okay".

"Not okay" is for Prozac, therapists, and psych wards.
Not for friends or boyfriends.

Not for family, even. It's not okay to be not okay.

And THAT, my friends, is NOT O-FUCKING-KAY.


Grow the fuck up. 
Be real.

Nobody is okay all the time.
If you are, you got yours comin to you, trust me.
And when it does, after you've laughed at all of us who weren't okay at some point.. when youv'e pushed us away because the ugliness of "not okay" was too much for you.. when we were honest about our feelings and you thought it meant we were self-centered and just wanted pity?

Well... here's the thing.
We'll probably still be there for you. Because those of us who've been "not okay" a lot... we know that we can't abandon those who aren't okay. Even those who are new to it. Even those who by every right, don't deserve even a fucking pat on the back or a hug after the way they treated "not okay" people at some point.
But if we aren't....
and if at some point you find yourself alone with nowhere to turn.. with people saying horrible things about you, simply because you are sad...
if at some point, you feel you just can't keep going, because you're so NOT okay?

Just remember this....
If we'd all just been real with each other to begin with, we'd all be a lot more okay right now.
I'm not going to put on a fucking fake happy face for you...
I hope you won't do that for me either, because that's not what I need in my life. I need real. I need tragic. I need happy when you'r ehappy, I need sad when you're sad. I need girlfriends that I can hold in bed while we both cry about how shitty life is. I need someone to understand when I say I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE and to just hope I'm still doing it tomorrow. Because usually when I say that... I know.. I still have to do it. I just need you to love me, and to understand.

Is there anywhere in this world that I can be real and be loved?
If not, i'd like to check out, now.
If so, please lead the way.......

The Traveling Red Dress experience.

To be honest, there's a part of me that balks at all of this.
I've done a lot of frivolous, over-the-top, senseless things in my life. To feel pretty. To feel loved. To feel fun. To fill some hole in me that can't really... ever... be filled. Not by a dress.

And my beautiful, amazing sister decided that I needed a traveling red dress.

i must admit I've been less-than-psyched about the whole thing. Finding a formal dress for me that looks awesome and makes me feel like a princess and not a whore is ...
impossible.

I felt pretty at said sister's wedding to husband #2... and that feels weird even saying,because at this point I think of him as the only man she's ever had in her life.

But seriously. I think she needs the red dress more for herself than anyone.

My sister. She takes care of 4 little messy crazy sweet and adorable boys. And 1 big messy crazy sweet funny and sometimes adorable 30-something yr old boy.
She takes care of me.
she takes care of her employees.

She works her job like a bossssss..... she is everything to everyone that anyone needs.

She deserves the red dress. Not me.
Not me.

And yet as I looked at myself in the mirror trying on my two prospects for this... I felt a combination of elation and desperation.

You know what I wanted my red dress to be? Getting past the first round of American Idol or the voice.

Making money at modeling.

Becoming a midwife.

moving 7 hours away to try to make things work with a man whose MO is to not try to make things work.




and... getting married. Going to the prom. Getting married.. getting fucking MARRIED. Not being the bridesmaid or maid-of-honor or wedding pianist or wedding singer... GETTING MARRIED.
I don't even know if I want to be married but I want the dress. I want the ring. I want the magic. I want to loook into a man's eyes whom I love and know that he loves me enough to make a commitment.

I want to go to a formal dance. I'm 27 and frankly i've ever been to ANY Formal event.


This is presenting more of a dilemma than I thought.

This year, I want to be taken out for valentine's day. I want the full treatment.
I want to be pampered, kissed. I want my hand held. I want flowers and a dinner in formal-wear. I want ... SOMETHING.
And for the past 9 years, there has been nothing.

I ignore the day as best I can, but what can you really do? Pretend it doesn't exist? Mope around in your house with sappy movies and cry? that's nothing more than not only do you not HATE V-day, but you love it, and you just want to be loved on Valentine's Day.

I just want that. I want I want I want.

I want to ask for it, but I'm too scared.

I shouldn't have to fucking ask.

I can't imagine anything more amazing than my loved one showing up at my door on Feb 14th, by surprise... just because he wanted to make it special. Just because he boycotts holidays and birthdays, but Iw as important enough.


I want to be important enough.

No dress will do that... except......

it made me realize I'm important enough to someone. Someone who gave me the dresses. Someone who wanted me to feel beautiful. To do something totally illogical and fun and to go in a beautiful ball gown...
No matter if I have to take MYSELF out.

Ok, it matters.
But what I'm saying is..
thanks, sis. And if you have any ideas on making the rest happen, work your fucking magic.

When I Was Happy (and how I've been ruining my life)

"there is no greater sorrow than to remember in misery the time when we were happy." - Dante

In truth, I find that the worst periods of my life have been those in which I was not just sad, but spending all my time trying to get back something from the past. An event, a feeling, a person... maybe even just an idea. A fleeting moment that was so perfect that it haunts me now...

And by allowing myself to go there, to wish for it, to refuse anything else because it could never be so good.... and to bemoan the fact that what my life is NOW is not exactly what my life was then? I'm turning the beautiful moments into something ugly. I'm destroying my life.




Most recently, I found myself beating not only mySELF but other people up about the lack of continuation of the feeling of ecstasy I experienced on my New Years trip to Vegas. First of all, I expected waaaay too much out of it, but surprisingly, it met expectations. In a way. I had fun. I was happy. I wasn't upset that I ... wasn't somewhere else, living out a past experience over again.
It was all new and all amazing and beautiful and fun and I ruined it the very next day.




And I ruined it every day after that, analyzing why the fun couldn't continue every day. Why the feeling couldn't remain.




Tonight (I say for my sake... but this morning), driving home from work, I was hit by the very sudden thought of how beautiful and funny my children are. I was struck by gratitude for the mere ability to drive a vehicle alone again, to sing along to the radio and think about things and look at the stars.
I thought for a minute about how much I have missed this year, being wrapped up in my own misery, not only ruining my life but that of many people around me. Ruining relationships and potentially damaging those that I love the most with my self-pity. With my... constant insistence on getting something back from the past.

I can't fucking HAVE THE PAST, I can't hold it. If moments didn't pass, why would they be precious? If we knew we could experience our children's babyhood over and over again, what reason would we have to cherish it?




My daughter is this beautiful, mature soul who can draw amazing pictures and concentrate on a project for hours at a time. She makes up songs every day and writes them down and plans to use them in future musicals she will write. She dances for no reason but to dance. She still believes in.. everything beautiful in life. Despite me.




My son is this crazy, enigmatic ball of light that I can't keep up with, but just when I think I'm going to collapse from exhaustion, he stops for a moment and puts his arms around my neck and says "snuggle mommy!" and lends me some of that light.




Sometimes I feel a little sad, when I look at their baby pictures, that they are growing up so fast. That I miss so much when I'm at work. That I've missed so much, being so self-absorbed. But even now I am wasting time, thinking about what I've missed.

I know that I can't be perfect every day, but I made myself a promise tonight to enjoy my moments with them more. To embrace the amazing ones and then let go and be excited for the next one. To accept the hard times because they bind us, and the darkness contrasts with the bright light of their joyful laughter, our perfect moments, and that is why they shine.















Beyond that... I'm going to put it out into the universe now that it's my intention to let go of some other things from the past. To stop trying to recreate them, and instead, just allow new moments to take place. Maybe if stop pushing so hard for something that doesn't exist, I can have something that does. I can have new perfect moments, but there's no room if I don't let go of the old ones. I can look at them like those baby pictures and think how wonderful they were, and then put them away and look at what's in front of me now, and make the best of that, because it's new, and it changes every day, and I can't have expectations. Only open my heart to hope.





Besides, hell, what am I going to do? Keep having babies until my ovaries shut down? NO FREAKING WAY. I'm going to enjoy watching my kids grow up instead of taking the focus off of them by trying to get back THEIR childhoods by having.. more babies..... cause that would be a different experience anyway (nothing wrong with having a lot of babies.. unless you're me... just a metaphor.)










I was going to blog tonight about why I'm awake and why I've always been an insomniac and how crappy it is to be going through xanax withdrawals and not be able to go to sleep even though my body is exhausted, but this is way better.

I'll just say, don't ever let yourself become dependent on a chemical to make you go to sleep or to be calm.

Drugs are bad, mmmkay?




Letting go is good. :)

Scars, or Open Wounds?

On January 12th, a man that I once loved deeply had a baby with his fiance. A beautiful baby girl. He and this fiance have had an incredible relationship, from what I have observed from afar..... this man learned how to love someone besides himself, somehow.

This man ruined me.

He was the first real life-threatening, knife-to-the-heart wound that I ever really received. It made Sophia's sperm donor bailing on us pale in comparison.

Somehow, even after all the ways he tore me apart, I put myself back together, taped and glued and patchworked into someone I only sort-of recognized, and I even put he and I back together, as friends. I forgave. 

And somewhere in there, hope crept in. The sneaky little bastard.

You see, he and I were the best of friends. SO close that I moved in with him for a short while at one point (as friends). I spent a lot of evenings laying on the floor in his condo, listening to Wilco or Brandon Flowers or whatever his music choice was for the night. It was always his choice.

Drinking expensive wine his ex girlfriend gave him, or Sam Adams beer.

Basking in the presence of a human being who I thought truly understood me... and his children, who are the most pure, beautiful expression of happiness and love i've ever seen. Despite everything.... they have turned out amazing.

And the one day he told me... because I couldn't be happy for him, finding happiness after he had broken me beyond repair, that we could not be friends.

And we haven't been.

But I am friends with his oldest daughter.

And I just looked at 12 pictures of a beautiful baby, and a loving father staring at her like she was a miracle.

And all I can think about.... is the day I told him I was pregnant with his child, and he turned into a demon I had never seen before. Anywhere.

He told me, "I won't let my kids see me 'do this wrong'".... he told me, if I insisted on not aborting, I had to move away and stay away.

He was threatening and scary.. I was more afraid that day than any other day in my entire life (except when Eli got dropped on his face from 6+ feet in the air.... long story).

He told me.. nobody would want to be with me unless they were drunk.

He wouldn't mind having another baby, but not with me. Nobody would want that with me.

I remember his cold stare, and feeling like I had to leave or my heart would simply stop beating.

I remember forgetting to strap my daughter into her booster seat, and driving 3 blocks before the intense, body-wracking sobs took over and I could no longer drive, and then I sat contemplating driivng my car off the nearest cliff.

I remember that look.

The look.... that will be burned into me for the rest of my life. Because it wasn't only him that gave it to me. It's been so many others.

The look that says, if you dare to screw up my perfect PICTURE of a life by making good of the mistake that we BOTH made.... then I swear to god, I will ruin your life, if not take it from you completely.

The look that says, how could you "allow" this to happen to me?  (like I raped you?)

The look that says, "I can't do this right now.."

Oh, you can't?

What about the woman, who has to deal with the emotion and physical repercussions of an abortion?

Or a 40+ week pregnancy that ends with handing a beautiful baby that you grew to know and love over to a stranger "for a better life"?

or.... all that pregnancy, the pain, the discomfort, the loneliness, the excruciatingly long days at work.. and the long nights alone.... and then having that baby

alone.

And raising that baby alone.

Men..... you.... fucking don't ever say "I can't do this right now". Because us women, we don't HAVE A CHOICE.

I dont' care about pro-choice, pro-life, pro anything. I don't care. Once your irresponsible semen fertilizes one of our (more or less) irresponsible eggs, it's on US. It's on the woman. It's our whole lives that change.

For you, it's a paycheck...

An inconvenience.

for me...

it's the broken record in my head, reminding me that I will never share that moment of joy with anyone.

Reminding me that not one man has ever been in love with me.

Reminding me that my children, no matter how much love me and my parents give them, it will never be the same as a real father's love...

And.. reminding me that.. it's my fault.

Because if they had wanted me... they would have stuck around for those kids.

It is my fault. All my fault.

I don't know how to fix me.

Celebrity Crushes

I've had my share of strange, obsessive crushes over fictional characters and/or celebrities over the years.

Usually, if I'm in a semi-good place, crushing on a REAL human being in my life (and maybe the feeling is returned by 1/10th), those feelings for "fake" people go away.

But... at the age of 27, I'm suddenly finding myself sucked in by a couple of not-so-prominent actors (maybe then, more AVAILABLE?!).... and the characters they portray.

First off, Hugh fucking DILLON, aka Ed Lane, the really hot canadian bald cop in Flashpoint.
He's bald. He's a cop. He's ripped. He's married to a girl that's not nearly as hot as him (in the show). He loves his family, and he's good at his job and does it for the right reasons.
I don't need to point out the fact that this reminds me very much of the REAL man I'm in love with, whose name will never be mentioned on this blog. In fact, we will just call him LOML.
I can't decide if I like Hugh or LOML or Ed Lane more. I can't decide why I like them, actually. They are everything that is toxic to a woman's world.
Married to their jobs. Ex-drug addicts. More relationship and mommy issues than a serial killer. Amazing in bed.....

I'm not going to say which person each thing applies to.

Second off, we have Josh friggn Radnor aka Ted Mosby on How I Met Your Mother, which is an amazing sitcom that I JUST discovered and only just started watching season 2 of on Netflix. Usually between the hours of 2 am and 8 am.

I didn't find him attractive at first. Kind of like my prematurely balding christian boss at the job I hate. But then things grow on you. Like those chocolatey brown eyes and their cute funny little quirks, or how nothing ever goes right for them and suddenly *I* want to be what goes right for them.
And after all, they are pretty freaking cute.

All of this is really happening because within the past 6 months, three men who I was once very in love with and who had major impacts on my life have had newborn babies with fiances/wives/girlfriends. Men who told me they'd never get married again. Men who told me they would rather shoot themselves in the balls than have another baby.... with me.
Men who... you know, told every cliche lie in the book, and then found a woman that was loveable and changed their minds about everything.
And, LOML left. He went away, right when I thought we'd have a chance to give things a real try. The past four years have been a real saga, man, we could make a TV show of THAT shit.
But it'd be X rated and really sad.


..... except it could be kind of funny, because what are sit-coms, but turning the sick reality of fucked-up real life into something to laugh at? So that we can SURVIVE IT.
We have to laugh.
I have to laugh.

Even if what's-his-name's newborn is really really cute, and I wanted her to be ugly like her mom.
Even if they're all happy and I'm just alone, and trying to GET my head back above water. I've been drowning, and here and there, I've been getting a few breaks, a few moments of fresh air in my lungs.
I feel sometimes like I might NOT die from all of this. Not yet.

So I crush on people I can't have, including the real man in my life.
And I watch sitcoms and drink spiked non-alcoholic wine.
And research things I may never get to do. Later, I'll dream.
And even later, I'll wake up. Meh.

We'll Start Wherever I Feel Like Starting...

So, I felt like my other blog HAD to be geared toward subject matter or a certain tone, and that's fine. I'm going to use it mostly for my "spiritual" journey.

However, I needed an outlet for all my other shit. You know, the inappropriate stuff, the funny stuff, the random anecdotes about single-hood, single-mom-hood, eternally-fucked-up-life-situations, bad stuff my kids do that I laugh at, dating misadventures, and so on.

This will be random. It might be funny. It might be annoying. I don't give a shit. :)

Here are a few fun facts about me:

I am a single mom of 2 children. They have different fathers. Both their fathers are assholes, but one is an asshole of epic proportions (he requires a douche-yacht to get around, or even a douche-tanic -douche titanic- on some days), and the other is actually a semi-decent person with the mentality of a 12 yr old. He's really annoying to argue with.

I've been engaged twice, but never married. I haven't had an actual "boyfriend" for 3 years. I haven't been in a relationship in which I wasn't a "mistress" or a "friend with benefits" since I was 20 (I'm 27).
I'm a really nice person.
There are a lot of awesome things about me. But... you know, whatever.
I'm an atheist
and a spiritualist
I play the piano and sing and am clinging to the very last vestiges of my dream to be a semi-known singer/pianist while making more acceptable plans for the future, like going to school for psychology, continuing my spiritual studies and becoming a midwife. Wait... did I say acceptable?

My son is at his dad's house this weekend. His dad texted me earlier to ask if I could start sending church clothes with him when he visits.
I actually groaned out loud, and very sweetly texted back, "he doesn't have any, we don't attend church. He had some nice black pants and does have a button up shirt, but last I saw the pants, they were in the diaper bag on their way to YOUR house. Check your closets."

Seriously?
My daughter (almost 7) has been attending church with my parents most of her life. Much to my dismay. But as I feel like I should've had the right to choose if I wanted go to or not.... so should I give her that choice. Even if by doing so I'm now going to become the ultimate villain, keeping our family from living together in eternal peace and harmony by NOT being married (it is ALL my fault, you know) and not being a nice mormon girl like I should be.

And now my son, too? I really thought we were going to escape that one, considering his dad is a former meth addict/dealer and his dad's live-in girlfriend (who is pretty cool, actually) didn't seem like the church-going type, and never has.


Maybe they just figure since the kids live with me, they must need some religion and god to hold onto so they don't run with me full-force down the path to fiery, eternal hell.


Or something.


I'm going to go drink my spiked non-alcoholic wine and watch How I Met Your Mother. Fuck this.