So on Friday I had a revelation. I decided to quit facebook. Yes, I know this come as quite a shock to some (perhaps most) as I was AVID bookgoer for quite some time. Shit, the husband even had a cousin texting him asking if I got hacked because I couldn't really be quitting facebook at my own free will. I admit I could have gone about the situation a bit better than blasting out a toxic message saying how I've become nauseated by everyone (in fact it was really only about a tenth of my feed) but I've always been a gun jumping, go big kinda girl. And in hindsight since it was really only a tenth or so of my feed making me sick so I guess I could have done the mass delete or "hidden" everyone making the bile ease up my trachea but I didn't, and I'm far too stubborn of a girl to go back in there. Perhaps in time. For now I'm strangely content with this silence. Profile deactivated and three years of memories archived in a zip file. Done and done!
The thing about facebook is that while it puts anyone you've ever breathed near within your reach, it also makes it easy to avoid any type of real socialization. Why should I meet so and so for lunch when I already know everything big going on in their life? In fact, beyond just being in the loop I also know that your kid just wiped his own ass for the first time, you are looking to sell a playstation, and you couldn't stop sneezing on 13th of June. There the stay at home moms whom I haven't actually spoken to in 5 years that feel the need to post at least 5 photos a day of their not so cute kid along with a status update after every diaper change. The perpetual complainers that remind me of eeyore with a constant cloud over their head. The one's that post how perfect their life is just so you can question yours. Something about that seems just, I dunno... wrong, self glorifying, fake, overwhelming. And I realize that with such a site like facebook literally at your fingertips (if you are out of a cave and have a smartphone, that is) all hours of the day it's easy to fall into the trap of posting every minute and mundane detail of your life. I know was definitely an over poster without even thinking about what I was doing or how it may come off to others so I totally get it, it's just that I've realized that's not who I want to be right now. Plus I look forward to more real conversations, it seems in the last year you can never get any face to face "news" about your friends since everything is already out there for all with an account to see. Sure as modern woman of my generation I still need my social networking fix which is why I have twitter and this blog, and I did get on google+ (which is a virtual ghost town right now, I figure it will allow me ease back into a facebook style of networking as more people join. p.s. the customization on their is the shit!). And who knows, maybe after a couple month of quiet I'll decide to give it another go.
But yeah, for the few people that read this that maybe wonder if I had some sort of life crisis that led me to shut myself off from the world, nope not at all. In fact, I'm hoping to get more in touch with it. If not, at least I'll find out who my real friends are.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
i'm a mom and i like to rock
So anyone who knows me knows that as lame as it may be, I'm not much one for movies. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the art and all and realize I'm probably missing out on a ton of cool shit I just have a horrible tendency to fall asleep almost every time I try to watch one. Before my I had my daughter, I probably hadn't been to the theatre in 3 or so years and even with her we've only seen Shrek & Rapunzel.
I did however stumble across a film I can't wait to see (and stay awake in!). The film is called The Other F-Word and debuted at this years SXSW, its set to release this fall. It's a rock-u-mentary (sorry couldn't resist! [also for those who know me, know I have an insatiable thirst for puns]) about punk rockers turned fathers, and balancing those two very different worlds. It was inspired by the book Punk Rock Dad by Jim Lindburg of Pennywise and while I’ve never been a huge fan if his it’s a super cute & quick read. The main premise of it is how does one go from saying “fuck authority” to being the authority when they become a parent.
Why am I so excited about this film? Well, it seems it's pretty much made for me. While Little Sass has become the number one passion in my life, for many years before her punk rock was my main passion. It's just one of those things I stumbled upon around age 12 and haven't been able to shake ever since. Most of my friends have outgrown it, or it least don't obsess over things like Alkaline Trio re-recording old tunes for a 15th anniversary release. Most don't even bother going to shows anymore or get excited about seeing NOFX for the 20th time or the fact that they've seen them in 4 different states. Most of them don't get giddy when they get mentioned by a favorite rock idol on twitter, hell, I think any of them even have a twitter account (btw El Hefe totally digs my Ben Weasel jokes!). I however love this stuff.
I know it's odd and probably says something about me that I'm the only one who still cares about this shit. I don't really care what those other people think cause it makes me happy and the internet makes it so easy to keep up with. I love that can look forward to a film about 2 of my favorite things; being a parent and punk rock music. I'm not saying that I have anything in common with those featured in this film, I've never been in a band and can't even play an instrument, but I can definitely relate to needing to find new grounding and where you belong once a child comes into your life.
For me the first year of motherhood was a total Zoolander "Who am I?" moment. I no longer really fit in with my friends I shared common interests with because no one else had kids. I no longer was going to Casey Moore's twice a week or even staying up past 10 o clock (which I was & still am completely fine with). I found myself trying to forge friendships with other mothers I had nothing in common with except for the fact that we both pushed out kids out of our crotches. Not that there was anything wrong with these other moms, it's just I could never really be myself around them and everything just felt so forced. I guess I was just trying to do what I felt a parent was "supposed" to be. Luckily, I eventually found myself again and realized I was sick of trying to be something I wasn't. I realized that I am supposed to be Little Sass' mom but I'm also still supposed to be me. I think a confident and happy mom will raise a confident and happy daughter.
I did however stumble across a film I can't wait to see (and stay awake in!). The film is called The Other F-Word and debuted at this years SXSW, its set to release this fall. It's a rock-u-mentary (sorry couldn't resist! [also for those who know me, know I have an insatiable thirst for puns]) about punk rockers turned fathers, and balancing those two very different worlds. It was inspired by the book Punk Rock Dad by Jim Lindburg of Pennywise and while I’ve never been a huge fan if his it’s a super cute & quick read. The main premise of it is how does one go from saying “fuck authority” to being the authority when they become a parent.
Why am I so excited about this film? Well, it seems it's pretty much made for me. While Little Sass has become the number one passion in my life, for many years before her punk rock was my main passion. It's just one of those things I stumbled upon around age 12 and haven't been able to shake ever since. Most of my friends have outgrown it, or it least don't obsess over things like Alkaline Trio re-recording old tunes for a 15th anniversary release. Most don't even bother going to shows anymore or get excited about seeing NOFX for the 20th time or the fact that they've seen them in 4 different states. Most of them don't get giddy when they get mentioned by a favorite rock idol on twitter, hell, I think any of them even have a twitter account (btw El Hefe totally digs my Ben Weasel jokes!). I however love this stuff.
I know it's odd and probably says something about me that I'm the only one who still cares about this shit. I don't really care what those other people think cause it makes me happy and the internet makes it so easy to keep up with. I love that can look forward to a film about 2 of my favorite things; being a parent and punk rock music. I'm not saying that I have anything in common with those featured in this film, I've never been in a band and can't even play an instrument, but I can definitely relate to needing to find new grounding and where you belong once a child comes into your life.
For me the first year of motherhood was a total Zoolander "Who am I?" moment. I no longer really fit in with my friends I shared common interests with because no one else had kids. I no longer was going to Casey Moore's twice a week or even staying up past 10 o clock (which I was & still am completely fine with). I found myself trying to forge friendships with other mothers I had nothing in common with except for the fact that we both pushed out kids out of our crotches. Not that there was anything wrong with these other moms, it's just I could never really be myself around them and everything just felt so forced. I guess I was just trying to do what I felt a parent was "supposed" to be. Luckily, I eventually found myself again and realized I was sick of trying to be something I wasn't. I realized that I am supposed to be Little Sass' mom but I'm also still supposed to be me. I think a confident and happy mom will raise a confident and happy daughter.
I still often wonder how I will handle certain situations as Little Sass grows up coming from the background I do. Like when she asks about Christmas for example. "Well honey, there are a lot of people out there that believe in a magical man named Jesus who walked on water, turned water to wine, and rose from the dead. They celebrate his birthday because his mom got knocked up without even having sex by another made up magical entity named God. These people are illogical fairy tale believers and in our house we believe in science and empirical evidence". Well sure that works for me but when she repeats that to her friends and they repeat it to their parents, her playdates will likely come to a screeching halt. I don't want to do that to her but I also won't lie to her for the sake of conformity and harmonic playdates.
I intend to raise her in a truthful fashion and not lie to her to save myself a difficult conversation. I will never push my beliefs on her but will encourage her to seek out her own. I realize this sometimes may be difficult to do especially being the opinionated and overly verbose woman I am (and I will likely only get worse with age). If she wants to become a mormon, I can’t say I’d be thrilled but hey it could be worse (will tea partiers still be around in 15 years?). I guess a lot of my anxieties about me being her parent instead of some cookie cutter baby maker lady may never even prove to be problematic. Maybe I’m putting myself on some pedestal by thinking I’m any different than any other parent out there. Only time will tell I guess. At the end of the day I’m just a mom who loves and wishes the very best for her child, and who happens to like really loud and fast power chords.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
punks in vegas!
So I survived my second Punk Rock Bowling and lived to blog the tale!
For anyone not privy to Punk Rock Bowling, it's basically a Las Vegas punk rock convention dedicated to bowling, bands, and lots of booze. It's basically one weekend out of the year where everyone you'd be friends with if you lived in the same place heads out to Vegas to tear shit up. I like to think of it as punk rock Disneyland, the happiest place on earth.
It's a place where if you're single you can get laid every night (the ratio being far in favor for the single ladies) as long as you don't mind seeing the person with someone else the very next day. It's a place where coupled folk like myself can have just as much sex (with far less chance of disease & "oh fuck" pregnancies) and remember how you first fell in love at a punk show and are happy to still be going to them 10 years later. It's a place where if you're a sexless loner in your hometown because you don't fit in, you could probably still get laid by another loner just like you. It's a place where the line between celebrity and fan becomes blurred and you can play poker with Fat Mike, ride an elevator with Milo, or sit next to Joey Cape at dinner. It's a place with a sense of community though where if you lose your friends you don't even worry cause you know you'll meet new ones as soon as you head to the bar for your next drink. It's a place where if you lose a bet to your friend you can pop in the lobby pagoda and get their name tattooed on your ass with the whole hotel watches. It's a place where all the concerns and responsibilties of the real world go away for a couple days and you can still be the 16 year old punk rock chick you'll always be at heart (but with more money & legal drinking). It's basically amazing and I wish it lasted longer.
While it's fresh in my Vegas fogged mind, I thought it'd be fun to highlight the weekend. This way when I'm older and can't remember how much fun I had, I can re-live it and my daughter can use it against me when she's older and ready to make her own pilgrimage to sin city. I can't promise to recount all the details, but
I'll sure try my damndest.
Day One:
We hit the road on Friday morning and arrived at Sams Town about 5 o'clock (perfect right?!?). We checked in, iced the beers we picked up at the gas station, and headed down to the atrium bar for some fun. It didn't take long to meet up with lasts years PRB friends and meet some new ones. Somehow we managed to force ourselves to grab some dinner before splitting up some the the tables, some the bar (again), and one the tattoo stand. Later that evening we hopped the shuttle to club show where all I remember actually seeing was Chip Hanna. I know the Cobra Skulls, Swinging Utters, and Cadillac Tramps also played but I was three shakes to the wind at that point and busy meeting my tattoo twins (well, technically quadruplets). Skiba himself supposedly inked the right two... RAD!
Day Two:
We awoke hungover and ready to bowl! After getting there early to grab shoes that fit, a ball I could actually carry, and a couple bloody mary's me and my fellow Smooch Butchers were ready. Our shirts turned out great, we had super nice bowling neighbors ( Team AA Bowl Shit), and punk music began to flood the lanes. I can't tell you what we scored but I can say I bowled better then last year and we still didn't rank. We of course celebrated our lack of accomplishment meeating a bunch of Fat Wreck Chords icons and drinking more. After said drinks we decided to commemorate the event with some PRB ink where I got a bloody cleaver in tribute to my beloved bowling team, The Smooch Butchers!
Finally, the moment we had traveled and waited for: the few, the proud, The Descendents! Words cannot even do justice to the set they played. It was 16 years of listening pleasure rolled up into one flawless performance. I'd never seen a crowd so enamored by a band and justly so, they sound ten times better live than on records. I saw people dancing, I saw people crying. I even heard someone got engaged. It was probably the best show I've ever been to and I feel lucky to have seen it. They played just about everything I wanted to hear and even included some unexpected favorites. It was amazing!
Who could ever follow a Descendents show in a club right? Well, Old Man Markley can! I first saw these guys at last years Punk Rock Bowling and they are the happiest little blue grass punk band you ever did see. They do an amazing cover of Screeching Weasel's "Science of Myth" (yeah yeah Ben hits girls...) which is my favorite song of theirs. I met a few of them after the show and they were as nice as can be.
Then we went back to the hotel, put it all on black, and made back all the money we spent that day!
So that pretty much sums up PRB 2011, leaving is always so sad as I wish I could stay in that world forever like a real life Maddersville. But the fact that it only happens once a year is what makes it so special, until 2012 I await with baited breathe...
For anyone not privy to Punk Rock Bowling, it's basically a Las Vegas punk rock convention dedicated to bowling, bands, and lots of booze. It's basically one weekend out of the year where everyone you'd be friends with if you lived in the same place heads out to Vegas to tear shit up. I like to think of it as punk rock Disneyland, the happiest place on earth.
It's a place where if you're single you can get laid every night (the ratio being far in favor for the single ladies) as long as you don't mind seeing the person with someone else the very next day. It's a place where coupled folk like myself can have just as much sex (with far less chance of disease & "oh fuck" pregnancies) and remember how you first fell in love at a punk show and are happy to still be going to them 10 years later. It's a place where if you're a sexless loner in your hometown because you don't fit in, you could probably still get laid by another loner just like you. It's a place where the line between celebrity and fan becomes blurred and you can play poker with Fat Mike, ride an elevator with Milo, or sit next to Joey Cape at dinner. It's a place with a sense of community though where if you lose your friends you don't even worry cause you know you'll meet new ones as soon as you head to the bar for your next drink. It's a place where if you lose a bet to your friend you can pop in the lobby pagoda and get their name tattooed on your ass with the whole hotel watches. It's a place where all the concerns and responsibilties of the real world go away for a couple days and you can still be the 16 year old punk rock chick you'll always be at heart (but with more money & legal drinking). It's basically amazing and I wish it lasted longer.
While it's fresh in my Vegas fogged mind, I thought it'd be fun to highlight the weekend. This way when I'm older and can't remember how much fun I had, I can re-live it and my daughter can use it against me when she's older and ready to make her own pilgrimage to sin city. I can't promise to recount all the details, but
I'll sure try my damndest.
Day One:
We hit the road on Friday morning and arrived at Sams Town about 5 o'clock (perfect right?!?). We checked in, iced the beers we picked up at the gas station, and headed down to the atrium bar for some fun. It didn't take long to meet up with lasts years PRB friends and meet some new ones. Somehow we managed to force ourselves to grab some dinner before splitting up some the the tables, some the bar (again), and one the tattoo stand. Later that evening we hopped the shuttle to club show where all I remember actually seeing was Chip Hanna. I know the Cobra Skulls, Swinging Utters, and Cadillac Tramps also played but I was three shakes to the wind at that point and busy meeting my tattoo twins (well, technically quadruplets). Skiba himself supposedly inked the right two... RAD!
Somehow after all of this we arrived safely to our room next door to Talli a.k.a. "She's Nubs", and hit the (clean) sheets... Sorry I can't resist a good pun & since The Descendents headlined so I just had to go there...
We awoke hungover and ready to bowl! After getting there early to grab shoes that fit, a ball I could actually carry, and a couple bloody mary's me and my fellow Smooch Butchers were ready. Our shirts turned out great, we had super nice bowling neighbors ( Team AA Bowl Shit), and punk music began to flood the lanes. I can't tell you what we scored but I can say I bowled better then last year and we still didn't rank. We of course celebrated our lack of accomplishment meeating a bunch of Fat Wreck Chords icons and drinking more. After said drinks we decided to commemorate the event with some PRB ink where I got a bloody cleaver in tribute to my beloved bowling team, The Smooch Butchers!
(my new & improved thigh)
We spent the rest of the day at the atrium bar where I stayed until I could no longer handle any drunken drama or conversations. I went back to room early and alone but content with my new souvenir ink and a fun day behind me.
Day Three (The BIG One):
Sunday morning I awoke feeling good. We hashed out the previous nights drama, grabbed some much needed food, and rounded up the troops for what would become one of the most epic days of my life. We headed to the music fest early, staked some prime bleacher real estate, then hit up the merch stands for a Paper Doll dress for Little Sass and some much needed hoodies as it was freezing out.
The first band was Larry And His Flask, a band dubbed "appalachian punk" and an energetic joy to watch & hear. The seriously rocks & I highly recommend you check them out when their first album hits in June (label unknown) or on this summers Warped Tour.
Those bearded punks were followed by the amazing and vastly underrated American Steel. They were amazing and hence the "vastly underrated" we got to watch them up close and personal. Their set was excellent and their lyrics very therapeutic given the previous days drama (sometimes you just gotta listen to the words and it all comes together). After Steel's set, The Undertones & Black Pacific played. I wasn't too into them which allowed me to get to more sitting time in before the big guns came out.
Next up was Bouncing Souls which are always entertaining but not at their best that night in my opinion. A highlight was Shawn Sterns birthday shout out and "Quick Check Girl" by his request. Also, they covered The Misfits's "Legacy of Brutality" acoustically with Greg on guitar which was pretty fantastic.
Then it was time for Me First and The Gimme Gimmes to take stage. They appeared in their trademark baby blue tuxes and ready to go. I was ready to go too! Anyone that has ever seen me see the Gimmes knows I hold nothing back and couldn't even if I tried. They opened with Elton John's "Rocket Man" and from there is was a non-stop singing, jumping, crying, spinning, screaming, dance fest until they left the stage. They were amazing as always. If could could spend the rest of my life with the Gimmes playing in my head I don't think I'd ever have another bad day.
Finally, the moment we had traveled and waited for: the few, the proud, The Descendents! Words cannot even do justice to the set they played. It was 16 years of listening pleasure rolled up into one flawless performance. I'd never seen a crowd so enamored by a band and justly so, they sound ten times better live than on records. I saw people dancing, I saw people crying. I even heard someone got engaged. It was probably the best show I've ever been to and I feel lucky to have seen it. They played just about everything I wanted to hear and even included some unexpected favorites. It was amazing!
Then we went back to the hotel, put it all on black, and made back all the money we spent that day!
So that pretty much sums up PRB 2011, leaving is always so sad as I wish I could stay in that world forever like a real life Maddersville. But the fact that it only happens once a year is what makes it so special, until 2012 I await with baited breathe...
Sunday, May 8, 2011
mother dearest
Ah mothers day!
Today I slept in until 9:30am. I awake to my shining Little Sass in her prettiest dress at the bottom of the stairs waiting to throw her arms around me and plant a big fat kiss on my face shouting "Happy Mudders Day!" From the husband I was greated with flowers, a kiss, and coffee, and my breakfast of choosing (Country Fried Steak & Eggs with hashbrowns and bacon [and mimosas!]). My husband built new garage shelving yesterday and designed our PRB logo which I've been nagging about today. I've spent the day relaxing and being gluttonous. It's been a fabulous weekend!
I love that there's a designated day set aside to love and appreciate our mothers for all they do. Being a mother is by far the most trying, enlightening, testing, rewarding experience I have ever had, and I'm so thankful to be lucky enough to experience it. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my Little Sass in my life. She is my little partner in crime and the thing to level my out when I'm about to tip. She seriously completes me. I read one of those chain mothers day e-mails this week that said "until becoming a mother, I never knew what it felt like to wear my heart outside of my body", it couldn't be more true. She is constantly on my mind and a reminder of hope and the things that really matter. I love her more than anything in this world and thank her for coming into my life.
To my mother, I tip my hat. She is one of the strongest people I've ever met and has endured so much to just keep marching on with a smile on her face and gimlet in glass. I thank you mother ( I know you're reading this) for being there for me and making me the person I am today and always respecting who I am. You've taught me so much and I find myself seeing that more and more the older I get and more motherhood I get under my own belt. I love you so much!
Today I slept in until 9:30am. I awake to my shining Little Sass in her prettiest dress at the bottom of the stairs waiting to throw her arms around me and plant a big fat kiss on my face shouting "Happy Mudders Day!" From the husband I was greated with flowers, a kiss, and coffee, and my breakfast of choosing (Country Fried Steak & Eggs with hashbrowns and bacon [and mimosas!]). My husband built new garage shelving yesterday and designed our PRB logo which I've been nagging about today. I've spent the day relaxing and being gluttonous. It's been a fabulous weekend!
I love that there's a designated day set aside to love and appreciate our mothers for all they do. Being a mother is by far the most trying, enlightening, testing, rewarding experience I have ever had, and I'm so thankful to be lucky enough to experience it. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my Little Sass in my life. She is my little partner in crime and the thing to level my out when I'm about to tip. She seriously completes me. I read one of those chain mothers day e-mails this week that said "until becoming a mother, I never knew what it felt like to wear my heart outside of my body", it couldn't be more true. She is constantly on my mind and a reminder of hope and the things that really matter. I love her more than anything in this world and thank her for coming into my life.
To my mother, I tip my hat. She is one of the strongest people I've ever met and has endured so much to just keep marching on with a smile on her face and gimlet in glass. I thank you mother ( I know you're reading this) for being there for me and making me the person I am today and always respecting who I am. You've taught me so much and I find myself seeing that more and more the older I get and more motherhood I get under my own belt. I love you so much!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
i (almost) survived my twenties
i (almost) survived my twenties!
So on Sunday I will turn 30 years old. This has come with a wave of emotions from panic, to fear, to grief, to contentment. Today I'm actually not feeling too bad about it. Saying hello to my thirties means closing the chapter of my twenties, and oh what a chapter that was! I've spent the majority of the week reflecting upon my twenties, what I did, what I didn't do, what I could have done better. I guess I had never really realized what an amazing and crazy last ten years it's been until I sat down to really think about it. To be honest, given a lot of the incredibly stupid stuff I did in my early twenties, part of me feels really lucky to be here. So anyhow, in honor of bidding adieu to my twenties I thought I'd compile a list of the 20 most significant events that happened in the last decade. Some are fantastic, some are devastating but each and every one had a signifacant impact on getting me to where I am now.
20 biggest things to happen in my 20's:
1. Became a parent to the most amazing little girl in the world.
2. Married my best friend in the raddest Halloween wedding ever.
3. Lost my father.
4. Lost the rest of my fathers family.
5. Earned my Bachelors Degree.
6. Started my Masters Degree (and almost finished!).
7. Bought 2 homes & become a landlord.
8. Earned my target household salary.
9. Discovered who my true friends are.
10. Spent new years eve in New York City and got engaged.
11. Lived with 7 different roommates.
12. Learned to sew.
13. Zip-lined through the Costa Rican Rainforest.
14. Bowled at Punk Rock Bowling (and met Fat Mike!).
15. Survived potty training a child.
16. Learned to make a mean drink & toss liquor bottles.
17. Saw the glaciers in Alaska (they'll probably all be gone soon. lame)
18. Bonded even more with my Mom & Sister.
19. Ran a 5K and susequently stopped running all together.
20. Learned to be happy just being me.
So on Sunday I will turn 30 years old. This has come with a wave of emotions from panic, to fear, to grief, to contentment. Today I'm actually not feeling too bad about it. Saying hello to my thirties means closing the chapter of my twenties, and oh what a chapter that was! I've spent the majority of the week reflecting upon my twenties, what I did, what I didn't do, what I could have done better. I guess I had never really realized what an amazing and crazy last ten years it's been until I sat down to really think about it. To be honest, given a lot of the incredibly stupid stuff I did in my early twenties, part of me feels really lucky to be here. So anyhow, in honor of bidding adieu to my twenties I thought I'd compile a list of the 20 most significant events that happened in the last decade. Some are fantastic, some are devastating but each and every one had a signifacant impact on getting me to where I am now.
20 biggest things to happen in my 20's:
1. Became a parent to the most amazing little girl in the world.
2. Married my best friend in the raddest Halloween wedding ever.
3. Lost my father.
4. Lost the rest of my fathers family.
5. Earned my Bachelors Degree.
6. Started my Masters Degree (and almost finished!).
7. Bought 2 homes & become a landlord.
8. Earned my target household salary.
9. Discovered who my true friends are.
10. Spent new years eve in New York City and got engaged.
11. Lived with 7 different roommates.
12. Learned to sew.
13. Zip-lined through the Costa Rican Rainforest.
14. Bowled at Punk Rock Bowling (and met Fat Mike!).
15. Survived potty training a child.
16. Learned to make a mean drink & toss liquor bottles.
17. Saw the glaciers in Alaska (they'll probably all be gone soon. lame)
18. Bonded even more with my Mom & Sister.
19. Ran a 5K and susequently stopped running all together.
20. Learned to be happy just being me.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
apples really do fall from trees
So everyone knows the saying "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree". I've heard this saying my whole life, and to be honest it always kind of annoyed me for some reason but lately I have I whole new understanding of it. You see Little Sass, more and more, is reminding me of myself and likewise I, more and more, am reminding myself of my mother. I will say something and immediately gasp, wondering if my mother somehow invaded my brain to make me say it. It is rather scary. Even things she used to say that would completely drive me crazy, I find coming out of my mouth. This I have come to terms with. My mother and I are SUPER close so if starting to parent like her means that I'll eventually have that same relationship with Little Sass, I'm all for it.
What just amazes me though is just how much Little Sass is acting like ME (an age 3 me that is). I remember my mothers contentment to finding out I was having a little girl, it was genuine excitement over a new granddaughter and the sly gratification that karma would soon be hard at work in my household. It's not that I was a bad kid, in fact I was pretty adorable from what I'm told, but I was the kinda kid that learned manipulation early on and was not afraid to use it on my family or unsuspecting babysitters. I knew if I played my cards right I could get what I wanted and so I did, and when I didn't, well I made sure everyone around was just as miserable as myself. To my mothers delight, Little Sass is the exact same way.
Physically as well, she is beginning to look like the spitting image of me at her age. The little girl has my giant blue eyes that go from charming to daggers in .5 seconds, complete with trademark roll. She has the blond ringlet curls my mom eventually cut off after I refused to let her brush and de-tangle. I catch her admiring herself in the mirror and practicing her fancy ballerina twirls for hours on end. She loves singing songs as did I and is even recently adopting her mothers love of words and rhyme. She is a complete girly girl, changing outfits at least twice a day, even waking up in a different nightgown then I put her to bed in. The first thing she does when she wakes is put on her princess "high heels" and crown. She throws a fit when the weather forces me to make her wear pants, and will only settle for a dress with leggings at best. Sometimes I wonder where this girlyness comes from but then I remind myself that while I toughened with age, I was a far cry from the little girl that liked bugs and ate dirt.
The girl does NOT take "no" for an answer and time out is a joke in our house. I refuse to resort to spankings so discipline consists of taking away dessert, barbie movies, and princess accessories. When she is unhappy she assures I am as well, kicking, screaming, or doing whatever it takes to assure no one is having a better time than she. She has recently discovered the art of talking back.
As trying as it can be at times to be raising such a strong minded and painfully adorable 3year old girl, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know this is just a preview of the amazing woman she will one day become, refusing to accept what someone says just because they are an elder or authority. The kind of woman who refuses to conform to things just because masses tell her to and isn't afraid to fight for what she believes in. The kind of woman who is intelligent and strong and confident can do whatever her heart desires.
She is MY apple, and I couldn't be more proud.
What just amazes me though is just how much Little Sass is acting like ME (an age 3 me that is). I remember my mothers contentment to finding out I was having a little girl, it was genuine excitement over a new granddaughter and the sly gratification that karma would soon be hard at work in my household. It's not that I was a bad kid, in fact I was pretty adorable from what I'm told, but I was the kinda kid that learned manipulation early on and was not afraid to use it on my family or unsuspecting babysitters. I knew if I played my cards right I could get what I wanted and so I did, and when I didn't, well I made sure everyone around was just as miserable as myself. To my mothers delight, Little Sass is the exact same way.
Physically as well, she is beginning to look like the spitting image of me at her age. The little girl has my giant blue eyes that go from charming to daggers in .5 seconds, complete with trademark roll. She has the blond ringlet curls my mom eventually cut off after I refused to let her brush and de-tangle. I catch her admiring herself in the mirror and practicing her fancy ballerina twirls for hours on end. She loves singing songs as did I and is even recently adopting her mothers love of words and rhyme. She is a complete girly girl, changing outfits at least twice a day, even waking up in a different nightgown then I put her to bed in. The first thing she does when she wakes is put on her princess "high heels" and crown. She throws a fit when the weather forces me to make her wear pants, and will only settle for a dress with leggings at best. Sometimes I wonder where this girlyness comes from but then I remind myself that while I toughened with age, I was a far cry from the little girl that liked bugs and ate dirt.
The girl does NOT take "no" for an answer and time out is a joke in our house. I refuse to resort to spankings so discipline consists of taking away dessert, barbie movies, and princess accessories. When she is unhappy she assures I am as well, kicking, screaming, or doing whatever it takes to assure no one is having a better time than she. She has recently discovered the art of talking back.
As trying as it can be at times to be raising such a strong minded and painfully adorable 3year old girl, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know this is just a preview of the amazing woman she will one day become, refusing to accept what someone says just because they are an elder or authority. The kind of woman who refuses to conform to things just because masses tell her to and isn't afraid to fight for what she believes in. The kind of woman who is intelligent and strong and confident can do whatever her heart desires.
She is MY apple, and I couldn't be more proud.
Sass
Monday, April 4, 2011
i fell in love with the boy at the rock show
So this last week my husband and I celebrated our TEN YEAR dating anniversary. Now I realize that once you get married you get a new slate of sorts where the counting of time together is supposed to start right over but what about the other five and half years of us pre-marriage? Is it not worthy of being counted anymore? I think not, so this blog is to be dedicated to the birth of my relationship with my husband.
So yeah, 10 years! A decade, 3650 days, over a third of my life- however you want to say it, has been spent with a certain tall, handsome, and super intelligent man by my side. Crazy to think we have been together since I was 19 and could not even legally enter a bar...wow. Even crazier to think, is how little has changed for us. I mean while we are MUCH more responsible these days with mortgages, masters degrees, and a darling child we spawned together, deep down we are still the same "us" we were back then.
We started at a punk rock show. We had met briefly before that night as I had just started waitressing at the TGIFridays he bartended at and he had tried to start a conversation with me once at the service bar. I was waiting for him to make my drinks when he pointed to the sticker on my car and asked "do you really like Tilt or do you just have the sticker?". I rolled my eyes, said thanks for my drinks, and walked away.
But anyways, back to the punk rock show. So a co-worker of ours had two extra tickets to a sold out NOFX show, one of which he gave to him (the now husband) and the other went to me, the new girl at work with a ton of fat wreck chords "flair" on her suspenders. I still remember how nervous I was that night to go out solo with new people leaving my BFF and safety net of friends at home, but it was NOFX, and it was sold out, and the ticket was free so I went for it.
Once I got to the show and found everyone and chatted it up a bit, I remember doing a double take at the bartender I had blown off a couple weeks prior, outside of the red and white stripes he actually looked pretty good. We got to proper introductions and the token "so do you go to ASU?" and I got to thinking hey this guy ain't too shabby. You see at this time in my life, though only 19, I was looking for a boyfriend and I was VERY particular about what I was looking for. I even had a list:
1. Must be 6 feet or taller.
2. Must be like punk rock music.
3. Must NOT like god.
4. Must be a college graduate or at least pursuing a college degree.
Now finding someone who met all criteria on this list had proved harder than I thought it'd be, I'd find the first three check off's all over the place, but the big one- number four, in the punk scene was next to impossible at that time. But there I was, by chance at a sold out NOFX show, in front of a guy there also by chance, who seemed to meet ALL FOUR of my criteria. I remember enjoying the show while plotting how to get this guy to give me another chance after the service bar incident, gradually inching my body closer and closer to him until I could feel his chest against my back (cause you can get away with that sort of thing at a sold out punk rock show).
There was magic in the air that night. Maybe is was the sweaty obese Indian in front of us bobbing and singing Johnny Appleseed with WAY too much enthusiasm, or the beer spilled down my shirt, or the slight smell of sewage, but everything except the tall guy behind me and the music seemed to disappear that night. As all good things must come to an end, after two encores the house lights eventually came on and our group began to make the inevitible plans to hit up the bar (remember I was only 19). My fairytale night was over and home would head alone, just as I had come. BUT the handsome tall one seemed less interested in following the group to bar once he heard I couldn't go and invited me back to his place for other recreations that don't require one to be 21. I obliged. We talked music and life views and smoked cigarettes and wondered how it was possible we hadn't met until then. He played me Flogging Molly for the first time. It was perfect.
And here we are ten years later, married, with a kid we totally made together! Our favorite dates still consist of punk rock shows (especially NOFX ones for obvious reasons, of which we have about a dozen under our coupled belt to date!). Like I said, before both everything and nothing has changed in our world. I'm lucky enough to still find him just as attractive I did that first night, maybe even more so. I still like to spend time with him and talk with him. He still laughs at my puns. I especially love him when I see him playing Barbies with our Little Sass.
So yeah, 10 years! A decade, 3650 days, over a third of my life- however you want to say it, has been spent with a certain tall, handsome, and super intelligent man by my side. Crazy to think we have been together since I was 19 and could not even legally enter a bar...wow. Even crazier to think, is how little has changed for us. I mean while we are MUCH more responsible these days with mortgages, masters degrees, and a darling child we spawned together, deep down we are still the same "us" we were back then.
We started at a punk rock show. We had met briefly before that night as I had just started waitressing at the TGIFridays he bartended at and he had tried to start a conversation with me once at the service bar. I was waiting for him to make my drinks when he pointed to the sticker on my car and asked "do you really like Tilt or do you just have the sticker?". I rolled my eyes, said thanks for my drinks, and walked away.
But anyways, back to the punk rock show. So a co-worker of ours had two extra tickets to a sold out NOFX show, one of which he gave to him (the now husband) and the other went to me, the new girl at work with a ton of fat wreck chords "flair" on her suspenders. I still remember how nervous I was that night to go out solo with new people leaving my BFF and safety net of friends at home, but it was NOFX, and it was sold out, and the ticket was free so I went for it.
Once I got to the show and found everyone and chatted it up a bit, I remember doing a double take at the bartender I had blown off a couple weeks prior, outside of the red and white stripes he actually looked pretty good. We got to proper introductions and the token "so do you go to ASU?" and I got to thinking hey this guy ain't too shabby. You see at this time in my life, though only 19, I was looking for a boyfriend and I was VERY particular about what I was looking for. I even had a list:
1. Must be 6 feet or taller.
2. Must be like punk rock music.
3. Must NOT like god.
4. Must be a college graduate or at least pursuing a college degree.
Now finding someone who met all criteria on this list had proved harder than I thought it'd be, I'd find the first three check off's all over the place, but the big one- number four, in the punk scene was next to impossible at that time. But there I was, by chance at a sold out NOFX show, in front of a guy there also by chance, who seemed to meet ALL FOUR of my criteria. I remember enjoying the show while plotting how to get this guy to give me another chance after the service bar incident, gradually inching my body closer and closer to him until I could feel his chest against my back (cause you can get away with that sort of thing at a sold out punk rock show).
There was magic in the air that night. Maybe is was the sweaty obese Indian in front of us bobbing and singing Johnny Appleseed with WAY too much enthusiasm, or the beer spilled down my shirt, or the slight smell of sewage, but everything except the tall guy behind me and the music seemed to disappear that night. As all good things must come to an end, after two encores the house lights eventually came on and our group began to make the inevitible plans to hit up the bar (remember I was only 19). My fairytale night was over and home would head alone, just as I had come. BUT the handsome tall one seemed less interested in following the group to bar once he heard I couldn't go and invited me back to his place for other recreations that don't require one to be 21. I obliged. We talked music and life views and smoked cigarettes and wondered how it was possible we hadn't met until then. He played me Flogging Molly for the first time. It was perfect.
And here we are ten years later, married, with a kid we totally made together! Our favorite dates still consist of punk rock shows (especially NOFX ones for obvious reasons, of which we have about a dozen under our coupled belt to date!). Like I said, before both everything and nothing has changed in our world. I'm lucky enough to still find him just as attractive I did that first night, maybe even more so. I still like to spend time with him and talk with him. He still laughs at my puns. I especially love him when I see him playing Barbies with our Little Sass.
Cheers!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
the (not so) bedtime game
So Little Sass likes to play this game every night at bedtime. It's called let's make up any excuse I can to not go to go to bed right now. She has been doing it since she first got into a big girl bed. Her range is phenomenal. Her excuses for not sleeping are hilarious. Sometimes it's to get a particular random stuffed animal like "Mommy... I need my purple unicorn" or "Mommy... that Barbie has a dress on and is looking at me" or "Mommy... I can't sleep cause the moon's outside my window". One of my particular favorites was just a couple weeks ago as she complained teary eyed of not being able to find tiger blanky (the little square of a blanket she's had since she was born [pretty much a neccesity]). After I scramble around in her stuffed animal riddled bed looking for it for a few minutes with her princess flashlight, she suggests I check under her pillow with a gaint grin on her face. Yup, totally tricked by a three year old.
This game goes on for about 30 minutes every night making our bedtime routine of brushing teeth, forced potty sit, two stories, and back tickle snuggle last about an hour. I keep my rear toned from the multiple trips back up and down the stairs checking on her or getting whatever it is her little heart so desires. While this game is completely adorable, it also leaves me wondering what I am possibly doing wrong in my bedtiming. Perhaps she just loves spending time with me SO much that she can't stand the thought of sleeping when Mom is downstairs trying to get in some trashy tivo? Or maybe she too has somehow seen the Full House episode with the pony and circus in the living room keeping Stephanie from sleeping? Na, I'm probably just a pushover.
Nonetheless, I will enjoy these times as I know all to well the day will come where she does whatever she can to keep me OUT of her room. I will savor her gems of excuses and gladly offer "just one more" butterfly kiss. And on that note I'm back upstairs as she calls yet again... is it a polka dotted monster in her closet? Some too bright stars perhaps? A rabid monkey goat? Oh the suspense.... and I can't wait to see.
This game goes on for about 30 minutes every night making our bedtime routine of brushing teeth, forced potty sit, two stories, and back tickle snuggle last about an hour. I keep my rear toned from the multiple trips back up and down the stairs checking on her or getting whatever it is her little heart so desires. While this game is completely adorable, it also leaves me wondering what I am possibly doing wrong in my bedtiming. Perhaps she just loves spending time with me SO much that she can't stand the thought of sleeping when Mom is downstairs trying to get in some trashy tivo? Or maybe she too has somehow seen the Full House episode with the pony and circus in the living room keeping Stephanie from sleeping? Na, I'm probably just a pushover.
Nonetheless, I will enjoy these times as I know all to well the day will come where she does whatever she can to keep me OUT of her room. I will savor her gems of excuses and gladly offer "just one more" butterfly kiss. And on that note I'm back upstairs as she calls yet again... is it a polka dotted monster in her closet? Some too bright stars perhaps? A rabid monkey goat? Oh the suspense.... and I can't wait to see.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
now serving number me
To catch everyone up to speed since my last post... last week was a rough one. Unfortunately my friend on life support did not make it, cancer wins yet again. The service for him was beautiful and inspiring but it doesn't erase the fact that there is now his 28 year old widow riddled with medical bills through the roof because our nations healthcare system sucks and when you're sick like that you can't work which equals no insurance. So terribly sad. He could have made it had he found a marrow donor, which brings me to my obligatory awareness bit. If you're white with with leukemia, you have a pretty decent chance of finding a donor and surviving. If you're black it gets tougher. If you happen to be a beautiful bi-racial product of our melting pot of a country, you're pretty much screwed like my friend. Please consider registering for marrow donation here, especially if you're bi-racial, you could end up saving a life.
On a much needed lighter note, today was a big day for my family. Firstly, I braved a one piece for the first time in oh, 20 some years and took Little Sass to her very first swim lesson! The little mermaid did awesome (duh! of course she did) and even dunked her head fully under water fearlessly. The whole experience was pretty amazing, especially seeing my supportive husband on the sideline snapping pics and gloating with pride at his little girl. It's going to be a great summer, especially since I'll be able to enjoy pool parties for the first time in 3 years without feeling the panic a mother feels around a pool when their child can't swim yet.
On a second and super big deal note, I finally feel the sense of accomplishment I've hoped for since finishing my undergrad. Coincidentally, both the husband and I received pretty significant raises that go into effect this week. Getting a raise is always good but when both earners get them at the same time, it's even better. Especially when those said raises bring you to where you always hoped to be. Now I'm not going to talk numbers cause that's just tacky but I've always had a certain number in my head that would allow me to feel successful and accomplished. I'm guessing you have a number too cause really if you don't have something to strive for well, what's the point in trying right? Well today that number finally happened, and then some more. After spending our adult lives striving to get there, today we did, and I'm still under thirty to make it that much sweeter. It feels amazing and great and relieving and grown up.
My only regret is that my dad is not around anymore for me to tell him I did it. He knew that number (you see my dad was really a numbers kinda guy [and the only person I know with a degree in mathematics btw]). In fact in his final days and I was trying to let him know he could let go & I'd be OK on my own, we talked how far away I was from that number. Well less than two years later I (we, more appropriately) did it. I earned my number. Where ever his beautiful soul may be, I know he's smiling down at me and gloating with pride. Just like my husband was on the side line this evening. And that makes me feel complete.
On a much needed lighter note, today was a big day for my family. Firstly, I braved a one piece for the first time in oh, 20 some years and took Little Sass to her very first swim lesson! The little mermaid did awesome (duh! of course she did) and even dunked her head fully under water fearlessly. The whole experience was pretty amazing, especially seeing my supportive husband on the sideline snapping pics and gloating with pride at his little girl. It's going to be a great summer, especially since I'll be able to enjoy pool parties for the first time in 3 years without feeling the panic a mother feels around a pool when their child can't swim yet.
On a second and super big deal note, I finally feel the sense of accomplishment I've hoped for since finishing my undergrad. Coincidentally, both the husband and I received pretty significant raises that go into effect this week. Getting a raise is always good but when both earners get them at the same time, it's even better. Especially when those said raises bring you to where you always hoped to be. Now I'm not going to talk numbers cause that's just tacky but I've always had a certain number in my head that would allow me to feel successful and accomplished. I'm guessing you have a number too cause really if you don't have something to strive for well, what's the point in trying right? Well today that number finally happened, and then some more. After spending our adult lives striving to get there, today we did, and I'm still under thirty to make it that much sweeter. It feels amazing and great and relieving and grown up.
My only regret is that my dad is not around anymore for me to tell him I did it. He knew that number (you see my dad was really a numbers kinda guy [and the only person I know with a degree in mathematics btw]). In fact in his final days and I was trying to let him know he could let go & I'd be OK on my own, we talked how far away I was from that number. Well less than two years later I (we, more appropriately) did it. I earned my number. Where ever his beautiful soul may be, I know he's smiling down at me and gloating with pride. Just like my husband was on the side line this evening. And that makes me feel complete.
Friday, March 11, 2011
the last dinosaur
So today has sucked.
A dear family friend is fighting for his life and it's not looking good, in fact it's looking pretty damn bad. Life sustaining machines are at work with a clock ticking, waiting to see if this last effort could possibly turn things around. He's younger than me and I'm under 30 (albeit for less than two months). If I was religious I'd be on my knees preying, instead I'm willing all the positivity left in me his way and cursing the god I don't believe in.
I swear of everything modern medicine has figured out, why can't they figure out cancer? Fuck cancer, seriously. I've already lost two people so far to it this year with two more struggling through it. And I get that the whole the world is already over crowded, and perhaps people aren't meant to live that long, and cancer is possibly just, well, population control. But that doesn't make it suck any less, it's still a horrible, awful, gruesome disease which brings me to the next reason today has been shit: flashbacks.
Flashbacks of my aunt, dying an early yet drawn out death from that cocksucker of a disease. Awful, pathetic images of a person losing all the basic luxuries of life that the rest of us healthy people take for granted. And of course thinking of her makes me think of my dearest grandmother who died the very night before her daughter. My amazing, classy, iconic grandmother who spent the last five years of her life in a hospital bed unable to speak, see, or really do anything. It was a pathetic excuse for a life that was cursed to last far too long (no I'm not saying I'm glad she's dead, I'm saying her final years were awful and did absolutely no justice to the great woman she was). And of course thinking of her makes me think of my dad, my strong, proud, smart as a whip, extraordinary dad. I can't even get into the flashbacks that have been running through my mind all day of him as this font is already blurred as I fight to keep my tears in. I will not let them out. Deep breath.
So yeah, my day has been plagued with flashbacks of horrible scenes I wish I could forget, of people I loved and lost. In fact, much of my life I've been plagued with these types of images and this is really the first time I've told anyone about them (to be fair I have no idea who exactly I'm telling this to or if anyone even reads this blog at all, and I'm not even telling, I'm typing). But yeah, these horror film like scenes have been playing in my mind as long as I can remember. When they start they don't stop no matter how hard I try to will them from my mind. They happen in wake and slumber and don't seem to have any "trigger" that brings them on. I recall one particularly disturbing dream in which a disgruntled employee of my fathers interrupted a nice family picnic and decapitated each of my family members (dog included) one by one while I watched. It was one of those black and white dreams where the only color is the bright red blood. I was six years old. My husband still periodically wakes me from sobbing in my sleep as the nightmares continue to this day.
But back to the point and namesake of this entry. I am the last remaining blood holder of my paternal family, every stinking one of them now sleeps in an urn or six feet under ground. Everyone of them but me that is. They are all extinct, and I am the very last dinosaur.
And after viewing today's apocalyptic images of earthquakes, tsunamis, and now wildfires in Oklahoma, I fear we are all dinosaurs. Carnivorous dinosaurs, eating away at our Earth until it finally gives in and burns or implodes or freezes over. She is angry and she's showing us.
And that's why my day sucked.
A dear family friend is fighting for his life and it's not looking good, in fact it's looking pretty damn bad. Life sustaining machines are at work with a clock ticking, waiting to see if this last effort could possibly turn things around. He's younger than me and I'm under 30 (albeit for less than two months). If I was religious I'd be on my knees preying, instead I'm willing all the positivity left in me his way and cursing the god I don't believe in.
I swear of everything modern medicine has figured out, why can't they figure out cancer? Fuck cancer, seriously. I've already lost two people so far to it this year with two more struggling through it. And I get that the whole the world is already over crowded, and perhaps people aren't meant to live that long, and cancer is possibly just, well, population control. But that doesn't make it suck any less, it's still a horrible, awful, gruesome disease which brings me to the next reason today has been shit: flashbacks.
Flashbacks of my aunt, dying an early yet drawn out death from that cocksucker of a disease. Awful, pathetic images of a person losing all the basic luxuries of life that the rest of us healthy people take for granted. And of course thinking of her makes me think of my dearest grandmother who died the very night before her daughter. My amazing, classy, iconic grandmother who spent the last five years of her life in a hospital bed unable to speak, see, or really do anything. It was a pathetic excuse for a life that was cursed to last far too long (no I'm not saying I'm glad she's dead, I'm saying her final years were awful and did absolutely no justice to the great woman she was). And of course thinking of her makes me think of my dad, my strong, proud, smart as a whip, extraordinary dad. I can't even get into the flashbacks that have been running through my mind all day of him as this font is already blurred as I fight to keep my tears in. I will not let them out. Deep breath.
So yeah, my day has been plagued with flashbacks of horrible scenes I wish I could forget, of people I loved and lost. In fact, much of my life I've been plagued with these types of images and this is really the first time I've told anyone about them (to be fair I have no idea who exactly I'm telling this to or if anyone even reads this blog at all, and I'm not even telling, I'm typing). But yeah, these horror film like scenes have been playing in my mind as long as I can remember. When they start they don't stop no matter how hard I try to will them from my mind. They happen in wake and slumber and don't seem to have any "trigger" that brings them on. I recall one particularly disturbing dream in which a disgruntled employee of my fathers interrupted a nice family picnic and decapitated each of my family members (dog included) one by one while I watched. It was one of those black and white dreams where the only color is the bright red blood. I was six years old. My husband still periodically wakes me from sobbing in my sleep as the nightmares continue to this day.
But back to the point and namesake of this entry. I am the last remaining blood holder of my paternal family, every stinking one of them now sleeps in an urn or six feet under ground. Everyone of them but me that is. They are all extinct, and I am the very last dinosaur.
And after viewing today's apocalyptic images of earthquakes, tsunamis, and now wildfires in Oklahoma, I fear we are all dinosaurs. Carnivorous dinosaurs, eating away at our Earth until it finally gives in and burns or implodes or freezes over. She is angry and she's showing us.
And that's why my day sucked.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
re-naming your baby
So in deciding to keep this blog public, I also decided to keep the my personal details private. Why? Well I feel like all my personal details are already out there, on facebook, for who I approve to see them. Also, being a part of the "corporate world", I know very well that what you say on the internet can get you fired. Why then keep the blog pubic? Well, I like blog browsing and checking out peoples lives across the world who I don't know (I am a psych major), and I figure I'd be just a creepy lurker if I didn't give back to that same community.
Which brings me to my current dilemma, what to call my daughter? I don't want to use her name (which is of course is totally beautiful) but The Daughter just sounds too, well, cold. I thought about calling her by her nickname, but it's a bit awkward. You see her nickname, is kind of one of those names you don't plan for and happens. Like the poor kid from high school everyone call barf cause in the first grade he got sick in the middle of a test, and he's totally hot but just got stuck with this awful name that just well, stuck.
Yeah, hers is that kind of name. My beautiful, golden ringlet haired, blue eyed, princess of a daughter is called Poose. She earned at about two days old. See, she wasn't always so golden haired, it was super dark brown when she was born and she came out with a TON of it, so when my mom came and saw her perfectly swaddled, politically correct or not, she said she looked like a little papoose. It just sort of stuck. Everyone knows, for nicknames, sometimes two syllables is far too many so low and behold, she became our little Poose.
It's just one of those names that's cute, but just for some reason it feels weird saying in public. Too many chances of it getting misheard or used in the wrong context I guess. Take for example my adorable niece, who like most Americans, endearingly added an "y" at the end calling her "Poosey". Um.... OK, yeah, not so cute anymore. Or when I, like a proud and loving parent use possession when referring to her: "My Poose". So yeah, you can gather what I'm getting at in that I need another name for her when it comes to this blog.
I've decided I'll call her Little Sass. One, cause she's just that kinda special girl and it totally suits her. Two, I myself (for rhyming and other sake) have often been called sassy and duh, peoples kids always get called "little" them. And three, I just really like that Tenacious D song.
In case you haven't heard it, check it out.
Little Sass
Saturday, March 5, 2011
so what am i doing here anyway?
I've been tossing that around the last few days, wondering why I even started this blog in the first place. I started it, and feel compelled to keep up it (especially since my first post focused on my notoriety for not finishing things) but why? Seriously, between my two classes, working full time, being a mother, and playing house, I really have enough on my plate already so why add this?
Well, for one, I like to write. Not necessarily the two papers on average I write a week on various psychological theories and topics (yup, I'm totally that girl that analyzes your inner demons) but I like to write out my feelings and vent through the keyboard. I find the gentle tapping of the keys as my fingertips hit them therapeutic. I also think I'll get a good laugh ten years from now when my daughter is a teenager and see how my complaints compare. So yeah, that's why I am doing this.
Now that we've got that out the way... details. To go public or private? What's my theme? Which voice to use? Do I tell all my friends and family to follow me or just let people stumble upon this gem using the nifty "next blog" button on the upper left? Oye, it's it's making me dizzy, but I think I've got it.
The main focus of this blog will be life as a (/n almost) thirty something, not your everyday, girl woman. I'll cover my conquering and successions in the war that is maintaining a home (and a rental property as well to be specific), my failings as a mother when I forget it's silly hat Friday, and my struggles as a wife to keep things exciting and not kill each other after spending a third of our lives together (yes that's right a third, and fuck, I'm getting old). This is NOT going to be a my family went on vacation here, my kid did this, and here is our Christmas photo, kind of keep up with our family blog. Not there there is anything wrong with that kind of blog, many of my friends have them which I quite enjoy reading, but I've tried that before and it bored me.
This is to be a hopefully witty account of what life becomes after you trade in the bar scene for a family, and the purple hair for pesky greys. Maybe I'll pick up some readers who can totally relate to me or learn from my mishaps, or maybe I won't. Either way, I look forward to the ride and hope you do too.
Well, for one, I like to write. Not necessarily the two papers on average I write a week on various psychological theories and topics (yup, I'm totally that girl that analyzes your inner demons) but I like to write out my feelings and vent through the keyboard. I find the gentle tapping of the keys as my fingertips hit them therapeutic. I also think I'll get a good laugh ten years from now when my daughter is a teenager and see how my complaints compare. So yeah, that's why I am doing this.
Now that we've got that out the way... details. To go public or private? What's my theme? Which voice to use? Do I tell all my friends and family to follow me or just let people stumble upon this gem using the nifty "next blog" button on the upper left? Oye, it's it's making me dizzy, but I think I've got it.
The main focus of this blog will be life as a (/n almost) thirty something, not your everyday, girl woman. I'll cover my conquering and successions in the war that is maintaining a home (and a rental property as well to be specific), my failings as a mother when I forget it's silly hat Friday, and my struggles as a wife to keep things exciting and not kill each other after spending a third of our lives together (yes that's right a third, and fuck, I'm getting old). This is NOT going to be a my family went on vacation here, my kid did this, and here is our Christmas photo, kind of keep up with our family blog. Not there there is anything wrong with that kind of blog, many of my friends have them which I quite enjoy reading, but I've tried that before and it bored me.
This is to be a hopefully witty account of what life becomes after you trade in the bar scene for a family, and the purple hair for pesky greys. Maybe I'll pick up some readers who can totally relate to me or learn from my mishaps, or maybe I won't. Either way, I look forward to the ride and hope you do too.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
more codeine infused ramblings
So here I am day three of the muck, and dare I say I feel worse than yesterday. I slept 12 hours last night, well probably more like 10 if you deduct all the coughing spells in which I was half asleep coughing and spitting green shit into a tissue, and I am still tired. In fact, I'm more than tired, I'm absolutely exhausted. Really, this is worse than having a new born baby tired, and the thing of it is I've done nothing but sleep all day. I did manage to unload the dishwasher but had to nap for 2 hours afterward cause it took so much out of me. But enough of my self pity blah blah I have other non important things to discuss.
I feel like today has been such a wasted day, I didn't even get any homework done. Yes, I'm almost thirty and still in school, well if you consider an online masters degree program school. Really, I can't stand it, and mostly because of my incompetent classmates. Seriously, just yesterday I was reading a classmates post and they spelled chaos "kaios", I shit you not, and this happens all the time in my GRADUATE program. Learn to spell check people. Now don't get me wrong I'm sure my writing on here isn't the greatest but this is my blog, which I write for my own enjoyment, and I do not write like this in my virtual classroom. I often wonder if people were that stupid in my bachelors program and I just never knew it. You see, the thing about online school is that everything is right out there for all to see, poor grammar and all. In my bachelors I never saw anyone else's writing samples so it's completely possible they were just as dumb too but I just didn't know it. At least it makes me feel really smart.
So why then if I hate my school so much I am doing it? Well, one reason is that I need the credit hours to get into the counseling certification program so I can work with people more fucked in the head than myself. The other reason is that I promised my dad I would, and breaking a promise to a dead man is just wrong. I was actually supposed to start this degree a while ago but he got sick and I wanted to spend my free time with him opposed to writing papers. So yeah, as cliche as it is, I made a deathbed promise to get this damn degree. A trade of sorts, he supported me and paid for my first degree, and with that degree I'd show him I can support myself and get another. So here I am, only a few classes away from having a masters degree. And as much as I talk it down, it does actually kind of make me feel good about myself that I'm actually going to finish something I started, especially because I'm doing it for my dad. So while I complain and bitch about it, rest assured the job WILL get done. And I'll hang that damned diploma on my office wall to prove it.
I feel like today has been such a wasted day, I didn't even get any homework done. Yes, I'm almost thirty and still in school, well if you consider an online masters degree program school. Really, I can't stand it, and mostly because of my incompetent classmates. Seriously, just yesterday I was reading a classmates post and they spelled chaos "kaios", I shit you not, and this happens all the time in my GRADUATE program. Learn to spell check people. Now don't get me wrong I'm sure my writing on here isn't the greatest but this is my blog, which I write for my own enjoyment, and I do not write like this in my virtual classroom. I often wonder if people were that stupid in my bachelors program and I just never knew it. You see, the thing about online school is that everything is right out there for all to see, poor grammar and all. In my bachelors I never saw anyone else's writing samples so it's completely possible they were just as dumb too but I just didn't know it. At least it makes me feel really smart.
So why then if I hate my school so much I am doing it? Well, one reason is that I need the credit hours to get into the counseling certification program so I can work with people more fucked in the head than myself. The other reason is that I promised my dad I would, and breaking a promise to a dead man is just wrong. I was actually supposed to start this degree a while ago but he got sick and I wanted to spend my free time with him opposed to writing papers. So yeah, as cliche as it is, I made a deathbed promise to get this damn degree. A trade of sorts, he supported me and paid for my first degree, and with that degree I'd show him I can support myself and get another. So here I am, only a few classes away from having a masters degree. And as much as I talk it down, it does actually kind of make me feel good about myself that I'm actually going to finish something I started, especially because I'm doing it for my dad. So while I complain and bitch about it, rest assured the job WILL get done. And I'll hang that damned diploma on my office wall to prove it.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
phlegm in the lung, codeine on the brain
So I'm sitting here quarantined in my bedroom as my husband and daughter have fun time downstairs. It is quiet and it is boring and it's lonely and I hate it. Why quarantined you ask? Cause I go big. Just a normal sinus infection won't do for me, I have to throw in some bronchitis and feverish chills as well. I like to think of my current state as the jazz hands of sickness, minus the sequined gloves.
I can't remember the last time I felt so shitty. Seriously, I have even cried a few times for no apparent good reason other than that I'm a miserable, pitiful, mess. And then there's the fact that my husband does not bode well with a sick wife. What's worse then 5 minute coughing jags and perpetual snot nose? 5 minute coughing jags and perpetual snot nose with no one around to tell you how sorry they feel for you. I'm not sure if it's the discomfort of seeing me so vulnerable, or the fear of germs but this is what happens. Every time. And it sucks.
I get quarantined as to not be around my daughter. Contagious shmagious. And don't go off huffing about how I'm a bad mom and shouldn't want to expose my daughter to my muck, cause I don't. My point is that this 24 hour incubation period kills me, and gets me to thinking; do I need her or does she need me more?
She is like my little symbiotic parasite. Now before you write me off forever, understand that I mean this in the most loving and endearing way possible. Lets looks at the facts. She depends on me for food, habitat, protection, and pretty much could not survive without me, she's only 3 for god's sake. And she is usually attached to my hip. No really, I can't even shower or poop anymore in solitude. And this is my point... I don't even mind. We are the poster child of symbiosis, a mutually beneficial relationship even if parasitic in nature.
Really, my life would suck without her. What did I do before? Who did a shop and sing songs with? Where did I get my hug fix? Whose hair did I braid? I need that girl to feel sane. She completes me. And I know I sound like every other stupid parent out there but really it's true. I too was once the all selfish, boozing and other recreations until the wee hours of the night, party girl. I know what I am missing, and really I couldn't care less. Now hurry up and kick in antibiotics, I wanna play barbies.
I can't remember the last time I felt so shitty. Seriously, I have even cried a few times for no apparent good reason other than that I'm a miserable, pitiful, mess. And then there's the fact that my husband does not bode well with a sick wife. What's worse then 5 minute coughing jags and perpetual snot nose? 5 minute coughing jags and perpetual snot nose with no one around to tell you how sorry they feel for you. I'm not sure if it's the discomfort of seeing me so vulnerable, or the fear of germs but this is what happens. Every time. And it sucks.
I get quarantined as to not be around my daughter. Contagious shmagious. And don't go off huffing about how I'm a bad mom and shouldn't want to expose my daughter to my muck, cause I don't. My point is that this 24 hour incubation period kills me, and gets me to thinking; do I need her or does she need me more?
She is like my little symbiotic parasite. Now before you write me off forever, understand that I mean this in the most loving and endearing way possible. Lets looks at the facts. She depends on me for food, habitat, protection, and pretty much could not survive without me, she's only 3 for god's sake. And she is usually attached to my hip. No really, I can't even shower or poop anymore in solitude. And this is my point... I don't even mind. We are the poster child of symbiosis, a mutually beneficial relationship even if parasitic in nature.
Really, my life would suck without her. What did I do before? Who did a shop and sing songs with? Where did I get my hug fix? Whose hair did I braid? I need that girl to feel sane. She completes me. And I know I sound like every other stupid parent out there but really it's true. I too was once the all selfish, boozing and other recreations until the wee hours of the night, party girl. I know what I am missing, and really I couldn't care less. Now hurry up and kick in antibiotics, I wanna play barbies.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
new hobby i won't follow through with; ready, set, go!
Well here I am again. I tried starting to blog when I first spawned my child, I think I made about 2 posts and called it a day. This is who I am, a beacon of procrastination and unfinished business. A perpetual creator of good ideas that will never see the light of day. An administrator of I can totally do that. Why again I am setting myself for another project to eventually be left by the wayside? Well, because it's what I do. And because it seems all my friends have begun to blog which I enjoy (I am also I grade A net lurker) and I think your should all bask in my glory too.
Who am I? (cue Derek Zoolander). Well, I am a a girl. A girl pushing thirty so I guess that really doesn't make me a girl anymore but woman sounds too mature for me. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a student, a lover of 90's punk rock music, a half decent cook, an aspiring seamstress, a lover of puns, a nightmarer before a dreamer, a multi tasker, a shitty driver, a procrastinator, a car scream at the top of my lungs singer, and out of time.
More on me and my self glorifacation to come, enjoy!
Who am I? (cue Derek Zoolander). Well, I am a a girl. A girl pushing thirty so I guess that really doesn't make me a girl anymore but woman sounds too mature for me. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a student, a lover of 90's punk rock music, a half decent cook, an aspiring seamstress, a lover of puns, a nightmarer before a dreamer, a multi tasker, a shitty driver, a procrastinator, a car scream at the top of my lungs singer, and out of time.
More on me and my self glorifacation to come, enjoy!
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