Sunday, November 30, 2014

So, I had this thing

And it wasn't really a thing, more of a fling (I feel like Dr. Seuss with the rhyming right now) with this guy. Unfortunately, I enjoyed his company.  I only say unfortunately because, for me, sex is different from emotions.  Sex is enjoyable of its own accord. I enjoyed sex with this guy. I also enjoyed what I thought could be friendship, because he isn't too stupid to talk to. He's actually really smart. I mean, he's a guy, and he stopped calling me for sex, so obviously he's not that smart.

But there's that. He stopped calling and texting. I know he had personal shit going on with friends. I know because he told me. We talked about sad stuff. About real life stuff. Like friends do.

He also blew me off the last two times we were supposed to hook up. Clearly he's a moron. Not only am I attractive, and amazing in bed, but I also have no desire to be married, or attached, or trapped or anything. I want to be able to have some sex. Maybe a nice talk. And go home.

Fuck me. Is that so hard?

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

You like me!







So, I was just nominated for a Liebster Blogger Award. I did some googling, and it seems pretty neat. This is the best information that I've found on it, if you're curious, like me. I'll save you a step!


Liebster Blog Award Origins



Rules:

1. Answer the questions sent to you

2. Nominate 11 bloggers

3. Ask them 11 questions thought up by YOU!

4. Notify them that they have been nominated


So, I was nominated for this award by Yessica @thepushupbra

And here comes some truthiness…

1. What type of guy/girl are you attracted to?
  • I tend to find myself drawn to creative types – artists, musicians, cooks. People with an outlet. An outlet worth discussing and enjoying together. I’m drawn towards people that are confident with an air of humility about them. It’s difficult to describe, but I can definitely point it out when I see it.

2. What was your most embarrassing moment?
  • I tend to not be embarrassed very easily. Usually just when I do something stupid at work. You know, because I hate to be wrong. 

3. When and what was the last lie you told?
  • “Yes, we had some good times. Of course I loved you.”

4. What do you like best about yourself?
  • I like me a lot. My favorite thing about me, though is probably my brain. I’m very smart, and very logical. I dig that. 

5. What is your guilty pleasure?
  • There are not a lot of pleasures that I feel guilty about. For a typical mid-thirties single mom, however? Really good casual sex, regular times at the bar, spending money on massages. The only one that actually can make me feel guilty, on occasion, is the massages. Because money is a evil, heartless bitch.

6. Is there anything that you regret?
  • Of course there is. But dwelling on regrets brings on the guilt, and I’m a mom. I have enough of that on a regular basis.

7. Do you believe in love?
  • Of course I do. I have children. And I would literally murder for them, without question or hesitation. I would sacrifice myself, my whole life, to ensure that they could have a few more happy days. Do I believe in love, relationship-wise? I guess. It always seems so transient though. Even if it is long term, I’ve found, in my personal experience, that love is based on experiences. Is it a feeling? Absolutely. Can it ebb and flow, like the tides? I think it can. 

8. If you could have a wish come true right now, what would it be?
  • Right now, at this moment, I would wish for my most recent ex, Scout’s dad, to move on with his life. I wish he could and would get over me. And that sounds cocky, I’m sure, but it shouldn’t. I feel like he’s obsessed. To a disturbing degree. My life has moved forward, and it would be easiest for both of us if he could do that too. 

9. Would you get back to your ex if you had the choice?
  • Not a single one. Nope. I lie. Well, no, I don’t. Because, as of the last time I heard about him, he was happily in a relationship with a woman that I know to be fabulous. We also haven’t dated since I was 16, so the memories are probably skewed by nostalgia at this point, but, as far as I can recall, we only broke up because circumstances weren’t ideal for us. I was 16. He was turning 21. We promised each other that if we were single in our 30’s, we’d reconnect. I haven’t heard anything. 

10. Do you still remember your first kiss?
  • No? I feel like it was probably with my first boyfriend – my first everything – when I was 15, but I’m not sure. I don’t really remember anything about our relationship being that awesome, except that he could sing, and play several instruments. Oh, and he was obviously a tortured soul. I told you. Creativity gets me.

11. Do you remember your first crush?
  • Not really, to be honest. I feel like it might have been a boy named Dante in middle school, but I’m not really 100%, and I can’t really commit to that answer. 



So, some questions for you guys. This is almost tougher than answering them.

  • What’s your drink? What would you order at a bar if there were no repercussions – financial, health, or otherwise?
  • What is your dream vacation?
  • Tell me about your best day.
  • What was your first car?
  • Where did you fit in high school?
  • Are you a texter or a caller?
  • Everyone is a work in progress. What thing would you change about yourself if you could snap your fingers and make it happen?
  • When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?
  • Now, what do you want to be when you grow up?
  • What time do you go to bed at night?
  • What is your worst habit?

Now, for the nominees…

@Onemouthymommie https://www.facebook.com/OneMouthyMommie

@SteelWrkrWife https://www.facebook.com/steelworkerswife

@AOutspokenMommy http://www.outspokenmommy.com/

@Wheremypacifier http://www.wheresmypacifier.com/

@JennC922 http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/

@zoevsuniverse http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/

@ModMomMad http://modernmommymadness.com/

@housewife_plus http://housewifeplus.bangordailynews.com/

@OutNumbMother http://theoutnumberedmother.com/

@MamaBlues11 http://www.babybluesandrocknroll.com/

@YouAreaGoodMama http://youareagoodmama.com/

Saturday, November 22, 2014

I guess this is my thing now.

The writing, I mean. I'm enjoying expressing myself. Sorting through my thoughts in this medium. And I think I may actually be fairly good at it. And that surprises me, too, to be honest.

I'm finding myself looking forward to sitting with my laptop, and sending my thoughts out to (hopefully) be enjoyed by someone.

I regret not continuing to write before. I regret losing that time. I think now, that if I had continued then, I may be in a different place right now. My perspective is changing. I'm able to release these thoughts and experiences, and not dwell on them. It's comforting to know that my memories will be here if I need to see them, but are no longer going to be taking up space in my mind.

I guess I'm rambling. Sometimes I do. I'm off to work. Wish me luck!

Friday, November 21, 2014

I'm "working" right now.

Sort of.

I'm halfway through what appears to be a dreadfully slow Friday double. I'd much rather be sitting in front of the fire. Or at least have pants on. I bartend in shorts, because my legs are likely to be covered in water, sour mix, tequila and a variety of other liquors and mixers on any given shift. It's usually plenty warm behind the bar, but it is pretty chilly today. This first real cold snap is killing me. Business wise, and otherwise. I hate the cold. I've lived in New England my entire life, and I still can't handle it.

It's dark and it's cold. I'm exhausted and dicking around with spreadsheets to make our restaurant run more smoothly. And hoping for guests tonight. I'd like to make a couple of dollars.

Though it seems that people are pretty rude tonight though, so maybe I should try to get the fuck out of here.

My view:



Wish me luck! Or come see me. Keep me company, and I'll pour the booze!



Thursday, November 20, 2014

I almost died.


Ji
At first, actually, for a long time, I found that telling the truth about my life, my past, my story, to be really difficult. I wasn't cdomfortable. It still hurt. Some days it still hurts. But that happens. Things hurt, whether we expect them to or not. The difference now is that I can acknowledge the crappy parts, and move on. 

My son spotted a picture on my computer tonight. This picture:

He wanted to know what it was. You know what it is, right? It's a unit of blood. I think it's the second one that I received. Last January, I had a miscarriage. I didn't know I was pregnant. I thought my period was on steroids. I managed it with a ton of feminine hygiene products for a few days before I started to feel run down, weak, and woozy. Finally, on Sunday morning, I went to the Emergency Room. They ran some bloodwork, checked out my business, and said that they'd probably just give me a prescription to make the bleeding stop, and send me on my way. Nope.

They got my bloodwork back, and my hematocrit and hemoglobin levels were slightly over half of what they should have been. So, I was moved to another bed to get an EKG. That was fine, but they were insisting that I be admitted overnight, or have a blood transfusion. Fine. WAIT!

"Did you know that you're pregnant?"
"What?! No."
"Yeah, so we're going to have to do an ultrasound to make sure that everything is okay, then the doctor will likely have to perform a D&C."

The ultrasound was fine, but my hematocrit and hemoglobin levels were even lower. That's when they decided I needed to be rushed into surgery. Waking from ananesthesia was weird. I've never had any surgery before, and waking from a procedure that involves completing a miscarriage was really emotional.  When my levels still hadn't come up at all, I was admitted for the night so that my blood could start to regenerate. 

Do you know where they put you when you're being treated by OB/GYN? Bet you figured that one out. I was put in the back corner of the labor and delivery floor. That wasnt TERRIBLE for me, but only because I was bedridden until my levels came up. I had my first pint of blood transfused that night. My levels didnt rise at all overnight, so i needed another pint in the morning. I got to go home, but i was unable to care for Scout, so she had to stay with my parents and sister for a week. That was tough. 


The point is, though, that sometimes the hurt sneaks up, It was kind of tough to explain to a 12 year old. Especially when I wasn't expecting it. 

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

So much drama in the LBC

So, this is happening today. Not so awesomely cool. He has taken the license plates off of my car, and returned them when I threatened to take him to court. He says he never wants to see or speak to me again, after I threatened him with a restraining order. Again. And, he's told me that I need to speak to his mother to make arrangements for Scout. To be honest, I'm not going out of my way to do that. If he intends to make me "work" to ensure that they maintain a relationship, then he can kiss my fabulous ass. He can spend a little more time worrying about his daughter than whether or not I'll ever go "home."

Also, not a fairy tale ending. I mean, at least not until it is. 

This is one of my favorite pictures of me.

Because I remember this day.

I remember my strength.

I remember being amazed that my body is capable of doing what it does.

I remember feeling accomplished that I could do this almost entirely without medication.

I remember my baby. Even the third time, it's just as amazing.

Even knowing then, but not admitting that I would be doing things alone.

Some days, I need to remember the strength of my body, and the resolve of my soul to ensure that my children will always know that I am there for them, just the same ways that they brought new strength to me.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Sometimes, I sit by myself.

I'm okay with that. Like now. I sit at a bar, by myself. Do I enjoy the company of the people that surround me? Absolutely.  Does that make me relish my time alone any less? Nope.

I enjoy being alone. Is that strange? Sometimes people make me believe that it is. For me, though, it's important to maintain my autonomy. My own personhood. Separate from any person that I choose to attach my life to, or interact with.

We've established my own failings at relationships (at least I think we have), so my desire for independence shouldn't be so shocking.

Maybe I'm just bad at interpersonal communication. Probably.  I probably am.
But, really, is it so bad? Is it that difficult for a dude to accept that maybe, just maybe, I'm not looking for someone forever. I'm just looking for someone for tonight. And tomorrow if that works. I'm okay with one day. And another if it works.

None of that means that I'm looking to get married.  I don't really plan on doing that ever again. Nor does it mean that I'm looking for more kids. I have more of those than I have hands at this point, so I'm content. I mean, I'm sexy as fuck pregnant, but I'm good. Not in my search. 

I'm so very happy being alone with my kids, and having whatever I'd like separate from that. This is kind of my ideal. 

Whatever though. I'm sorry.  I'm a bit tipsy right now. I guess this is probably the most open I'll be for a while. I may edit later. Meh.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

"Whoa-oh, here she comes..."

"Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up. Whoa, here she comes. She's a maneater."

My brothers, who love me a lot, played that song for my new husband at our wedding reception. They played it out of jest. We're funny people, and it's a funny thought. I'm a strong, independent woman, and I have only ever taken shit while trying to pretend that a relationship is okay.

They say that I break men. I make them crazy.

Maybe I do. But I don't think it's my fault. Unless you'd like to blame me for making poor relationship choices. I'll own that. Sometimes things happen, though. Sometimes extenuating circumstances exist that make things harder than they should be, whether it's a long term commitment, or a dating relationship that is just starting out.

I loved my ex-husband. Part of me still does. But some things didn't work. When he got angry, and called me terrible names, I couldn't deal with that. When his OCD would get the best of him, and he would obsess over the "signs" that I was cheating on him. I would interact with men, and would have to remember the conversation in order to recount the details later.

It was all too much. I had two kids at the time, and he had one. Plus he was in law school, while I worked full time to support our family. Law school did not help his confidence. Not in the least. As he felt less successful, he mistrusted me more. It was a dreadful cycle.

I don't make men crazy. I just don't tolerate it well when it comes out. I like to have time for me. I like sitting alone with a beer and some football. I like not answering for every second of every day. Often, I forget. Because it doesn't matter.

I enjoy feeling wanted, sometimes. I don't need it all the time. I've offended every significant other in my life when I've told them that I don't need them. I like them, I want them there, but I don't need them.

What's so wrong with not being needy?

I fear that this is all over the place, but I'm going to let it ride for now, and revisit it another time.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

I promised this girl I'd tell my stories...

And I have a lot of them. So I think that I want to start at the beginning.

When I was young, I always felt like I was just there. There are a lot of us, and I was never "trouble." Not until I was older. And, even then, trouble was relative. It was incidental. And then became the highlights of my life. I got pregnant young. I was young, our relationship was young, and it was a surprise. Each time. (Yeah, more than once. Judge away.)

I dated Huck and Pippi's dad for just a few months before I found myself pregnant. So, we tried to make it work. I was young. And pregnant. It seemed like the right choice. It was really hard. It was really hard because it didn't work. I had the babies and didn't work - it wasn't financially feasible. Their dad jumped from job to job, and spent a lot of time volunteering with the fire department. I would get very angry. And very lonely. I would get angry because I was lonely. He would get angry because I was angry. He put his hands on me one time. That was the day it was over for me. I pretended for a very long time that it would be okay. It wasn't. It wouldn't ever be.

I needed more for my kids. I needed to raise a boy to respect women, and a girl who demands respect. If I succeed in that, then I will have hit the lottery.

God, I have so much more for you, J. But not enough energy today. XOXO.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Since you've been gone, and all that cliche horseshit...

I stopped writing here. I stopped writing because I was embarassed and sort of ashamed of the choices that I was making. Initially, when I began to use this media to sort through my thoughts and feelings about the toll that my relationship was taking on my people, I imagined myself as a beacon of strength. I had hoped to be able to stand strong, and be true to my word. 

I hoped that my words weren't lies to myself. They were. I always knew. Some days, it was an easier pill to swallow. Those days were the good ones. Those were the days that I believed that he had changed. He hadn't. He still hasn't. Some days, I'm still afraid of what may come. 

I'm going to tell you my story. Truly. Honestly. It will be raw, and you'll think I'm an asshole. I'm okay with that. Sometimes I am, and there are times that I have deserved a much harsher designation. However, like any person, man, woman or child, in any relationship, I never deserved much of what I went through. There were times I thought that I did. There were days that I thought that I had found the best I would be able to find, and that at least Scout would have her dad around. Pippi and Huck never had that. 

Hold on. I don't want to talk about why I should or shouldn't regret standing up for myself. I should never regret that. I deserve to love without fear. I deserve to move forward without feeling like my past is embarrassing. It isn't any more. I deserve better. I survived, and came through stronger. And I'm going to tell you about it. 

Let me tell you about my last week in our "family" home. It was terrible. 

On a Thursday, I was working late, and Sev was supposed to pick me up after work (we shared the car). He wasn't there when he was supposed to be, and wasn't answering the phone, so, rather than have anyone wait for me, I walked to the 24-hour coffee shop, and called a couple more times. After about a half hour, I was beginning to lose hope quickly. No texts, No phone calls. Friends didn't know where he was. Great. So, at 1:30 AM, I started calling for cabs. Left a couple of messages, waited some more. No one was willing to drive that far. I called all of the surrounding fire departments to be sure that there wasn't an accident. There wasn't. I didn't want anyone else to know what a dick he was, so I did the only thing I thought I could. I started walking. And I walked. All together, I walked over 6 miles. 

He fell asleep. Fine. Whatever. People get tired, I get that. But for fuck's sake, set an alarm. And to show up at 3:30, while I'm walking home, and begin yelling because he "thought you were intelligent." We picked up Scout, and got home by 4. I hopped right into bed, just to be yelled at until 5 because I'm so stupid. Scout got up at 545. A half hour later, he takes her for a little bit, then goes to bed. When I wake him for work, he starts screaming again, says he's leaving, and I should have thought about that before I acted like such a moron. So he left. And I found rides for a couple days.

I had rides to work for the next couple of days, and Scout and I walked a lot. On Saturday he kicked me out again, "but don't touch the baby. You go, she doesn't." The hell you say. I stayed.  Again. 

The next few days were dreadfully volatile, but sadly quite ordinary for me at that point. 

The turning point came when the kids spent the night at their grandparents' house, so that i could spent the next morning "supporting" Sev at court. We fought the whole night. When I suggested that I go pick up Scout, and head somewhere else, I was told that I would never get her from his mother, I would never get custody, and generally how terrible I was. It's worst when you just start to believe it. 

So, I apologized. For whatever slight may have occurred. For whatever made him angry. I comforted him, when I was desperate for a savior. I let him use my body as a means to end the fight. 

The next morning, something set it off again. There was more yelling. I walked away and got in the shower. He followed. And yelled. I ignored him, and told him to leave. That didn't go well. He was furious. He ripped the shower curtain off, and cocked his fist back in my face. He never hit me. 

That was the day that I refused to accept my reality any more.