For whatever reason, it seems that it has taken being in a healthy, functional relationship for the first time in my life to really realize how profoundly messed up all the others were. Sure, they were varying degrees of messed up (with my actual marriage being the most messed up by a landslide), but none of them have been what you'd call "functional" or even "stable" until now. So yes, this blog is going to consist of me getting a little more mushy than usual on the subject of the Old Curmudgeon, as he is known in the blogosphere. Deal with it.
As you may or may not have gathered, the Old Curmudgeon and I were friends in elementary school. I would go so far as to say he was my best friend, though I'm not sure that was mutual at the time. I'll forgive him for that. I think this is actually a key factor in our functionality. Not only are we friends now, but we were friends when we were 10. And 9. And 8. We have history. History going back to September of 1990. And I think we work now in part because we worked then. Also in part because neither of us has changed all that much since July of 1993, which was the last time we saw each other prior to June of 2012. We still both giggle at fart jokes and explosions. We both would still rather watch a show with some educational content in it as opposed to, say, Jersey Shore. We're still both nerdier than standard on the subject of geography. And yes, we have our differences. Some of them are pretty major. Yet, from what I've seen so far, our differences seem to balance each other out for the most part. We are able to use our different strengths and work together for a common goal, be it something relatively minor like cleaning the house from top to bottom in under two hours (which we did Sunday) or something bigger like planning and executing a three day trip to attend someone's wedding (which we did in August when we were still fairly new at this).
I think another very good thing in our relationship is mutual respect. I read his resume not long after we started hanging out again because he asked me to edit it for him. I was totally blown away by what he had accomplished in the 19 or so years since I last saw him. To me, his competence is not in question, which I guess is kind of a big deal because I question everyone's competence. My resume doesn't look as good as his (not even close, really), but it seems he can respect my accomplishments in other areas besides work. So on those occasions when we do not agree (and believe me, it happens), thus far we have been able to discuss logically, and so far these discussions have ended with one person or the other conceding that the other is correct. Yes, we can both admit when we've been wrong. And we both have been wrong on occasion.
Another cool thing (and maybe the best thing) is that I feel supported by a partner for the first time in ever. I don't have to do absolutely everything anymore. If I get off work late for reasons beyond my control, the Old Curmudgeon is totally okay with taking the Chamaco to karate class. Sometimes dinner is already cooking when I get home from work. Sometimes we do stuff together, all three of us, and it feels like a family. That may actually be the coolest thing... Some guys I've dated in the last decade have not wanted anything to do with the Chamaco. Needless to say, those dates were isolated one-time occurrences. The Old Curmudgeon, however, has bravely stepped into a parenting role that nothing in his experience prepared him for. He has no children of his own and didn't have what you'd call a fantastic relationship with his own father, but he's giving it a go anyway. And sometimes I think he stresses way more about parenting than I do, but he's new... he'll relax into it. I just appreciate that he's willing to do it. Without me even asking. That's a real man right there... I once read a quote to the effect of, "Any idiot male can make a baby, but it takes a MAN to be a father." Yeah, that's it.
The bottom line, really, is this: at this time last year I didn't know if he was even still alive or remembered me at all. Now I can't imagine a day without him.
Showing posts with label Extremely rare occurrences. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Extremely rare occurrences. Show all posts
March 19, 2013
January 31, 2013
Dumber than advertised...
And with that title, I am of course referring to... myself.
Every now and then, life has a way of teaching you that you're not as smart as you thought you were.
We got a new stackable washer/dryer unit in December (after our last one croaked on day 31 of the 30 day warranty). After examining it extensively, the Old Curmudgeon and I came to the conclusion that new dryer did not have a lint trap. It seemed odd to both of us... don't they have to have those? But no, we (two former TAG kids, mind you) could not find it, thus it did not have one.
Over the last few weeks of steadily decreasing dryer performance, today I resolved to look up the user guide on the internet. Sure enough, there's a lint trap. Right there in the back of the dryer. Old Curmudgeon and I had looked right at it and passed over it, not realizing that those two little holes there were intended to stick fingers in for the purpose of removing said lint trap from the rest of the dryer. I guess we thought they were just vent holes.
Anyway, I cleaned out the trap and this is what I turned up:
The larger chunk of lint on the left, by the way, is almost two inches thick, about nine inches long, four inches wide and fairly solid. That's what was in the trap itself. The rest I cleaned off of around where the trap is supposed to go. It is an absolute miracle that we morons have not burned the place down around ourselves in the last month of not cleaning out the lint trap because we didn't believe it existed.
I submit this experience as proof that something you don't think exists can still affect you. Or even kill you.
Oh, and for those that care, we're slowly feeling better. I made it through a whole two hours at work yesterday... gonna shoot for three today. ;-)
Song o' the Day: "Rain Over Me" - Pitbull featuring Marc Anthony. Why, you ask? Because Zumba class has gotten it stuck in my head, that's why.
UPDATE, 11:50 AM 1/31/13: The next load of clothes I put in the dryer after cleaning the lint trap got dry on the first go. The dryer wasn't malfunctioning after all... we're just morons.
Every now and then, life has a way of teaching you that you're not as smart as you thought you were.
We got a new stackable washer/dryer unit in December (after our last one croaked on day 31 of the 30 day warranty). After examining it extensively, the Old Curmudgeon and I came to the conclusion that new dryer did not have a lint trap. It seemed odd to both of us... don't they have to have those? But no, we (two former TAG kids, mind you) could not find it, thus it did not have one.
Over the last few weeks of steadily decreasing dryer performance, today I resolved to look up the user guide on the internet. Sure enough, there's a lint trap. Right there in the back of the dryer. Old Curmudgeon and I had looked right at it and passed over it, not realizing that those two little holes there were intended to stick fingers in for the purpose of removing said lint trap from the rest of the dryer. I guess we thought they were just vent holes.
Anyway, I cleaned out the trap and this is what I turned up:
The larger chunk of lint on the left, by the way, is almost two inches thick, about nine inches long, four inches wide and fairly solid. That's what was in the trap itself. The rest I cleaned off of around where the trap is supposed to go. It is an absolute miracle that we morons have not burned the place down around ourselves in the last month of not cleaning out the lint trap because we didn't believe it existed.
I submit this experience as proof that something you don't think exists can still affect you. Or even kill you.
Oh, and for those that care, we're slowly feeling better. I made it through a whole two hours at work yesterday... gonna shoot for three today. ;-)
Song o' the Day: "Rain Over Me" - Pitbull featuring Marc Anthony. Why, you ask? Because Zumba class has gotten it stuck in my head, that's why.
UPDATE, 11:50 AM 1/31/13: The next load of clothes I put in the dryer after cleaning the lint trap got dry on the first go. The dryer wasn't malfunctioning after all... we're just morons.
January 12, 2013
Panda Epiphany....
I had an epiphany last night. At the Panda Express on McLoughlin. And yes, it was slightly painful. But let me explain first how I wound up at Panda having epiphanies in the first place.
See, Friday night is usually date night for me and the Old Curmudgeon (which is my new blog name for my significant other... he'd get a kick out of that, trust me. Also "Mr. Cranky-Pants", which is what I usually call him to his face, is harder to type for some reason). The reason date night is on Friday is that the Chamaco generally spends Friday nights at my mom's house, and it's cheaper to eat out when there are only two of us as opposed to three. Yes, we are jerks like that, thank you.
Anyway, the Old Curmudgeon had a burning desire to go to Panda. Something about Shanghai steak. Me, I can take or leave steak, and I was sort of "meh" about the idea of going to Panda, but I didn't have a strong inclination to go much of anywhere else either so I figured I'd humor him and went along. This is called "keeping the peace", and I don't think I had much of a knack for that a decade or so ago when I was last in a serious relationship. Of course, I was 19/20 then as opposed to 29/30 too.
So anyway, back to Panda with a minimum of side trips now. (Hopefully.) I got the 2 entree platter, and I had fried rice, mandarin chicken, and honey-walnut shrimp. Anyone who has been to Panda ever can now probably picture exactly what was on my plate. On a whim, I got 3 potstickers as well. (Usually I get the chow mein instead of the fried rice, but I was feeling a little weird last night anyway, which maybe should have been a warning about the epiphany.) We filled up our drinks, sat down at a table, and started eating.
I compartmentalize, and tend to eat one food at a time for some reason. So I polished off the mandarin chicken and was probably about halfway through the honey-walnut shrimp when I had the epiphany. I felt a slight nudging in my cerebral cortex (or somewhere in my brain anyway) and looked around to see what was going on. My digestive system timidly raised its hand and cleared its throat. "Excuse me, Lord Brain," it said hesitantly. "We're... we're all full down here. We actually sort of don't need to eat the rest of that."
I paused in my eating to listen in on the conversation as my brain sputtered about in surprise for a moment, took a quick peep out through the eyeballs to survey the contents of the plate, then bellowed, "Nonsense! The shrimp isn't gone yet! That stuff costs an extra dollar, you know!"
"But... but... there's... no more room in the stomach!" my digestive system stammered. Clearly it was terrified of incurring my brain's wrath but for once had decided to stand up for itself.
"We haven't even touched the potstickers yet! And the shrimp's not gone!" the brain said firmly. And it ruthlessly shoved my digestive system's voice back to wherever it had come from. And just to spite the little upstart for daring to speak out of turn,we finished the shrimp. And the potstickers. And the fried rice. Because we are a fat slob, that's why. And no, we didn't feel too great about it afterward.
I bet you're wondering where the epiphany was in that. Well, I don't know if conversation was just sparse since the Old Curmudgeon was busy filling his face with Shanghai steak or what, but this was the first time I'd actually heard that conversation take place between my brain and my digestive system. And yes, I dramatized it, but that's what they would have been saying had they been speaking with words. I assume this conversation happens pretty much every time I eat a meal and I never do hear that voice, which is why I'm as big as I am. It wasn't until I was lying in bed last night reviewing the day's events in my mind that I thought, "You know, if I paid more attention to that voice, I might not be as fat as I am." (This was ephiphany #2.) And I resolved to start trying to listen for that voice.
So this morning after I climbed out of bed around 10:00 (hey, it's Saturday and I don't have to work until 1, so there), I took a bath (again, Saturday, don't judge) and wandered out into the kitchen to find foodstuffs. I am not real fond of breakfast foods in general, and I tend to have either fruit or something more lunchy for breakfast. Today it was the latter, as I settled upon a can of Campbells vegetable soup. Maybe you will all think I'm a disgusting fatso after reading this, but I generally have no trouble putting away an entire can by myself. With cheese and crackers. Today I heated up the soup, put some crackers in it (decided to skip cheese) and headed for the table.
I was eating in rather contemplative silence (Chamaco is at my mom's, remember?) and sure enough, just about halfway through the bowl of soup I get a weird sensation in my stomach and a little nudge in my brain again. "Hey... we're done down here. No more!"
I took one more bite, which I chewed very thoughtfully for longer than was probably necessary, and looked down into the bowl and contemplated the soup. No, I decided, it actually didn't look as appetizing as it had ten minutes ago. And if I really thought about it, it didn't quite taste as good either. I have read before that these are both signs that you're done with the eating thing, so I put the bowl off to the side and reached for my laptop.
And this is where I sit right now. At my kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of soup to my left, laptop directly in front, and glass of water to my right. (Glass of water, by the way, was refilled 3 times during the course of eating half a bowl of soup, for some reason. Am I dehydrated as well?) And I don't quite know what to do with said half-bowl of soup. No one else is around to offer it to. Throwing it out seems kind of wasteful, but I know that if I cover it and put it in the fridge, it will probably just grow mold and no one will eat it, and then I will throw it away. (The Chamaco, for whatever reason, does not like to eat leftover anything.) However, I do not really want to eat it just so it doesn't go to waste, because my stomach told me pretty clearly that it didn't want anything else. (Traitor.)
So maybe I've stumbled upon a breakthrough in my lifelong (and by "lifelong" I mean, "since I was about six") struggle with food and weight. Maybe I've just got to listen for the little voice that tells me, "Hey! No more of that, jerkface!"
The Old Curmudgeon and I have been spending some evenings lately watching a British TV show called Supersize vs. Superskinny. Basically the premise of the show is that they get one hugely obese person (usually close to 400 lbs. if we calculate out how many stone that is, because they do weight funny in Britain) and one underweight person (usually 110 lbs or less... lowest I've seen so far was 85), and they put them in a house together for five days. During those five days, the fat person can only eat everything the underweight person would normally eat (which is sometimes nothing at all for some meals), and the underweight person has to eat everything that the fat person normally eats at every meal (or give it their best go, anyway). It's sort of a mutual learning thing... usually by the end of the 5 days the fat person has learned that they can get hungry and they don't actually die, and they have learned by watching the skinny person attempt to choke down their meals that they have been eating WAY too much. The skinny person, meanwhile, usually learns to try new foods (the skinnies tend to have extremely limited diets like only fruit, or even in one case only chocolate... generally there is at least one food group they've eliminated completely) and eat somewhat larger portions. It's sort of weirdly fascinating, even though having watched most of two seasons now I'm sort of getting to the point where I want to see someone fail... come back after the 12 weeks of following the doctor's eating plan and not be fatter/skinnier than they were before and glowing with good health. Of course, I'm a jerk like that.
I'm also doing karate classes with my son on Tuesday nights and have finally found a Zumba class that mostly works within my schedule (I have to go there directly from work, but I can do it). I've already got the exercise piece falling into place nicely, so maybe if I can figure out the stupid food part, I might start seeing some changes. Who knows?
Song o' the Day: "End of Time" by Lacuna Coil. The video for which (viewable by clicking on the song title over there) was cleverly released right before December 21st, 2012. Not on the 21st, of course, because if the world had actually ended nobody would have seen it. Can't take that chance! This is a slower song for Lacuna, and definitely not their most exciting video, but I still like the song.
See, Friday night is usually date night for me and the Old Curmudgeon (which is my new blog name for my significant other... he'd get a kick out of that, trust me. Also "Mr. Cranky-Pants", which is what I usually call him to his face, is harder to type for some reason). The reason date night is on Friday is that the Chamaco generally spends Friday nights at my mom's house, and it's cheaper to eat out when there are only two of us as opposed to three. Yes, we are jerks like that, thank you.
Anyway, the Old Curmudgeon had a burning desire to go to Panda. Something about Shanghai steak. Me, I can take or leave steak, and I was sort of "meh" about the idea of going to Panda, but I didn't have a strong inclination to go much of anywhere else either so I figured I'd humor him and went along. This is called "keeping the peace", and I don't think I had much of a knack for that a decade or so ago when I was last in a serious relationship. Of course, I was 19/20 then as opposed to 29/30 too.
So anyway, back to Panda with a minimum of side trips now. (Hopefully.) I got the 2 entree platter, and I had fried rice, mandarin chicken, and honey-walnut shrimp. Anyone who has been to Panda ever can now probably picture exactly what was on my plate. On a whim, I got 3 potstickers as well. (Usually I get the chow mein instead of the fried rice, but I was feeling a little weird last night anyway, which maybe should have been a warning about the epiphany.) We filled up our drinks, sat down at a table, and started eating.
I compartmentalize, and tend to eat one food at a time for some reason. So I polished off the mandarin chicken and was probably about halfway through the honey-walnut shrimp when I had the epiphany. I felt a slight nudging in my cerebral cortex (or somewhere in my brain anyway) and looked around to see what was going on. My digestive system timidly raised its hand and cleared its throat. "Excuse me, Lord Brain," it said hesitantly. "We're... we're all full down here. We actually sort of don't need to eat the rest of that."
I paused in my eating to listen in on the conversation as my brain sputtered about in surprise for a moment, took a quick peep out through the eyeballs to survey the contents of the plate, then bellowed, "Nonsense! The shrimp isn't gone yet! That stuff costs an extra dollar, you know!"
"But... but... there's... no more room in the stomach!" my digestive system stammered. Clearly it was terrified of incurring my brain's wrath but for once had decided to stand up for itself.
"We haven't even touched the potstickers yet! And the shrimp's not gone!" the brain said firmly. And it ruthlessly shoved my digestive system's voice back to wherever it had come from. And just to spite the little upstart for daring to speak out of turn,we finished the shrimp. And the potstickers. And the fried rice. Because we are a fat slob, that's why. And no, we didn't feel too great about it afterward.
I bet you're wondering where the epiphany was in that. Well, I don't know if conversation was just sparse since the Old Curmudgeon was busy filling his face with Shanghai steak or what, but this was the first time I'd actually heard that conversation take place between my brain and my digestive system. And yes, I dramatized it, but that's what they would have been saying had they been speaking with words. I assume this conversation happens pretty much every time I eat a meal and I never do hear that voice, which is why I'm as big as I am. It wasn't until I was lying in bed last night reviewing the day's events in my mind that I thought, "You know, if I paid more attention to that voice, I might not be as fat as I am." (This was ephiphany #2.) And I resolved to start trying to listen for that voice.
So this morning after I climbed out of bed around 10:00 (hey, it's Saturday and I don't have to work until 1, so there), I took a bath (again, Saturday, don't judge) and wandered out into the kitchen to find foodstuffs. I am not real fond of breakfast foods in general, and I tend to have either fruit or something more lunchy for breakfast. Today it was the latter, as I settled upon a can of Campbells vegetable soup. Maybe you will all think I'm a disgusting fatso after reading this, but I generally have no trouble putting away an entire can by myself. With cheese and crackers. Today I heated up the soup, put some crackers in it (decided to skip cheese) and headed for the table.
I was eating in rather contemplative silence (Chamaco is at my mom's, remember?) and sure enough, just about halfway through the bowl of soup I get a weird sensation in my stomach and a little nudge in my brain again. "Hey... we're done down here. No more!"
I took one more bite, which I chewed very thoughtfully for longer than was probably necessary, and looked down into the bowl and contemplated the soup. No, I decided, it actually didn't look as appetizing as it had ten minutes ago. And if I really thought about it, it didn't quite taste as good either. I have read before that these are both signs that you're done with the eating thing, so I put the bowl off to the side and reached for my laptop.
And this is where I sit right now. At my kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of soup to my left, laptop directly in front, and glass of water to my right. (Glass of water, by the way, was refilled 3 times during the course of eating half a bowl of soup, for some reason. Am I dehydrated as well?) And I don't quite know what to do with said half-bowl of soup. No one else is around to offer it to. Throwing it out seems kind of wasteful, but I know that if I cover it and put it in the fridge, it will probably just grow mold and no one will eat it, and then I will throw it away. (The Chamaco, for whatever reason, does not like to eat leftover anything.) However, I do not really want to eat it just so it doesn't go to waste, because my stomach told me pretty clearly that it didn't want anything else. (Traitor.)
So maybe I've stumbled upon a breakthrough in my lifelong (and by "lifelong" I mean, "since I was about six") struggle with food and weight. Maybe I've just got to listen for the little voice that tells me, "Hey! No more of that, jerkface!"
The Old Curmudgeon and I have been spending some evenings lately watching a British TV show called Supersize vs. Superskinny. Basically the premise of the show is that they get one hugely obese person (usually close to 400 lbs. if we calculate out how many stone that is, because they do weight funny in Britain) and one underweight person (usually 110 lbs or less... lowest I've seen so far was 85), and they put them in a house together for five days. During those five days, the fat person can only eat everything the underweight person would normally eat (which is sometimes nothing at all for some meals), and the underweight person has to eat everything that the fat person normally eats at every meal (or give it their best go, anyway). It's sort of a mutual learning thing... usually by the end of the 5 days the fat person has learned that they can get hungry and they don't actually die, and they have learned by watching the skinny person attempt to choke down their meals that they have been eating WAY too much. The skinny person, meanwhile, usually learns to try new foods (the skinnies tend to have extremely limited diets like only fruit, or even in one case only chocolate... generally there is at least one food group they've eliminated completely) and eat somewhat larger portions. It's sort of weirdly fascinating, even though having watched most of two seasons now I'm sort of getting to the point where I want to see someone fail... come back after the 12 weeks of following the doctor's eating plan and not be fatter/skinnier than they were before and glowing with good health. Of course, I'm a jerk like that.
I'm also doing karate classes with my son on Tuesday nights and have finally found a Zumba class that mostly works within my schedule (I have to go there directly from work, but I can do it). I've already got the exercise piece falling into place nicely, so maybe if I can figure out the stupid food part, I might start seeing some changes. Who knows?
Song o' the Day: "End of Time" by Lacuna Coil. The video for which (viewable by clicking on the song title over there) was cleverly released right before December 21st, 2012. Not on the 21st, of course, because if the world had actually ended nobody would have seen it. Can't take that chance! This is a slower song for Lacuna, and definitely not their most exciting video, but I still like the song.
March 4, 2012
Random facts and figures...
WARNING: I'm in a bad mood right now. Don't read this if you don't want to hear (read) me complaining. If you read it anyway, don't say you weren't warned....
10 1/2 (approximately): The number of years that have elapsed since, as an 18 year old, I thought it would be a pretty smart idea to get married on June 23, 2001.
9 (approximately): The number of years it has been since my ex-husband and I separated for the third and final time. (After he left, came back, left, came back, then told me he was leaving again. I told him not to bother coming back if he left. So of course, now our divorce is my fault because I told him not to come back.)
4 years, 2 months (almost exactly): The number of years we've been officially divorced. (Someone wouldn't help pay for it (because it was my fault), so it had to wait until I could afford to do it myself.)
Once a year or less: The approximate frequency with which either of the above two facts bothers me in the slightest. (In truth, I'm much more likely to celebrate those same facts on any given day.)
And if I'm gonna be totally fair, it's not him specifically I miss. Okay, actually I don't miss him at all... like I said, in retrospect I'm glad he's gone. I mostly just miss the bed not being empty. Odd if you consider that for the greater part of our marriage we worked opposing shifts and were never in the bed at the same time anyway, but I digress.
In general I've adapted pretty darn well to the single-parenting lifestyle. Since we separated I've managed to get myself a college degree, get myself a job, get myself an apartment, and somehow raise a kid who isn't screwed up in the head (yet). I can kill my own spiders, perform my own basic automobile maintenance, move my own heavy stuff and open my own jars. I have managed to keep us fed, clothed and housed for the most part without even the aid of monthly child support payments (someone doesn't pay them). Some of the above successes are partly attributable to supportive family members, both blood relatives and church family. And a lot of it just attributable to the fact that I do not need a man to survive... I learned that about 9 years ago when he walked.
Of course, that same fact is also the source of my current dilemma. Or at least part of it. That's just the problem... I don't need a man. Most of the time I don't even want one. Sometimes I entertain the notion that the ideal arrangement for me would be one of those marriages where you maintain separate houses and have sleepovers. (Actually, were it not against my religion, the ideal arrangement would probably be more what is termed a "friend with benefits"... no legal entanglements whatsoever.) Some would say that I've never even been in a healthy, functional romantic relationship and just don't know what I'm missing. They're probably right about that, but what am I supposed to do about it? It ain't exactly raining men around here... in fact, it's been more of a nine-year drought. And yes, there have been a couple of close calls in those nine years, but they mostly served to make me realize even more what I don't want to put up with.
Yeah, maybe that's the problem. Having nine years to think it over has made me really picky. I have a long list of deal-breakers. Like these:
NO SMOKING: If you want to poison yourself slowly, go for it. Just do it far away from me. I already tried being married to a smoker. It didn't work for me and I won't do it again, which is why I won't even bother dating a smoker. I don't date people who have zero marriage potential, and smoking is an automatic disqualifier. Sorry!
NO DRUGS: Again, already tried this one in a marriage. It doesn't work. I am not and will never be "420 friendly", and yes, pot is a drug. Go stare at the walls in your own house and stay outta mine.
NO FIXER-UPPERS: This is a more recently adopted rule. Women in general are guilty of this and I think probably Christian women doubly so... we meet someone with a sad and tragic past and we get this romantic notion in our heads that we can somehow make it all better with the power of love or some trite BS like that. Yeah, well, guess what... it doesn't work that way. If a guy has more issues than TV Guide and/or more baggage than the average United Airlines flight, don't get involved.
And before I start sounding too negative, the deal-breaker list isn't my only list. I also have a "must-have" list. Because I work for Head Start and have been thoroughly PBIS indoctrinated, I'm going to call them the "be" rules.
BE a Real Grown-up: I already have a kid. Not looking for another one at this point. I do not want to feel like your mother or your babysitter. Any potential man should be like me in that he is completely capable of functioning solo without anyone to clean up his messes (both literal and metaphorical). Any potential cleaning up of each other's messes would be purely by mutual agreement to do so, not necessity or obligation.
BE Funny: Sense of humor. It is a must for anyone who is going to put up with me for more than, say, five minutes. It is also a must for anyone that I am going to have to put up with for more than, say, five minutes. Witty banter skill is an absolute requirement.
And as if that didn't reduce the field of potential candidates enough, I threw this one on:
BE a Christian: And just like that, I've narrowed my potential field of choices down to two! (Either of which could potentially be reading this... hi guys!) And I'm not saying that there are no other single, Christian men in the universe, I'm just saying that I don't know any personally and I have failed to stumble across any in the last nine years or so. That's all I'm saying. If I insist on church-going, faithful Christian men, the number of proverbial fish in the proverbial sea decreases exponentially.
But I guess really this was just a very roundabout way for me to say this: I'm lonely tonight and want someone to cuddle with. Just tonight, though. I'll probably be fine again tomorrow.
Song o' the Day: While not strictly related to the topic at hand, I'm gonna go with "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless, because I have it in my head right now. See/hear it here.
10 1/2 (approximately): The number of years that have elapsed since, as an 18 year old, I thought it would be a pretty smart idea to get married on June 23, 2001.
9 (approximately): The number of years it has been since my ex-husband and I separated for the third and final time. (After he left, came back, left, came back, then told me he was leaving again. I told him not to bother coming back if he left. So of course, now our divorce is my fault because I told him not to come back.)
4 years, 2 months (almost exactly): The number of years we've been officially divorced. (Someone wouldn't help pay for it (because it was my fault), so it had to wait until I could afford to do it myself.)
Once a year or less: The approximate frequency with which either of the above two facts bothers me in the slightest. (In truth, I'm much more likely to celebrate those same facts on any given day.)
And if I'm gonna be totally fair, it's not him specifically I miss. Okay, actually I don't miss him at all... like I said, in retrospect I'm glad he's gone. I mostly just miss the bed not being empty. Odd if you consider that for the greater part of our marriage we worked opposing shifts and were never in the bed at the same time anyway, but I digress.
In general I've adapted pretty darn well to the single-parenting lifestyle. Since we separated I've managed to get myself a college degree, get myself a job, get myself an apartment, and somehow raise a kid who isn't screwed up in the head (yet). I can kill my own spiders, perform my own basic automobile maintenance, move my own heavy stuff and open my own jars. I have managed to keep us fed, clothed and housed for the most part without even the aid of monthly child support payments (someone doesn't pay them). Some of the above successes are partly attributable to supportive family members, both blood relatives and church family. And a lot of it just attributable to the fact that I do not need a man to survive... I learned that about 9 years ago when he walked.
Of course, that same fact is also the source of my current dilemma. Or at least part of it. That's just the problem... I don't need a man. Most of the time I don't even want one. Sometimes I entertain the notion that the ideal arrangement for me would be one of those marriages where you maintain separate houses and have sleepovers. (Actually, were it not against my religion, the ideal arrangement would probably be more what is termed a "friend with benefits"... no legal entanglements whatsoever.) Some would say that I've never even been in a healthy, functional romantic relationship and just don't know what I'm missing. They're probably right about that, but what am I supposed to do about it? It ain't exactly raining men around here... in fact, it's been more of a nine-year drought. And yes, there have been a couple of close calls in those nine years, but they mostly served to make me realize even more what I don't want to put up with.
Yeah, maybe that's the problem. Having nine years to think it over has made me really picky. I have a long list of deal-breakers. Like these:
NO SMOKING: If you want to poison yourself slowly, go for it. Just do it far away from me. I already tried being married to a smoker. It didn't work for me and I won't do it again, which is why I won't even bother dating a smoker. I don't date people who have zero marriage potential, and smoking is an automatic disqualifier. Sorry!
NO DRUGS: Again, already tried this one in a marriage. It doesn't work. I am not and will never be "420 friendly", and yes, pot is a drug. Go stare at the walls in your own house and stay outta mine.
NO FIXER-UPPERS: This is a more recently adopted rule. Women in general are guilty of this and I think probably Christian women doubly so... we meet someone with a sad and tragic past and we get this romantic notion in our heads that we can somehow make it all better with the power of love or some trite BS like that. Yeah, well, guess what... it doesn't work that way. If a guy has more issues than TV Guide and/or more baggage than the average United Airlines flight, don't get involved.
And before I start sounding too negative, the deal-breaker list isn't my only list. I also have a "must-have" list. Because I work for Head Start and have been thoroughly PBIS indoctrinated, I'm going to call them the "be" rules.
BE a Real Grown-up: I already have a kid. Not looking for another one at this point. I do not want to feel like your mother or your babysitter. Any potential man should be like me in that he is completely capable of functioning solo without anyone to clean up his messes (both literal and metaphorical). Any potential cleaning up of each other's messes would be purely by mutual agreement to do so, not necessity or obligation.
BE Funny: Sense of humor. It is a must for anyone who is going to put up with me for more than, say, five minutes. It is also a must for anyone that I am going to have to put up with for more than, say, five minutes. Witty banter skill is an absolute requirement.
And as if that didn't reduce the field of potential candidates enough, I threw this one on:
BE a Christian: And just like that, I've narrowed my potential field of choices down to two! (Either of which could potentially be reading this... hi guys!) And I'm not saying that there are no other single, Christian men in the universe, I'm just saying that I don't know any personally and I have failed to stumble across any in the last nine years or so. That's all I'm saying. If I insist on church-going, faithful Christian men, the number of proverbial fish in the proverbial sea decreases exponentially.
But I guess really this was just a very roundabout way for me to say this: I'm lonely tonight and want someone to cuddle with. Just tonight, though. I'll probably be fine again tomorrow.
Song o' the Day: While not strictly related to the topic at hand, I'm gonna go with "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless, because I have it in my head right now. See/hear it here.
January 21, 2012
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Too excited! Can't sleep! Gonna blog and then go dye my hair (again) instead! (Lost in Paradise - Evanescence).*
Yeah, anyway, our story begins about a month ago. I was bored one night right around this same time (9:20) (Diamond Eyes (Boom Lay Boom) - Shinedown). So I got on Craigslist. This is because I think Craigslist is a cesspool of humanity and it amuses me to see some of the lame that goes on there. I checked out the "musicians" community where bands that need members put ads and members that need bands put ads. Because generally the musician types make some pretty funny posts. I saw one there that said "MOLALLA" and suddenly I was intrigued. Because I happen to live there. I read the ad and liked most of the influences listed, so just on a whim, I e-mailed the guy, who was the guitarist, and asked if they were opposed to the idea of a female vocalist. Because some macho rock bands just don't want chicks up in their business, that's why. I then got off of Craigslist, because if I start replying to things I know I'm really bored and need to go get a life. Total time on Craigslist: about 5 minutes.
Much to my surprise, the dude e-mails me back less than twenty minutes later and says no, they're pretty open-minded and they don't mind the idea of a female singer, so did I want to audition? (Give it Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers) After a momentary fit of "they weren't actually supposed to respond!" panic, I thought, "Well why not?! I've been dreaming about being in a band for years... why not audition?" So I emailed him back and said sure, and he almost immediately gave me a date and time: January 21st at 2:00.
I decided almost immediately what song I would like to do at the audition, then promptly forgot all about it for nearly a month. I did not start thinking about it again until yesterday. And even then, I didn't get nervous. I was like, "Yeah, I'm gonna go sing a song." I was fine in English class this morning. I was fine when I got home from English class this morning. The nerves hit when I got in my car for the less-than-ten-minute drive to the audition. Fine timing, that! (Zithande - Freshlyground) I sang my song in the car and told myself that I was just going to fake confidence and go in and do my thing, and whatever happened would be okay.
I got out of the car and went toward the house and was greeted by the bass player. I later learned that he is called "Tall Chris", "Bass-player Chris", (the guitarist is also named Chris) or "Long-legged Freak". Chris the guitarist is "Bald Chris" or "Short Chris" or "Chris Dawg". Not only was I on time for my audition, but I was actually five minutes early. The drummer (who is not named Chris) was not there yet. In the end, in fact, he was over half an hour late. (Insert joke about unreliability of drummers here.) (Natural Life - Breaking Benjamin) This gave me time to talk with Chris and Chris, and Bald Chris and I discovered that we actually went to school together briefly during my sophomore year, and we have had a friend in common since that time. I pretty much clicked with them right away, so by the time the non-Chris drummer got there I was feeling much more comfortable. Right until the point where we got down to business about 3 o'clock.
They had a card table set up in the practice space, and the three of them sat at the table with spiral notebooks, ready to take notes on my performance. And suddenly the nerves hit again, because it was on. (I Am Not Your Gameboy - Freezepop) Three guys I just met are sitting at a table with notebooks and pens, staring at me, waiting for me to start singing so they can write down notes/critiques on my performance. Yikes.
The song I picked to sing for the audition was "Make Me Wanna Die" by The Pretty Reckless. (Click the song title if you wanna hear it... I put in a link.) None of them had heard of that band, and all of them liked it. Score points for me! Anyway, I just tried to pretend I was in my car and nobody was listening, and that was how I got through the first verse. Right around the first chorus, I realized that the acoustics in the practice room were awesome. I was really enjoying the way my voice was bouncing off the walls, and I started having fun and playing with it, seeing what I could make the noise do. Nerves gone. (I Wanna Talk About Me - Toby Keith) As always, though, the song got over just when I was really getting into it... curse these short songs anyway! (And I just want to mention, I killed on the high note at the end... better tone than I've ever done, I think. Basically I knocked the audition out of the park.)
When I was done I noticed they were all looking at me kind of surprised-like, then Bald Chris said, "Wow... that was really good." The other two quickly agreed, and I sat down at the table and they asked me some questions about the style of music I like and what experience I have (next to none), and we made chit-chat for a few minutes, then Tall Chris said, "Let me just say something... Even if we decide to go with someone else, don't stop doing what you're doing. Find another band or start your own, because you've got some talent." Now that made me extra happy. Because it was the first time I'd scraped up the courage and fake-confidence to actually audition for a band (which is something I've always wanted to do... I've always dreamed of being in a band), and the guy tells me that. Insert happy face here. :-)
(Blind - Korn) I hung out with them until about 4. Partly because the non-Chris who got there late had parked me in, but also because I was just having fun hanging. I even like Bald Chris's wife, who was also hanging around there. The guy who was supposed to audition at 3 flaked out, which made me look really good, and when Bald Chris called him he made some lame excuse about his girlfriend's car breaking down and rescheduled for tomorrow. But also I was just having fun getting to know them and talking to grown-ups (a rarity for me). They're all late-twenties to mid-thirties, all of them have at least one kid (Tall Chris has six), and they pretty much seem like mature adults. Who happen to be in a rock band that is far more successful than I knew about.
I am glad I didn't know this ahead of time, because it probably would have intimidated the heck outta me, but this is a band that won Portland's Battle of the Bands the first year they entered it. The second year they did it, they came in second place. They were offered a $20,000 contract from a small independent label, but turned it down because they figured out they would have had to pay out about $5,000 out-of-pocket for the tour and none of them had it, and the profit they would have made from CDs and downloads was pretty negligible (lousy contract, I guess). The walls of the practice space are almost completely covered with posters from gigs they've played. They have opened for a couple of touring bands that came through Portland that are more well-known. They are the real deal. (Someone Who Cares - Three Days Grace) While I was there hanging out being parked in, Bald Chris started cleaning out a storage tub in the practice space and found a bunch of old merch and a stack of demo CDs. They gave me two of the demo CDs, a stack of band logo stickers, and a band logo T-shirt for the Chamaco (they didn't have any left in my size). It probably should be mentioned at this point that their plan is to find a new singer and basically start over fresh. They want to write new songs and find a new band name. The old one (which I won't mention here, but if you really want to know you can ask me) is to be no more, which is why they were giving away the merch. So even if I don't get into the band, I didn't walk away empty-handed... I got some pretty cool souvenirs. Not bad for my first audition! (The Big Issue - Chumbawamba) Definitely it has given me the courage to try it again sometime if I don't get into this band (which I hope I do).
Anyway, they have I think 3 auditions scheduled for tomorrow, the last of which is at 5, I believe, and then they plan to make a decision immediately. I could very realistically know one way or the other by 7 or 8 p.m. tomorrow. And I say again - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! As much as I told myself I was just going to do it and whatever the outcome was would be fine (and it is... I'm not going to cry if I don't get in, but I will be more disappointed than I initially thought I would be), I'm currently more excited than I've been about anything in quite some time and I don't know at all if I will be able to sleep tonight. (Día Especial - Shakira)
Only adding to my general elation with the day, when I got home and went over to check the mail, my new Lacuna Coil CD, "Dark Adrenaline", which I pre-ordered, was in the mailbox. Three days BEFORE the release date! Yay for pre-ordering and fast shipping! You can't even walk into a store and buy it until the 24th! So when I got home and settled, the Chamaco and I first listened to "Dark Adrenaline" (I am in love with "Trip the Darkness") and then the demo CD the band gave me. My house has been very musical tonight... even more so than usual.
Somewhat frustrated now, because I want to sing loudly in my house and can't because I live in an apartment and it's after "quiet time" (which never stops my neighbors from singing loud, drunken karaoke, but I'm nicer than them, I guess). (Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne) Also the Chamaco is in bed. So I'm going to go do unspeakable things to my hair and try to find an outlet for my sudden creativity overflow. Maybe I'll try writing some lyrics down just in case... or I'll ponder potential band names. (I spit out one randomly at the audition that they all actually kind of liked.) (Sacred Lie - Disturbed) I'll have to think of something to do until I get tired enough to be sleepy. Gonna be a fun morning getting up for church tomorrow!
Thanks for reading my excited-babble!
Song o' the Day: Gonna have to repeat myself and do "Trip the Darkness" by Lacuna Coil. Check it out if you didn't already!
*If you didn't catch on to what's up with the random song titles scattered throughout the blog, I put iTunes on shuffle when I blog and type the name of each song that comes up whenever it does. So not only do you get a small taste of my musical schizophrenia, but you also get to see roughly how long it takes me to focus long enough to type a paragraph at 80+ wpm. Yes, I type that fast, so when I get about 1 song per paragraph it's because something slowed me down. Probably something shiny.
Yeah, anyway, our story begins about a month ago. I was bored one night right around this same time (9:20) (Diamond Eyes (Boom Lay Boom) - Shinedown). So I got on Craigslist. This is because I think Craigslist is a cesspool of humanity and it amuses me to see some of the lame that goes on there. I checked out the "musicians" community where bands that need members put ads and members that need bands put ads. Because generally the musician types make some pretty funny posts. I saw one there that said "MOLALLA" and suddenly I was intrigued. Because I happen to live there. I read the ad and liked most of the influences listed, so just on a whim, I e-mailed the guy, who was the guitarist, and asked if they were opposed to the idea of a female vocalist. Because some macho rock bands just don't want chicks up in their business, that's why. I then got off of Craigslist, because if I start replying to things I know I'm really bored and need to go get a life. Total time on Craigslist: about 5 minutes.
Much to my surprise, the dude e-mails me back less than twenty minutes later and says no, they're pretty open-minded and they don't mind the idea of a female singer, so did I want to audition? (Give it Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers) After a momentary fit of "they weren't actually supposed to respond!" panic, I thought, "Well why not?! I've been dreaming about being in a band for years... why not audition?" So I emailed him back and said sure, and he almost immediately gave me a date and time: January 21st at 2:00.
I decided almost immediately what song I would like to do at the audition, then promptly forgot all about it for nearly a month. I did not start thinking about it again until yesterday. And even then, I didn't get nervous. I was like, "Yeah, I'm gonna go sing a song." I was fine in English class this morning. I was fine when I got home from English class this morning. The nerves hit when I got in my car for the less-than-ten-minute drive to the audition. Fine timing, that! (Zithande - Freshlyground) I sang my song in the car and told myself that I was just going to fake confidence and go in and do my thing, and whatever happened would be okay.
I got out of the car and went toward the house and was greeted by the bass player. I later learned that he is called "Tall Chris", "Bass-player Chris", (the guitarist is also named Chris) or "Long-legged Freak". Chris the guitarist is "Bald Chris" or "Short Chris" or "Chris Dawg". Not only was I on time for my audition, but I was actually five minutes early. The drummer (who is not named Chris) was not there yet. In the end, in fact, he was over half an hour late. (Insert joke about unreliability of drummers here.) (Natural Life - Breaking Benjamin) This gave me time to talk with Chris and Chris, and Bald Chris and I discovered that we actually went to school together briefly during my sophomore year, and we have had a friend in common since that time. I pretty much clicked with them right away, so by the time the non-Chris drummer got there I was feeling much more comfortable. Right until the point where we got down to business about 3 o'clock.
They had a card table set up in the practice space, and the three of them sat at the table with spiral notebooks, ready to take notes on my performance. And suddenly the nerves hit again, because it was on. (I Am Not Your Gameboy - Freezepop) Three guys I just met are sitting at a table with notebooks and pens, staring at me, waiting for me to start singing so they can write down notes/critiques on my performance. Yikes.
The song I picked to sing for the audition was "Make Me Wanna Die" by The Pretty Reckless. (Click the song title if you wanna hear it... I put in a link.) None of them had heard of that band, and all of them liked it. Score points for me! Anyway, I just tried to pretend I was in my car and nobody was listening, and that was how I got through the first verse. Right around the first chorus, I realized that the acoustics in the practice room were awesome. I was really enjoying the way my voice was bouncing off the walls, and I started having fun and playing with it, seeing what I could make the noise do. Nerves gone. (I Wanna Talk About Me - Toby Keith) As always, though, the song got over just when I was really getting into it... curse these short songs anyway! (And I just want to mention, I killed on the high note at the end... better tone than I've ever done, I think. Basically I knocked the audition out of the park.)
When I was done I noticed they were all looking at me kind of surprised-like, then Bald Chris said, "Wow... that was really good." The other two quickly agreed, and I sat down at the table and they asked me some questions about the style of music I like and what experience I have (next to none), and we made chit-chat for a few minutes, then Tall Chris said, "Let me just say something... Even if we decide to go with someone else, don't stop doing what you're doing. Find another band or start your own, because you've got some talent." Now that made me extra happy. Because it was the first time I'd scraped up the courage and fake-confidence to actually audition for a band (which is something I've always wanted to do... I've always dreamed of being in a band), and the guy tells me that. Insert happy face here. :-)
(Blind - Korn) I hung out with them until about 4. Partly because the non-Chris who got there late had parked me in, but also because I was just having fun hanging. I even like Bald Chris's wife, who was also hanging around there. The guy who was supposed to audition at 3 flaked out, which made me look really good, and when Bald Chris called him he made some lame excuse about his girlfriend's car breaking down and rescheduled for tomorrow. But also I was just having fun getting to know them and talking to grown-ups (a rarity for me). They're all late-twenties to mid-thirties, all of them have at least one kid (Tall Chris has six), and they pretty much seem like mature adults. Who happen to be in a rock band that is far more successful than I knew about.
I am glad I didn't know this ahead of time, because it probably would have intimidated the heck outta me, but this is a band that won Portland's Battle of the Bands the first year they entered it. The second year they did it, they came in second place. They were offered a $20,000 contract from a small independent label, but turned it down because they figured out they would have had to pay out about $5,000 out-of-pocket for the tour and none of them had it, and the profit they would have made from CDs and downloads was pretty negligible (lousy contract, I guess). The walls of the practice space are almost completely covered with posters from gigs they've played. They have opened for a couple of touring bands that came through Portland that are more well-known. They are the real deal. (Someone Who Cares - Three Days Grace) While I was there hanging out being parked in, Bald Chris started cleaning out a storage tub in the practice space and found a bunch of old merch and a stack of demo CDs. They gave me two of the demo CDs, a stack of band logo stickers, and a band logo T-shirt for the Chamaco (they didn't have any left in my size). It probably should be mentioned at this point that their plan is to find a new singer and basically start over fresh. They want to write new songs and find a new band name. The old one (which I won't mention here, but if you really want to know you can ask me) is to be no more, which is why they were giving away the merch. So even if I don't get into the band, I didn't walk away empty-handed... I got some pretty cool souvenirs. Not bad for my first audition! (The Big Issue - Chumbawamba) Definitely it has given me the courage to try it again sometime if I don't get into this band (which I hope I do).
Anyway, they have I think 3 auditions scheduled for tomorrow, the last of which is at 5, I believe, and then they plan to make a decision immediately. I could very realistically know one way or the other by 7 or 8 p.m. tomorrow. And I say again - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! As much as I told myself I was just going to do it and whatever the outcome was would be fine (and it is... I'm not going to cry if I don't get in, but I will be more disappointed than I initially thought I would be), I'm currently more excited than I've been about anything in quite some time and I don't know at all if I will be able to sleep tonight. (Día Especial - Shakira)
Only adding to my general elation with the day, when I got home and went over to check the mail, my new Lacuna Coil CD, "Dark Adrenaline", which I pre-ordered, was in the mailbox. Three days BEFORE the release date! Yay for pre-ordering and fast shipping! You can't even walk into a store and buy it until the 24th! So when I got home and settled, the Chamaco and I first listened to "Dark Adrenaline" (I am in love with "Trip the Darkness") and then the demo CD the band gave me. My house has been very musical tonight... even more so than usual.
Somewhat frustrated now, because I want to sing loudly in my house and can't because I live in an apartment and it's after "quiet time" (which never stops my neighbors from singing loud, drunken karaoke, but I'm nicer than them, I guess). (Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne) Also the Chamaco is in bed. So I'm going to go do unspeakable things to my hair and try to find an outlet for my sudden creativity overflow. Maybe I'll try writing some lyrics down just in case... or I'll ponder potential band names. (I spit out one randomly at the audition that they all actually kind of liked.) (Sacred Lie - Disturbed) I'll have to think of something to do until I get tired enough to be sleepy. Gonna be a fun morning getting up for church tomorrow!
Thanks for reading my excited-babble!
Song o' the Day: Gonna have to repeat myself and do "Trip the Darkness" by Lacuna Coil. Check it out if you didn't already!
*If you didn't catch on to what's up with the random song titles scattered throughout the blog, I put iTunes on shuffle when I blog and type the name of each song that comes up whenever it does. So not only do you get a small taste of my musical schizophrenia, but you also get to see roughly how long it takes me to focus long enough to type a paragraph at 80+ wpm. Yes, I type that fast, so when I get about 1 song per paragraph it's because something slowed me down. Probably something shiny.
January 1, 2010
New Year's "Suggestions"...
I don't like New Year's Resolutions. They seem to me like a really good way to set yourself up to feel like a failure come December... as if the holidays weren't stressful enough! In fact, I have never before made a list of New Year's Resolutions. I can't be bothered to write a list of stuff I should do that I probably won't do so I can feel bad about myself later.
This year, however, I feel moved to write myself a list of "ideas" or "suggestions" for things that I might work on in 2010 if I feel like it/get around to it. Stuff that I should do because it would be good for me or for those around me. Things that I should change, because probably my life would change for the better if I changed them. And if I don't change them... well, stuff stays the same I guess. In the words of the great philosopher Tyler, "If you do what you've always done, you'll always get what you always got." (That would be Steven Tyler in the song "Get a Grip", in case anyone wondered.)
So brace yourself, people... I'm about to have one of my rare introspective moments! Here are some of my suggestions for myself in the order in which they occur to me.
1.) Spend less time on the computer. I am blind enough as it is. And hand in hand with that...
2.) Encourage "Wong" to either take things offline or give it up already.
3.) Find an outlet for my creativity besides writing short stories that I never let anyone read. Blogging is more narrative than creative most of the time. I'm not sure if I should start trying to write a novel or just start playing guitar more (bet the neighbors would love that), but I think the constantly rotating cast of characters in my head is detrimental to what, for lack of a better term, we shall call "my sanity". It seems to me I also used to do some halfway decent pictures with pastels and colored pencils many moons ago in the far-flung times of, oh, about 1999...
4.) Try to start saving some money. You know, now that I actually have an income. And not far behind that...
5.) Never buy anything on credit ever again if I can possibly avoid it. I would like to pay off the two credit cards I have and then quite possibly get rid of them altogether. They are evil.
6.) Exercise more, blah blah blah... (everyone says this one, I think)
7.) Date someone. Could be Wong (if he were to get himself over here), could be someone I haven't met yet, but seven years of singleness is bloody long enough.
8.) Spend more time out doing things with friends. I think I tend to hold myself back with the "I can't do that, I have a kid" excuse. Perhaps some of that money I might put aside each month could be used for a babysitter one night a month... I think all parents, but maybe full-time single parents in particular, need some regularly scheduled down time. Also it's really hard to meet people to date when I never go anywhere except to work and to church.
9.) Reduce the size of my mean streak. Currently it's at about three miles wide. I'd like to reduce it to a mile or less. I'm pretty sure I used to be a nice person once, but high school screwed me up and I never recovered.
10.) Broaden my musical tastes. Much as I complain about the music snobbery of certain people (who will stop listening to a band if they think too many people like said band), I'm guilty of my own flavor of it... I have convinced myself that if it's not rock of some description, I probably don't care. Don't expect me to start listening to rap, though... I stand firm on my requirement for actual singing talent!
11.) (this one is going to make me sound horrid, maybe you shouldn't read it) Love my kid while I have him. Most of you still reading probably just went, "What's horrid about that?" Well, the awful truth is that I did not want to be a parent. I was dragged into it kicking and screaming, and for several years after he was born I still did not want to be a parent. I did not gaze upon my newborn son's face and instantly fall in love... oh no. For years I regarded him as an intrusion... a time-consuming burden draining my energy and resources that I never wanted or asked for. (Planned pregnancy he wasn't, as you may have guessed). I was bound to him only by a fierce sense of responsibility (Flake, I am not in the slightest, and I firmly believe in the "you make it, you take care of it" principle), and later by the knowledge that of his two parents I was the one less likely to screw him up, which I thought was really sad since I was already so screwed up myself on the subject of parenting. Loving him crept up on me gradually, without me realizing it. Probably he was four before I could say "I love you" to him and mean it at all. And even then an occasional mother would observe me with him and say something like, "You'd just throw yourself in front of a train to save your kid, wouldn't you?" (someone actually did say that very thing to me once) and I would look at them blankly... No I would not! Are you completely out of your gourd?! I would scream internally. Or they'd say, "He's just your entire world, isn't he?" and I would rail internally against that too... No! There is a heck of a lot more to my world than this kid! I am a complex and multi-faceted individual, darn it! But I guess even the most emotionless of us can't help but be eventually won over by a kid who loves you unconditionally and tends to shout things like "Best mom ever!" when you tell him that he can have two packs of fruit snacks if he wants. Fast forward to 2009, when the realization finally sets in that the Chamaco and I are our own broken little family and often we're all each other has. In November during our monthly meeting, I am telling my boss about something he said/did and she comments, "I can tell he's just your whole world." For the first time I do not mentally protest. Conversion from "reluctant mom" to just plain "mom" finally complete... only took 7 years and 11 months. I read in one of those "What to Expect..." books when he was a baby that actually many new mothers don't instantly bond with their child, and in some cases the process can take months. I don't know if anyone has ever taken very nearly 8 years before. Probably I needed/need therapy. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a baby because I want to, but I still don't want to. I really doubt I ever will. I still like kids much better when they're someone else's in general, but I have finally managed to become rather attached to the one I have. I don't think I'll ever be a "mommy mom" (as Tyha so accurately describes herself), but at least I'm a "mom" now instead of an "I'll take care of you because legally I'm responsible to do so". Only in hindsight have I been able to see God's wisdom in this whole situation... had I not suddenly become responsible for a small, helpless person at the time I did, I likely would have continued on the self-destructive path I was just getting started down at the time and I don't think it's a stretch at all to say that my life could have ended (badly) several years prior to now. Also before he was born I thought I preferred a girl and I was going to name him Natalie Renee. Eight years later I often thank God I did not have a girl... girls are too much drama! (Especially from about the age of 8 onward, I'm learning from watching other people's kids.) Anyway, back to the original thought, I may have sort of wasted the first eight years, but theoretically I've got about ten more to try and get things right.
Wow, that was a digression and a half, but maybe now you understand why I laugh and shake my head everytime someone tells me what a good mom I am (which happens surprisingly often... maybe people don't pay attention?).
Anyway, here's to 2010... may it be a fabulous year for all my friends and loved ones (and maybe some of the people I don't like too!).
This year, however, I feel moved to write myself a list of "ideas" or "suggestions" for things that I might work on in 2010 if I feel like it/get around to it. Stuff that I should do because it would be good for me or for those around me. Things that I should change, because probably my life would change for the better if I changed them. And if I don't change them... well, stuff stays the same I guess. In the words of the great philosopher Tyler, "If you do what you've always done, you'll always get what you always got." (That would be Steven Tyler in the song "Get a Grip", in case anyone wondered.)
So brace yourself, people... I'm about to have one of my rare introspective moments! Here are some of my suggestions for myself in the order in which they occur to me.
1.) Spend less time on the computer. I am blind enough as it is. And hand in hand with that...
2.) Encourage "Wong" to either take things offline or give it up already.
3.) Find an outlet for my creativity besides writing short stories that I never let anyone read. Blogging is more narrative than creative most of the time. I'm not sure if I should start trying to write a novel or just start playing guitar more (bet the neighbors would love that), but I think the constantly rotating cast of characters in my head is detrimental to what, for lack of a better term, we shall call "my sanity". It seems to me I also used to do some halfway decent pictures with pastels and colored pencils many moons ago in the far-flung times of, oh, about 1999...
4.) Try to start saving some money. You know, now that I actually have an income. And not far behind that...
5.) Never buy anything on credit ever again if I can possibly avoid it. I would like to pay off the two credit cards I have and then quite possibly get rid of them altogether. They are evil.
6.) Exercise more, blah blah blah... (everyone says this one, I think)
7.) Date someone. Could be Wong (if he were to get himself over here), could be someone I haven't met yet, but seven years of singleness is bloody long enough.
8.) Spend more time out doing things with friends. I think I tend to hold myself back with the "I can't do that, I have a kid" excuse. Perhaps some of that money I might put aside each month could be used for a babysitter one night a month... I think all parents, but maybe full-time single parents in particular, need some regularly scheduled down time. Also it's really hard to meet people to date when I never go anywhere except to work and to church.
9.) Reduce the size of my mean streak. Currently it's at about three miles wide. I'd like to reduce it to a mile or less. I'm pretty sure I used to be a nice person once, but high school screwed me up and I never recovered.
10.) Broaden my musical tastes. Much as I complain about the music snobbery of certain people (who will stop listening to a band if they think too many people like said band), I'm guilty of my own flavor of it... I have convinced myself that if it's not rock of some description, I probably don't care. Don't expect me to start listening to rap, though... I stand firm on my requirement for actual singing talent!
11.) (this one is going to make me sound horrid, maybe you shouldn't read it) Love my kid while I have him. Most of you still reading probably just went, "What's horrid about that?" Well, the awful truth is that I did not want to be a parent. I was dragged into it kicking and screaming, and for several years after he was born I still did not want to be a parent. I did not gaze upon my newborn son's face and instantly fall in love... oh no. For years I regarded him as an intrusion... a time-consuming burden draining my energy and resources that I never wanted or asked for. (Planned pregnancy he wasn't, as you may have guessed). I was bound to him only by a fierce sense of responsibility (Flake, I am not in the slightest, and I firmly believe in the "you make it, you take care of it" principle), and later by the knowledge that of his two parents I was the one less likely to screw him up, which I thought was really sad since I was already so screwed up myself on the subject of parenting. Loving him crept up on me gradually, without me realizing it. Probably he was four before I could say "I love you" to him and mean it at all. And even then an occasional mother would observe me with him and say something like, "You'd just throw yourself in front of a train to save your kid, wouldn't you?" (someone actually did say that very thing to me once) and I would look at them blankly... No I would not! Are you completely out of your gourd?! I would scream internally. Or they'd say, "He's just your entire world, isn't he?" and I would rail internally against that too... No! There is a heck of a lot more to my world than this kid! I am a complex and multi-faceted individual, darn it! But I guess even the most emotionless of us can't help but be eventually won over by a kid who loves you unconditionally and tends to shout things like "Best mom ever!" when you tell him that he can have two packs of fruit snacks if he wants. Fast forward to 2009, when the realization finally sets in that the Chamaco and I are our own broken little family and often we're all each other has. In November during our monthly meeting, I am telling my boss about something he said/did and she comments, "I can tell he's just your whole world." For the first time I do not mentally protest. Conversion from "reluctant mom" to just plain "mom" finally complete... only took 7 years and 11 months. I read in one of those "What to Expect..." books when he was a baby that actually many new mothers don't instantly bond with their child, and in some cases the process can take months. I don't know if anyone has ever taken very nearly 8 years before. Probably I needed/need therapy. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a baby because I want to, but I still don't want to. I really doubt I ever will. I still like kids much better when they're someone else's in general, but I have finally managed to become rather attached to the one I have. I don't think I'll ever be a "mommy mom" (as Tyha so accurately describes herself), but at least I'm a "mom" now instead of an "I'll take care of you because legally I'm responsible to do so". Only in hindsight have I been able to see God's wisdom in this whole situation... had I not suddenly become responsible for a small, helpless person at the time I did, I likely would have continued on the self-destructive path I was just getting started down at the time and I don't think it's a stretch at all to say that my life could have ended (badly) several years prior to now. Also before he was born I thought I preferred a girl and I was going to name him Natalie Renee. Eight years later I often thank God I did not have a girl... girls are too much drama! (Especially from about the age of 8 onward, I'm learning from watching other people's kids.) Anyway, back to the original thought, I may have sort of wasted the first eight years, but theoretically I've got about ten more to try and get things right.
Wow, that was a digression and a half, but maybe now you understand why I laugh and shake my head everytime someone tells me what a good mom I am (which happens surprisingly often... maybe people don't pay attention?).
Anyway, here's to 2010... may it be a fabulous year for all my friends and loved ones (and maybe some of the people I don't like too!).
November 15, 2009
Public apology...
Hey, so yeah, turns out Barney's an A.D.D. kid too and saw a shiny thing and just sort of left the conversation hanging at an awkward point. Sorry Barney. :-) I love you, you love me, right?
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