Saturday, December 24, 2011

Happy Holidays!

Happiest of holidays to all my lovely readers.  May your holiday be stress free and filled with good food, good company and all the things that make you happy.  <3

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


I had an interesting conversation with a good friend last night. Conversation may be overstating it really, it was just a few texts. But the gist of it was that confidence and attitude can be just as hot, if not more so, than actual physical attributes. I absolutely agree with that. I have been attracted to someone for many reasons but not only because they are physically beautiful to my eye.

I can admit that I have wanted to crawl into a hole and not come out until I was perfect physically.  But who defines perfect?  Maybe I am perfect, for me.  Well, I'm sure I'm not, but I'll be working on that in the new year.  Which is not the point.  The point is, most of the time I feel ok about how I look.  But I feel awesome about the person I am.  I've written before that it has taken me a long time to become the person I want to be.  I think that's probably true for everyone.  Whether you grow up in an alcoholic household like I did, and see how you don't want to end up.  Or you have people around you who show you how you do want to end up.  But you get to chose.  You can decide your life sucks, you've been handed a raw deal and you could live out your days a bitter asshole who thinks the world owes you a favor.  Or you can turn it around, make your life better, stand on your own and just fucking do it.  I prefer the just fucking do it way. 

My business is not as successful as I wish it were, but I'm doing my own thing and I love that.  It's fun and stressful and at the end of a hard day, I feel damn good that I did something I'm proud of. And I put my own stamp on it.

If you want to know the truth I think I'm a pretty cool chick.  I have amazing friends, strange things regularly happen to me, I surround myself with great music every day,  and no one rocks the purple hair and G cup better than I do dammit!  Love yourself and people around you will love you too  :)

Monday, December 12, 2011

14 Years Later

I wrote this back in 2000, after seeing a story on 20/20 about this boy and it broke my heart because I knew it so easily could have been me.  Today is the 14th anniversary of Brian Deneke's death and I'm sharing with you what I wrote 11 years ago.

If you watched 20/20 Downtown on Thursday night, maybe you know a bit about the story. It's a story about a young man named Brian Deneke, killed in the prime of his life for absolutely no good reason. It's a common story really. Too common. You see, Brian was a punk. He looked different, he dressed different, he listened to different music. For the life of me I will never understand why this means he should have to die.

This is the story as I know it. I'm not claiming to be an expert and am only relaying it how I heard it. In 1997, Brian and a group of his friends liked to hang out at a local IHOP and drink coffee, talk, basically hang out. The workers there were quoted as saying they were all really nice kids who never caused any trouble. A rival group of kids, jocks, tended to harass the punks (about their clothes and hair, about how none of them had cars and had to walk everywhere, how they couldn't afford new clothes, etc.). It happens all the time, it's part of being a kid. It's when it goes too far, like it did on December 12, 1997, that bad things happen. Evidently there was a lot of taunting, I'm sure by both groups of kids, when suddenly one of the jocks... Dustin Camp got into his Cadillac and ran Brian Deneke over. Brian's head and chest were crushed.

More appalling than a kid dying during a fight with a rival group is that this murderer, Dustin Camp got a slap on the wrist. He never spent a night in jail. He got probation. This son of a bitch got away with murder. Brian's death has left his family and friends shattered. Dustin gets a standing ovation at his high school graduation 2 years after the murder. Brian's friends and family put together the Brian Deneke Memorial Committee to encourage tolerance and respect for people who have different lifestyles, to support victims of crimes like this, and to educate. Dustin goes on with his life and his first year of college. 

Last night as I watched 20/20 Downtown's story about this, I just got more and more outraged. The interviewer for 20/20, Elizabeth Vargas, asked someone (I'm sorry, I can't remember who it was... I think one of the lawyers) that if the tables were turned and it was Brian Deneke who ran over Dustin Camp with his car, would Brian be in jail now. The man said YES. What an outrage!!! He went on to say something to the effect of, let's face it... appearance matters. WHAT!??? The guy didn't go to jail because he's a jock and looks, what? presentable? But being as Brian is different he would have?? This makes me utterly ill. I'm so sick and tired of kids who wear black, or listen to what someone else deems "disturbing" music being blamed for all the world's problems. Is Brian responsible for his own death because he had a mohawk haircut?? This is the year 2000. How can things like this still happen?

I guess maybe you're wondering why I find this so upsetting. I guess because I could have been Brian. I was there. No, not in Amarillo, TX on 12/12/97, but I was there at another time and place. Thirteen years ago I stopped at a McDonald's with a group of my friends. I was 21 years old and with five friends, four guys and one girl. Yes, we're punks. Two of the guys went into McDonald's to get a Coke or whatever, and came out rather quickly telling me to start my car and get the hell out of here. Well the place was swarming with high school kids but I honestly never thought a thing about it. I asked my two friends over and over what they did because before I knew what was happening, about four car loads of jocks with baseball bats were following us, waving the bats out their car windows. My friends insisted they did/said nothing. I believed them too because there were about 50 kids at this McDonald's and only six of us. 

I tried to get away from them, but they kept chasing us. I made the big mistake of going down a street that had the lanes separated by a median, which means there was only one way traffic and the jocks seized the opportunity I gave them and surrounded my car, forcing me to stop. They surrounded my car and tried to get us to come out. Being the hothead that I am, I did get out and my friend Rich (who was in the back) tried to get out but my friends who were in the front seat wouldn't let him. They didn't want anyone to get hurt, and of course no one could stop me from getting out before I did. There was shouting, then a crash. One of the jocks smashed out the back window of my car with a baseball bat with three people sitting in the back seat no less. We were very lucky that no one got hurt. After this the jocks took off and as I laid on someone's lawn sobbing hysterically, a couple of my friends went to someone's house and asked them to call the police. 

We were lucky, the police knew that the kids were troublemakers and it didn't matter that we were freaks, they believed us. They caught the kids within an hour and we identified them. The funny thing about it is that the guy with the bat was the chief of police's son for that city. He and his parents paid for all the damages to my car, but nothing else ever came of it. Like I said... we were lucky. Way luckier than Brian Deneke. 

For me and my friends (and so many others) punk is a way of life, it's not a phase. We never grew out of it. It's been close to 20 years since I found punk and I still listen to the music, as do my friends. Sure, we are all responsible adults now and don't have blue spiked hair anymore (but if you ever met me in person, you might see that I try to hold on to that part of my life!). I have lost touch with a few of them now as friends do. But here I am, I work full time, I have a house that I'm trying to fix up, I have a husband (who incidentally I met in a punk club), I have two cats, I have a website devoted to a soap opera! I'm your next door neighbor. Why is that is so scary? Differences make the world go round. We shouldn't be persecuted for them. Embrace people who are different, learn from them. This isn't just about punks vs. jocks. This is about all differences whether it's hair color or skin color, fat or skinny, poor or rich etc.

This is a part of me that I don't often share, not because I'm ashamed of it, but because people don't understand it. They think that punks worship the devil, are drug addicts and cause trouble. I've never done any of those things. I'm not saying that all punks are good law abiding citizens, because no group of people is ever all inclusive. I'm saying that just because someone looks different than you doesn't mean they are bad people. Everyone deserves a chance to live their life. Brian Deneke didn't get that chance. I guess the moral to the story is... think before you act.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

I'd Like To Thank the Academy...

How exciting to receive another blog award!!!   Thank you so much to Joy Page Manual at Catharsis for The Sunshine Award!  I would have never thought that I would receive such a thing since usually the last thing people think of me is being "sunny" lol   But hopefully I have been inspiring or at the very least helpful and mildly amusing from time to time :)

Alas, the award comes with a catch.  Not a bad catch, but a catch nonetheless.

1.  Thank the person who gave you this award and write a post about it. (check)
2.  Answer the following questions below. (check)
3.  Pass the award on to 10-12 fellow bloggers, link their blog and let them know you gave them an award.   Personally I don't think I can come up with 10-12 that Joy didn't already mention so I'll just do the best I can!

And now, my Q&A...

Favorite Color:  black and purple.
Favorite Animal:  anyone who knows me know my answer to this!  Zebras
Favorite Number:  I don't really think of myself as a numbers gal, but I'll say 7
Favorite Drink:  Iced tea, iced coffee or water with lemon
Facebook or Twitter:  Facebook
Your Passion:  Music, cooking/baking, writing.  Writing about food while listening to music is the best!
Giving or Receiving Gifts:  I absolutely love to give.  I love finding something unexpected that the receiver is surprised to receive and loves.  And besides that, my 8 year old niece recently informed me that I give the coolest gifts!   So there ya go =)
Favorite Day:  Hmmm, a specific day or a day of the week?  Favorite day of the week is Friday.  Favorite all around day, Halloween.
Favorite Flowers:  Calla lilies.  So beautiful, simple and elegant.  Stunning.

And now to share the love....

Marie at Rock the Kasbah - Her posts are interesting, funny and often reference The Clash.  What's not to love?   There's also a distinct possibility that we were separated at birth.

Mary at The Adventures of Cilgin Kiz - Love this blog and her ability to laugh at herself.  Plus the photos are amazing!

Barbara at Late Bloomers - She just rocks!

Beckey at My Really Real Reality - Just an honest look at a family living and loving each other.  It's honest, sweet and funny and I expect nothing less from Beckey, someone I've known forever and a day.

Jackie and Dale at Adventures of the Hope Warriors - Jackie and Dale write and share Jackie's journey through lung cancer.  She's also one of my BFF's.

Tony at MSTony64 - Tony takes us through his journey with MS with a lot of heart!

Judy at The Underwear Chronicles - She doesn't post nearly enough (*hint*) but when she does it's always interesting and fun.  <3 Judy.

Cooking for Assholes - Yep, you heard me.  Great food blog full of recipes, interesting stories and a fair share of verbal abuse.  Love it!

I think I will end it there.  I know it's only 8, but I would just be repeating more of the ones that Joy already named if I continue.  So enjoy these picks and thanks once again to Joy!

Lasting Love

I've been pondering a lot lately, the idea of lasting, even everlasting, love.  I always thought that once you loved someone, truly and wholly, that love never fades.  So I wonder, if you felt love for someone and then you don't, does that mean you never truly loved them in the first place?

I can easily, with no doubts in my mind or heart, say that I love the two friends I've reconnected with this year.  I have always loved them, and will always love them.  When you are apart for so many years, but never stop thinking of that person, and then you are back again in each others lives and you have the same feelings you did, yes, that is a true and lasting love.  And it warms the cockles.  I feel happy when I think of them (and others too, but right now I'm focused on this reconnection phenomenon).  I'm not talking about romantic love although I'm not sure there should be different distinctions when you talk about love.

But right now I am finding that I do not feel love for someone I thought I did.  Does it mean there never was love?  Or it was mistaken for something else?   Or is there only so much lies, deception and betrayal someone can take before they lose that love.  I thought it was true.  I thought it was whole.  I felt a connection that I couldn't really explain.  It seemed so fated for us to meet and become friends.  It seemed so right, even though everyone I knew told me it was so very wrong.  The warnings I received from so many people feel on deaf ears because I knew in my heart that we were meant to be friends, friends for life.  I ignored smaller deceptions because in the big scheme of things they didn't seem important.  But when the big pain hit, it changed things.  Things would never be the same.  Some pains are just too deep.  And while I have received an apology, twice, it doesn't change the fact that it happened and that it didn't have to happen.  It was avoidable.

I have forgiven. I have to.  I can't hold on to that type of anger. But I can't forget how it felt to have my heart ripped out of my chest.  Maybe the pain is still too fresh and that will fade too.  I've said before that I have no regrets, and I don't.  I like to think I meant something, even though it's over now.  I have to believe something positive came out of it for both of us.  But it doesn't answer the question... does love last forever?  And if it does, where is the love I once felt now?

Friday, November 25, 2011

Finding the Thanks

Thanksgiving would probably be more of a favorite holiday if I didn't spend it with the in laws every year.  Generally speaking, I really don't enjoy my time around them.  And fine, I admit to some level of food snobbery.  Growing up in an Italian household everything was homemade every day, but especially on holidays.  Loaves of bread were made specifically to be dried out and made into stuffing.  Pounds and pounds of potatoes were peeled to make mashed potatoes.  Gravy was made from the juices left behind after the turkey was done roasting and from the giblets inside.  Alas, this is not so at the in laws.
It's not really true that there is no mental anguish at the in laws, but I still think it's funny.

The stuffing is Pepperidge Farm.   The mashed potatoes are frozen.  The green bean casserole is that bland horror made with can after can of Cream of Crap soup.  The salad is a horrible mixture of iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, copious amounts of raw onion and bottled Italian dressing which mother in law adds extra salt to (and every year several in attendance go on and on about how the salad is the best part of this meal.  Really?  I don't get it myself).  The gravy is a pasty gloppy, lumpy mess of I don't even know what.  Even the pies are frozen.  I can say the turkey is real and the sweet potatoes are actually roasted and don't have marshmallows on them.  Thank goodness.

Yes, I did say I'm a bit of a food snob but for goodness sakes it's a holiday!  Peel a fucking potato!  Fine you don't have to make your own bread for the stuffing but can you at least buy bread and season it yourself?   And the gravy!  I don't even know what it's made from.   I do know it's very light colored, very thick and very lumpy.  Last year I came into the kitchen just as the turkey was being taken out of the oven.  It was upside down (breast side down) and no one even realized it.  Mother in law was concerned about the doneness because the little thermometer thingy didn't pop out and the bird just looked weird.  I said, "that's because it's upside down" and they all looked at me like I had sprouted turkey feathers.  Mother in law and sister in law look at it and then back at  me and said, "how did you know that?  We stared and stared at it and couldn't figure out why it looked so strange, you see it for a few seconds and you knew?"  I wanted to say, "because I have a brain and eyes?"  But I just said, "the legs are pointed in the wrong direction" or something like that.  They shrugged and went back to work.  It was then that I witnessed maybe the most heinous food crime I have ever seen.  Father in law came and took the bird out of the pan and then mother in law proceeded to dump, yes dump, all the delicious turkey juices in the pan down the drain!  I seriously and quite audibly, gasped.  And again they all looked at me like I suddenly had a big red turkey waddle under my neck and put my hand over my mouth and walked out of the kitchen in horror.

My contributions to the dinner are cornbread and broccoli rice casserole.  The casserole in the past, before I knew any better, had been made with cream of crap soup and other atrocities like Cheez Whiz, but I redid the recipe so that it uses actual mushrooms, Bechamel sauce and real cheddar cheese.  It's about a zillion times better.  So generally speaking I eat turkey, cranberry sauce (which surprisingly, mother in law actually makes), my dishes, and sweet potatoes.  Everything else stays off my plate, which basically means I don't over eat on Thanksgiving, so I guess I am thankful for that.

Nice segue... being thankful.  Yes, it's true even with all my bitching and complaining about a dinner I'm not really fond of, I am thankful that I get to be in a place where I can have a dinner.   I'm thankful for my family even though at times I want to smack them upside the head.   I am thankful for my friends, old and new.  I am thankful that I know love.   I am thankful for my kitties.   I am thankful for the music that fills my life every day.  I am thankful for you.

Monday, November 21, 2011

How Did We Get Here?

I've come to the end of my several weeks of angst.  This particular several weeks of angst, I should clarify.  I'm sure I'll have more in the future.   But this particular dilemma, trauma, whatever you want to call it, is now over.  It's hard to look at the time I spent on someone as a waste.  I do not think of it as a waste.  I think that people come into our lives at certain times to fill a need, or you fill a need for them.  And I think we absolutely did that for each other.  I'm not sure I can say the friendship is over, because I'm not sure it ever will be completely over.  But I do see it with much more clarity now, meaning I have accepted that I'll never really know what happened and have decided to move the fuck on.

I've been reflecting on a lot of things lately, writing in my Bite Me book.  What can I say, I get introspective from time to time (to time).  What I have been thinking about is how certain people come into your life and how others come back into your life after long periods of absence.  My pain filled tirades of late have given way to something completely different and unexpected.  A few days ago, I felt the closure I needed from that situation, the most closure I'll get anyway and I am as over it as I will ever be.  And that same night the man and I went out with R, an old beau of mine, to see an old friend of ours band.  And as that night went on, I realized I was out with two guys I have known over 25 years, watching another friend I've known even longer.  And it put so much in perspective.

At one point, R said to me, "isn't it cool that all these years later we can still hang out together?"  And the answer is, it's amazing.  R and I have been in touch, here and there for about 10 years or so, but before that we hadn't been in touch for over 10 years.  And now it's quite possible that we will remain in touch again.  We had a great time and are looking forward to hanging out some more.  It was the first time we have gone out together in probably about 23 or so years.  We did run into each other about 9 months ago but it wasn't a planned get together.  This was planned and it was nice, fun, oh fuck who am I kidding... it totally fucking rocked!

I got to wondering what brings people back into your life after a long absence?  And I think the answer is that everyone is looking for something familiar.  R and I did not have a falling out at all, we just drifted.  It happens.  And so introspection begets introspection and wonder begets wonder.  When I reconnected with TM, who incidentally is the friend who's band we went to see.  TM and I talked about everything and how much we had thought about each other or told others stories about things we had done together.  So I knew that TM had been thinking about me over the years the way I had been thinking about him.  With R, who knows.  I'm not sure it matters, but I'll guess yes, he has thought of me over the years.  Fondly I might add.  If not, why even bother starting a friendship again?  I have certainly thought about him, and have written about him here several times.  He is someone I have always cared about.  Not taking away anything from the friends I have made since then, the friends you make when you are at the pinnacle of your life are always the best ones aren't they?  What I mean is, in those formative years, the people who are around you at those times are the ones you tend to gravitate back to.  Because they are familiar.  Because they were with you when.  Because they know you inside and out and they get it, they get who you are.  Because you know, without a shred of doubt they care about you and always will.  It's like what Richard Dreyfuss as adult Gordie said in the movie Stand by Me... "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"  For me, I've never had any friends like the ones I had when I was in my early 20's.

I have some amazing friends in my life now.  Of course I do, L, and L, and R, and A, and my PBAU peeps and the gardeners and my SLUTS (don't ask).  And I love them, they've been there for me when I needed them and I hope I have done the same in return.   And now, even if another 20 years goes by and I never speak to R, TM, or M I know without any uncertainty that I matter to them.  I know it about others too. And knowing that means everything.  And now I have it, for all eternity in print.  And when I feel like I am unworthy of someone, or have a situation like what happened recently happen again (which I hope it never does!), I can come here and see how much I really do have and how blessed I am.

Friday, November 11, 2011

This Music Mayhem is Dedicated to L

When I was alone, on the street, nowhere to turn and full of despair, you were there.  You picked up the phone, brushed me off, dried my tears and listened with compassion.   I will never be able to thank you enough for being there when I needed it most.  Sending you much love....

I'm pulling through and it's because of you 
When I was stranded came your helping hand  
Lonely, hurt I had not known which way to turn 
'Til you said, "Try smiles, not tears, just laugh and learn" 

I'm pulling through and it's because of you 
You made me see how lovely life could be 
Lifted up my heart and made me count the cost 
To find I'd gained, not lost 

When I thought that hope was really gone 
You showed me I was wrong 
And you taught me how to carry on 
Thanks for the lift in time, and thanks for your song

I'm pulling through and it's because of you 
I'd do the same for you if your turn came 
Hope it never will for I've been through the mill 
I won't forget this debt, I'm pulling through 

When I thought that hope was really gone 
You showed me I was wrong 
And you taught me how to carry on 
Thanks for the lift in time, and thanks for your song 

I'm pulling through and it's because of you 
I'd do the same for you if your turn came 
Hope it never will for I've been through the mill 
I won't forget this debt, I'm pulling through

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

You Rool

It takes a long time to be the person you want to be.  At least I found that to be true in my case.  At 45, on the fast track to 46 and thus, closer to 50 than to 40 (OMG), I have gotten to a point in my life where I very much like me.  When that question comes up "would you want to be friends with you?" my answer is fuck yes!  I would definitely want to be friends with me, if I weren't me.

I'm not perfect, nor is my life.  I get cranky and irritable.  I have a quick temper.  I have very little patience for stupidity.  I could stand to lose some weight (ok, more than some).  I'm almost always close to broke.  I cry a lot and very easily (Italian trait, my mom's the same way and so was my Grandma).  I curse like a sailor.  But on the other hand, I would never turn my back on a friend.  I will always take your call or text, or answer your email.  I will be the most supportive person for you in any of your endeavors.  While I may not always agree with you, I will never judge you for what you believe or feel.  I will listen when you need it, help or give advice when wanted.  I will always give of myself.  It's the best I can do and hopefully it's enough.  Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't.  I will always be honest with you.  Besides those things, you'll always hear great music when you're with me.  You'll never be bored when eating with me.  I love to laugh.  I'm bawdy, in the best possible way.  And loyal to the core.

"The most I can do for my friend is simply 
to be his friend. I have no wealth to bestow 
on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving 
him, he will want no other reward. Is not 
friendship divine in this?"

Henry David Thoreau

And still, given all that, sometimes it does end up not being enough.  It's a hard realization to come to when it isn't.  I think I've changed a lot over the past four years.  Hell I've changed a lot over the past two years.  For the better, maybe for the worse in some eyes.  I think I'm a lot more open now, about a lot of things, but especially sexuality.  I suspect some find that off putting.  But the way I see it, when you discover something great, you just want to shout it from the rooftops.  Well, wait... that didn't come out quite right.  I'm not saying I never knew great sex before.  I'm saying by letting go of hang ups that are driven into your brain when you grow up Catholic or repressed or whatever it is, a new world opens up.  It took me until about the age of 41 or 42 to really appreciate myself as a sexual being and let go of those hang ups.  And another two years to articulate them.  And I have no intentions of going backwards.  Maybe that is too open for some in "some things are better left unsaid" kind of way.  But to that I say, respect my differences from you as I respect your differences from me.  After all isn't that what makes the world go round.

But it's not just that.  Some bad experiences have taught me a lot.  Sometimes no matter how much you give of yourself, it will never be enough for some people or they just want more.  And they want more on their terms.  How can that be?  Perhaps there are just some people who believe you should react or act how they would in any given situation.  And that is a pretty unrealistic expectation.  But I've learned I can't be anyone else but me in any given situation.  When a dilemma comes up I react how I'm going to react, I don't think "how would XX react to this" and then act accordingly.  That's just stupid.  I am, if nothing else, always true to me, lumps and all.

Where on the pile of good discoveries or bad discoveries does this one go?  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  When I care about you, you know it.  When I love you, you know it.  Is that good or bad?  Maybe it's both.  On the one hand, people need to know they are loved and cared about.  On the other, the people who don't have the best of intentions can take advantage of that love.  And that's when it becomes a bad thing that causes a deep hurt.  I've been hurt because of it.  In the past and recently.  And yet, I wouldn't change it.  It's part of what makes me, me.  You have to love yourself, no matter what, or how do you expect anyone else to love you.

I've run the gamut of emotions over the past two weeks and my conclusion to it all is, I have no regrets.  I gave my heart to someone I thought gave me theirs back.  I opened myself up and in return, I mostly got a lot back.  I was going to say I wouldn't change a thing but I would change the pain it caused me.  I don't know where we go from here.  Maybe nowhere, maybe somewhere.  I do know that I will never regret loving someone. Ever.  No matter how much it ends up hurting in the end.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Love Hate

Things I love....
  • Mia famiglia (even though they do fall into the category below at times)
  • Strawberries
  • My friends
  • Zebras
  • Sex
  • Chocolate
  • Peter Murphy
  • My kitties
  • Vampires
  • My tattoo's
  • Ipad
  • Erotica
  • Talking about sex with anyone who appreciates it as much as I do
  • People who make me think
  • Joe Strummer
  • Cooking
  • Sleep

Ahhh sleep.  I love sleep, sleeping, dreaming, snuggling up under warm blankets.  I love going to bed and falling asleep easily, sleeping through the night, and waking up refreshed.  Unfortunately, that rarely happens.  I have difficulty falling asleep quite often.  My brain just doesn't want to shut off the million things going through it on a regular basis.  And when beautiful sleep does find me, it doesn't take much for me to wake again and be bombarded by all the thoughts I'd rather not be thinking about at 3:00 am.  I'm a horrible napper.  It just rarely happens for me unless I'm sick.  But oh those days when everything aligns and sleep, glorious sleep comes to me, I wonder if I'm actually smiling in my sleep at the joy I'm feeling.

Things I hate...
  • Oranges
  • Olive Garden (or any mass produced chain of mediocre food)
  • Ignorance
  • Posers
  • Phoniness (see posers)
  • Talking politics or religion with anyone too emotionally invested
  • Being ignored
  • Stinkeye
  • Lame jokes sent to my cell phone
  • Writers block
  • Bad music (I'm talking to you Coldplay, Nickleback, and many others)
  • Bigotry of any kind
  • Judgmental people
  • Vulgarity 
  • Insomnia
  • Liars
  • Spam calls to my cell phone (I'm on the do not call list, still get them)
  • Hot dogs

Hot dogs.  Yes I hate them.  I didn't like them as a child and I don't like them now.  They are one of those foods that can be described as containing everything but the squeal (at least when they are made from pork, otherwise they would be containing everything but the moo).  A tube of God only knows what, forced into a casing and then boiled, fried, grilled whatever.  They're so disgusting.  Hooves and snout and *shudder* whatever else.  And those Chicago dogs look worst of all!   I don't know what's is more nauseating, that neon green relish or all the other stuff that pretty much amounts to putting a salad on top of your hot dog.  Either way, it's fucking gross.  Then again, all that other stuff probably masks the grossness of the dog itself.  Don't they even put mayonnaise on it?  I happen to like mayo, the real stuff not that disgusting Miracle Whip shit, but putting it on a hot dog sounds nasty.  So no, when I go to a ball game I do not eat hot dogs.  When I go to a picnic, I do not eat hot dogs.  When I go to my nieces birthday party every year, I do not eat those disgusting croissant dogs that she loves so much.  I'll take a burger thankyouverymuch.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Ungrateful Heart

I go between anger (see previous post) and hurt.  And that mood changes at the drop of a hat.  But I'll be alright.  I know I will.  I always knew I would be OK, even when it felt like I'd never survive the heartbreak.  If I've learned nothing else about myself in the past few years, I've learned that you cannot keep me down for too long.

You may not be able to understand the words in Italian, but this is very clearly a song of pain.  It's beauty is heartbreaking.  It conveys a lot of what I feel to a core 'ngrato... ungrateful heart.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Maybe This is More Clear

If you read Dirty Laundry, no further explanation is needed.  I think this pretty much says it all.  And while it's not my usual genre of music, there is something so delicious about it.

And although there's pain in my chest
I still wish you the best with a...
Fuck you!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Dirty Laundry

Is that what I'm doing here? Airing my dirty laundry?  I don't think so.  You who read this blog don't know the half of what goes on in my head.  So given that, I think I've been pretty restrained.

Old Rose in the movie Titanic said, "A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets," and she was so right.  I have secrets.  I have secrets only a few know and I have secrets no one knows.  Not one living soul.  Isn't that what makes women mysterious?  Interestingly, I started this blog as an outlet to share memories, stories, and yeah those secrets and yet, I find myself holding back from full disclosure.  I've told you plenty, probably more than you ever wanted to know.  And I'm sure I still will but some things I really have to keep for me.  I want to tell you, I want to talk about different things and I want advice on them more than anything else.  But still, I hold back. I'm not exactly sure why.  It's not about what people will think of me.  Opinions on that subject are already formed and not a concern of mine.  I am who I am.  I guess maybe I hold back because those things are mine, and mine alone.  I write about them in my Bite Me book, which is actually my journal.  It's the perfect outlet. If it had a head, it would spin at some of the things I've told it. What will I ever do when I fill up the Bite Me book? Get another one I guess.

I've been writing in it a lot lately.  A real lot.  It has been awhile since I've experienced such a broken heart like the one I am experiencing now.  And my Bite Me book is the perfect place to store that heartache.  How do you move past it?  That ache you get when someone you care about lets you down.  I'm not sure how to move past it and keep the relationship intact.  Is it even possible? Should I even want to?  That's what I struggle with, the fact that, as hurt as I am, I don't want to lose this person.  It gnaws at me.  It makes me think I'm a fool. But switching off feelings is not something I find very easy to do.  Does wanting to continue the relationship tell this person that hurting me was OK?   Does it signify a weakness in me, or a strength that I am trying to get past it and keep the friendship?  At the moment I say weakness.  I've been down this road. This road of being hurt by someone I cared so much about.  I held on and held on and the hurt kept piling up.  More and more. When the first hurt happens is it then a game to see how far one can be pushed before they crack into a million pieces?

I don't know what to do.  I don't know where to go.   I feel lost.   The Bite Me book doesn't answer the questions I have, it just stores them.  And I have so many questions.  Only one person can answer them and at the moment trusting those answers will be extremely difficult.  Good word, trust.  Can a trust so violated ever be rebuilt?  Maybe my expectations were just too high.

I guess in the big scheme I've pretty much told you nothing.  But reading it back the pain is palpable.  But when you give your heart to someone, pain is a possibility.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Guest Blogger!

I have been honored again by being asked to be a guest blogger.  I have to admit, contributing to a series called, The Beauty of Difference, was a little daunting.  Especially after reading other contributions.  But with the encouragement of the fantabulous Janine Ripper, I dug in and came out with a pretty decent piece, if I do say so myself!   Check it out at Janine's amazing blog, Reflections from a Redhead.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Three Strange Days

Welcome to another addition of Music Mayhem.   Around 1991ish, if I were a guessing gal, and I am, I went to Kent State University to see a band called School of Fish.  At the time they had a pretty popular college radio hit called Three Strange Days.  I always liked the song, might have had their cassette tape at one time or another, but haven't thought about them in many many years.   But as it so often happens, their song just popped into my head.  I wonder, when this happens is it because there is something in that song that relates to something I'm going through?   Is it just a memory?  Does it mean anything other than remembering a song I liked 20 years ago?

Hearing it again, I realize I still like it.  And maybe it does relate to my life somehow, right now, even abstractly.  

My mind was a blur
I did not know what to do
And I think I lost myself
When I lost my motivation

My mind is often a blur, about so many things.   My motivation goes out the door at the drop of a hat.  I could so easily go within myself and not come out.  But then, a song pops into my head and I have to find it, hear it.  And that leads to more and more and more.  I've said before that music (punk rock in particular) saved me.  And it continues to save me, every single day.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Three Years

It's hard for me to believe that it's been three years since I lost her.  One of the most important people in my life, my Grandma.  I'm lucky, so so lucky I had her for as long as I did.  I was 42 when she passed away, she was 99.  October 1, 2008.  Only 3 weeks from her 100th birthday.

I've written about her before, several times.  One of the things I wanted to accomplish with this blog was to let others know her too.  If only everyone could have known her in person.  She was so beautiful, so funny, so smart, the best cook ever, someone I could tell anything to, someone who never ever judged.   So often I find myself wanting to talk to her, ask for advice on some things, cook with her, eat with her, just be in her presence again.  Any time I was with her, I felt like the luckiest person alive.  I so wish I had an answering machine message from her saved somewhere. They always made me smile and went something like this....

"Lalia, Can you come and take me to Gallucci's?
This is Grandma, I love you."

Remembering that, hearing it in my head, makes me very emotional.  The message wasn't particularly clear ever.  She never would say when she wanted to go or anything like that.  She didn't mince words.  I'd just call her back and we'd figure out a time to go.  Gallucci's, by the way, is the greatest Italian foods store in Cleveland.  And when we went there it was heaven.  The aroma of the place is intoxicating.  I want to wear it as cologne!  I loved going with her.  Everyone knew her, everyone took care to make sure she got the best of what she was buying, and we always had a feast when we got back to her house.  We would sit at her kitchen table with a little wine or maybe some espresso, and then start opening our bags and laying our feast out on the table.   Delicious crusty bread that you pull apart with your hands, five or six different kinds of olives, super sharp provolone and fontinella, salami, pepperoni, capicola and sopressata.  Absolutely the best.

I miss those days with her.  Just her and I.  We talked about everything.  She told me stories about her life that always somehow related to something I was going through or having trouble with.  She was so smart and so intuitive.  She loved her family with a fierceness that really doesn't seem as prevalent today.  I don't know that I can explain what I mean by fierce love, but I'll try.  When she loved you, she held you close to her heart.  You knew.  You knew you were in there and there isn't a better place in the world to be.  And no matter how she was treated by other family members, because yes, there were people in our family who didn't treat her with the respect she deserved, she loved and held everyone close.  She only wanted everyone to get along and be together.  It didn't always happen.  But I can say we tried, for her sake.  I can't say the same for others and still can't, as fights and lawsuits continue so the greedy side can get what they seem to think they deserve.   Death sometimes brings out the very worst in people.

But for me, I continue to honor her from the tattoo of her on my arm to wearing her wedding band every day.  Whenever I put it on I think of her.  I feel so lucky that I get to wear it now.

Yes, I'm lucky.  I'm lucky I had her in my life for so long.  I'm lucky she lived so close to me.  I'm lucky that she loved me.  I'm lucky that I learned as much as I did from her, even though I wish I could have learned more.  I don't think I would have ever stopped learning from her.  I wish everyone could have known her.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Music Mayhem

Yes, I think I will change the name of my Wednesday music posts from Way Out Wednesday to Music Mayhem.  It's way more me and doesn't confine me to one day if I want to post more music or post on any given day.   So let today be the start of Music Mayhem!

This song just popped into my head a few minutes ago and it was like a flash of lightning. It amazes me how that happens, how a song can just arrive on the scene and put everything you're feeling into a neat little 2 and a half minute bow.

Was it destiny
I don't know yet
Was it just by chance? Could this be Kismet?
Something in my consciousness told me you'd appear
Now I'm always touched by your presence dear

Wow, it's powerful.  And meaningful.  It is to me anyway.  It speaks to me and what is in my heart.  What's difficult about matters of the heart is whether you follow them or not. Is what the heart wants, the right thing?  I don't have that answer, if I did I probably wouldn't be such a train wreck.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Self Explanatory

I don't need to explain why I chose this song for today's Way Out Wednesday post do I?

Yeah I didn't think so. =)

Friday, September 16, 2011

Another Reconnect

I have heard, twice now, that an old friend wants to reconnect with me.  She has put the ball in my court by giving her contact information to my mom.  T and I were great friends growing up.  Our families were great friends.  We spent weekends at their families cottage on the lake during the summers.  She had a sibling the same age as all of mine so they all had great friends in this family too.

As the years went by, T and I stayed friends through the teen years even though we went to different schools.  We hung out, went looking for boys, even had our first interracial double dates together... oh the scandal!  lol   I was in her wedding.  She was in mine.  I took her to the hospital when she thought she was in labor with her first child.  I slept with her brother... oh wait, she doesn't know that lol  Basically I'm saying, we were best of friends.

Like a lot of friends you have throughout your life, you drift.  We drifted and then would come back to each other and it was like no time had passed.  We had that sync.  But we'd always drift again.  I blamed a lot of it on her husband.  He did not like me.  Not at all.  I was too weird and he didn't like me hanging out with her.  He even tried to get her to kick me out of the wedding party.  When they started having kids she kept pressuring me about doing the same.  No matter what I said about not wanting to have kids, she did not believe me.  And the more she asked, the further I started to drift.  I had enough pressure from my family in this regard.  I didn't need it from my friends too.  So when my sister in law (at the time) told me she ran into T at a baseball game and T proceeded to grill her about my fertility problems and trouble conceiving, that was the final straw for me.  Since when isn't my word on the matter good enough?  I had no reason to lie.  I did not want kids.  Period.  I stopped trying to reach out to her at all after that and many years went by before we spoke again.

Several years ago, one of her brothers passed away.  I was in the midst of my own deep drama of anxiety, anti-depressants, and days on end crying jags, but I pulled it together enough to make an appearance at the funeral and we promised we'd reconnect and get together.  We didn't.   Not long after that I found out she was getting divorced so I sent her a card with my number and offered to be there for her.  She never called.

Then my father got sick.  I was in a place where I really needed my friends.  I needed them to reach out to me, be there for me.  She didn't.   She didn't call me at all.  Not even once in the whole year long trauma that we endured.  Her brother called my brother often.  Her mother called my mother often.  She never bothered to see how I was.  And it hurt.  It hurt a lot.  Because I tried to always be there for her and she could never see her way to returning the favor.  So I basically wrote her off.  My mom would tell me what she was up to after having talked to her mom, but we have had no direct contact for about six years (I think, which was when I saw her at her brother's funeral).

Which brings us to present day, and she's sick.  It's bad, but she still does not have a direct diagnosis.  But she is very ill and alone.  Divorced, children grown, boyfriend gone, and she is in need of something familiar.  Something she can trust.  And she wants me.  As much as I would like to tell you I went rushing to her side, I can't.  Because I haven't made the decision yet on if I will let her back into my life.  That probably sounds really cold, but I can't always be the one that people run to when I don't get it back.  I'm nobodies fucking doormat or last resort.  And then at the same time, I feel bad.  I feel like I should be there for her when she needs it most.  Does it matter so much that she wasn't there for me?  Do I always have to be the bigger person?  What happens if I don't reach out to her and, God forbid, she dies?   Can I live with that?  Is it just sour grapes or being selfish on my part that I am so apprehensive about contacting her or am I just protecting my heart from more pain?  If the tables were turned would she come to me and does it matter?   That's what I'm trying to figure out.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Way Out Wednesday

Somewhat inspired by my friend Lucy at LifeThruLucyLasticasLense and her fab feature Chooseday Choon, I give you a song feature on Wednesdays, just for the hell of it.  Because I love music and quite often I get a song in my head and shit, why not share it.  It might just be a video.  It might be a video and some commentary.  It might just be lyrics.  But I've decided music needs to be here more.  It's such a huge part of my life  So without further ado, my first Way Out Wednesday pick....

I would guess that my liking this song or band this would be a surprise to some.  But the truth is, I've always loved this song.  I saw 10,000 Maniacs in Cleveland back in the late 80's with about a grand total of 50 others or so.  It was before they gained any kind of popularity.  And it was great.  They were great.  Natalie Merchant was a ball of energy.  A whirling dervish that poured her heart and soul into every song.  This song is one that can move me to tears.  Sometimes I feel like I'm the one singing it (if I had a beautiful voice like Natalie's) because so often I find myself thinking it.  Different parts of it, at different times will be so dead on about something I'm thinking or feeling it's uncanny.  Like the song was written just for me.

Music is something deeply meaningful.  Music saves me when nothing else can.  Music can get to my heart, to my soul.  It can make me cry.  It can make me laugh.  It can lift my spirits and can take me away from the things that bring me down.  It can remind me of a person, a place or a thing.  It holds memories.  I don't ever want to live a day without music in it.

Monday, September 12, 2011

A Simple Question With a Big Answer

I'm going into my fantasy life with this post and it's going to be an X rated so if that bothers you, go now.  The thing is, I can't not talk about sex.  I have to.  It's such a part of who I am anymore.  I love everything about it and like expressing it.  I like talking about it, reading about it, writing about it and living it.  I've questioned before if I'm the norm or the exception.  And the truth is, I don't care.  I just like feeling sexual.

The other night I was dreaming, and in the dream my friend asked me, "How do you like it?" which is funny because he had asked me on the phone, for real, a few days prior.  I answered him then but as I awoke with that question being asked of me again, I had a more thorough answer.

My answer was that I like it hard and fast.   But delving deeper I would say primal.  An urgency that is so strong that I feel like I might die if I don't get fucked like now.  Right now.  And yes, make no mistake, it is fucking.  And fucking is good.  There is something so intoxicating about being taken.  I'm not talking forcibly.  I'm talking consensually wanting each other so bad that you can't breathe.  That when you're together somewhere, publicly all you can think about is getting back to where you can be with each other, one on one and just fuck all night long.  Knowing looks go between you all night as you wait to return to your private place.  You unconsciously lick your lips whenever you look at him.  You find any reason to touch him, his hand, his arm, his leg.  Anything.  You want him so bad you wonder if you can make it somewhere or if you'll have to pull the car over and fuck right there on the side of the road.  It's not something you request, you demand it.  Pull this car over and fuck me now!  And he does.  It's just enough to sate you both until you get to that place, that private place where you can really get down to business.

But I also like it soft, slow, gentle.  Making love.  Romantic.  I like candles lit, soft music playing.  I like taking the time to undress each other slowly and explore my lovers body and let him explore mine.  I want to kiss him and lick him up and down his body and let him do the same to me.   A slow build to where you become one.  One life, one breath, one heartbeat.  And it's beautiful.  It's a union of body and soul.

I like to be seduced in different ways.  To be surprised by the amorous intentions of my lover while I'm doing something that might not immediately conjure up the idea of sex.  Cooking maybe.  While I'm standing at the sink or the counter, washing dishes or chopping vegetables.  The pasta can wait while I give myself over to the hands that are roaming my body.  And I wonder, will he take me on the counter?  Will he take me on the table?  Will he take me up against the wall?   I don't care as long as he takes me.  I relinquish any control over to my trusted lover and I hope he never tires of what I have to  offer.  Those fears are laid to rest later in the night.  He waits until I am asleep, soundly.  He knows my body so well and knows how easily I get wet for him.  So as I sleep, he slowly and quietly opens my legs and puts his tongue on me.  I am quite often dreaming of sex and then I start to really feel it and the feelings that come over me are explosive.  A meeting of conscious and subconscious.

I like to be the seducer and turn the tables on him.  I want him to beg me to take him.  And he will, beg me that is.  And I'll take him.  But how we get to that point is something I will keep to myself.  A girl needs some secrets.    

I guess it was a simple question, but the answer is far from simple.  I just hope that when my friend asked me "how do you like it?" he wasn't really talking about how I take my coffee.  Because this answer is suddenly very inappropriate.

Friday, September 9, 2011

A Good Decision for Me

People automatically assume that, because I don't have kids, that I hate kids.  Not true at all.  In fact there was a time when I thought I wanted to have kids.  And yes, I said it that way purposefully.  I thought I wanted kids.  When I was young(er) and just married, the subject came up often.  Having kids, what would we name them when we have them (I wanted Zoe Angelina for a girl - at the time, neither name was popular.  I always loved the name Zoe and Angelina would be after my Grandmother... now?   Yikes, there's probably 3 or 4 of each in every classroom in the country!).  But I wanted time.  Time to see what I wanted to do before my life became centered around a little one or two.

When you have an Italian family, you have to be prepared for all the "when are you getting married's" and "when are you going to have kids" and my personal fave, "why don't you have a baby for your mother."  And the more these things were said to me, the more I resented the fact that this was expected.  And I'd get angry and lash out at whichever old Italian relative was saying it to me.  Why did I have to have a baby?   Why did I have to put my body through that torture and give myself up to the screaming, eating poop machine all for the sake of my mom's happiness at being a grandma?  Isn't this my life after all?  Don't I get to make that call?  More and more it became very clear to me over these years that this was not what I wanted at all.

When I was younger, I never had dreams of being a mommy.  Sure I played with dolls and stuff when I was little.  But when I got my first Barbie, it was game over.  Barbie was hip and stylish and she did not drive a mini van and take kids to soccer practice, she drove a Corvette and went out on dates with Ken (and sometimes the tramp cheated on Ken with GI Joe.  What can I say, my Barbie loved a man in uniform).  Barbie was cool.  She had the life.  I identified with her way more than little girls who were still playing with Baby Alive (if you don't recall this doll, she moved her mouth like she was eating and you fed her the baby food that came with the doll and then she'd poop it out).  Barbie's life was way more on par with what I saw myself wanting.

The thought of pregnancy, childbirth and taking care of an infant were terrifying.  The idea that this little helpless being was going to depend on me for everything brought on the panic.  Is it what I want?  Is it something I feel I need to be fulfilled?  The answer kept coming back, No.  No, it's not what I want.  No, I don't need a baby to feel fulfilled.  No, I'm not going to have a baby just for the sake of having one or because it's expected.  No, I'm not going to do this so my mom can be a grandma.  The decision was made.  My decision.  The one that felt right for me.

And then I reached 40.  And more panic set in.  Up until then, even though I knew the decision was made, there was still a little crack in the door that made it still a possibility. But 40 shut that door and locked it.  Oh sure, I know many woman have babies after 40, but I did not want to be one of them.  I shut that door and threw away the key all on my own, and then I went into a kind of freak out mode.... what if I made the wrong decision!   That's the thing about decisions I guess, you have to trust it to be right or you will always wonder if it's wrong.  I was able to make peace with my decision, again, and have never looked back.  No regrets.  I have two nieces I adore.  My BFF has three girls (one is my Goddaughter) that are like three more nieces.  Other friends and family members have kids and I love them all.  I'm glad I can be cool (or crazy, depending on your perspective) Aunt Lalia.  I would be there for any of those kids in a heartbeat.

When I meet new people and they ask me if I have kids, I reply "No, by choice" because just saying "No" was always met with a sad look of sympathy.  Not having kids does not mean I can't take care of child nor does it mean I hate kids.  Just as having kids doesn't automatically make one a great parent.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

What the? An Award? For me!?

Blog awards are so fun!  They arrive out the blue, sometimes when you're feeling you've lost your way.  Sometimes when it feels like you have nothing more to say, someone sends you a blogger award to remind you that you do, or that what you have said means something.  So for that, I thank Muriel at 40blogSpot.  She has bestowed on me the Liebster Blog Award.  If you haven't checked out her blog yet, you should.  She gets straight to the heart of the matter and pulls no punches.  It's what I love about it.  

The Liebster Blog Award is given to bloggers with less than 200 followers, all in the spirit of fostering new connections.  And here are the rules:

1) Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2) Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment in their blog.
3) Post the award on your blog.
4) Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the internet - other writers.
5) And best of all, have fun and spread the karma.

And so, without further ado, my 5 blog picks and now Liebster recipients.

1) Adventures of the Hope Warriors - Written mostly by Dale, but sometimes by Jackie, this blog is about Jackie's journey with lung cancer.  She happens to be one of my best friends and I'm proud to day I am a Hope Warrior.

2) The Underwear Chronicles - Judy is just starting out, she only has two posts so far.  But what I've seen I have liked.  She's also a dear friend and one of the most supportive people I know.

3) Catharsis - Joy's blog is sweet and fun and refreshing and she's a doll.  Love this blog.

4) Don't Hang Up - Pennie's blog is inspirational, informative and just plain interesting.  Plus she herself is the best commenter ever.  When she comments on your blog, it is always thoughtful, meaningful and I just get happy whenever I see one from her.

5) Reflections from a Red Head - Janine's blog is always great but I urge you to go now more than ever.  She has started a new series called "The Beauty of Difference" that I love.  As someone who has felt different from others for most of my life for one reason or another, I love how this series embraces those differences.  

So there they are.  Enjoy, read, comment and write.

Saturday, September 3, 2011


I have a confession to make.  It might not be a big revelation because I think I've either eluded to it or mentioned it before.  I suffer from anxiety.  It's not crippling.  It's not severe.  But it is enough that I need medication (as needed) for it.

It started when I was about 7 or 8 years old and back then there wasn't a name for it.  I was just a high strung kid, afraid of her own shadow.  I so clearly remember my fears really coming to light.  I didn't know what the fears were specifically but I felt fear.  I would get nervous with my stomach in knots. My mom had to pick me up from school so many times that eventually she refused and told them that she would not come and to send me back to my classroom.  I guess I can't blame her for that.  It had to be frustrating as hell.  Here I was, absolutely fine whenever I was at home.  But when I had to go to school I suddenly became a mass of nerves so tight that sometimes I even threw up from the stress of it.

I did not make my First Communion with my class because I was so riddled with fear about it.  As if making it by myself was any better.  No one could figure out what was wrong with me.  They just didn't have a name for it back then.  But I knew when one of these attacks was going to hit.  I could feel it.  It's a tingly sensation in my head, then I'd get really hot and sweaty even if it was freezing.  And then I couldn't think of anything but having to leave.  The words, "I want to go home" were all that would go through my mind.  And once home, I was fine.  Like nothing ever happened.

Eventually I grew out of it.  And it didn't come back again until I was an adult.  My first adult panic attack happened in 1993 when I was planning my wedding.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened, I was driving to work when all of a sudden it hit.  Well I take that back, kind of.  Nothing happened at that moment but my mom was giving me a lot of grief during the planning.  She hated my dress, she hated the things I wanted (not a mass, a ceremony), she was mad I didn't ask my sister to be my maid of honor.  Was it really such a problem that I wanted a rip away dress and mosh pit at my wedding?  I promised to not get that going until all the old Italians left.  It went on and on, everything was a problem and I didn't realize how much it was all getting to me until that one day, driving to work.  It had been so long since I had a panic attack that I didn't even know I was having one.  I thought I was having a heart attack or a stroke.  I detoured myself from driving to work and instead went to my parents house and they rushed me to the ER, where we found out what was really going on.   Then it all clicked into place.  This is what was happening to me as a kid.  Panic attacks!  

Knowing what it is was kind of a relief.  After that one in '93, they stopped again.  It would be years before I would have another.   And that happened in 2006. I had been thinking a lot about how my parents were aging.  How things were going to change.  How my grandma was not going to be around forever.  How a lot of their care would fall on me.  And it hit.  It hit like a ton of bricks.  Fear, panic.  What would I do?  How would I handle it?  What's going to happen?  Why was I in this alone even though I have two brothers and a sister?  But I would be, pretty much.  One brother lives in Florida, my sister lives in Alabama.  My other brother is local but he and his wife both work and they have two kids, so my reliance on them for help was going to be minimal.   I will say however, that when it's really really counted, he's been there.

It was only a year later that the shit really hit the fan and I was put to the test.  My father became ill.  And through it all not once did I have a panic attack. I fell right into control mode.  I took over and did what had to be done.  I took care of my mother while my father was laid up in a hospital in a strange city in a far away state for weeks and weeks.  I questioned the doctors about everything while my mom remained in kind of semi-shock.  I took notes on every single thing every doctor said.  I was at that hospital day and night.  I put cold compresses on his brow when he was feeling anxious himself.  And when his anxiety really kicked about all that was happening to him, I got the doctor to give him the same medication I use (Ativan, the wonder drug).  And when they moved him to a horrible facility for his rehab, I got him out and had him placed somewhere better.  And it felt natural to me to be in this role because I am such a control freak.  

Generally speaking there is no rhyme or reason anymore, at least for me, as to when one will hit.  It's these two strange aspects to my make up that I don't understand and maybe never will.   How can the thought, whether conscious or unconscious about something terrible happening send me into physical panic but the actual event taking place does not.   It's times like that the weakness I feel for having panic attacks morphs into a strength I never new I had.  

Monday, August 29, 2011

Take Your Misery Somewhere Else

I've known and still know people who seem to live in misery.  Everything is horrible.  They constantly bitch. Nothing good ever happens.  There are no laughs.  It's just a long life of nothing but drudgery.  Why live that way?  Granted I have my moments, but in general I have a lot of joy.

Take my in laws for example, mother in law and sister in law.  Two peas in a pod they are.  They live in misery, and by that I mean that they truly seem to hate their lives, everyone around them, and everything they do.  Mother in law is the worst.  She is never happy.  She constantly, and I do mean constantly, bitches at father in law.  If he said the sky was blue, she would argue with him that it's green just to argue.  Does that sound like I'm exaggerating the issue?  Because I'm not.  She hates him.  And her misery at never having left, never having changed her life, never doing a damn thing about it, filters over onto everyone.  She is mean and hateful, as I've written about here.  And the funny thing is, I always noticed it.  I've known this family since 1987 and I noticed it immediately, but no one else did.  Or they were immune to it.  When I asked the man what was up with his parents way back in those early days, he didn't know what I was talking about.  It never dawned on him that it was a little odd that his parents had separate bedrooms.   Now I know people have separate bedrooms for a variety of reasons, not the least of which are snoring problems, but this was not for any other reason than their relationship was over.  And it's been over.  And yet they stay together I guess because neither knows what else to do.  It's sad.  An existence that is merely that, an existence.  No laughs, no love, no sex, no conversations that aren't arguments.  Who would want to live like that?

Which brings me to sister in law.  She who had a front row seat to this behavior and has adopted it for herself. She barks at her husband every chance she gets, which is whenever they speak.  Very often I've wondered why things like that aren't kept private.  I mean if you want to bitch out your husband, does it have to be at a family function?  Can we not have our 5 fucking 30 cake in peace without all this drama because he doesn't hold the fucking fork the way you do?

Like I said, I've had my moments.  But I could write a blog like the one previous to this one, which was introspective, kind of sad and depressing, and then the minute I hit post something could happen that will make me laugh, a real laugh.  Not a polite one.  It could be something someone says, something I read, or most likely something stupid that I do myself.  And most of that sour mood will vanish.  It won't make the issue go away, but it will lift the mood.  And then I'm back.  I'm back to being the same 45 year old purple haired, tattooed horn dog who can't seem to get enough sex, enough laughs, enough music, enough love, and enough of life to suit me.  I don't ever want to be one of these miserable people.  I want to experience everything.  I want to cook the greatest meal.   I want to fuck my brains out.  I want to see the best live music.  I want to have a lifetime of joy and laughter.  And no one will stop me from having it.

Saturday, August 27, 2011


Over the past couple of weeks I haven't had much to say. It's a first I assure you.  I know I'm not done telling you my goofy stories.  I know there are things going on my life I'd like to write about.  So why can't I just sit down and do it?  I don't know.  Have I completely lost my mojo?  My ability to express myself?  My humor?  My bawdiness?  Nah.  I'm just in a rut because nothing really good has happened lately.  The man is still out of work. Six months now.  My business is slow, very slow.  Things kind of blow right now and I'm tired.  Really really tired. A lot.

But I have a fantasy world that I escape to.  Where money isn't a concern, it's just there when needed.   In fact, in my fantasy world I never think of money at all.  I can spend it if needed or not.  I can shop or not.  I can go out to eat or cook for myself.  It's a happy place, my fantasy world, where I'm thin and happy.  When I'm there I think about sex.  A lot of sex, which I guess makes it a lot like my real world in that way.  But my fantasy world takes me to a place where all I have to think about is happiness and pleasure and none of the day to day drudgery that I seem to be facing lately.  It sounds like a pretty great place to go.  And he's there. The one I dream about.  The one who dreams about me. And we're living, loving and fucking.  It's an amazing dream that gives me moments of happiness hope when so often lately I feel hopeless.

I don't know where the fantasy world is but it's not Akron, Ohio.   In my dream of dreams, I don't dream of living here.  It's not that I dislike it, it's that it's not a place I feel I belong.  At times I think I'm destined for greatness.  And whether or not that sounds egotistical, is not a concern to me.  Greatness doesn't come from Akron, unless you're Chrissie Hynde or Lebron James.  Do I have a destiny really?  Or do I have delusions of grandeur.  At 45 years old, is this my mid-life crisis?  A crisis where I'm just sick of my life and want to leave it all behind and start over?  Can't I just be like a guy and buy a fucking motorcycle and be done with it? Why the introspection? Why the feelings of utter failure? Where do I go from here?

I have no doubt that I am loved by the people in my life. And yet, there's always something missing.  Something that is just out of my reach.  Something I want to achieve.  Somewhere I want to be.  And it aches deep inside that I cannot get to it.  I don't know where to go to find it.  I don't know how to make it happen.  And I feel helpless and weak.   I feel failure.  I feel like I'll never know what it is and wonder.  Wonder what it could be that I'm missing.  Will I always wonder?

Monday, August 15, 2011

My 7 Links - Be Afraid!

Thank you to Janine at Reflections From a Redhead, for nominating me for the #My7Links project.  Like her, I guess I was living under a rock because I never heard of this but I'm here and ready to give it a go.  Why the hell not.  My blog is one year old today and instead of having a party, I will look back at all the dirt I've spilled, stories I've told, insanity I've experienced, and all the stuff I've blabbed about in my goofy life.

Most Beautiful Post:  Interesting.  I don't often write of beauty.  I write what moves me, what compels me.  I may start out with a clear idea in mind of something I want to write about but then when I sit down to write it, it ends up going in a completely different direction.  When that kept happening I decided that it's better for me to just sit down and see where my fingers go on the keyboard.  But this one, Sold, holds a lot of importance to me.  It's full of memories of growing up and being in my Grandmother's house.  I love this post and I think it conveys the beauty and the love I had for one of the most important women in my life.

Most Popular Post of All Time:  This was easy, and in truth I think that this post fits into almost every category I'll be covering today.  You Are Beautiful is about my niece and the troubles she's experienced throughout her days in school from grades 1-8.  Fittingly, today is her first day of high school and I hope it's a new beginning for her.  This post struck a cord with many and got me the most hits out of any post I had ever written.  It made me cry when I wrote it and makes me cry every time I read it.

Most Controversial Post:  This was also an easy one to pick.  It was chosen for a very good reason since it could very easily offend a lot of people.  So fair warning if you do click the link for Turning a Corner.  It's about words, certain words that we give power to offend and overcoming that. It will probably still offend but I guess it wouldn't be considered controversial if it didn't offend at least someone.  At certain times I've thought about removing it, then I read it again and the truth is, I really like it.  So it stays.  A friend of mine told me once that it's my blog and I should say whatever I want.  And she's right.  And well, I sure as hell have said whatever I want!

Most Helpful Post:  Now we're getting into a spot where I'm not really sure what post of mine could be considered helpful.  But then it hit me like a ton of bricks, Screw Guilt should be considered helpful.  It helped me look past the circumstances going on in my life and towards something else.  It helped me to realize that I can't always be everything to everyone and that sometimes you just have to do the things that make you happy.  In the big scheme when I'm old and in adult diapers, mind wandering aimlessly from butterflies to pudding cups, the thought, "dammit, I should have paid more than the minimum monthly requirement on that bill back in 2011" probably won't cross my mind.  So fucking screw guilt!  Live.

A Post Whose Success Surprises Me:  I think the part that surprises me most is how many women, like myself, don't know their bra size.  And hell, after a trilogy of posts on the subject, starting with Embracing the Third D, I still don't know if mine is accurate!  But I persevered through it and lived to tell Embracing the Third D Part II and Embracing the Third D Epilogue.  I guess that's technically three posts, which will make this my 9 links, but once a rebel always a rebel.

A Post I Feel Didn't Get the Attention it Deserves:  All of them!   Eh, OK.  Not really.  But Realizing My Worth is one that I guess for me embodies a lot of emotion for me and might have actually been the first time I really opened up about myself and my life on the blog.  It was written only a week or so after I started the blog but it showed me what I can achieve with it, how I can express myself and how this blog could really be the outlet that I've been looking for, for so long.

The Post I'm Most Proud Of:  This was an exercise in #PBAU, the bloggers group I am privileged to be a part of just a few weeks ago.  Seven and Seven was a very difficult blog to write but it is one that I am the most proud of.  Proud of it in many ways.  The fact that I was able to write it at all.  This was the first time I ever wrote it down.   I'm proud that I was able to share it.  And I'm very proud that I never let it rule me, confine me, or define me.

Damn, that was tough, but interesting and kind of fun too.  Thanks again for nominating me Janine.  I feel truly honored.  And now it's my turn to bestow the honor on a few other unsuspecting fools =)

I chose Aaron at Aaron Outward

Eric at I've Become My Parents

And Joy at Catharsis

Good luck!