Oh, Just Get Over Yourself

There have been alot of exciting and fantastic things going on in my life lately.  However, the balance in the universe has brought some negatives, and instead of joining the hysterics and dramatics, I'm going to flick them off myself through writing, much as I would an annoying little bug.

I sometimes wonder if grown women miss the days of middle school angst, so feel the need to repeat it.

I have always been a firm believer, that if I personally have an issue with someone, I will speak to them.  That is obvious, by speaking up on social media when I feel someone has crossed a line, and holds true in my personal relationships with family and friends.  It can be tricky, and sometimes a delicate situation, but if it goes against my own integrity, beliefs, or even if something is being discussed that I have nothing positive to say, I will simply state my thoughts on the matter, the why, and make sure I am very clear in my thoughts.
But even I, who freely speaks my mind, have my limits.  And one of those glaring boundaries is childish drama.

I've had several experiences lately in which problems brought to my attention could be resolved quickly if a person were to just address it head on.  But instead, there just seems to be a trend of women choosing to skirt the issue, even gossip, instead of plainly speaking their concerns.

What the hell is that?  Can anything be resolved through mindless blather that amounts to not much more than whining?  It would be one thing if you are just venting to a friend, but if there is a very real concern or problem, what makes anyone think the solution is telling everyone BUT the person who can solve the issue?

There is a common saying in social media now, especially with the political hamster wheel spinning faster, that says "people go out of their way to be offended".  Oh, how very true this is starting to ring for me.  It appears, women would rather be justified in being offended, than solve the issue head on.  It's as if the need to hear "you are right", "I agree", or some other form of commiseration, far outweighs just speaking up and resolving the problem.  Remaining a victim to unfairness or slight becomes the focus, instead of just fixing the problem and moving on.

Is the need to be the victim so great that we must engage in childish behaviors to perpetuate it?  Involving as many people as possible, so we can feel justified in our outrage, overshadowing the simplicity of just speaking up?  It seems silly, but then again, dramatic whining and perpetuating being a victim always has to me.

Perhaps I am too black and white in the issue.  Perhaps, even, I'm not understanding the sensitivities of those who find themselves offended so much of the time.  If I were to look at it more closely, I can see where some people take all things personally.  Whether it be in business setting, through social media, in their daily lives.  If they are being spoken to in any way, shape, or form, they believe it is a discussion that relates directly to them as a person. 

In that case, I definitely can not spend my life tiptoeing cautiously to be sure that one little word perceived the wrong way will cause yet another round of taking it personally.  I just don't work that way, especially with speaking freely being so much a part of my core.  I have to ask myself if I want to constantly be drawn into other people's insecurities, allowing the negativity it brings into my world?  The answer is a solid no.

So, if you find yourself continually offended, slighted, or even complaining about the same ills of the world over and over and over, I challenge you to look first at yourself.  This goes not only for any strange little dramas occurring in your life, but also your reactions to just life in general.  Because it all ties in together, if you look at it carefully.  If you negatively view the world, it's ills, the social crises of the time as you perceive them, you will also bring that negativity into your own inner circle of the world.  Everything will become a slight, an offense, and paranoia of every last word being some kind of statement against you.  

The blame I hold in these various dramas as of late, is not speaking up.  Not speaking freely.  Not being who I am.  And why did I refrain?  For fear of offending.  For fear of someone taking it personally.  The very thing that this obviously has taught me I have no control over.

Shame on me.

The Grey World Around You

In the last 24 hours, while you perused inflammatory Facebook posts, a child went to bed hungry.  An elderly nursing home resident was mistreated.  A woman was raped.  A man assaulted his wife.  Plenty of intoxicated people got behind the wheel of a car.  Someone abused and tortured an animal for the sheer pleasure of it.

You get the picture.

Passions have certainly run high lately with the release of super-top-secret-shocking Planned Parenthood videos.  Videos that (gasp) have outraged the populace into screeching their battle cry of "Save The Babies!". 

I'm not even going to get into the obvious flaws in these videos, such as taking into consideration the source, editing, or the agenda behind them.  It is fruitless when trying to rationalize with those whose convictions have no room for the grey areas of reality.

I used to be a black and white thinker.  I stubbornly had no room for the grey.  And then, through the debating groups that brought me my closest and dearest friends, I started to view and understand the world through other people's eyes.  Vastly different viewpoints, some of which seemed to go against everything I believed, opened up the world for me.  I was forced into fact checking, researching, and hearing first hand accounts of people who had experienced that which I had formed an opinion about.  Suddenly, the world stopped being black and white.

Should we be shocked the Planned Parenthood videos have been released just as an election season cycle begins to warm up?  Absolutely not.  Because this is not actually video that is only about whether an organization has broken the laws regarding fetal tissue donation.  It is much more than that, and every outcry and denunciation of Planned Parenthood proves that. 

It is about abortion.

One of the greyest topics out there. 

You would think labels of "pro-life" and "pro-choice" could actually be pretty black and white, but they are not.  Not even close.

So, putting aside the laws clearly written in regards to fetal tissue donation, let's discuss what is really going on here.  This isn't about whether someone has broken the law.  This isn't about the choice of words by an employee in a large organization.  This isn't about medical research that has benefited millions.  This is about babies.

Save the babies.  What is that, anyway?  Is it really about the babies?  Or is it about birth?  Because I don't really see people giving much of a shit beyond the exit point.

But, I'm jumping ahead of myself.  Let's start with pregnancy.

Our law of the land says I have the right to decide what to do with my pregnancy.  Fantastic.  I can pop out 19 kids and throw them on national television.  I can undergo fertility treatments and end up with six of those suckers at once, or select to only have three, two, or one.  I can choose any number of methods of preventing even one of those little boogers from popping out of me like an alien life form.  I can choose to not prevent anything, leave it all in the hands of a deity, and have a 40 week surprise party thrown for me.

It's pretty fabulous knowing I have all these choices.  These choices to have, or not have.  The choices to limit, or not limit.  I'm thankful the laws of our land can not tell me how, when, the number of times, or where I reproduce.  And with those laws, brings another.  The choice to terminate.

Yes, it would be a wonderful world indeed if the need to terminate a pregnancy did not exist.  But, regardless of the laws of our great land, that situation will always arise.  Whether it's through the horrors of abuse or rape, the heartbreak of medical issues, or something as simple as the wrong time, there will always be women facing the reality of not wanting to give birth to a child.  We could try to regulate that with laws, but it would be to no avail.  And enter, our right, guaranteed to each and every womb carrier, termination.

Forcing a woman to carry an unwanted pregnancy is not only a ludicrous statement, it's a dangerous one.  First of all, it would promote women trying to self-abort, in unsafe, unsanitary conditions.  The mental health ramifications are astronomical, in a country that is already horribly failing in their mental health services.  How far would it be taken?  Would women find all of their privacy and freedoms taken away just so the powers that be can rest assured that she is incubating as they see fit?  Where does it stop?  If we legislate pregnancy (and let's be honest, outlawing abortion is exactly that) where does the legislating stop?  Will we allow our government to start choosing the types of birth control they deem appropriate?  Will the choices of preventing a pregnancy be limited to less effective ways?  Also, can ALL pregnancies be dictated and outlined then?  Will we allow a government state that tells us how to treat each pregnancy, dictate nutritional guidelines, medical care, and exactly how to give birth?  Is THAT the goal when saying we need to outlaw abortion?  It's not a far reach.  Once you allow our great nation to dictate one choice, others can (and do) easily follow.

The second grey area of abortion, the really BIG one, is what happens if we force women to give birth to unwanted children.  Obviously, a woman who did not want the pregnancy in the first place is going to have very little chance of a change of heart.  I know I certainly don't want that type of parent raising a child.  We can cry out for all those desperate parents out there wanting a baby and looking to adopt.  And don't get me wrong, adoption is a fantastic option for people unable to have children.  An expensive and lengthy option.  An option couples have to qualify for, not only financially, but emotionally, and proving they are deemed healthy enough to adopt and raise a child.  And let's be honest about people's intentions here...will children born of a different race, or born with birth defects or health issues be adopted quite so easily, were all these restrictions to be taken away?  Some yes.  All?  No.

That leaves the foster care system. An already overtaxed and failing system.  Not exactly the life of prosperity I would hope for children to have.  Not when it's already filled with children coming from neglectful or abusive homes.  If the system is suddenly flooded with infants, in all reality, what hope is there for the older children, many with emotional and behavioral problems?  It's a terrible analogy, but fitting, when I just point out exactly what happens at an animal shelter.  Everyone oohs and aaahs over the babies...the kittens and puppies are adopted out first.  Then, you see the designer doggies and purebreds finding homes.  It can make you cringe to think of it that way, but it is a harsh reality of the world. 

The third grey area of abortion is the almighty dollar.  Putting aside the mental health services we would need to expand on, let's look at social services.  Forcing children to be born into poverty is going to make each and every one of us need to open up our already stretched wallets even more.  Instead of the battle cries to limit and reduce our welfare system, we will need to be prepared to expand it even more.  Raising a child is not cheap, and if we are forcing every pregnant woman out there to carry her pregnancy to term, we have to be willing to financially support every single poverty level woman and child through pregnancy and the following 18 years.  This not only includes food and shelter, but basic medical needs, education, and any services needed because of disability.

I have yet, in 43 years of living on this earth, heard any rational solution to these grey areas.  Especially in today's political climate.  Especially a solution that does not take away the control each and every one of us has over our own being. 

And that's what it boils down to in the labels of "pro-life" and "pro-choice".   Pro-life is really nothing more than pro-birth.  We can ignore the ramifications of forced pregnancy and forced birth and not offer up any solutions in regards to the mental and financial problems it would create, but that's not really a concern for ALL life.  Only the perceived life of one, and only for a short amount of time.  The long term is not considered, nor does it appear to be a concern.

Quite frankly, I believe we are ALL pro-choice.  Just as one woman wants the choices granted to her to NOT become pregnant, NOT carry a pregnancy, another woman wants to exercise her right to get pregnant.  As many times as she would like.  She would like to have the choices to carry her pregnancy on her own terms, under her own medical decisions, and birth in the way she is most comfortable choosing.  She would also like to raise that child in the way she chooses.  Health choices, educational choices, financial choices. 

Choices are a grand thing.  And in the meantime, as we rant and rave about these choices that all women have regarding their ability to reproduce, we can forget and ignore the atrocities faced by the millions of people already right here, right now.  I choose not to.

Faux Slacker

I went four months without blogging.  Certainly not because random trains of thought stopped coming to me.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  But this little thing called real life just kept getting in the way.

You see, my husband and I decided it would be fun to destroy our house.  Not a single year goes by without some kind of project being put on THE LIST, and this year, it was a whopper.

After a mild winter that still had us feeling the drafts, seeing the frost on the windows, and noticing the peeling away of the exterior, we knew we could no longer ignore the outside of the house.  So, windows, doors, and an entire new facelift of new siding got put on the honey-do list.

We are avid DIY-ers, and this little chore is no different.  I've made some foolish decisions, like keeping both my 110 year old cottage windows that are irreplaceable, and though I may occasionally shake my head at their draftiness, I will be glad I kept one small piece of original construction.  I also HAD to have the antique door with the leaded glass that looks like a cobweb, which isn't really a security minded door, but I will smile every time I look at it.

I am a detail oriented brain, and a project this large makes me an indecisive twit.  I can quickly decide that white siding is what I want, but ask me if I'd like shutters and I still, two months later, can't decide if I want to refinish the old shutters or go with all new.  I know I want a front porch built, but the size of said porch has changed four times.  Point out our front door is not quite centered on the house, and I'm now the proud owner of an unfinished sidelight.  A sidelight I can not decide on a framing style for.  A sidelight that will be installed with the door in the next couple of weeks, that I am still clueless on.  I am reusing our house numbers, but can't decide how to refinish them, or if I want them framed in some way.  I still have not decided on a new exterior light.

I keep telling myself I have time to make these decisions, because there's still SO much work to do.  This weekend, we tear apart the bottom two feet of the siding to determine what kind of damage or repair work needs to be done to the foundation.  I'm convincing myself that with penny pinching previous owners, there will be plenty for us to work on before these decisions have to be made.  But as the sides of the house progress, and I leave for work each morning seeing the front, I am reminded that all these decisions relating to the front of the house will need to be made before we can even begin to prepare it for the new siding.

Is it terrible to consider that extensive foundation work could mean the budget runs tight, and then perhaps I can avoid making a decision on a front porch until next year? 

And is it awful to avoid thinking about our DIY weekend warrior title also means we are only working on Saturdays?  And refuse to look at a calendar to see how many Saturdays are left before weather prohibits us from doing any more work?

At what point is all this avoidance going to bite a big chunk out of my ass?

Amazingly enough, I am not drinking heavily through all of this.  Probably because I've been working too hard to think about pouring a frosty cold one.

All I know, is I've got a great tan from constantly working outside.  And I love my new windows that I can open and close with one hand.  And I have calluses on my hands that I've never had before.

And in two days, another Saturday will have come and gone.

Nope.  Not going to think about it.

Invisible Friends...Part 2

As I settle in for my quiet time, meditation music playing in my ears, I keep reflecting on what I wrote earlier tonight about Invisible Friends.

There is more.

So much more.

The advantage to a computer screen is first impressions differ from the first impressions we experience in our "real" world.  I can not immediately make assumptions based upon the way you look.  I won't be forming a response as a person is speaking.  Instead, I am reading, understanding (hopefully), and then responding.  People take turns.  I can ask for clarification and actually receive it.  It actually takes time to form an opinion on whether this is a person you want to share your world with.

In doing so, as said before, I have formed extremely close friendships with women I normally would not approach on the street.  And I have benefited greatly from that.

I have learned patience.  In the way I interact with people on the job, with my children, with my family, with my spouse.

I have learned how to be a better parent.  We have an un-named book of parenting in our circle.  We reference it often.  We try things out, we toss them.  We bounce ideas, punishments, motivations off each other.  We gain insight from those who have experienced it already.  We lovingly support each other's children, feeling as if we are all aunties or guardian angels to each other's offspring.  We celebrate the milestones.  We worry like 25 mother chicks over one egg.  We anxiously await what happens when one of us pees on a stick.  We cry when there is loss.  I am better to my own children, because I am surrounded by the 25 best mothers I've ever known.

I am inspired by their creativeness.  I celebrate their talents.  Their photography, teaching, sewing, entrepreneurship, writing, craftiness, beauty routines, and so many other talents and skills.  I have my own tailored women's magazine at my fingertips through my circle of friends.  They are inspiring.  They motivate me to practice my own skills and better myself.

I learned how to grieve.  Through each of our losses, in the support we offer each other, I have been able to celebrate the lives that have left my own world.  Through our circle of love, I have been able to let go, say goodbyes, and lean on their incredible strength when I am at my lowest.

I have learned spirituality.  As an atheist, it would be easy to scoff at religion.   But our circle has taught me differing religions and views.  It has shown me true faith.  I have seen the embodiment of Christianity.  I love them more for it, than if they were women who believed the same as me.  It has taught me a respect for differing belief systems, even when they don't agree with my own.

I have embraced "letting go".  Because of my dear friends, I am less mired in the ills of the world.  I have been taught what is truly important in our precious lives, and that is the relationships we form, and the impact we have upon people.  In a world mired in negativity, they shine brightly and above all things.

I have learned the various ways of educating our youth.  From private schools, homeschoolers, cyberschool, public schools, and all the problems that can go with each, I have also learned what the positives are.  I have seen how each child learns differently, watched their children blossom with how they each choose to educate.  I have reached for help when I feel like the daily drudgery of school is more than I can handle, and I have gotten answers and help I would normally have sought for much longer.  They are each a teacher in their own right, not just in relationship to their own children, but to all of ours as a whole, as we teach each other in so many ways.

I have learned how to forgive.  And be forgiven.  They have shown me how to set boundaries, and not feel guilty for it.  I have learned what a heartfelt apology really is.  I have been hurt.  I have loved enough to be hurt and then forgive.  And to move on.  They taught me that incredibly valuable lesson.

I have learned about bigotry and racism.  The difficulties of keeping marriages together.  The stresses of military families.  I have been taught lessons on things I could never experience myself.  The diversity of our circle has helped cement our bond.   I would never have developed empathy for certain things without these women in my life.

I'm sure there is so much more I will think of once I actually post this, but the meditation music is quickly becoming the sleepy music.  Wrapping up, for all the ills of the internet, it has given me something that life in a small rural town would never have been able to give me.  My invisible friends have given me the precious gift of constantly becoming the best person I can be.  They improve my world, and what I put out into the world.

Priceless, my dear friends.

You are priceless.

Invisible Friends

I have a lovely circle of invisible friends.

No, not unicorns that sit on my dash, big eyes glittering, understanding every word I mutter under my breath.

My Charlie buddy

Though Charlie is a fantastic pal to have, life is not complete without a pile of kittens.

The exodus of the kitten pile started eight years ago.  I was on a social networking site for moms and one day decided to randomly join some groups designated for debating.  At that time, I enjoyed a lively discussion over differing viewpoints, and thought I might meet some pretty cool cats along the way.

I had no idea.

As is the way of the woman, things would get bitchy.  Catty, if you will.  Gather any large numbers of estrogen, and you're going to see the claws come out.  Occasionally, the cray cray made an appearance, and you'd be left sitting at your computer thankful there was hundreds if not thousands of miles separating you from some of these people.  As dominant personalities emerged, so did the loonies.  So much so, that after nearly a year, things reached a peak of crazy-dom, and it was decided that several of us needed to go find out own safe corner of the site.

We called ourselves kittens, perhaps because of my own love of fuzzy little furballs, but also with the belief that even fuzzy little furballs have claws that can easily draw blood.    The exodus of women from the crazy group imploding was astronomical.  Obviously, I wasn't the only one tired of trying to guess when the next toddler tantrum would rear its ugly head.

This happened in late 2007, and by early 2008, we were debating everything from parenting options, local and world events, to politics.  And with politics, came the 2008 elections.

I pause for a moment...remembering.  Those '08 elections.  Damn.  The only time in my life I truly got passionate, and yes, a tad crazy, over a presidential race.  And boy, did that kind of crazy come out in all kinds of ways in our group that year.  In between the forming friendships, there were some really heated discussions.  Occasionally, discussions that involved hurling insults, name calling, and fire breathing radical views.  I know those '08 elections sent alot of people into hiding who did not come out until the dust had settled, if they returned at all.

Looking back, I don't blame them.  It was pure lunacy for several months in there.    But when the dust settled, many of us licking our wounds, we settled back into lighthearted debate and asking for advice.  Some wounds may have never healed, some friendships shifted, some strengthened.  What also seemed to happen is so many of us started losing the desire to debate with each other.  The same happened for me when a personal crisis happened shortly after the elections were over.  I no longer needed to discuss what was going on at that time in the world, but I sure as hell needed friends to lean on.

And that's exactly what I got.

We all eventually left that mom's site, or merely stuck around for other groups we participated in.  But the kittens had found each other on Facebook, and suddenly, life was no longer about debating.  It was about the very real friendships that seemed to have come out of a site that catered to the sanctimommies of the world. 

Several years on Facebook, and a group of women that numbered in the hundreds, has now whittled down to a circle of 25.  There are still other kittens who we've kept in touch with and still keep up to date with on Facebook.  But those 25.  Damn...it's like the inner circle that can not be broken.  Not in the sense of some kind of clique or club, but in the most genuine, precious friendships that can possibly exist.  Through the years, we have shared births, deaths, illness, marriage, divorce, family issues, relationship issues, and every happiness and joy we needed to immediately share and shout from the rooftops.  We know the personal, intimate details of each other's lives.  We laugh, cry, celebrate, feel pain, feel joy.  We are the soft place to land when life kicks us in the teeth.  We are the hug (even if it's virtual) that you need at the end of a very difficult day.  We have already seen each other at our worst, we have fought, we have hurt.

But we love.

We love each other fiercely.  Without demands.  Without an expected return.  We are individuals, from all walks of life.  All ages.  All different stages of life.  We come from different backgrounds, economics, and religions.  We are vastly different, and had we all lived in the same town, it is likely we would not have formed the friendship we have by learning about each other online.  A couple of us weren't even part of the debating groups, yet they feel as if they have always been there with us from the beginning.  We support each other in every way possible, and in some pretty amazing ways, considering we are scattered across this country.

Occasionally, the planets align perfectly so that we may finally "meet" one of our invisible friends.  And when that happens, it is MAGIC.  There are the initial butterflies, which could easily be mistaken for nervousness or anxiety.  The initial thoughts of wondering if it will be the same in person as it is online.  But as we've occasionally gotten opportunities to meet, we've all begun to realize that the butterflies weren't nerves...it was anticipation, and sheer joy.  Because after the initial squeal of delight and hug, it is like we have returned home from a very long trip away.  The conversation picks up wherever it last let off with an ease that can not be forced.  And parting from a visit is a mix of gratitude for the time together, and tears at having to leave.    There is an easiness to time with each others spouses and children, as we have experienced the relationships together, and watched the children grow.  We are family.

Through all the friendships in life, I had no clue that friendship could be this.  To love other women so passionately.  To see, through the years, the better person we become by being loved.  To know that I could hop in my car, knock on a door unexpectedly, and have a shoulder to lean on.  That at any hour of the day, I've got a circle of amazing women who have my back, who will be my strength, who are my joy.  Who actually enjoy hearing the mundane and routine of my day, as much as I enjoy hearing theirs.

Invisible friends.  If you don't have one...get one.  It is precious beyond anything you can imagine.

Keeping It Classy, Iowa

Iowa does not automatically mean "hick", regardless of what kind of BuzzFeed article you have read.

I feel like after the wrap up of this season's The Bachelor, we may have gotten a bit of a bad rap.  Yes, there is a tremendous amount of wide, open space, that fills slowly with growing crops.  You can enjoy the aroma of money in spring while passing by fields freshly sprayed with manure.  You will also frequently pass by a large steel building located in the middle of nowhere, and wonder what the stench wafting in your windows is.  (For the non-Iowan, that's called a hog confinement.)

Contrary to what you may have viewed on the whoring yourself out for money show, Iowan's DO know how to form a complete sentence.  There are also some of us who can sing.  We even find things to do other than go to bars for pizza, and visit Post Offices.  Not every major event in our lives takes place in a barn.

That being said, I feel I must admit to a few small things about living in rural Iowa.

During Lent, the aroma of dirty grease fryers fills the air.  Every bar and tavern within three miles of a cornfield is frying up fish that will lube up your intestines better than a box of Ex Lax.  If you should happen to live next to one of these grease pits (as I do), the warm spring day will seem like a curse as you open a window and realize your entire house now smells like a vat of rancid lard.  You will also race home after work, hoping against all hope that the endless constipated people needing to take a shit after eating grease soaked fish have not parked in your yard.  You will then remember the piles of mud that have appeared after a quick thaw of snow, and keep your fingers crossed it will work as a moat and keep people from parking near your home.  However, that does not solve the problem of the people parking at the mud free curb in front of your house, where you will spend the following morning picking up beer cans left behind by tee totalling fish revelers.  Typically, it's a Busch Light can, occasionally, a to go cup with the remnants of liquor, and every once in a while, a dirty diaper.  Just because they are Catholic does not mean they aren't swine.

Holidays such as St. Patrick's Day are celebrated with a parade.  But what that really means is we will put on a parade to make it look like we're keeping a holiday family friendly, but once the sun goes down, that parade is forgotten and it's bar time.  If you have no wish to dance on a table or throw up in a dirty bathroom, it's just common knowledge that you don't enter that particular town on St. Patrick's Day.  But hey, there's a parade.

When the weather begins to warm (and here in Iowa, that means anything above 45 degrees), it's time to get out the motorcycle.  And put your small child on the back.  Without a helmet.  You also open all your car windows and turn the cassette player up really really loud.  Usually playing  Iron Maiden.  Because the entire downtown wants to hear it through your home stereo-turned-subwoofer in your trunk.  Which usually means muffled music heard through trunk rattling.

When warm weather arrives, people start complaining about it being cold.  While wearing no jackets.  They are the same people who whined through the entire winter.  Because living in Iowa your entire life does not prepare you for the normal winter weather we have every year, apparently.  These same people will complain, once again, when summer arrives, but will instantly move on to saying it's too hot.  While wearing their jackets.

As a rural Iowan, you can also peruse the pages of your local shopper for jobs, things for sale, and entertainment in the area.  Basically, a paper of nothing but advertisements and announcements.  Along with finding out where all your greasy fish is being cooked, you can decide whether or not you want to attend the male strip show at the county fairgrounds, or better yet, the 1st annual Testicle Festival.  Don't ask me what is actually happening at a Testicle Festival, but being from rural Iowa, I can guarantee it includes the deep frying of some sort of animal balls.  Typically, the standard fried nut comes from a pig, but hey, it's a festival, so who knows what kind of testicle buffet they will have going on.  Perhaps they will even have games and a testicle parade for the kiddos.

That being said, rural Iowa IS a fantastic place to live.  Once you get used to the various aromas of the land, you can send your kids off to play in the local creek all day, build a huge bonfire in your yard, engage in a little target practice in a field, and shoot off fireworks without worrying about a trip to jail.  Even when you tend to keep to yourself as I do, there is a sense of community and coming together when emergency or tragedy strikes. 

You just have to acquire a "taste" for it.  Remember, though there may be the aroma of pig shit, the frying of pig nuts, there's also an endless supply of bacon.  And that's enough right there.

Keeping It Real: Uber-Bitch Edition

Raging Rhonda.

Irritable Isabel.

Fuck off Frannie.

I could easily change my name this week, considering the Ms. Crabby Pants Extraordinaire begging to be let loose upon the masses.

I sit at my desk with my ears plugged, filling my brain with all the soothing music I can muster off my playlist, knowing that if I take these little buds out of my ears, every last noise is going to grate on my nerves like a paper shredder.  I know there's a name for people who can not stand noise, but I don't know if I can label myself with this really-long-word-I-don't-remember, or if I should just suck it up sweetheart and call it like it is.

I'm in uber-bitch mode. 

EVERYTHING irritates me right now.

I'm irritated with myself for being so irritated at everything.

The fucking weather fucking sucks.  One pissant snow storm brought that particular crabby pants attitude out in me.  Maybe because the plowing from my house to work is done by a blind man.  I don't know who this blind man is, or I would probably be standing out on the highway, shoveling snow into a truck bed so I can go dump it in his yard.  Eight miles of snow shoveling, and I could maybe get that bitchiness out of my system and get over the fact that we now hire blind people to be snowplow drivers.  Every other road I see is plowed nicely, and maybe it's not perfect, but there's at least 50% of the road showing so you actually know where the fucking lanes are.  But noooo...not the road to work.  I had the day off after the snowpocalypse, so my rage took an extra day to set in.  With that extra day, you would think there was extra snowplowing going on, but apparently, blind man had Monday off as well.  By Tuesday, when other roads were improving, ours was still nearly 100% covered, but because it had been a couple days since the snowfall, it had progressed into packed down snow-shit that was slick as a sheet of ice.  Wednesday, very minute tracks started to appear, so there was at least a hint of which lane I was driving in.  However, by Wednesday evening, it was recovered after a day of wind and drifting, so much so that it hit the undercarriage of a car if you sat low enough to the ground in whatever you were driving.  Thinking the blind man MUST be aware of this, I expected a somewhat easier drive Thursday morning, only to be proven wrong AGAIN, with the same messes I had driven through the night before.  By this time, I was in full on weather rage mode, and to add to it, the one snowplow I DID see was busy plowing the ditch.  Yeah, blind dumbfucker, that's great...remove the snow from the ditch so I have nothing soft to land in if I go sailing off the side of the road because I can't tell where my lane is.  Thanks, Obama.

The temps took a nosedive today, which piled on the ragey, bitchy feeling brewing in my brain for oh-so-many reasons.  The heat lamp which sits in our well did not get checked over the weekend, and considering the lifespan of the bulbs, I was fairly confident the light was OUT.  With falling temperatures coming, I knew that meant I should leave our water dripping in order to avoid frozen pipes.  However, water no longer just drips, it dribbles, because the aerator has been taken off the faucet for a repair, and a new one has not been put back on.  So, irritation not only began simmering over the annoyingly incessant sound of dribbling, but also of the reminder that a new aerator has still not been put on.  And it can't be just the heat lamp needing routine maintenance...oh HELL NO, not on bitchy McCrabbypants days.  Now I'm well aware that the water softener needs a new filter because I have a lovely rust stain forming in my kitchen sink where the water has been dribbling.  Which means intensive scrubbing.  That I'm too crabby to want to do.  And is just another lovely reminder that I live in hicksville where the water quality is questionable, at best.

Cold temperatures also mean no car washes.  Unless, of course, I would like my doors to freeze shut while it sits outside.  But with snowpocalypse, blind snowplow driver, and a city unable to clear anything within three feet of a curb, my truck looks like it has been painted in a grey, white, and poop tye dye.  Which gets on your pant legs and shoes every time you get in or out of the vehicle unless you are extra cautious.  And of course, I'm NOT cautious, because I'm too busy thinking negative thoughts every time I even look at my vehicle.

What you DON'T see in the picture, is the giant hump of snow I hurdled to get in this parking spot, because some asshat pushed snow into the spot, creating a two foot drift.

I've been especially ragey over the other drivers on the roads.  There have been the typical good ol' boys who come rip tearing up on my back bumper, as I try to navigate my two wheel drive truck through the unplowed/shitplowed roads.  I'd flip them off, but they wouldn't see my finger sticking up through the filth covered back window anyway.  They, in their four wheel drive, have no problems sailing across the snow wasteland, but in my little filth-machine, I can't quite do the speed limit, and occasionally have to let off the gas when the truck begins to slide.  Would they prefer I slide into the freshly plowed ditch so they can get past me to whatever very important coffee date they seem to have?  Perhaps I will write "Feeling Uber-Bitchy" in the filth in my back window, so they can be forewarned of exactly how I'm feeling about them riding my ass.  It's not like I'm going grandma-speed...only five to ten under the limit at most, but that doesn't stop them from riding my ass like a dog in heat.  These will be the same dumb hicks who will slow down to a crawl in the spring so they can do their field-viewing, but come winter time, when there are no crops to gawk at, they are in an all out hurry.

Add in seeing nearly every driver with a phone plastered to their ear, and it's a damn miracle I haven't just rammed my vehicle straight into them in a pissy fit of rage.  I am PERPLEXED as to how people drive while gabbing incessantly on the phone.  And everyone seems to do it.  Am I the only person that finds chit chatting on the phone to be distracting while driving? 

And this week is the week of looking at absolute SHIT that people seem to think is worth money, but shouldn't even be sent to charity, unless of course, you're wanting to make a statement of thinking that charity equals POOP.  People are WAY too chatty, and not in that chatty, I really enjoy my job type of way.  Chatty as in endless rambling just for the sake of hearing their own voice.  Chatty BLATHER, that doesn't even make sense, including very personal details of their life, even though I don't even know their name.  Occasionally, they will ask ME a question, but then continue blathering on, not even waiting for an answer.  You get enough days of THAT, and you start feeling invisible.  But a ragey invisible.  The kind of invisible that makes your hand just ITCH to reach out and bitch slap them to see if maybe THAT will make them shut up for just ONE second.  But no, the Crabbypants has not escalated to those extremes, and with only one more day of work in the week, I think I can survive without an assault charge ending up on my record.

Maybe.

So on the drive home, knowing that I was feeling full-blown bitch mode arriving, I told myself to do whatever it takes to get this the fuck out of my system.  Obviously, that meant blogging the shit, puke, and crud out of my system.  It means plugging headphones into my ears (and I JAMMED those suckers in so hard it hurt) and blasting the most soothing music I could find.  It means typing until my fingers hurt, because I absolutely LOATHE feeling like a crotchety old hag.  It meant talking to Charlie, and letting those big eyes tell me that yes, it's ok.  Get it out of your system now, and move the fuck on, you stupid, silly, bitchy girl.

Tomorrow is a new day.  Sure, I told myself that yesterday when Ms. Crabbypants was at only 75%, but now that I've hit 100%, it can only subside from here.  I will force the sunshine and rainbows, sing it out of my system, and dedicate the day tomorrow to silly play.  I will take a moment in the store room, and slap the shit out of myself if need be. 

Because I find myself quite irritating to be around right now.

I Smell A Struggle

"Improve Brain Health – A study conducted in 2003 discovered that drinking whiskey reduces your risk of Alzheimer’s and dementia. If you’re worried that your brain is slowing down in your old age, it’s time to start drinking whiskey to protect your very important organ from damage." - 10 Health Benefits of Whiskey


I've been awful concerned over the state of my brain cells the last two weeks.  I'm used to having a jinxed day that makes me want to hide from the world.  The type of day where the fumbling, blathering, and foolishness compounds until I know I just need to go to bed and reset my brain cells to start over.  But recently, I have started to wonder if there's something wrong between my ears.  Perhaps it's early onset Alzheimer's.  A touch of dementia, maybe.  Could be, during that plague, the fever fried enough brain cells to make a difference.  Or there's always the possibility I'm suffering multitudes of mini strokes, slowly killing off my wits until I'm left a blubbering fool in a corner.

Life is no more stressful than normal.  I'm still chill as a penguin, cool as a kitty cat, cruising along in my oblivious way, brushing off anything that tries to poke me with annoyances, getting the pissy pants out of my system as soon as I feel it starting to weigh me down.  I cannot blame a major catastrophic event, or even a piling up of chores or daily reminders.  Life continues to chug along as it always has.  I can not blame being busy, as I have removed the term "busy" from my life. 

The "death of a shopaholic" could be blamed.  I am still shopping-free, other than needs.  I ordered jeans for my son, new sheets for the bed, bought groceries, gas, and the normal household staples.  No shopping trips, or frivolous perusings of a sale or thrift store.  I'd love to say it has had a negative impact on my ability to think, but it HAS only been a couple of weeks, and there really is no scientific data to back up that particular thought process.  And if I'm going to be honest with myself, I DID order that shirt for $9, prompting a purge of closets that resulted in four good sized totes and bags being removed from just one room.  I'm removing far more than I'm bringing in, and I seem to be ok with that.  Ok enough that it can't possibly be contributing to my brain dead, fumbling oaf factor.

I have forgotten how to walk.  I'm tripping, stumbling, shuffling, and sometimes, my foot just won't lift and I even end up lurching.  It's comical to watch, and I find myself laughing quite a bit.  So not only do I look like a complete klutz, but a klutz without a hold on reality who randomly laughs at nothing.  Sometimes, I think I'm just feeling like I'm tripping, but I'm not actually tripping, so then I really AM laughing at nothing, which then must make me really look like a fool.  However, judging by my hair, I obviously don't concern myself with looking like a fool.

I have completely forgotten how to speak.  Words will be in my brain, flashing in big neon pink letters (always pink, and I don't know why), yet they won't come out of my mouth.  Instead, there will be a blah, blah, blah, or uh, uh, uh, waving my arms around as if I can somehow grab the word from mid air.  Sometimes, the word never comes, and I'm forced to use "thing", or "doohickey", or even better, "whatchamajigger".  Even better, the word will come to me when it no longer matters one iota, yet my brain feels obligated to blurt it out, making me look like a confused old fool.  This little tendency, which seemed to really rear its ugly head last week, made me think of Googling how early dementia can show up in a person.  I may have grey hairs hiding in the obnoxious streaks, but I'm really not old enough to start planning on my entry to the Alzheimer's unit, right?  However, I was comforted, when after nearly two weeks of this babbling, or lack of babbling, I heard someone younger than me do the same thing.  I don't know if she does it as frequently as I seem to be, but it was a small moment of comfort knowing I am not alone.

As is obvious in the post, I can apparently type without a hitch, so perhaps it is a sign that I should just shut my big fat mouth and type more.  Or just become a mute.

Every day chores and actions seem to slip away.  I have even fumbled making espresso.  I could say that's due to the early hour in which I'm making it, but this is really one of those things that typically I feel I could do in my sleep.  I finally arrived home at a decent hour tonight, and was so eager to get those new sheets on my bed, but that fitted sheet was a STRUGGLE.  I felt like the smoke of my brain cells burning away must have been emitting from my ears, because I turned that sheet around THREE times before it seemed to fit on the mattress correctly.  And considering a mattress is equal measure on at least two sides, I should have accomplished that task within two tries.  But NOOOO...there is something wrong with my brain, and it took three tries before I was able to get a fitted sheet on my bed.

I have poked my eyeballs with mascara wands, gotten a scarf stuck in my jeans zipper, slipped on the floor and nearly did the splits in front of a toilet, dropped a takeout container (in slow motion just staring at it with my mouth hanging open), struggled to bag up purchases, had to count back change out loud because in my head it doesn't seem to add up, and the list goes on, and on, and on.  I have gotten so used to muttering "Such is my life" that I don't even notice saying it anymore.  I have frequently found myself standing somewhere, wondering why, knowing there was something I was going to do, but in the span of 30 seconds somehow forgot.  That's pretty typical, but when it happens over and over and over again for days in a row, I start to question whether I should go get a brain scan done.  In fact, I even offered to go get one, after a particularly brain dead day last week.

It has even started to leak into my interactions with people.  I'm typically able to make people laugh, find the humor in a difficult situation, and make light of situations to cheer people up.  However, the last two weeks, I have started to wonder if maybe my thoughts are in English in my head, but once they come out of my mouth, they are gobbledigook, and that would explain why I am met with silence, a dead stare, or as if I have said nothing at all.  Were it not for all the other bumbling moments of my life the last two weeks, I'd say the winter blahs have set in, and people are particularly more ornery than usual.  But when you add in all the blathering, fumbling moments, maybe it really IS my brain rejecting normal thought processes.

And then, the answer came to me.  The last two weeks, I've been choosing to do things outside of pouring that delicious little frosty cold beverage.  I have been alcohol free (except for that cheap whine I cracked open in the middle of the day on Monday) for two weeks.  No Jack Daniels.  I've bought the Coke, but ended up letting my teenager drink it, because I wasn't including cocktail time in my daily activities.

So today, after continued ramblings and stumbles, I promised myself it was Happy Hour when I arrived home.  I had nothing else on the schedule, except a changing of sheets, and I was going to enjoy a tasty little beverage to restore the brain damage I have done by....by....OH SHIT, IT HAPPENED.

*gulps down a few more swallows*

The brain damage I have done by abstaining from Jack Daniels.  ABSTAINING.

The proof will be in tomorrow's activities.  Depending upon the number of drinks, of course.

Such is my life.

Death of a Shopaholic

I had these big ambitions to purge today.

Had.

I even had a mental picture.  Though admittedly, most of my thoughts come with mental pictures and mini movies running through my head of how things will be.

They're usually in the fantasy genre.

Because I was able to immediately think of a handful things that were no longer wanted, my brain somehow believed that meant a massive purge of belongings was going to happen.  However, when I made my way through closets, still only grasping the handful of things I had originally thought of, I began to see that I am a daydreamer.  By the time I made it to the jewelry, I was cackling like a madwoman, and the three necklaces that have made their way into my tote may not actually make it all the way to the store to be sold.

Have I finally made it to that stage in life where I actually LIKE everything I own?  My eyes scan the rooms of the house, and even with all the love for shopping, I can't imagine taking something off a wall and replacing it.  I may look like a candle hoarder with all the holders and stands placed throughout the house, but I LOVE my candles, and not a single one feels out of place or as if it does not belong.  Short of finding a comfy chair for a corner, I am content to wait a few years for new furniture.  After all, though the couch looks like it's seen better days, it's at that comfy, broken in point of knowing exactly how to welcome you into curling up with a good book.

However, if I am happy with the contents of closets, and the various items making this house a home, that really means I should stop shopping.  There, after all, is no reason to, right?

So, perhaps, this is the year to put shopping on the back burner.  Part of me wants to laugh hysterically at such a notion, but the reasonable adult in me realizes there just is not much reason to spend hours walking through stores when I don't NEED anything.

Off the top of my head, I can think of several items that it wouldn't hurt to buy.  New bath towels.  New sheets.  Paint.  And more paint.  Lots of paint.  I have several mental projects beginning to form for the coming year, so I suppose I could train a shopaholic brain to start focusing on using my time for painting, digging, and building instead of acquiring.

I'm scared.

I've never NOT shopped.  I hear the call of a sale from 100 miles away.  Shopping has become a way of relaxation.  Can it be possible for me to spend a day out with a shopping partner and merely enjoy looking at things and not buying them?  Does such a thing exist?

It may be that my mind is working too hard after a pitiful attempt to purge.  It could be procrastination of doing the weekly meal planning and making a grocery list.  Perhaps it's just an elaborate way to avoid laundry.

But there is a little voice in the back of head telling me that if I can't (or won't) purge, then maybe it's time to start focusing on other things.  Maybe that's easy to say because I missed this month's $1 sale at Goodwill.

I may be retiring the shopaholic in me.  Will she come out of retirement?  Stay tuned, and find out. 

Glorified Busy

"I don't have the time."

I call BULLSHIT.

"Busy" is a four letter word.  And we looooove to use it.  It gives our lives great importance and fulfillment.  With all this "busy" wrapped up into each day, we MUST be accomplished and achieving great things, right?  Life is much more IMPORTANT when we are constantly "busy".

What a bunch of crap.

I am guilty of it myself.  This glorification of busy.  It's a term I use, and yes, there are days, so many days, when I feel "busy".  And I need to just STOP.  Not stop filling my days with productive work.  Not stop spending every moment going, going, going.  No, I can make the choice to continue with my "busy" life.  However, I WILL stop calling it "busy".

Today, I chose to go to work.  Yes, it's an obligation I'm fulfilling.  A responsibility.  But I've CHOSEN to do it.  I've chosen to work 30-40 hours a week.  The circumstances of my choices, such as wanting spending money, getting out of the house, enjoying what I do, really, do not matter.  I've worked the careers that are not as enjoyable.  I made that choice at that time, as well. 

I also chose to come home and make soup.  From scratch.  It involves dicing, shredding, and chopping.  I have leftover soup in the fridge, but I chose this soup because it I love it and want it.  I am the only person in the house this evening, so it would be an easy decision to choose not to busy myself with a homemade soup, but I chose otherwise.

I have berries in the refrigerator.  Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries.  They were initially bought for smoothies, but as time progresses and no smoothies are made, I choose to use them for something else.    I have chosen not to make smoothies in the morning, so I can use that extra time to make an additional cup of espresso.  Either could make my morning prior to work busy, but I have chosen which chore I prefer in ignoring the berries.  So instead, after soup is made, I will make a berry cobbler.  I choose to busy myself with that particular chore, after already busying myself with making a soup from scratch.

I will then clean up after all this cooking, because I choose to have a semi-clean kitchen tonight.  I will scoop the cat litter and feed the FatBastard, because I choose to fulfill an obligation to a pet instead of waiting for my son to come home to do it.

I will then make the choice to shower and read a book, because I love reading as my relaxation time.  Tonight, because I've chosen to do more cooking than usual, that reading will involve less time, but it is not busy time.  It's my choice of how I'm using my time.

See where I'm going with this?

The overuse of the word "busy" is annoying as hell.  I am guilty of it, and it makes me want to slap myself into reality.

The reality is, I have the same 24 hours the billions of other humans on this earth do.  And I am free to make choices to fill every moment of the day, or to let things slide.  Yes, reality also states that letting things slide for too long can eat up too much time at a later date.  But let's stop glorifying our schedules for a moment and call it like it is.

I can choose every single day where I want my priorities to lay.  Tonight especially, my priorities are obviously on delicious food.  (And that delicious Jack and Coke I poured while whisking up a roux.)  I choose to fill my day with obligations, responsibilities, chores, and enjoyments.  I can choose to ignore things...like the fact that something has dripped in the oven so now it puts off a burning smell when I run it.  I will choose to ignore that burning smell as I bake a berry cobbler.

Even if my day and evening were filled with choices that are not so pleasant, it is still on my shoulders that I made those choices that day.  It is my choice to prioritize what is important to me.

And that's where this glorification of busy really begins.  Priorities.  Where do my priorities lie?  It is not due to circumstance and outside factors.  There is very little that happens in life to prevent me from prioritizing.  And all "busy" is, is a statement to the world of where my priorities lie.  Some days, it's my children.  Other days, my husband.  It is occasionally my family, my friends, my job, my house.  But I own all those choices.  I am realistic enough to know that prioritizing some things, means putting others on the back burner.  But I also have lived long enough in this world to know that I must aim to balance all those things in order to feel that I have achieved my version of peace.  And not every day will be balanced.  And I can accept that.

However, that does NOT mean I'm "busy".

I simply have chosen not to prioritize something.

And if I let something not be the priority for too long, I also accept there are consequences.

And I don't blame "busy" for it.

So stop always talking about how "busy" you are.  There's really no need for it in our world, as we all have that same 24 hours the rest of the planet does.  You aren't busy.  You've just chosen to prioritize in a way that either makes you feel stressed, overworked, overscheduled, or over-important.  Own up to your choices.  Don't apologize for them.  Learn from them.  Balance them.

So, the next time you stop, feeling flustered and overworked, ask yourself, what are your priorities?  And where do you need to give?  There's always give, if you just let go of "busy" for one moment.  Because at the end of the day, at the end of this wonderful run of life, "busy" doesn't mean jack shit.

Loading...Please Wait

FREEEEEEEDOM!!!! 

Doing my best Mel Gibson/Braveheart imitation there.

I'm alone.  Only because there is a boy child out in the garage playing with a welder.

Mom of the year.

Hubby is recuperated enough to get back on the road.  Dear sweet man that he is.

When you are used to having five days a week alone, a three week stretch of a second male in the house can start to make your eye twitch.  Granted, there were the up sides, like asking him to pick up groceries for me, or taking care of cleaning chores while I was at work.  And the pipes DID freeze, leaving him to deal with that headache all day while I was behind locked doors at the store stocking and playing. 

But routine was disrupted.  Loud music could not be played.  Curtains were closed, blocking the sun.  Throw pillows were drooled on.  Dirty spoons were left on the counter next to the sink.  I tripped over shoes. 

But the man kept my supply of Coca Cola going for the Jack, so he's obviously a keeper.

More TV was watched than normal, and in this house, that means your choice of what's on Netflix, Amazon, or Hulu.  And hubby discovered quickly how incredibly craptastic our DSL service is.  There were occasions, when it felt like the good old days of dial up were quicker than what we had.  I started seeing "Loading...Please Wait" more than any program or movie were were attempting to watch.  It became commonplace to just give up and go read a book, which in my head, is always a winning situation anyway.  However, occasionally, I was actually interested in what was being watched, and the "Loading...Please Wait" became the giant fuck you of the day.

I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and may attempt to watch something on it.  I haven't used it for much more than Facebook and reading books, which kind of defeats the purpose of a Fire, so perhaps I will enjoy some interruption free viewing on it.  Especially now that I have a living room couch to myself, and nothing but piles of laundry facing my day.

As I was perusing Facebook this morning, I saw our President is making a stop in an area town to discuss making high speed internet available everywhere.  I found this funny, considering the movie I had just given up on last night.  The interruptions were so frequent, I began timing them for entertainment.  I'd get two minutes of watching and three minutes of loading, so that the 90+ minutes I was facing could easily have turned into an all nighter.  And it occurred to me...if the man is concerned about high speed internet, especially in rural areas, he might want to come hang out at my house.  We will pick a nice program on Hulu and watch that sucker jump, freeze, and have seizures for 40 minutes.  Then we can discuss high speed internet.  But alas, he has chosen a town that has some of the highest speed internet you'll ever see.  What is a gigabit, anyway?

So that's my deep thought of the day.  Internet speed.  And, I suppose, the fact that I'm the cheap fucker who refuses to pay for satellite service, internet or TV.  I have the opportunity for these deep thoughts, because once again, I'm alone in the house.  At least until my son burns down the garage.

Time to Pay

I am enjoying my first "normal" morning in over three weeks.  Round two of espresso sits steaming in front of me, my favorite playlist is blasting from the speakers, and I find myself A-L-O-N-E.

Alone.  What a glorious word.  I'm sure there are some, who perhaps love to wallow in misery, would find such a statement horrendous and inconceivable.  But, considering the state of my affairs, I am embracing this solitude, and were it a physical thing, I would wrap my arms around it and squeeze the shit out it and never let go.

I NEED my solitude.  That moment of turning up the volume because there's no one else to care (other than a FatBastard lounging somewhere in this ice box of a house).  And when I don't have that solitude, when the house bustles with activity, I tend to go slightly insane.  I don't even notice the insanity slowly creeping up on me, until I start waking in the morning with that dull, familiar ache in my face.  The sore spots, just to the front of my ears.  The incessant clenching of the jaw that I am not even aware I do, until my face is aching like a dull throbbing tooth.  Thankfully, I don't grind my teeth, just a constant clench that results in an ache eerily similar to a too long session in a dentist chair.

The holidays brought a girl child home.  Though at 20, I suppose I cannot call her a child anymore.  But does a grown woman actually leave bobby pins in the shower?  Does an adult borrow her mother's super duper (and expensive) hairspray and then leave it in her room?  Would a grown woman actually let her mother search every basket, cubby, and hidey hole in the bathroom looking for said hairspray while she sleeps the peaceful slumber of the innocent?

On the flipside, I enjoyed having another female in the house again, because being outnumbered can wear on a person.  She was my partner in trashy TV, overruling the need for movies that involve machetes, wannabe cowgirls, and fast cars.  She gave me a "look" each time we heard a strange noise emitting from the boy cave, and was my partner in the rolling of the eyes.

Now, with her gone, I'm left with a scattering of bobby pins, and an ever growing accumulation of boy mess.

I suppose the mess is not helped by my lack of participation in all things considered "home".  There was absolutely no Suzy Homemaker to be found through my bout with that lovely plague that invaded, and by the time I started to feel even vaguely human, it was time to dive head first into a work obsession like no other.  As long as the espresso beans kept flowing, I was considering my job at home complete.  No laundry has been touched, my refrigerator is a condiment buffet, and Christmas decorations still sparkle in every corner.

Though the sparkle is dulled by the accumulating dust.

So, in my solitude this morning, I see the bins sitting near the back door.

The Christmas bins.

Waiting to be filled.

Sigh.

After five days of purge and rebirth at the store, I am in a purge state of mind.  A state of mind that says TOSS IT ALL.  Start over from scratch.  Which is of course, ludicrous considering the deep love affair I have with so much of my Christmas decorations.  But it doesn't even stop at the Christmas decor.  I look around and think maybe minimalist is the way to go.  After all, do I really need a collection of candles and candle holders that could light up the entire six square blocks of this town?  The faux flowers in vases are nothing more than collectors of dust and cobwebs, and considering my aversion to dusting, it's pretty silly that I hang on to such things.

I know it's just the whiner in me, because once I start getting all things holly jolly stored away, I will relish putting my house back together to it's original state.  But considering the arctic blast zone going on outside, I may just leave a few sparkly things in place.

I'll know when I start.  Which doesn't appear to be happening any time soon.  Because goddammit, I finally have some solitude, and it seems such a waste to blow these hours actually doing something akin to work.

Rudolph is mocking me.  Cheeky little bastard.  Maybe I'll brave the elements and punt his ass out the door.

Maybe I'll just continue to sit my ass on this chair enjoying that quickly cooling cup of dark, silky goodness.

I could light a match and burn it all.  At least I'd be warm.

Have I mentioned I'm allergic to fake pine?  Yup, I need to go find my long gloves just so I can carefully take every last stupid ornament off the tree.  Unless I'd like to look like I have welts up to my shoulders.

Burn it.

Burn it all.

Perhaps some Nine Inch Nails will be the proper motivational music to get this chore underway.

Perhaps I should stop rambling like a fool on this blog and find out.

Perhaps.

Starting Fresh

A new beginning.  A fresh start.  An untouched page on a brand new calendar.  Exciting, isn't it?  The endless possibilities for the year are just waiting for me to grab them.

I'm not a resolution maker.  I never have been.  However, I love the start of a new year.  Something about filling in the desk calendar, turning those pages writing in the notes and reminders I already have for the coming months just seems to build the anticipation for what's to come.

Fortunately, the new desk calendar came early this year.  Because I was not aware of the New Year holiday.  Even today, when we're seven days into the year, I'm still having to look at the calendar to determine what date to write.

The blur of the holidays ended and in my endless planning and organizing, I made mental notes to scrap and toss several preparations that after the fact, seemed to be time sucking joy stealers.  It was a lovely holiday, but I was also glad to close the chapter because I was just so stinking tired.  Perhaps it was a hint of what was approaching.

The flu.

I've managed to escape any illnesses for a few years now.  I've had the occasional cold, or my ever present migraines have popped up, but actually being down and out is a distant memory.

Well, no more.  By New Year's Eve, I was wrapped in blankets wondering what my name was.  New Year's Day became the day that disappeared, because I have no recollection of it.  I actually called in sick to work which does not happen often in my world, especially with one of our busiest times of the year happening.  I actually considered that maybe I'd get alot of reading done while trapped in a house with a box of Kleenex and then the fever hit, crushing any thoughts of any kind from my brain.

It's a bastard of a virus.

A week into the new year and I'm human again.  Just in time for our fantastically wild sale and restocking of our store.  And lucky me, I find out exactly how much energy that flu zapped from my body when I try to do the normal things.  The typical hauling and moving things around leaves me feeling like I tried to stop a train on it's tracks.  No amount of sleep seems like quite enough, and the usual fits of giggles and laughter make me hack up a lung.

I am a fantastically bitchy and petulant sick person.  Not only does it make me occasionally feel like gouging someone's eyes out, but I also ignore my body and give it a big ol' fuck you and try to make it do what it's normally capable of doing.  And then suffer for it.

So I come home exhausted, to the sick husband.  The sick daughter (who started this little in home epidemic) has left for college again.  The teenage son is the miracle boy who doesn't even have the slightest sniffle.  The house becomes messier.  The Christmas decorations, including a monster tree, still sit.  Mocking me.  Taunting my lack of progress.  Reminding me that 2015 has started with me not having my shit together.

And as the flu makes it's exit, the polar vortex arrives.  Negative temperatures.  Wind chills diving it even further into temperatures that are just inhuman.  Bitter cold becomes a normal conversational phrase.  The drive to work slows down as the roads cover.  Layers upon layers of clothing just to shovel snow while freezing the snot in your nose becomes one of the early morning joys I enjoy.  School cancels.  Work does not.

Piss off 2015.  Just piss off and die.

So, having purged that, there is the bright side.   The little peek of sunshine blinding off the fields of snow.  The rays of happiness that give warmth to the days.

A full propane tank, since the furnace runs non stop to stay ahead of the -30 just outside the windows.

A nose that has stopped peeling, because I've stopped (mostly) blowing.

A mattress heater.  Preheated ovens are fantastic, but a preheated bed is beyond anything you've ever imagined.

Snow shovels.  Shoveling snow while the sun rises will wake you up more than any cup of espresso.

Restocking the store.  All the pretty things.  The bright colors of spring.  Starting fresh and new.

A husband home sick.  So if the pipes freeze, he gets to deal with it.  I've had more than my share of frozen pipes, and it's his turn.

Remote start.  The best part of winter.  Along with the heated seats.  It may be so cold that it feels like my glasses have frozen to my face, but once I'm in the vehicle, it's almost as good as the preheated bed.

Weather so atrocious that you can do nothing but read books.  And more books.  And more books.

So, ending on a high note, there are positives.  I have to search high and low for them right now, but they are there, waiting to be embraced.  I suppose I also should admit that I've been inspired by a fellow blogger who has set a goal to write more.  I had considered tossing this blog, especially when thinking of all the reading I could do instead.  However, there is something therapeutic in writing, and of course, it limbers up the fingers that are half frozen as I drink my cup of quickly cooled espresso this morning.  Perhaps we can motivate each other.

Embrace the new year.  Look for the positives.  It's a resolution worth making.

Just. Shut. Up.

I think the world would benefit from a big old dose of shut the fuck up.

Just.

Shut.

The.

Fuck.

Up.

With this recent creation of the internet, we find ourselves with this new toy that lets us babble on incessantly about all manner of things.  And yes, I say recent, because in the grand scheme of things, this is about as new as that first tickle in the throat that eventually leads to a full blown case of tuberculosis.

What this little toy has allowed us to do, is reach out to a mind boggling number of people across this beautiful world.  You would think with such a fantastic tool at our fingertips, we would be singing from the rooftops while dancing wildly and joyfully.  We could shed the stresses, disappointments, and drudgery of daily life, and reach through that screen and make a difference in someone's world.

Instead, we stand and scream.

We shout about the injustices, the unfairness, the perceived slights, insults, and offenses that enter our very small, personal world.  We complain.  We rage.  We make comparisons to what others have that we don't.  We rail against the world.

We forget humanity.

I am guilty of this myself.  Though I use my internet superpowers for entertainment, I occasionally find myself engaging in conversations that I know better than to touch.  I occasionally think I may be able to put a human, compassionate side to a discussion mired in blame and fueled by anger or bitterness.  Rarely, I may even attempt logic by suggesting that a particular media story is merely one point of view, and that unless personally involved, no one person can say with any certainty what has actually occurred.

And then I shut up. 

I shut up, because the response is always the same.

Be right, at all costs.

Yes, I do believe, with the availability of sharing our opinions the world over, we have become more determined than ever to be right at all costs.  After all, no one wants to chance looking like the "fool" who concedes.  The silly little fluffy head who just stops and says "my opinion is not worth an argument".

Well, I'll take the plunge and say it.

My opinion is not worth an argument.

My opinions, perceived slights, and the injustices of the world are not worth it.  I'd rather look like that silly little fluffy head and just sit here and say nothing.  I'd rather respect the varying voices out there.  I want the world to feel free to speak.

So please, speak.  And then, shut up.  Because what happens when you stop yapping, and stop caring about always being right, is you start to listen.  And you don't just listen, but you HEAR.  You hear how others are feeling, and as much as it might go against the grain of what you yourself are feeling, you are reaching your hand out to someone and saying "you are important enough for me to hear you".  No one has to be right, and no one has to be wrong.  But everyone should be heard.  And at some point, everyone needs to know when it's time to just stop putting the need to be right, your own personal, selfish need to be heard, away.  Yes, you CAN stop talking.  Even if you feel another isn't "getting it", or just does not understand where you are coming from.  Because being human toward one another supersedes all of our own selfish needs.  Conversations CAN just end with a "let's agree to disagree" and walking away with a respect for one another's differences.

Respect our differences.

Shut up.

Listen.

Learn when to walk away.

And walk away with a handshake.  Or preferably, a hug.

Get over the incessant need to be the "right" one.

 It's December, and my favorite holiday approaches.  I don't love Christmas for any one thing.  I love it for the outpouring of joy, the spirit, the essence, of family, love, appreciation of all the good in my world.  I adore it for the sparkles, the food, the traditions of old, and the traditions of new.  Of coming together, taking that moment in a busy world, and saying through voice, song, and actions, that "hey, YOU matter to me, and thank you for being a part of my world".   I don't just celebrate within my home, but within my heart, and with all who have entered my life and left small pieces of themselves along the way.  It is a celebration in every sense of the world.

So to log in to social media, and be faced with endless tirades about injustices ranging from the proper time to adorn your house in decorations, to local, national, and world news reports, proper holiday greetings, and general blastings of the ills of the world...well, this kind of brings that spirit to a screeching halt.

And it upsets me.

Why do we choose to concentrate on the negatives?  On being RIGHT about the negatives?  Discuss what you will, but then just STOP.  Move on.  Find happiness.  Rejoice in being alive and able to share yourself with a spectacular world that can be viewed by ignoring the endless news stories, and exploring beauty instead.

If you must continue, don't wonder why you are always worrying, unhappy, stressed out, and wondering why you just can't seem to have a "good day".  Because let me tell you, as someone who rarely gets involved in the fearmongering, lambasting, and complaining about the world, I can positively say it will bring you down and attempt to drown you.

Just shut the fuck up.

You can not have my joy.  You are not allowed to strip me of my sparkle.  I'd rather shut up.  I'd rather listen.  I want to HEAR.

And if necessary, I'll just delete your ass from my world because you're sucking the life out of me.

Distracted Much?

Tonight is definitely a meditation night.  I typically do a smidge of quiet nothing time every night, but I think I may have to work harder at it this evening.

Not to sound like an ungrateful hag, but I'm on a roll today, even with everything trying to smack me back down.

My espresso maker died an agonizing death on Sunday, and after the brief panic attack, I calmly ordered another one and decided to get out that french press collecting dust while I wait for it to arrive.

Espresso is disgusting in a french press.  I suppose there are some out there who love those little contraptions, and if it were for coffee consumption, I suppose I could see the appeal.  However, this is not measly coffee, this is ESPRESSO.  And I take mine like tar that could be slapped on a roof.  I could add even more grinds to the french press to go for a darker brew, but I'm already throwing twice the amount in the glass than what goes in an espresso machine.  And it's such a boring cup of good morning.  I've considered just spooning the sludge out of the bottom and eating it like a bowl of Cream of Wheat, but I only have one more morning of this hell before the new machine arrives.  Plus, as finely as I grind my beans, I'm confident that now amount of tooth brushing could remove those little things from my teeth were I to actually get desperate enough to eat them.

The demise of the espresso machine also means there is not the travel cup filled for my morning at work.  I'm actually making coffee.  And drinking it.  I'm not big on coffee, having been an espresso whore for too long to remember.  Plus, coffee is much more acidic than espresso, and well, honestly, if you are not an espresso fiend, you just will NOT understand.

Blech

 

Despite forgetting my belt, and finding myself changing out of workout clothes at work with pants that can not go without a belt, I managed to muddle through the day.  I actually did not get alot of my chosen work done, since there's that little thing called clients and customers, but all in all, it was a good day.  Even with temperatures ranging in the 20's, after a day of 50's and windows open just 24 hours previously.  Even waking up to snow flurries.

Though cold weather normally makes me think of things like hibernating, it invigorated me today.  I arrived home and started chopping and dicing, cooking up a new recipe though I seem to be the only person living in this house this evening.  I cleaned a bit, did some laundry, enjoyed a new soup, and even took out the trash in the bitter wind.  I hate the thought of a large trash can next to the house, which means ours sits near our property line through the back yard.  Not acres, but a fair sized yard, and it seems even larger when you realize you still have flip flops sitting at the back door for those quick runs outside.  My toes are still frozen into little blocks of ice.

Perhaps that was a little jolt that seemed to wake me up even more.  Because even though it's nearing 8:00 pm, I'm considering cleaning out my closets.  Again.  It would be the 3rd time since I packed away summer things, but now that cold weather seems to be here to stay, I feel like I can let go of a few more things that probably won't get touched this year.

However, what I really need to be doing is reading the book for our Book Club this month.  Our meeting is next week and I have not touched it.  I suppose I will have to bargain with myself, as I seem to be more motivated when I offer myself a reward.   And this month, the reward is huge, because today, my new Stephen King book arrived and everything I've seen about it says scary, scary, scary.  But no, I can not pick up that divine little morsel until I get this club selection read.  Bad girl, do as you are told.

I had another random thought that since temps have plummeted and we're lucky to hit 30 degrees, it could be kind of fun to start getting the holiday and winter decorations out.  There are already icicles showing up outside, so why not have them draped over everything inside as well?  It did not help that I took advantage of warm weather yesterday and draped the outside of the house in pine garlands, wreaths, trees, bows, and ornaments.  Yes, yes, stop your foolish ranting about it being too early in November.  And I will try not to laugh when your fingers are going numb trying to put up one single strand of lights.  Since I don't cover my house in lights, inflated snowmen, or candy canes, it actually looks pretty appropriate for what feels like winter but is technically still fall.  Also, I had neighbors gossiping when I put up fall decorations in September (acting as if that was actually too early), so I figure this will really give them something to talk about.

Kiss my ass.

Along with the espresso maker deciding to take a shit on me, I reached for my hand lotion after washing up pots and pans tonight and felt like crying.  My little pot of Lush Handy Guguru is nearly empty.  I've doled that luscious little cream out sparingly, but alas, it is about to disappear on me.  A simple solution would be to order some more, but I've been trying to not purchase anything but necessities and holiday preparations and gifts.  Another moment of telling the too-soon-holiday whiners to shut up.  I'll be relaxing the weeks before Christmas while others are stressing out, so don't question my madness.  But, back to the Guguru...if you have never tried it, you have no idea what you are missing.  Best.  Lotion.  Ever.  And nearly gone.  I'm sad.

Crying.

 

Only for a brief moment, because my mind has already wandered off to closets and bins of Christmas decorations.

Shut up.

I need to meditate.

Om.

Ho Ho Ho

I'm playing Christmas music.  It's November 6th, and I AM PLAYING CHRISTMAS MUSIC.

The main purpose is to get my fingers typing more than the Jack Daniels did.  But also, it's beautiful music.  It's cold here, there's snow in the forecast, and I like ham more than turkey.

Yes, there's another holiday shoved in there called Turkey Lurkey Day, aka Thanksgiving.  For alot of households, that means eating like a glutton while gathered with family or friends.  It also means, for many, injecting caffeine straight into an artery to stay awake for doorbuster sales and shopping frenzies into the wee hours of the following morning.

I am not a fan of Black Friday shopping.  I went once, a very long time ago, when Black Friday was still actually on Friday and just meant getting out of bed at 5:00am to shop.  Now, with stores fighting to open during dinner hours on Thanksgiving day, I just shake my head in disgust and move on.

I see alot of outrage and rants on social media over Christmas appearing in the stores, advertisements, TV programming, and various other places.  True to spirit of social media, people climb up on a soapbox to scream to the rooftops, but that's about as far as it goes.

I work in a store that has Christmas items for sale from mid-July to December.  MID-JULY.  Middle of summer, with plenty of holidays prior to the season of Ho Ho Ho, but I can tell you it has given me a new perspective on this whole too-early Christmas thing.

First of all, retailers are in business to make money.  Kind of a DUH moment there, but it obviously needs to be said with all this whining that is going on.  Every square inch of a retail space is potential dollars earned.  And no retailer (unless they're just craptastic at their job and are running the business into the ground) will EVER waste space on merchandise that does not sell.

Let me repeat that again to make it very clear and in much simpler terms.

No store will waste space on Christmas merchandise if it does not sell.

And even more simply put, if the consumer is not buying it, the retailer will not stock it.

This means, when you see Christmas merchandise on the shelves on November 1st, people are buying it.  I know this from years of experience.  Years of selling Christmas items in July, even more in August, an increase in September, and oodles of it by October.  Our Christmas merchandise sales don't slow down until December.  And with the little amount of space we have, and massive amounts of merchandise coming through our doors, we are in  business to maximize our turnover at a very fast pace.  We would not waste the space if it was not a fantastic seller.  No retailer would.

If "blame" is to be placed, blame the consumer who cannot resist buying a snowman in August.  Blame the Christmas shopper trying to get decorating purchases out of the way as soon as Trick or Treating is finished.  But don't blame the retailer for doing their job.  They are providing the supply to meet the demand. 

The same goes for Black Friday.  I really dislike the greed involved with Black Friday shopping for very personal reasons.  I have only had two (I think, no more than 3) Thanksgiving dinners with my immediate family in the last 20 years.  Let me just emphasize that.  (and we'll be generous and go with 3)  THREE DINNERS IN 20 YEARS.  Yes, there have been Thanksgiving dinners nearly every year, but there's been an absence felt nearly every year.  I have an older brother that works for a major retailer.  I'll be nice and not call out this major retailer by name, but let's just say that their disgusting lineup for tickets to the hottest electronic item to ever hit the earth has inched back by hours over the years, and now it's on Thanksgiving Day, with many people lining up before a turkey is even put in the oven.  And even though this brother (and there's only three of us, so it's not like we don't notice a sibling is gone) is in management for this major retailer, and would normally never be standing at a register, he works every damn Black Friday.  In recent history (thinking back the last 10 years), he has made it home for Thanksgiving dinner ONCE, and we might as well have jumped ahead a holiday and called it a damn Christmas miracle.  You would think we could just move the dinner to the weekend, but oh hell no, the greed may start on Thanksgiving, but it pulls a marathon into the weekend and he can't get a day off to save his life until after New Years.  Thank god this corporate pig closes on Christmas Day, or we would be celebrating all our winter holiday's with him sometime around Memorial Day (though they do a huge Memorial Day sale too, I'm sure).

However, as much as I dislike Black Friday, I understand that once again, retailers are meeting demand.  Last year was the first year we saw more retailers joining the Thanksgiving Day trend, and it didn't bomb as it should have.  With all the outcries, a person would expect such a strategy to be a dismal failure.

But no, sales were just as successful as prior years.  People still lined up, probably still had crumbs of homemade rolls on their shirts, and pumpkin pie smears on their cheeks, but dammit, give me that $5 crock pot that's going to end up at Goodwill by April goddammit.

Again, should we be blaming retailers here, or the idgit slapping down the cash at 6PM Thanksgiving Day with a full belly?

In addition, the appearance of Christmas in the stores, or Black Friday shopping, or Christmas carols playing on a radio really have no bearing on Thanksgiving.  If Thanksgiving is important to you, then seeing all this tinsel or hearing Silent Night will not take away that experience.  You are still free to decorate your house in pilgrims, cornucopias, and turkeys made out of construction paper traced around a child's hand.  You can still spend two days cooking, put on some stretchy pants, and relax to the sounds of snoring and a football game.  You can CHOOSE to not participate in the greed of consumers everywhere.  Not everyone will resist, and THAT is why you see what you see, and hear what you hear.

I will put up my Christmas decorations soon.  We started hosting Christmas Day in our home a couple years ago, and I have found that getting the decorating done early allows me to enjoy the holiday more.  Christmas is my favorite holiday, because it is magical for me.  I refuse to let it be a stressful time, and I alleviate that potential for stress by decorating before Thanksgiving, having shopping completed by December 1st, everything wrapped and ready by the middle of December, and nothing but cooking and baking to do the week before the holiday. 

This does not negate the importance of Thanksgiving to me.  It is still a family holiday.  I still look forward to gathering for a meal.  I adore spending time with my family, because they are the most important people in my life.  Making early preparations for the following holiday does not take away from that.  No matter how much Christmas anything is shoved down my throat prior to Turkey Lurkey Day, it is still a wonderful holiday filled with love, because I CHOOSE to make it that way.  The external factors of greed are just that...external.  My brother, who I miss sitting at that family dinner table, knows we love and want him there, but also knows his employer has not ruined our holiday.  Because his employer does not dictate the love and bonds of our family.  They can steal as much of his time as they can get their hands on, but they do not win.

So, the next time you're walking through the store, looking for a tube of Chapstick because those winter winds have already started, and you see that Christmas tree, you have a choice.  Shrug and move on, stop and enjoy, but for the sake of all that is holy, don't let it bring you down.  It really isn't THAT important in the grand scheme of things.

Buy some chocolate and enjoy.  After all, along with that Christmas tree, there's a better selection of chocolates in the stores too.