women vs men - today's assessment only

This is not going to endear me to anyone...especially most women out there.  Tomorrow, I may feel differently and I won't doubt that change in emotional connection with my fellow human.  But today I'm hurt. Today, I remember why I've alway kept myself removed from most groups.

I don't like women.

For the most part - women are bitchy and back stabbing.

Yes, yes, I know...they can also be kind, loving, generous, supportive and dependable.

But God forbid, cross one, or let her think she's been crossed and out come the claws.

Men are not like that - and that is why I have always surrounded myself with male friends.  Even the gays one weren't nearly as backstabbing and bitchy as most of the women I've known.

This isn't the case with all women.  Believe me, I'm not trying to make this black or white.  There have been a few women who have stood by me - through thick and thin - dating, marriage, divorce, and single parenthood.  These women I can count on one hand.  Precisely two fingers.

We (women) expect other women to stay in our lives forever.  Sisterhood and all that crap.  So, when you have a falling out with your "sister" it's entirely devastating.  You cry, you throw things and you swear you will never trust again.  When I've had a falling out with a male friend...oh wait...I haven't had one.  Sorry.  My mistake.  With men, they just gradually disappear from your life...like evolving into their next adventure.  Sometimes the man is there, and sometimes he isn't.  But the bridges are not burned.  Heck, they don't even tend to realized they've drifted away.

Because it's different with men.

If you have a disagreement with a male friend - they don't tend to take it personally.  It's a disagreement for god's sake - not a knife in the heart of your first born.  But women?

No, we tend to get overly emotional whether we want to or not.  It is personal.  It's always personal.  All women know that.  Even when they say it's not - it always is.

I have never been hurt more by another human being as I have been hurt by a female friend.  Funny...even after 23 years of marriage - the pain I felt during the end was only equal to the betrayal of trust I first experience from another woman.

So why is it there are women everywhere who SWEAR by their BFF's? What's with the sisterhood?  Who are these women that take their friends up into their arms to love and protect?

I'm thrilled for all those women out there that have this very circle of females surrounding them.  I'm happy they feel supported.  I'm surprised they feel trust and a blind dependence - but if it works and serves them well, more power to them.

For me?  I've tried.  Repeatedly.  I tried when I was a kid - I tried in high school (and actually found the two that are still in my life and my heart) - I tried in my 20's, my 30's, my 40's.  Nothing. Nada.  they were there when it served them...but when it stopped being good for both parties, they disappeared on me, never to resurface.

The men during these times?  Sure they are also scarce...but I'm comforted in the fact that they didn't disappear because I no longer served a purpose.  They just got caught up in their own worlds and slipped away.  If I were to call, 90% would show up at my door tomorrow.  Of the women from those same years?  I'd venture that less than 40% would show.

Yes...this is a whiny bitch session for one.  I don't expect anyone else to join in or agree with me.  I'm only putting it out there because I've been hurt again.  Not by a man...but by a group of women I called "friend."  I didn't see it coming...as usual...because I trusted them.

I never expect to be coddled, or to have everyone always agree with me.  But I also didn't expect to be shut down because of an assumption.  I didn't expect them to gather together like a band of sharks at the first hint of blood in the water.

I certainly never expected to be as hurt as I am by their words and their assumptions.

And while several other woman have come out and declared their love and support - I accept it with a grain of salt - not because they have hurt me, but because I feel like a wounded animal who is afraid to trust again.

It's a man's world out there...and while it's driven into power by the women - it is managed by the men.  There might be a reason for this...and while the thought of those reasons scare me - I can understand.

A man will lie to your face.  A woman will lie behind your back.

At least you know where you stand with the man.

The Blame Game and being Fat

When I think about what it was like - in my much younger years - to weigh 145, or even 130, I remember I didn't have a care in the world. I was happy, I was active, I was still lazy - but it all didn't matter because I didn't gain weight. I took it all for granted and never thought I'd be where I am today. 

If blame is to be given - I blame pregnancy. I gained over 75 pounds in a very difficult and dangerous pregnancy. It was so bad, both my son and I almost died in the delivery and we were both brought back from the edge of darkness. My husband at the time was terrified. He was truly happy just to have me alive that my weight didn't matter to him. Thin or fat - I was here and I was alive. 

I got even lazier (but only with my weight) about what I ate or did. I was highly active with my son, worked full time and went back to college. In between - I was on stage as a community actor. And I never lost the weight. 

I didn't push because my husband loved me, my son didn't care, and the weight got me parts I'd never gotten before when I was thinner. 

Then...my husband's alcoholism settled in and I was in a position of "fight or flight." I didn't lose the weight then because it was protective - it was something I could hide behind. But then food became comfort and I dove into it like it was a warm soft blanket on a cold winter's day. I wrapped myself up in a protective cocoon of food and didn't care about the damage I was doing to myself. No matter what I did - what my husband was doing was worse. 

Now...I've been divorced for three years, my son turns 17 in 6 days and I'm heavier than I've ever been. 

The excuses have done nothing except allow me to remain fat. 

I've tried diets over the years - plenty of them - and have lost weight only to gain it all back and more. My story is no different than anyone else's. 

So why am I still fat? 

Because I was still hiding. Because to find love again, I'd have to truly care about me. To feel successful and to stop running from the fear that enveloped me for seven years - I need to slow down and realize my life is much better today than it was when I lived in fear with my now "ex" husband. 

The nightmares of that time are finally starting to slip away...I don't fear going into a liquor store like I once did, and I'm not as hateful to the homeless alcoholic on the street corner. I've come away from that time in my life with plenty of battle scars, but they are just that - scars. They are no longer fresh wounds. 

I'm beyond the need to wear those scars proudly - the scars are there, but I don't need to show them off. 

I need to live with them, just as I live with all the other scars I've gathered from just living life. We all have them - mine are no better or no worse than yours. They are what they are. 

No more blame. 

No more hiding. 

No more excuses. 

This time it's for me. The only person it can be for. If I hide, if I seek comfort in food, if I'm lazy - then it's for me this time and not because I'm running or hiding. And if I get off my lazy butt and get moving - then that is for me, too. If I eat better foods, if I don't eat as if I'll never eat again, if I recognize that food is simply a part of life that adds fuel to living...then I am doing it for me.

This time is "me" time. 

I allow myself to do whatever it is that makes me happy. 

I allow myself to take it day to day. 

I allow myself to find me again and fall in love with me.

Rules of the Road

Very simply stated - when you are driving on a highway where there are two lanes on each side, the inside lane is for passing.  Period. It is not the lane for cruising.

It's the law.

Really.

I know. I've looked it up.

State by State - it's the same thing.

Why am I bringing this up?

Because I just finished a road trip and the majority of people out there have no fricken' clue as to the rules of the road.

What drives me nuts? Willful stupidity.  Selfishness. The assumption that everything is created for "you." That "they" owe "you" something.

No. The inside lane is not made for you. No. Just because you are driving speed limit does not authorized you to drive in the inside lane.  No. Just because you are young, old, black, white, brown, rich, poor, - no one owes you squat. There is nothing that allows you to be an ass on the road. Nothing.

So - get the hell out of the inside lane. If you are driving faster than those in the "slow lane" then - and only then - can you go into the "fast lane" to do just that...drive fast. Then when you pass the slower vehicle, pull back into the right lane. That way, when you are driving slower than another person, they have the advantage of going around you.

It's simple.

It's polite.

It's the law.

College Road Trip 101 - Adventure at Reed College

So how did we wind up at a Faculty Christmas party at Reed College in Portland, Oregon?

It wasn't our intent - nor did I budget time for this festive occasion...but obviously the best laid plans are made so they can be changed by forces beyond ones' control.

And so it was as our adventure at Reed College was coming to an end.  We had a wonderful time meeting some of the staff - getting the lowdown on College life in Portland and taking a whirlwind tour of the campus.  We said our goodbyes to the most excellent staff and entered back into the light rain to become one again with our little red Kia.

Stop.  You cannot enter the parking lot.  Some "distraught individual has taken refuge on the campus."  and oh by the way...he has a loaded weapon.

Nice. Distraught and loaded weapon.  What a wonderful combination.

We could see our car.  It was right there. I could almost reach out and touch it. But no. That would have crossed into the "no can be here" zone, so back we went.

The building that we ended back up in at Reed is a long Gothic-looking building with wonderful stone work, bearded face carvings and ivy filling the nooks and crannies of the mortared bricks.  The trees that caress the sides are a combination of oak and redwoods with moss clinging to the bark and some with a feathering of ferns growing from the crooks of branches.  The buildings are celebrating their 100th year of existence with beauty and grace...and a madman somewhere on the east side with a gun.

And there we set.  In a small room with comfy leather chairs sipping tea and cider while munching pretzels and oreos waiting for sanity to prevail.  One by one, the staff donned coats and left the building in pairs until only a handful remained.

Then. The call came.

Join us! We are having our staff Christmas party and, well, since you are stuck here you may as well come enjoy some food and live music...

What?

A Party.

A Distraught Individual.

A loaded gun.

Don't these people read the papers? Shouldn't we be worried? Shouldn't we take cover?  Shouldn't we drop and roll?

Nope.

So we moved to the West side of campus...away from the "activity" and proceeded to meet and greet the Dean and other assorted tenured staff.

We sat at a table with lovely people who really didn't take much of an interest in us until I mentioned that we were REALLY from Alaska.  And as always - the very mention of Alaska opened up an active conversation.  We discussed Moose, fishing, poor hotel choices, and the school districts between Anchorage, Eagle River, Wasilla and Talkeetna.  My usual shyness evaporated and I came alive.

Then - the situation holding our car hostage was lifted.  Just like that. No more concern over loaded weapons. No more despondent male over the holiday season. Joy was restored in Whoville and we departed the campus as if we had just been through a typical college interview.

No harm. No foul. No bloodshed. No bullet holes. No worse for wear.

We were free to go...and somehow, Reed has moved into the #1 position of college choices...

frustration

Sometimes, you just have to get it out.

Sometimes, you can't tell those who are annoying you to stop, or to see your side of it.  Sometimes, if you do then it only makes things worse.

This is one of those times.

I have a vacation planned for December 17 - January 2.  Yes...that is a tad bit more than 2 weeks away from work.  I need it.  I can work on average 60 hours a week.  Sometimes I have worked over a month straight...and yes that includes Saturdays and Sundays.  Now before you get all excited about overtime, etc - understand that I am salary.  I don't get overtime.

I just work.

Rarely, do I take time off.  I can't.  My job just will not allow for it.  I am at the whim of the Government.

I write proposals.  So...when the Government (specifically the military) decides they have a job to be performed on a base somewhere around the world (specifically Operations/Maintenance/Support/Housekeeping/etc) then the company I work for will bid for that job.  It's how we keep afloat.  It's what allows me to actually HAVE a job.  So...I write proposals.

When I started, there were about six of us in my department.  This was 3 years ago.  Now there are 2.  And we do it all.

It is the most stressful job I have ever had in my life.

It is also the highest paying job I've ever had.

As a single mom, this is vital.  I need to live. I need to support myself and my son.  I need, I need, I need.

And so I work.  Constantly.

My last vacation was in 2008.  Prior to that, it was when I quit my job in Alaska and drove to Texas.  I was off work for 3 weeks.

This is my first REAL time off in years.  And I need. Desperately.  I feel as if my ability to hold it together is slipping...and I know I need a break.  If I don't get away, I will snap.  It's inevitable.

But...here's the issue.  We just had 3 major solicitations hit.  All are due within 7 days of each other between January 7 & the 14.  One is HUGE.

And now they are threatening to pull my vacation.

Did I mention I'm in Texas?  Yeah.  They can do that in Texas.  There is no State law governing vacations.  If Texas had it's way, no one would ever take a vacation.  If I push for my time off, they can fire me.  And even though it is not to their advantage to do so...they would probably play that card.

So here I am.

Frustrated.

I already will be - at the very least - working on my vacation.  Though, finding the time will be interesting as it is a major roadtrip.  I will be driving 70% of the time.

And also...it's one of the last (and possibly the last) vacation I take with my son before he leaves for college in 2012.  I can try for another...but financially, that isn't always an option.

So - this is the big one.

And it may not happen.

And there is really nothing I can do about it.

Sometimes...Life just sucks no matter how hard you try to make it all alright and find time for yourself and your family.

Sometimes, I wish I wasn't a single mom.

Sometimes, I just wish....

you and me against the world...

I don't know when it became the two of us. Though...if I think about it, it's been since the very beginning of time.

I remember finding out I was pregnant with Sean.  It was a lifetime ago...and I was so scared.

We'd been trying forever to have a baby.  When I first discovered I was pregnant...the first time...I was over the moon with joy.  My world was complete. I did what every expectant parent is not supposed to do - I told EVERYONE.  We were going to have a baby. We were going to be a family.

Wrong.  I lost the baby Christmas day, 1992.  I had been pregnant less than 8 weeks.  But I already had a baby ornament for the tree.  I still have that ornament...and once a year, I look at it and think about the baby I lost - my first baby - and I mourn what never will be.

So...when Sean came along the following May, I was scared.  More scared than I thought was humanly possible.  I didn't believe the pregnancy tests.  I made the doctor do a blood test - then prove to me why it was correct.  My first ultrasound?  The same thing.  I made her explain everything she saw in the ultrasound that proved I was indeed pregnant and the little peanut shape she was showing me was...indeed...my baby.

Sean was peanut before he was Sean.

As I got comfortable in my pregnancy, the fear started to subside.  After three months, we finally told everyone... cautiously.  I still wasn't sure.  But as time moved forward, I got less scared.

Until November.  Pre-Eclampsia. And I was down on bedrest from my birthday until Sean was delivered January 29, 1994.  Between were almost daily visits by nurses, technicians, and the weekly hospital visit.  They had me terrified that if I moved wrong, I would lose my baby.  Even the delivery severely threatened both our lives.

But we survived.  And I became more protective in life than I ever was during the womb days.

Was this the beginning of Sean and I?  Well, probably.  But I tried to be three.  I really did.  And for a while it worked.

I can't blame Mike.  He tried as best as any new dad could.  But Sean was as close to me as I was to him.  He was always in my arms, or around my legs, or nestled up beside me.  We were almost as inseparable as we were when I was pregnant.  Even trips taken outside to visit family - it was just Sean and I traveling. I don't remember Mike ever joining us on a vacation.

So when it came out that Mike was an alcoholic and we started to fight that horrible demon, Mike retreated into a shell of tequila and gin bottles, while Sean and I gathered together as one.

It was natural.

And it's how we got to where we are today.

Just the two of us.  Who have been through everything together: illnesses, broken bones, emergency room visits, learning to read, learning to ride a bike, death of grandparents, the hell of alcoholism, divorce, and growing into a man.

No matter who has been around - no matter what our family situations - no matter what state we've lived in - it's always been the two of us, hand in hand.

Unconditional love at it's finest.

And the truth is...I need to learn to let go.

My peanut is not mine to hold onto forever.  He is mine to love...but he belongs to himself.  He is the best of unconditional love, but as is true with the finest of loves...they are not meant to last forever.

In a very short year and a half - he will move onto the next chapter in his life...and I will need to move on too.

I love you Peanut.

You and me against the world

It feels like you and me against the world

And for all the times we've cried

I've always felt that God was on our side

And when one of us is gone

And one is left alone to carry on

Then remembering will have to do

Memories alone will get us through

Think about the days of me and you

You and me against the world

Back by popular demand...the story of my first Thanksgiving...

Back in the dark ages of my youth...I was about 20 and had my first "real" job. Well, they gave us a gift certificate at Thanksgiving time "for a turkey." It was really a $25 gift certificate to Safeway - but I thought I had to buy a turkey with it...so I did. It was 1980 and I bought a $25 turkey. 

I was single at the time. 

Didn't dawn on me to give it to a family...no I was going to cook my first turkey for me and my friend! Yeppers! 

So there we are in this tiny apartment kitchen opening this turkey...okay, I remembered my mom sticking her hands in the turkey and taking stuff out...so I did.

GROSS! I thought everything would be in a bag or something - I have no idea why. Then I didn't know what to do with the stuff I took out, so we put it in a dish then stuck it in the fridge. 

Step two. Stuff the turkey. 

Okay. This should be simple enough. We opened the box of Stovetop stuffing and poured it into the turkey cavity. Do you know how much Stovetop stuffing fits in the cavity of a $25 turkey? Lots!!! So we kept filling the cavity until it was full. YEA! Now let's cook the turkey!

It took forever. We thought we were suppose to baste the turkey with it's own juices...but there really wasn't any juice coming out, so we didn't. Somewhere...I probably should have called my mom...but no. I was 20 and living on my own. Why call mom????

Sometime around Christmas I think the turkey finally popped it's little red timer thingy...and so it was done.

Yum! We couldn't wait! 

Did you know you're suppose to let the turkey sit before you slice into it? I didn't. So we fired up the electric knife and butchered the hell out of that turkey. Oops! Forgot to remove the stuffing...I guess we'll just serve it from the turkey...YEA!!! Turkey and Stuffing!!!! WOOHOO!!! Let's eat!!!

Have you ever had cottonmouth? 

Have you ever shoved like an entire pack of crackers into your mouth and tried to chew them and swallow? Have you ever had all your bodies' moisture sucked right out of you?

Yeah. we did. Remember when I said we poured the Stovetop stuffing into the turkey's cavity? Did you know you're supposed to first mix the stuffing with water? 

We didn't. 

Wonder where all that turkey juice went that we were supposed to baste the turkey with? Yep. into the cavity. The wads of dried breading was sucking the literal life juice out of the turkey.

So there we were...CRAVING turkey and dressing with a frickin' huge turkey as dry as the sahara desert surrounded by piles of semi-moist turkey-fied breadcrumbs.

I didn't prepare another Thanksgiving meal until I was in my 40's...