I got a major case of the diabolical dib dabs of the blow hoe and other categorical catastrophes!

I think everything is returning to normal around my house. A new normal. Recently, we had a death in the family, and one displaced mother, and replaced with aunties and uncles and love and heartache and stress galore, and one seriously lost child, and someone ( I’m not naming names) ate all the good Halloween candy like ALL of it. Serious stuff, I tell ya.
I am in need of a bubble bath, back rub, high five to the face, and maybe an extra 12 hours in my days to sleep and struggle as it seems I am destined to do right now.
I am channeling my best Jackie O right now, maintaining dignity in the face of tragedy, and emotional upsets is my game and one day with more valium and booze in my system Jackie shall be thy name! Or well alright fine, organic veggies, chilled water in a recyclable, reusable water bottle, and perhaps some double mint gum, met with fervor and physical and psychological health.

Sunny Side of The Street

I believe in sharing things, I like to share my time, my fun, and myself with others. My best friend and I share a lot more than most women would, or could. I am not an exclusive type in almost any way.

Recently my share and share alike mantra has been rattled. I am not as open, and inclusive as I once was. There are things I believe worth having, but they come at a price too high to bear if you’re so inclined to share.

I recently told a close friend I cannot share something. It felt good at the time, like I was being true to myself. I am at one with my inner and more authentic self. Then my nasty little need to please disease inside me is screaming out for reconsideration!

I will hold steadfastly to my saying “NO”. Good word. No. I like it. I like how it makes me feel free. I said NO to something I usually say yes to. And I think while my need to please disease is screaming out for some relief, and I am sure saying no to this friend may have caused a ripple, or even slight tear in the fabric that weaved us together may end up with someone else liking me less, I may end up liking myself more.

Call me Ishmael, or selfish. This is my story and I am sticking to it.

Not to Put To Fine A Point On It… But I gots me a Bee in My Bonnet.

Ok it keeps coming up, doesn’t it? The topic rears its ugly head all the time. I’m a chunky monkey. Yep I went there. A lot of my nearest and dearest are too. So I feel OK talking about it here. It gets me down sometimes. But it’s out there, waving like jiggly skin on my upper arm, waving to and fro. I wish it didn’t. But it does. My thighs rub together, it’s the first place that show signs of stress when I wear pants. (we are for now, and for the sake of my sanity- leaving my junk in the trunk, or well where it belongs- in the back seat)  I didn’t become this way overnight. I was kind of always here. I remember the first time it was really brought to my attention, I was young. I lived in Texas. I hated it. I hated it. I hated it. A babysitter asked me about a dimple in my shoulder blade, and I didn’t know why it was there. My mom did. She said I had it because I was chubby. And all chubby girls I know and love, and who are so beautiful to me inside and out, just cringed! She said in a very matter of fact tone, like just saying something straight on was the best way to address what had become a rather large elephant in any room I occupied. My poor mother. She’s chubby, too so like sisters of the sword, its ok for her to talk about it. To laugh at it. I laugh about it, and at it all the time. I also cry over it, hide from it, deny it, punish myself for it, and feel deeply shamed by the fact of it. Like, I am less deserving of love, of acceptance, of decent looking clothing. I can’t wear a tank top on Its own, ever. NEVER. I have, and I hated it, and even did about a month ago, once more telling myself it would be OK. OMG it totally wasn’t. And if you love me and are my sister in law with nicely shaped arms and try to talk me into one again when I  am premenstrual and emotional and I am standing inside a Lane Bryant where you are working and you are encouraging me that I will look “HOT” in it. I love you, but at that moment, you must die. PLEASE NOTE: *I would never kill my sweet, adorable, kind, beautiful, elegant sister in law AND she has impeccable taste. * (Liv, you’re the sweetest, and I forgive you for letting me run around park city in your darling necklace and earrings that I have yet to return to you, and will as soon as I remember them and you at the same time when we three are all together and that tank top layered with other tank tops that day!) And since we’re going to talk about her here, you should know… I think she sees me as beautiful and is one of the few who don’t necessarily “see” me in terms of size and probably sees others as the wonderful, complicated, fascinating, dynamic, sexy Chunky Monkey’s they are. And Liv, I love you for it. Please never ever change.  May I please have a pair of your rose colored glasses, girl? You’re fabulous as you are. But, I digress… I cannot wear a tank top, pull off looking even presentable in a bathing suit, and never, and I mean, never can I wear a mini skirt again. I think I maybe could have pulled it off 12 years ago before my knees got chubby! What the hell is that about?  Any other of my beautiful sisters of the sword experiencing the chubby knee syndrome?   I think we’ve all been there, haven’t we girls? You don’t even want to get me started on things no body type should be caught dead in.

Yada, yada, I’m fat. And like most women who are, I have a deep and complicated relationship with everything- but especially food.  I love and hate you. Food. Angelina Jolie has a tattoo on her ribs that says in latin “That which nourishes me, also destroys me”. ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING?! If she’s struggling I may as well follow that chick from that movie Millionaire Baby and get myself a case of oreos and a deep fryer and get off the sidewalk we call life.

Currently I am dieting. And a diet for me includes, well a cookie run, I can’t pretend I didn’t do because I have an eye witness to the event. Paul the Nerd, and my dad were both present for that one. And I also got and should confess to it now, chocolate and nut covered ice cream cones, they’re the Kroger brand. And they’re calling me like a siren beckons a drowning sailor. I do likes me some pirates. Thank You Johnny Depp. So as I digress, which I often do, a friend of mine refers to this speak-ease of mine as stream of Consciousness. I didn’t have any last night. I will tonight, maybe. But I love rice, and all vegetables, and chicken, and every freaking kind of chocolate anything. I love candy. I’m 33 years old and often must stop and get candy. I like popcorn. And Cindy makes this to die for super buttery garlic and parmesan cheese covered popcorn that will make your mouth sore. It’s soooo good. And Tiramisu. And deep fried macaroni and cheese balls from Cheesecake Factory. And Janet, more a friend of a friend who made this chicken and caper and pasta thing, mmmm, mmm,. And her salsa (origination means nothing to me when seeking good salsa). And ice cream. Lifetime Love Affair. I have never married, and if it would humiliate my daughter, but not emotionally scar her, I would totally marry me some ice cream! Hello, Lover, we meet again, and again. And you always give it to me so good. I love it.  I really am serious. Can you imagine the gift registry? Paul the nerd over at Smith’s can help you select my favorite black label toppings, I like my ice the way I DO NOT like my men- dirty and with lots of flavor. Add me some Private Selection butterscotch, and some marshmallow topping, chopped nuts, cherries, fudge packed and fabulous. Btw, Paul I am seriously adding you as a friend on FaceBook. Dude, I dig you for real, and would like to get to know you and your tattoo artist better. And if you’re slurpee loving girlfriend I conjured from my own imagination doesn’t mind, maybe we can hang out and play Mario Kart on the Wii.

 

Speaking of being FAT and that damn Wii! I hate it. Wii Fit told me my physical shape was that of a 62 year old woman! What the hell? It can suck it and die for all I care! Stupid Wii.

I think I am cranky and hungry. It’s lunch time, ladies. I love you but I gotta see a man about some … err right diet, oh who the hell am I kidding, some ice cream!!

Things That Go Bump In The Night- Where my Wild things Are

If you live in my house and are about 3.5 feet tall you can see things that us taller folks cannot. There is a multitude of scary “baddies” that currently reside under the beds, and they seem to disturb our peace right around 8:45 pm. They’re inconsiderate, these “baddies” cannot seem to observe our households’ strict rules regarding bedtimes.
I haven’t had the pleasure myself. But my flock keep me informed of their goings ons, they seem to be somewhat troublesome, and even thirsty late in the night.
Anyone have a “baddie” repellent spray we can try?!
As a result of the current climate under Maxwell’s bed, he finds his way to my bed and night after night we cuddle, we talk about the monsters, and other possible night time troubles, I tell him that they’re not real, he nods his head in agreement, but when sent back to his warm bed comes the inevitable rebuttal from him. Any mommy like me staying up late watching True Blood does privately ask herself, is there something actually under that damn bed? Reason will out, and we are forced to face facts, there is no such thing. Our mothers told us when we were 3.5 feet tall, too.

What Me?! Envy?!

Ever get the sense that all the others out there are leading better lives than you? I just spent a few minutes looking over the neighbors’ fence metaphorically speaking and it seems its true. Everyone else is living a better life than me. Right now as I am typying this I hear the delighted laughter of my 13 year old son. His laugh is one that can’t be faked. And somewhere in my metaphorical neighbors’ house the sound of cool jazz music, and clinking wine glasses is being played like a tum tum on a drum. I can hear pure happiness here, and the whir of the whirlpool dishwasher, the kenmore washing machine on the spin cycle. And the clickety clack that is me, trying to be clever. Pithy even.

I’m going to go see what’s so funny, and I will see all you cooler, better life livers later!

My Girl Tuesday Part 2

My girl Tuesday part 2

 

You know what sucks? I lose things. I lose important things. I am not good at keeping track. I need a 12 step recovery program for being such the loser!

I lose jewelry, credit cards, debit cards, keys, papers, respect.  I have lost children, recently a matter of very public display. I will be sure to thank Abby for that when I get around to getting over it. And I have lost a few loved ones along the way, some never to return, and some not be featured in my story any more, but perhaps out there creating a story of their very own.

You know what I am really NOT good at losing?? Pounds. Weird for the loser in me to keep such great track of those. Just goes to show what a loser I really can be.

 

Currently hoping to locate the following:

Debit card

Sleep

Lip Gloss

Ipod Touch Charger

Time to breathe

A sense of calm

Birth Certificate

My mind.

 

Should you see any or part of any of those items featured here, please put them, and me in your pocket for a time.

 

Much appreciated!

My Girl Tuesday

My Girl Tuesday

Trying to be a better blogger takes time. I want readership, fellowship, to commiserate with souls out there in the ether more like mine. I am an alien in my world- not all of my pieces fit into one place. Most of what I value about myself is celebrated solo. One woman show we could call it “Just Anne” and it would not be enough, and sometimes it would be too damn much even for me.

So my girl Tuesday is here today pushing herself past her recent angst, her recent upsets revealing all that is hard about growing up, and coming to terms with your limitations, your station, your mistakes.

I felt deep shame when I first had to face myself in the mirror, and have felt it again and again as I have traveled on. Shame for what I didn’t provide to my children. . (jury still out on that one) Shame for having bad credit, bad grades, bad hair cuts, Well as I have grown older I have discovered something I thought was pretty remarkable. WE ALL HAVE THAT. Or well, a lot of us do anyway. I’m not such a bad person, after all. I’m normal. What a weird thing to strive for.

And I haven’t been normal one day in my whole life and it’s not about to change now. Not when being the real weirdo I am is finally starting to make sense to me. I’m not your version of weirdo, I am my own.

I get a lot out of pouring myself onto the page, and sharing glimpses of it with you. I wish everyone I knew did this. For the ones who do, I love it.  For those who don’t, I ask you, what are you waiting for? We all have something to share. What if we were all standing in one place, metaphorically speaking, naked.

My Girl Tuesday is about freedom of expression, celebrating our commonality- and “free ballin” with the best of em! Speaking of free ballers, I have to give a gross but awesome shout out to my girl LilBit she never wears panties… must make getting dressed that much faster… don’t really follow the school of no skivvies but I appreciate that she does. I would be particularily interested in seeing her share a note or two. I hope to elevate my blog this nexy year into something cooler, smarter and better. Practice will make it perfect- or as imperfect as me. Either one will be fun.