Monthly Archives: August 2014

HUGE Giveaway this Friday!

Fernanda's Choice

two words. white hot  || The 9 Best Outfits We've Seen In A LONG Time via @WhoWhatWear

Hi my beautiful bloggers out there!

To be honest when I started blogging I did it because I have been wanting to write, encourage women all over the world and make them feel you are special and beautiful in your own way.. I have been having so much love that I need to thank all of you for that. So Today I am celebrating my 100th post, reaching the most amount of views since I started blogging and also the fact that I have received the best response from you.

I am doing a Fashion Giveaway for this Friday 29th.

I will be  selecting one of my followers and the only thing you have to do is reblog this post and follow me.

To the winner:

I will be sending the winner an outfit, makeup goodies, accessories and a special mention on my blog so all my followers can…

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It’s not Fair

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I’ve been reading the book “Irritating the Ones You Love”, by Jeff Auerbach.  My therapist suggested it, and for anyone looking for the reasons why certain things seem to set you off when others just shrug it off, this is a good book for you.  The premise of this book suggests that each of us has “jars” that open when something is said or done that affected us a young age.  This blog is not about the book as much as it about one of my jars.

The fairness jar.

I’ve discovered that I’m sent into a tail spin when I feel that a certain situation is not fair.  Having this jar has me in a constant struggle with others for no good reason.  After all, they most likely don’t have that jar.  I’m finding that the lid to that jar is open on a regular basis.  For instance, I get really upset when sitting in traffic because a road merges due to some kind of construction and another car buzzes along side me and others to get to the front of the line instead of waiting their turn like the rest of us.  It sends me.  Why can’t they just wait in line?  Where’s the fire?

Being passed over for a position at work.  Being fully qualified for that position, it goes outside of the workplace and I feel dejected.  I’m guessing that would bother anybody, but for me I dwell for days.  Months.  I can’t let it go.

Just recently I purchased food for a going away party for some co-workers leaving for new adventures.  I’m speaking specifically about  buffalo chicken dip, which I absolutely love.  It comes in two containers, and the first container is devoured by the time I leave work.  There are still a few hours left for the rest of my co-workers, but I realize no one but myself and another person are eating the dip.  Fast forward to the next day, late morning.  Getting kinda hungry and open the fridge in search of a treat.  The other container is gone.  What?  Nobody but me and one other person was eating it.  That person is not on the premises at the present.  This person took my dip after I left and ate it.  The dip that I PURCHASED.  No money was offered for my purchases which came to about $43.00.  I don’t have a problem with that IF nobody takes advantage of something that they didn’t pay for or even offer to pay for.  I’m hoping I don’t get fired today, because I really wanna go ballistic on this person, and I’m having trouble channeling my anger into anything other than a full on rant via steelgraeglamour.

It’s not fair.

I struggle with the fact that I give my husband anything that he asks for, yet he withholds affection from me.  It makes me sad but more than that, IT’S NOT FAIR!

I’m gonna try to get a grip on this damn fairness jar, after all if nothing else it would benefit my stress level to get a grip and calm the fuck down and understand that my issues may be bigger than they should be.  After all they are MY issues.  I’ll calmly ask the buffalo chicken dip eating fucking asshole if he decided to save me a taste, a smidgen of hot spicy goodness.  When he replies that he consumed every last fucking drop, I’ll take a deep breath and walk outside.  Look at the scenery and realize that life is good and that this little chicken chunk bump in the spicy buffalo chicken dip road is over and tomorrow is another day.

But it’s not fair.

 


Put a Little Smile on the Saddest Faces

I feel compelled to write something about the recent tragedy in the death of Robin Williams.  Although the cause of death has not been determined, most accounts point to suicide.

My first reaction to the news was that of complete and utter sadness.  Obviously I’d never met the man, but I had always enjoyed his comedy as well as acting.  He’d always seemed on top of the world.  But then again looks are deceiving, aren’t they?

It’s hard to believe with all the money and possible opportunities for therapeutic intervention that somebody as well known as Robin could still fall prey to the evils of severe depression.  But yet we now know it’s sadly very believable.

Having gone through severe depression myself, I feel like I have a kind of compassion for his struggles, maybe more so than someone who has never experienced depression.  I’ve spoken with people who have had a loved one commit suicide and they were mad that the person who died didn’t think of anyone but themselves.  But what they don’t understand is that depression makes you go inside yourself.  It takes you to a place where you CAN’T think of anyone or anything else.  It’s not a choice.

IT’S NOT A CHOICE.

Who would choose to feel such sadness and pain that it becomes unbearable?  My guess would be very few.  Sometimes you get so deep inside yourself that you’ve reached the point of no return.  And nobody knows it but you.  You truly won’t know how deep someone has gone unless they ask for help.  Honestly, depression has no sympathy for the cause.  Depression will stop you from asking anyone for anything.  It sets up walls and those walls are made up of all the hurt and frustration and sadness that you’ve felt in your life.  They get thicker and thicker until they’re almost unbreakable.  Those of us who were able to find a way to  break down the barriers don’t consider ourselves out of the woods.  We realize that at any given time, if we feed into our depression, the walls will come back up even faster than before.  We are cognizant of the fact that it’s an everyday struggle, but we’ve seen the worst and we’ve seen it get better, and we strive for happiness, or our interpretation of what happiness can look like for us.

You never really know what goes on in somebody’s brain.  Their life appears to be perfect, or our interpretation of what perfect might look like.  Robin Williams appeared to have everything, but in the end he wasn’t able to find what he needed.

Something good always comes from something bad, and if his death brings more insight into severe depression, I’m guessing he would be pleased, if nothing else.

To Robin Williams, wherever you may be:


Fake Smiles

I heard Taylor Swift sing this song a few (6) years ago and was instantly drawn to the lyrics.  At first I thought about my son and some of the troubles he was going through, but a friend just reminded me today about the perception of a smile.  More to the point, a fake smile.

I posted a picture of myself and my husband over the weekend, and needless to say got a lot of “likes” on Facebook and Instagram.  The perceived notion that we were happy was evident.  I mean, we look happy in the picture, so we must be, right?

These days we can edit the shit out of our pictures, covering up our flaws and making an ordinary pictures look extraordinary.  I honestly tried to edit that last sentence, removing shit, but guess what?  There’s no other word I can put in there that means as much.  Sorry.

I’ve been guilty of editing my pictures to appear to be entirely different than they started out.  I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe they are very photogenic, so it takes me quite some time to play around with my pics, insuring that they have the right shadow, fade and coloring to do the impossible – make me look good.

My friend commented on the picture that I posted stating that she thought myself and my husband looked happy.  That was not the case.  We weren’t happy or unhappy.  We just were.  We are.  We exist. 

So how then is it possible to edit your life to appear happy?  Can you fake smile your way through life, making people actually believe that you’re something you’re not?  Apparently it IS possible. Who knew that I have a filter button on my life, and pressing that lil sucker in sends a message that is actually believable?  I’m guessing that my husband has that same filter button, and it’s still working after all these years. 

I remember an acquaintance of mine was at the same wedding as I, getting a drink at the bar when we struck up a conversation.  I had been having an argument with my husband earlier, and I guess it spilled into my evening/conversation with her.  She acted surprised as I spoke about splitting up, not being happy.  Her reply, “Really?  I thought you were like Barbie and Ken, perfect for each other”. 

Barbie and Ken?  Okay, she’s kind referring to our appearance a bit.  Myself with a slight 80’s hairstyle, never really letting it go completely, and my husband with his rugged good looks and pleasant demeanor.  But she was also speaking about our appearance of being perfectly in love, whenever she had seen us out. 

My mother used to tell me, “don’t show your ass in public”, and all that really means is that you don’t air your dirty laundry for other people to see.  Sorry mom, if you’re reading this, it’s mostly for perfect strangers to read, as I don’t make a habit of telling friends with about this blog. 

So I don’t show my broken heart in public.  I don’t let anyone see my pain.  Friends get to hear me complain, sure. 

It seems I’m tied together with a smile, but I’m coming undone. 


Walking on Broken Glass

I live my life through music, and when my day is a royal mess, inevitably I hear a song that pertains to that mess.  Honestly, I think I’m living one incredibly long movie, and every now and then my personal music supervisor (God) throws in a nice little tune that seems to go along with my life.

Such was the case yesterday.  I have this ability to forgive and hope for the best.  Especially when it comes to my husband.  I think this is my first post about my husband, but he’s a big reason I am the way I am.  He knows just how to push my buttons, mostly the bad buttons.  He knows how to pull at my heart-strings and put me in my place.  He knows my strengths and weaknesses and uses that to his advantage on a daily basis.  A long time ago, I made the mistake of filling him in on my weaknesses.  I felt vulnerable and thought it would be a good thing if he really knew me, heart and soul.  Years later, I’m finding this to be a huge impropriety.  A mistake that I live with on a daily basis.  I don’t blame him, mostly because I try to see the good in almost everyone, including him.  For the most part that’s a good trait, but when it comes to my husband, it’s a death sentence.  I tend to over exaggerate a little, but yesterday it was a death sentence.

My son is away on vacation and that leaves myself and my significantly fucked up “other” alone together.  Being the forgiving person that I am, I decide we should spend the day with each other.  First mistake.  To start off, my husband isn’t a conversationalist.  He prefers quiet to any kind of conversation.  Ever.  Being a mostly talkative woman, that’s a problem for me.  I actually like to chat with people.  I think I have a lot to bring to the conversation, and it’s fun engaging with another person.  I don’t think I’m alone in that idea.

I rush to get ready because we’re going to a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball game.  I’m excited as usual as it’s always a fun time.  But not this time.  We have very little conversation in the car on the way to the game, which is about a 45 minute drive.  He doesn’t like to converse and drive.  We find a parking spot and off we go.  I’m still excited because I don’t ever start out with doom and gloom.  I should, but I don’t.  We eat at the famous Primantis and I want my husband to have a beer.  He opts for an I.C. Light and I reluctantly give in.  I want the good stuff, aka Stella Artois or something similar, so I stop and grab myself a Blue Moon for the walk to our seats.  Good seats come with a good price….$140.00  Primanti’s sandwich, fries and Light beer, $28.00.  Yee hawwww, this is gonna be fun.

Not.

After eating and missing the only 2 runs scored the entire game, we make our way to our seats.  Sitting in the middle of the row is rather annoying, but we survive.  The game is decent and I’m lucky enough not to be sitting next to anyone smelly.  There’s a cute little girl sitting on her daddy’s lap behind me asking all kinds of silly questions with her tiny, petite voice.  In front of me is a young couple, chatting and laughing together as if they really love each other’s company.

As I look around the section, I see people coming and going, laughing, taking and eating.  It’s a fun atmosphere.

And then there’s me and Dave.  Blah.

We don’t talk.  I think he might have said more to the man sitting next to him than to me the whole entire game.  And believe me, that wasn’t much either.

I ask him if he’d like to go on a “pee run” and grab another beer.  Being in the middle of the row poses a problem for Dave and he’d rather wait 2.5 more innings to get up.  What’s the significance of that number?  I don’t know.  We finally leave our seats and venture up to the concession area, relieve ourselves and Dave announces he’d like an ice cream. Really?  Not a beer?  Nope.  I’m welcome to get one, but he’s not drinking one.  I cave and get an ice cream, but I’m not happy.  I would really prefer a cold citrus-flavored Blue Moon, but who wants to drink alone?

This is the story of my life.  I give in and do whatever my husband would like.  I’ve done it for years and years.  I’m not happy and he gets whatever he wants.  When I comment to him that I’m not happy, he never has the same reply back.  Who would?  If you get everything you want, generally you’re a happy person with a happy life.  I’m guessing of course, I wouldn’t know.

And so on the way home from the game, once again quiet as all hell, I decide to channel surf for a good song.  Yes, I know what you’re gonna say….”why do you still listen to the radio”?  I just do, okay?  I find a song I can sing to, cause I have to constantly be singing and seeing as there’s no conversation to be had, I might as well fill up that empty space with song.  What’s the song?  Annie Lennox, Walking on Broken Glass.  There’s a couple of lines that resonate with me like nobody’s business:  “I’m living in an empty room, with all the windows smashed”.  Think of the depth of those couple of words, because it describes my life to a “T”.  I feel like my life is empty, but not just empty, I’ve got some smashed windows as well.  Picture me walking around an empty room barefoot, wind coming in through the jagged panes of glass while my feet are scarred from the broken glass.

I listen to this song about 5 times yesterday and decide that I need to write about it.  Write about my dilemma, my empty life and what it feels like to walk on broken glass.