Category Archives: Uncategorized
The Point of No Return
Life is a journey. It takes us on ups and downs, like a roller coaster. We ride the coaster because there are some good, exciting parts that keeps us going even after we go through the bad parts. Optimism.
Sometimes, the coaster is a drag. It’s slow, it has no exciting parts. You’ve waiting forever for what you thought was going to be a fun time, and it was a dud.
That’s where I’m at right now. I’m on a dud roller coaster. Yes, I’m guilty of continuing to get back on the coaster, knowing full well that it’s boring as hell. There are no adventurous turns. I’m in the dark most of the time. I’ve paid full price to get on the ride. No discounts. There are no refunds. It’s too late. I’m sitting in the seat and there are no seat belts. Hold on, get a good grip, you’re on for the duration.
I have to admit, sometimes I want to jump from the ride mid-stream. I want to get the hell off the ride, not caring where I land or where my mangled body will end up.
Those feelings are getting more frequent.
I think I’ve reached the point of no return. The fear of what will happen after I jump is not as bad as sticking with the boring ride. It’s getting to that point.
I’m listening to Nina Simone, Feeling Good.
Greed Will Previal
I get the opportunity, every once in a great while, to voice my opinion to my husband. It doesn’t mean he’s gonna listen or care, but I still feel like it’s worth while to speak my mind on an irrelevant matter. It’s irrelevant because no matter what I say, he’ll do what he wants. But that’s a completely different subject, if not an entire new and “exclusive to him” blog.
I think we find out new things about ourselves on a daily basis. It could be something as small as a need for an organized junk drawer to something as large as changing career direction. I have realized, and to be honest just within the past year or so, that I like having Sundays for me. To be more clear, myself and my family. I was trying to determine, as I seem to always need to do, the reason why. I’m on a constant mission for the reasons why I feel or react the way I do. It’s on a “need to know” basis, and damn it, I need to know! I’ll Google ailments, (my own and others), diy fix it things around the house, etc. Google is my friend. Me + Google = Love. We are in a committed relationship and nothing will ever come between us. I will research the shit out of something. New cars, recipes, home purchases. I will “who-what-when-where and WHY” the hell out of a certain situation. But that’s beside the point I’m trying to make.
I haven’t worked a 40 hour week my whole life. I was lucky enough to stay at home with my children and not put them into daycare. I had a great mother-in-law that watched my children for me when I did decide to work. I’ve worked many part time jobs. I’ve had jobs that required 40 hours, but most, including the one I have now, is part time. I work everyday, 32.5 hours per week. In the past, I didn’t really care one way or another about having my weekends free. Many jobs I held I had to work the weekend, but I never found myself looking forward to a Thursday because I was off. I don’t know whether it’s my age or my patience or just the fact that I’m now putting in a Monday through Friday work week that I actually look forward to my weekends. I usually try to get the majority of my cleaning done on Saturday so that I can have Sunday to myself. I enjoy cooking and watching my Real Housewives (of whatever city is on that day). I like my peace and quiet and I like working at my own pace.
Now to my gripe. I DO NOT wish to run my child to a ball game. Basketball or baseball. I don’t want to make time to sit and do nothing at a practice on a Sunday. I don’t care if it’s 75 and sunny outside. I do not believe that games should be scheduled on Sunday. I’m not going to say the Sabbath, because I’m not particularly religious about that stuff. But hey, on the 7th day, God rested, why can’t we, right? I want to make a great dinner, a new recipe that I want to try. I want to have my son who doesn’t live at home over to eat dinner. I want to sit on my deck, look up at the sky and watch the clouds roll by. Or maybe not do any of that, but “I” want that option. I don’t want some coach of some sport telling me what I’m gonna be doing with my time, especially on a Sunday.
I call this greed. Greed to need that extra day to make the team better so that the team can win. Take my evenings, go ahead. Take a Saturday if you have to, but please leave my Sundays alone. Let “me” decide what myself or my family will do to enjoy this day before school, work or whatever. Let us wind down and enjoy a cool breeze blowing through the bedroom window, while the sun shines in and warms our faces. Let us enjoy a relaxed, inviting dinner prepared by myself and allow us to sit down when WE want to eat it, not when we have a few minutes to shove it down our throats. You have my family with a 6 day option, let ME have the 7th.
I remember when I was a young girl, stores were closed on Sundays. Closed. And you know the old saying, “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone”. Well, I know it now. If Christmas hours are any indication of things to come, eventually retail stores will be open 24/7. You’ll be able to go get some laundry detergent at 4am from the neighborhood store a block away. And you’ll actually be DOING laundry at 4 am because your child has a game on Sunday. Survival of the fittest. You don’t stay open, you close for good.
It’s all about winning. Greed makes even the weakest hungry for more. Our team MUST win. We MUST get better. Our franchise MUST get better sales. Bigger, better, means winning. I win, I get more. I accumulate more. The need to have “more” becomes overwhelming. More wins, more money, more of my time.
It’s Monday morning and I’m spending it bitching about Sunday. The day before today. It’s 6 days away, but it’s right around the corner. Can we not just take a moment to breath and live and enjoy the fruits of our labor?
If we can’t do it then….. when?
Have you met my REPRESENTATIVE?
Quite a few years ago I was watching a comedy show on TV and I can’t remember the name of the comedian on stage, but they were talking about 1st dates and how you aren’t really yourself on a first date. You are another person who isn’t normally so quiet, or boisterous. You may be giddy and friendly. Whatever the case may be, you aren’t your normal self. You are a representative of your self. You want to portray your “good side”.
The same holds true in so many instances in your life. Going on a job interview? Send in your your smartly dressed, quick with educated answers Rep. Going to a baby shower and haven’t seen half of the relatives in ages? Send in the congenial “I don’t really wanna be here, this is boring as hell but I’ll pretend I wanna play ridiculous games” Rep. Pulled over for speeding and can’t afford a ticket? (Who can)? Enter sexy, eye batting, cleavage showing Rep. Called on the carpet at work? Insert apologetic, tail between your legs Rep. You get the picture.
Some of us have so many representatives, but strangely enough we call up the right ones at the right time. Can you imagine? Sexy Rep sent out for that “called on the carpet” job? Ok, depending on the boss, that might be an option. In fact, looking through the options, I think it’s a distinct possibility to mix and match. Some Reps might get slightly more work than others.
Now you might be saying that it sounds like multiple personalities, but that’s not at all true. We have the ability to call up the Reps and send them packing at will. For instance, 3rd date might not need the Rep. You’re ready to show your true side. Called on the carpet Rep turns into the “I don’t give a shit” real self and termination follows.
You see, our lives are filled with representatives of our life. They benefit us in so many ways and can transition into different Reps for different reasons. Sexy Rep might work for the police officer of the male persuasion, but what if a female (heterosexual) cop is on duty? You may end up scrambling for a Rep that doesn’t exist. $200 ticket later, you research your Rep options, determining who might work best in that instance. Constantly updating and upgrading, our Reps truly get a work out.
So today think about who YOUR Representatives are. Who have you called upon to be the better (or worse) side that you want to project?
I did. I’m not really a blogger, I had my Representative write this.
Making an Ass out of You and Me
“If others tell us something we make assumptions, and if they don’t tell us something we make assumptions to fulfill our need to know and to replace the need to communicate. Even if we hear something and we don’t understand we make assumptions about what it means and then believe the assumptions. We make all sorts of assumptions because we don’t have the courage to ask questions.”
― Miguel Ruiz, The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom
I love The Four Agreements for many reasons. The insight to assumptions is spot on. We are all guilty of assuming things. Small things that we blow off and not so small things that we blow out of proportion. We are taught from the time we are young to assume. A baby cries at night, we feed the baby a bottle. It’s only natural for that baby to “assume” that he or she will be fed when they cry because they are hungry. But babies cry a lot, and not just because they’re hungry. But we “assume” many times that they are. Baby cries out of boredom, parent wonders, “hmmmm, I just fed them an hour ago, maybe they’re growing and need more”. We enter school and get instantly hit with the math problems. “If Johnny has 2 eggs and Lisa has 3 eggs, how many eggs do they have all together”? The answer would be five when we’re in grade school. But set foot into middle school and all of a sudden we’re forced to realize that it’s a distinct possibility that Lisa could have eaten one of those eggs because she was famished due to PMS, bringing the total down to 4. Fast forward to high school and you’re in class with the hottest cheerleader in school. She leans over to ask for help on her homework, and the quiet bookworm guy gushes, thinking he has a chance. Assumption at its finest.
Texting has enabled assumptions to spread like wild fire. Read a text in your own “state of mind”. You can read a text and make all kinds of speculations as to what the other person means. Take the simple text: Is there anything for dinner? Now, that statement will make all kinds of threatening feelings depending on the person it’s coming from/to. If it’s from your husband, you might think, “oh no, he’s pissed I haven’t made dinner the last 2 days”. Your picky son: “he’s starving and needs to eat as soon as he gets home”. Your daughter: “she’s having a bad day and needs to carb load her emotions”. You see, there are several ways to interpret a simple text. Oh and then there’s YOU and your own feelings for that day. “What the hell do they mean, I ALWAYS make dinner, and I’m tired of it”.
Now these are just some small examples, there are millions more. “I assumed when he called me, he liked me”. I assumed when they showed up late, they are sending a signal that we aren’t important enough to show up on time for”. “I assumed when I was sick, you would take care of me the way I took care of you when YOU were sick”. You see what I’m saying? Assumptions are made on a daily if not hourly basis. Miguel is absolutely right, we make all sorts of assumptions because we don’t have the courage to ask questions. To be fair, we aren’t always in the position to ask those questions. They might make us uncomfortable to ask. “Does she like me”? “Do you have a problem with me and decide you need to show me instead of tell me”? The list goes on and on. So many questions go unanswered, because we fear what we might hear. We may even judge and jury the hell out of a completely innocent act, but we’ll never know the true reason unless we ask.
I don’t see an end to the insanity. To all the madness that surrounds presumption and conjecture. We will, until the end of time take our own feelings into account and think that we understand who, what, when, where and why somebody did or said what they did or said. It’s inevitable. It will never change.
At least that’s what I assume.
My Loves
I rarely get the option to have a day to myself with little responsibility, but that’s exactly what I had this past Saturday. I’ve been mom to a 12 year old for what feels like 30 years. I don’t really remember life without him in it, but occasionally I get a day where I don’t have to worry about breakfast, lunch and dinner for Grae, who is the most HORRIBLE, picky eater. I’m not running him to a friends house or picking him up. I’m free.
I planned a lunch date with my son, Shawn who no longer lives with us, and asked my daughter Alysa to come along. We were meeting half way between mine and Shawn’s home. The restaurant, The Back Porch, is a charming old home renovated back in 1972. There are 3 floors counting the basement, which holds a small bar with some tables. Beware if you’re over 6 foot tall, the ceilings are really really low. Visiting this particular restaurant is off limits with my husband and a 12 year old. For some reason, they don’t have the ability to really FEEL the ambiance of a room. They don’t appreciate the presentation on the plate or the white table cloths. But I do. And so do my two oldest kids. Yes, they will always be my “kids”.
I’ve always felt like I taught my kids to feel comfortable in a slightly more upscale environment. Giving them wings to fly includes this very sentiment. They’ve each had opportunities to put their knowledge to work, so my work here is done, so to speak.
We had great conversation, and laughed and laughed, especially about some of Grae’s little comings and goings. He’s always gonna be there, mentally if not physically.
Later we shopped at some quaint little stores across the street. Then it was off to the land of Walmart and Aldis. More laughter ensued and before we knew it, the date was coming to a close, sadly.
Being a mom is sometimes a lonely job. Saying goodbye to your son that no longer lives with you makes you feel sad, but it also helps you to enjoy the time you do spend with him. I still got to drive home with Alysa, but at 23 with a career, she’s doing her own thing with her own life. Having a lunch date like we used to do, just me and her when it was her birthday, reminds me of how fast time flies.
Just to be part of these two awesome individuals lives is definitely one of my most favorite things.
My Loves.
You Had Me at Blah Blah Blah
We’ve all been there. Aggravated by a company or their customer service, or lack there of. It’s a helpless feeling, really. I’m speaking specifically about the demon company, Verizon. I have only satanic adjectives for the devil cell service.
My story starts with an online purchase of a new cell phone for my 12 year old son. Now before you go all “too young for a kid, it’s your own fault” attitude, my son is paying for this phone. A new iPhone 5s to be exact. I big $200 new line cell phone with a $50 a month charge for having it.
I digress.
I’m attempting to make an online transaction while “online chatting” with Verizon to walk me through the process to answer any questions that I might have about features. I was informed via chat that although the screen says “2-day shipping”, the phone will be shipped overnight. For free. Long story short, the purchase didn’t take place that day, it took place the very next day. Again, I “chatted” with Verizon while completing the purchase asking AGAIN about the shipping. AGAIN I was informed of the “free overnight shipping change” just as soon as I pressed the “complete purchase” tab. So I press that tab. I feel confident that Verizon chat customer service could not possibly be wrong. I feel accomplished. I prepare for the euphoric excitement that my son will experience when he finally gets to open his brand new, not a lame-ass tracfone – phone and prepares to become one of the millions of cell phone users addicted to this little device that has completely changed how just about EVERYONE lives and breathes. I’m almost exhausted saying that. I’ll bet there’s an app for that.
It’s the evening of my purchase now, and of course I’m checking my facebook, instagram, twitter and email when I see a Verizon email — shipment notification. I hear a symphony of tones in my head equivalent to the sounds you hear entering a casino. Until I read the email and track my shipment. Expected delivery: Monday, March 10, 2014.
What? Purchased online on March 6 before noon, overnight is March 7. March 10th is 2 day shipping. Nooooooo.
I call customer service. I hear, “we’re experiencing longer than normal call volume, we’ll be with you shortly”. And I wait. 14 minutes to be exact. That’s a long time, but I’m able to put my phone on “speaker” so I can do other things.
I finally get to speak to someone from customer service. I don’t get his name, cause I’m mad. I tell him my dilemma and he’s unsympathetic, at best. I’ll call him Mr. Radio Station Voice. After a conversation with very little compassion and a whole bunch of him talking over me, I realize I’m getting nowhere. By the way, it’s a huge red flag when the person on the other end of the line is talking over you. That person has no intention of giving in. That “I’m always right and you’ll always be wrong person”. I should have just thrown up the white flag screaming “I give” and let him have his paltry 2 day free shipping. I should have just bent over and taken it up the proverbial ass, because that’s exactly where he wanted to give it to me. But I didn’t, I ask to speak with a supervisor. And then I hear what everyone fears the most when taking this drastic step to get some kind of empathy from a complete stranger. “I AM the supervisor”.
All the blood drains from my head, my heart starts beating double time and I can feel the veins protruding from my neck as I try to plead my case to a man lacking cell phone service compassion. My voice raises ever so slightly as I stress every syllable in my pathetic attempt to get free activation (a $35 charge for a new cell activation).
As I start to realize I’m speaking to deaf ears, because all Mr. Radio Station Voice hears is “blah, blah, blah”, I blurt out, “fine, tell me how much I’ll need to pay to cancel my contract”. Never skipping a beat, Mr. Asshole, (my new name for him) says, “sure, I can do that”, to which there’s a few short seconds of silence and then quiet. I’m thinking he’s a dick and he’s putting me on hold while he goes to get a snack a few floors down from his office and he’ll be back in about 5 minutes. I was wrong. He disconnects me. He’s done with the conversation. He doesn’t care about my problems. He doesn’t want to find solutions. My pleas fall on deaf blah blah blah ears
OH NO HE DIDN’T! I redial that damn 800 number and wait. And wait. And wait. I wait for exactly 34 minutes. The reason I know that is because my lovely iPhone 4s tells me how long I’ve been waiting. In the meantime I’m trying to chat with someone from Verizon on my phone, on my tablet and on my desktop. I’m a victim of technology. I desperately want someone that I’m chatting with to again tell me that it’s an automatic overnight delivery, when I’m finally at the head of the phone cue and get Jordan, a very nice rep that only apologizes over and over to me as they are taught to do in customer service school. And all I hear is blah blah blah.
I try to get the name of the person I was talking to prior to Jordan. “How long ago did you speak with someone” Jordan asks? Exactly 34 minutes, Jordan. 34 vicious minutes. I wonder to myself if Mr. Asshole somehow set my subsequent phone call up that way. That he somehow had super Verizon power that could red flag my phone number and push me to the very back of the que to make me suffer. Hey, it’s a distinct possibility, right? I mean we are talking about one of the Prince of Darknesses worker bees after all.
I’m sorry, this is not a long story short. This is a long story LONGER. The end result is that I’m not getting the phone until Monday. Verizon makes promises they don’t keep just to stop you from going to the Apple store to purchase your phone. They won’t credit your account for all the pain and suffering you’ve felt due to not having your phone as promised. You cannot call a “supervisor’s” supervisor, they don’t exist. You cannot email the company. They don’t care. The company is so big that if you threaten to leave, their all, “blah blah blah”, good riddance. And sure you can leave, for a $270 early cancellation fee, you can high tail it outta there and join a new cellular service plan. You won’t be able to use the “Verizon” phone that you purchased a little while ago for another family member, because that phone is only good with that particular plan.
My son will be devastated having to wait until Monday. He can’t text his friends. And I’m all “blah blah blah”.
God Gave Me You
I require physical contact. I think everyone does. Well, almost everyone. There are a few different ways you can get your “fill” of physical closeness. Some good, a couple not so good, but I guess you get it where and how you can. Mine comes from my permanent snugglers, Jaxon (on the left) and Harles.
Jax came first, when he was a puppy. My son, Shawn brought him home. I wasn’t ready for another dog and was still grieving the loss of our dog, Max. Truth is sometimes you gotta have something pushed into your face to realize that you ARE ready and you do NEED to move on. He was the cutest puppy imaginable, a husky/lab mix, he has one blue eye. That adorable blue eye that I seem drawn to when I look at him. Sometimes I find myself feeling bad for not giving that brown eye equal time. Yes, I think of things like that. Jaxon is one of the happiest dogs you’ll meet. He loves to run outside and say hello to neighborhood dogs walking past our fenced in yard. He’s happy to meet any dog, or animal for that matter. He’s mostly quiet, barking only if he feels threatened. He’s mild mannered with complete and total love for his master, ME!
Which leads me to Harles. Formerly adopted from a humane shelter, again by my son, Shawn. He wasn’t able to take him when he moved to a dog “not friendly” rented home. Harles initially would come to visit Jax, and that was just fine. Kinda like other people’s kids. It’s nice to have them over, play with them, and then send them home with their parents. When he became a permanent fixture, jealousy set in. Big time. Jax was the “only child” type of dog. Docile and used to getting all the attention. Harles, a pit/lab mix, is what you might call an alpha dog. Requires all the attention, all the food, all the family. All. Of. Everything.
The two have now been co-habitating for about 2 years. Let’s just say that they have “grown” into appreciating their relationship. I’ve found them sleeping together in my youngest son, Grae’s bed during the day. They have the whole house, but they choose to sleep together.
If I’m petting Harles, Jax will give me a look similar to this…..
He’ll also go over to the door and scratch to get out. He has no intention of going outside, but as soon as I ask if someone wants to go outside, Harles leaps up and runs to the door, pushing poor timid Jax out of the way….cause he has to be first. I throw open the door, and Harles barrels out, leaping off of the deck into the yard. Yep, just Harles. Jax watches, snickering at how stupid Harles is and how smart HE is. He had no intention of going out, he just wanted Harles the hell off of me. Jax will come over and lay up against me on the couch. Success!
At night, when I’m getting ready for bed, Harles will already be in bed with his other master. I have to ask him about 10 times to get down, so that I can get in. Both dogs wait eagerly beside the bed until I get the blankets situated. I say, “okay” and Harles jumps in first. He knows his “place” on the bed. He sleeps at the bottom of the bed by my feet. Jax jumps up and fits in the little nook somewhere between my bent knees and chest. If Master #2 isn’t in bed, Harles will take his place, but slammed up against my back. I’m sandwiched between two canines. If you were cold before you got into bed, you definitely aren’t now. And you can’t move, because they don’t. All night.
I recently had foot surgery and since my bedroom is downstairs, I’ve got to climb the steps to get to the main part of the house. Secretly my precious pets have worked out a deal. Jaxon goes up first, waiting at the top of the steps to watch me. Harles brings up the back, making sure I don’t lose my balance. I guess they both decided that if I were to fall backward, I’d be much better off falling on the kind of “wide load” Harles is than the petite Jaxon. I know that they’ve had this conversation because they do this EVERY TIME I VENTURE UPSTAIRS. How sweet is that?
If I had to describe Harles as a human, he would be a beer drinking, poker playing good time friend with a huge heart. Competitive by nature, always needing to win but never giving up if he doesn’t. Jax would most likely be gay with an English accent. He enjoys drinking his favorite tea while reading one of his favorite novels, most likely just reviewed at his book club meeting.
Don’t ask me why I think he’s gay.
steelgraeglamour 