Two Months

I'm creeping up on two months of unemployment. It doesn't get easier because every day that ends is another reminder that no one wants someone with my skillset. It is disheartening.

In other news: it's getting all Real Housewives of Montgomery up in here!!! Seriously, I wake up, work out, clean house, make dinner ... its crazy. Also, I'm kind of liking it a little!

Shh, don't tell anyone!

Mostly I feel displaced. But, my life thus far has proved to me that everything does indeed happen for a reason. It's just that I won't know that reason until I can look back.

So, for now I keep moving forward.

Curses Facebook

(NOTE: Carlos, you should not read this post.)

Damn that Facebook. See, one of my ex boyfriends has finally joined Facebook. I won't lie, I'd been keeping an eye out for him because he keeps turning up in my naughty dreams.

(Carlos, I'm serious! You should stop reading this NOW.)

Here's the thing: I didn't date a lot in high school, and I certainly never got very far with the boys I dated. I had a fucked up self-image. I thought I was a big fat cow. A friend of mine posted the following and it made me laugh and cry.



Of course, when I look at say my senior prom picture I realize I had a SMOKING body! In fact I'm certain that if I had been aware of how good I looked, I would be riddled with STDs. I would have been much more promiscuous.

As a result, I didn't even get to third base until I'd already graduated high school. AND, it was with a boy two years younger than I. I was 18 and he was 16 - SCANDAL! But oh, his fingers played me like a violin. He'd have me breathless in minutes. And after . . . he'd hold me, kiss me and make sure that I felt safe. Looking back on all the times we fooled around, what I remember most is that he never pushed me. He let me decide how intimate I was ready to be with him. The perfect boy for a nervous virgin.

This guy was built like a big teddy bear, but that is where the warm and fuzzy stopped. We were both very headstrong so when we fought it was no holds barred. It never got physical, but there was a lot of yelling and screaming. A lot of fights that ended with slammed doors and cars screeching out of driveways.

His sister and I still keep in touch and she says that I was her favorite of his girlfriends because I didn't take his shit. It's true, I called him out in front of his friends, and if I didn't like something I'd tell him to call me when he quit acting like an asshole. I told her, "I would have loved to have been your sister-in-law, but he and I would have killed each other." She said, "Oh yeah, you're both Alphas."

It was the most exhausting relationship I've ever been in, and so when I left for college I ended it. Also, I didn't want to be the college girl coming back for prom. That just seemed weird.

Of course, now he's on Facebook so my naughty dreams seem to be amping up. I prefer this fantasy version of him. He does all the right things.

In my dreams he is the perfect partner: quiet.

Soul Mates

I was having a discussion about soul mates with a girlfriend of mine. She raised an interesting point: if everyone has a soul mate, then what happens if you marry the wrong person? Have you thrown the soul mate theory off of its axis by marrying someone else's soul mate. If that's the case, she said, then this soul mate business is crap.

I don't believe in soul mates. I think that in your lifetime there will be a handful of people with whom you are sufficiently compatible with to spend the rest of your life. You're lucky if you meet one of them. Maybe that person is taken away from you (divorce, life, death, who knows), well you're super lucky if you meet someone else with whom you feel you can spend the rest of your life.

This idea of one person for everyone? I just don't buy it.

There is a phrase that was popular years ago: there is a lid for every pot. However, I happen to have a couple of lids in my kitchen that fit several different pots quite nicely.

So, there you go.

Resumes

I'm really struggling with this resume thing. I've written several different versions for different job posting, but I keep wanting to just say, "I am what your looking for and then some.

My strengths are in instructional design and technical writing. I truly enjoy taking complicated technical jargon and translating it into a user friendly format. It doesn't sound exciting, but there is a deep sense of satisfaction from knowing that I'm making someone's job easier.

Unemployment - being without a job is disconcerting.

The Strange History of Don't Ask, Don't Tell

If you haven't seen the documentary: The Strange History of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, then you should.

Am I a lesbian? It makes no difference.

I don't agree or disagree with issues of basic human rights based on how I'm personally affected. I look at the "issue" of gays in the military and ask myself, "Well, they are already there . . . why should they have to hide?"

They make other people uncomfortable.

I live in the deep south . . . my marriage to my white husband makes other people uncomfortable. Yes, in 2011 this still happens. I see it. It's not in my head. So, we shouldn't be allowed to be married? We should have to hide our relationship because it makes other people uncomfortable?

But that's different! How?

Because I can't help being hispanic and he can't help being white. I have a lot of gay friends, believe me they have no choice in whether or not they are gay.

What about group showers?

Now, I can't speak to the military here so I don't know how often service men and women have to shower together in a group. But, I do know that your beer belly, saggy ass having self is in no danger of being on the receiving end of an unwanted advance.

Can't they just serve quietly?

No. "They" won't keep trying to make sense of how to serve with dignity and honor while being asked to lie.

The Pentagon formally repealed its ban on gays and lesbians in uniform on Tuesday, September 20, 2011 at 12:01 a.m., allowing soldiers for the first time to reveal they are homosexual without fear of official retribution.

I regret not marking this on the date it happened.

I know one thing for sure. I don't have the courage it takes to volunteer for military service, but I'm damn thankful for our service men and women who do: straight, gay, lesbian, bi or transgender.

Now With A Lot Less Crying

Being unemployed is weird.

I don't have to get up at the same hour I used to, but I still do. Then I lay there wondering where it is that I have to be and it's nowhere. I thought about pulling a Costanza and just show up where I used to work. Communication isn't exactly their forté so I bet I'd only get a few raised eyebrows.

But alas, I am not crazy so I'm not going to do that.

I've sent out countless cover letters and resumés. There are a few jobs that I'm genuinely interested in and a few others that would pay the bills. I am waiting to hear back on a few other leads as well.

Nothing new to say here, but the good news is I'm no longer crying once an hour. Yay!

Dog Park and Friends

Yesterday I spent most of the day crying and fretting over how we're going to pay the bills in a few weeks. Then Steve came home and reminded me that we are in this together and we are going to get through it. After a shaky inhale I nodded my head and said, "I'm going to Zumba."

So, I called my good friend Heather and said, "Let's do this!" When I arrived at the gym Heather said, "I can't believe you're here. I'd be in bed." I laughed and said that was a pretty accurate description of most of my day. The thing is, I have been severely depressed before and I don't want to go down that road again. So, even when I don't want to I have to haul my ass out of bed and rejoin the living.

After class Heather and I made plans to meet the following moring with our dogs at the dog park. My dogs are a bit neurotic and Heather's dog is a tiny bit skittish. Heather and chatted and the dogs chased, peed and chased.Again, this activity made me haul my ass out of bed. I'm grateful to friends like Heather who are encouraging without being overwhelming.

When I returned home the dogs crashed and I worked on my resume. Making yourself follow a schedule will give you something for which to stay motivated.

Up in the Air

It's been said that women write more in there diary when life changes are happening.

Lucky you!!!

So yesterday I was laid off due to a reduction in force. I did not see it coming as my performance was always regarded highly. Pardon my language, but I felt dick slapped.

The Director of HR and my supervisor walked into my office and closed the door. It is never good when they close the door. C said, "This is not going to be easy." My my supervisor, we'll call him The Albino, said, "No, it's not." I just said, "Oh."


And I thought to myself, "This is BULLSHIT." It was as if the adults from the Peanuts cartoons were talking to me: wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.

I was given the option to pack my desk right then, or return the next day to do it. I just wanted to leave so I did. I grabbed my purse and got the hell out!.

Ahnalise Caedon Cabus - September 4, 2011

My cousin D was raised with my parents. His mom lived in our house as well so we were definitely a different kind of family. I was eight when he was born so for me, D was really more of a little brother than a cousin. I even remember at one point overhearing him tell a friend that I'm his big sister. I've been lucky to have a little brother.

D is 28 now and he is at least six feet tall. He's built like a linebacker and he has the heart of a Care Bear. He and his girlfriend just had a tiny little baby girl. She weighed 5 pounds and 18 ounces at birth. She's a wee munchkin.

All of the clothes bought for her are for a much larger baby. I went out this weekend and purchased some swaddling cloths, 5-8lb onesies and a princess blanket for her crib. I have to admit I'm not crazy about her name: Ahnalise. I think Anne Elise or even Analeigh would have been lovely. But, she's adorable no matter what her name.

Newborns make my heartache. I look at their sweet little faces, and I hurt for the unknown challenges they'll have to face. The bullies on the playground whose asses I want to kick. The mean girls who will make middle shool a nightmare. But mostly I want to keep her from getting her heart broken for the very first time. I want to tell her she's beautiful and perfect and that stupid boy has no idea of the big mistake he just made.

Sweet Ahnalise I hope your years are filled with sweetness and light. I hope you know what a strong woman you're going to grow up to be one day. And never forget, good girls don't make history.

Love,

Your Aunt Melissa

Dem Damn Bones

More than a decade ago I broke my kneecap. I was running, tripped and hit my kneecap straight on the sidewalk. It was rush hour and I fell behind some shrubs. I remember not wanting to get up because I was embarrassed. I wanted anyone that may have seen me to keep on driving by. I got up and hobbled home. What would normally have been a 10 minute walk took me about an hour. It was my right knee, and I knew I probably couldn't drive myself. I called a friend to take me to the emergency room and while I waited for her my knee doubled in size. It wasn't until the doctor told me that my knee was broken that I realized how seriously I'd hurt myself.

So, of course, six weeks ago when I rolled my right ankle I thought it was just a nasty sprain. I immediately went with Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation: RICE. I already had two drugstore ankle braces from previous sprains. I took some naproxen and called it a day.

Yes, I have sprained my right ankle several times. My feet turn out naturally, and combined with my clumsiness it is just a recipe for disaster. Typically though, the RICE method is a sure fix. This last time I took a week off from working out and when I did go back to the gym I started back with water aerobics. I didn't go back to Zumba because I didn't want to do all of that side-to-side motion. My ankle still felt vulnerable.

So, why did I finally go to the doctor? I had a deep pain in my foot that just never went away. See, I didn't connect this with the initial sprain because I thought that only involved my ankle. The pain I've been experiencing was more on the top of my foot and down by my heel. It wasn't even a constant pain. It would flair up when I was walking barefoot on the concrete at the pool, and the few times I pulled myself up the pool ladder with my right foot first. That last one there made me want to cry. I'm no waif, and hauling myself up by my injured foot (pretty much putting ALL of my weight right over the exact spot that hurt) practically made me pass out.

So, earlier last week I made an appointment to see a podiatrist. The night before my appointment I took a spin class. Even when the doctor was examining me I had a hard time pinpointing where my foot hurt the worst. Then she looked at the x-rays and said, "Hmm, does it hurt here?" She wrapped her hand around my foot and placed her thumb directly over the spot where I'd felt the most pain: then she squeezed.

HOLY SHIT! I may, or may not, have said that loud enough to be heard in the lobby.

Diagnosis: chipped bone in my heel.

I'm not sure how I was able to go six weeks before deciding to see a doctor. It might be that I have a high tolerance for pain (See walking home, albeit slowly, on a broken kneecap.) It also could be that the chip is in a location that is tucked up a little high and not always flexing like the toes. I know for sure that I've been favoring my left leg and making small adjustments to compensate for the injury.

Anyway, now I'm in an air cast that I have to wear for two weeks. I can take it off to sleep, shower and drive. Oddly, my foot seems to hurt more now. Is it because now I KNOW there is a chipped bone?

Too Much Information

Last night as I was flipping channels I came across a soccer tournament. I most definitely did not stop to watch. I've just never gotten into soccer. However, every time I see a match on tv I think about my mom.

My mom has been a lifelong soccer fan. Her youngest brother played for a team in Honduras. I think this is how we fall in love with something. Someone we care about is involved in an activity, so we attend their events. A fondness for the activity just seems natural. (It's marching bands for me.)

I knew my mom liked soccer, but only recently did I realize she loves soccer.

When my mom started dating my father, going to soccer matches was definitely one of the things they did together. In fact, when my mom was seven months pregnant she was still attending matches.

I'm not surprised because I remember while we were growing up she watched televised matches; specifically the FIFA World Cup. The World Cup only runs every four years during the summer and since its location changes sometimes the matches are televised late at night or early in the morning. My brother and I would be on summer vacation and we'd be woken up by the sound of adults screaming at the tv. It was startling, and it was annoying.

The FIFA World Cup is set up like most tournaments. There's a bracket and you have to keep track of what happens in all of the matches to know who is going to move to the next round. You also have to track the point table. During the last World Cup I realized my mom was keeping track of the bracket and point table . . . in her head.

To say that I was impressed would be an understatement.

My dad was watching the matches, but I think he was just watching each match. Meanwhile, my mom had this computer in her brain telling her who had how many wins and losses and what this meant for the teams she was watching play.

My mom always undersells her intelligence. And this was a great reminder of what a smart cookie she is. Two years later I still can't sort out the point system.

Kicking Ass with the Paddle Board

Today I had an Ah-Ha moment. I tread water in the deep end. I'm slowly but surely getting comfortable in the deep end.

After that I grabbed a kick board and did a few laps. For thirty minutes I kicked and kicked and raised my heart rate as I moved from one side of the pool to the other.

I loved it. I don't know that I will ever be skinny, but I'm definitely in a better place with regards to my depression.

Hydrocize - Water Aerobics is NOT for Sissies!

I walked into the pool for my water aerobics class and took note of the instructor. She looked close to seventy. The other attendees looked just as ancient. My friend Heather and I felt this was going to be a cakewalk. Then I looked toward the deep and and saw one of the attendees doing pull-ups on the diving board . . . Fuuuuuuuuck. Needless to say, those
ladies smoked us. We very well may have wandered into one of those cocoon pools!

Summer is here!

I really don't have a thing to blog about. The sad thing is, I know even that is not an original blog idea.

I read a couple of different blogs and most of them have at least one post about being unable to write. I don't even think it's writer's block. I think it's some sort of Facebook related degeneration.

See, even that is not original. I, like most bloggers, have been using Facebook as a substitute creative outlet. It's so convenient. Also, it doesn 't require much preparation and I know I have an audience.

As I mentioned in the title: summer is here! I say that because I struggle with depression and the dark winter days really wear me out. By the time Spring peeks around the corner The Bell Jar has a vaccuum seal. But, I feel good right now. The vegetable garden is full of ripening vegetables, and the pool at the Y is open. I am determined to get my money's worth out of the pool this summer.

I was there this afternoon for an hour, and it was delightful. I bailed on Body Pump (lifting free weights in an instructor-led environment), but a friend of mine was in there. It turns out her instructor skipped, and one of the "woo girls" tried to lead the class. I call them that because there is a group of women in every class at the Y. You know, when the instructor asks,

"How is everyone tonight?"
Response: Woo!

"How are ya'll doing out there?"
Response: Woo!

"Can ya'll here the music?"
Response: Woo!


The Woo Girls - from How I Met Your Mother:

What's a Woo Girl? A Woo Girl is a type of young woman, who like the cuckoo bird or the Whip-Poor-Will, gets get name from the signature sound she makes.

"Wooooo!"

A woo can be elicited from a certain song coming on the jukebox ("Sweet Home Alabama" plays); to half-priced shots; from a ride on a mechanical bull; to, well, pretty much anything.

The world absolutely needs Woo Girls. If there were no Woo Girls, there would be no 'Girls Gone Wild,' no bachelorette parties, no Las Vegas poolside bars. All of the things that you hold dearest would be gone.

The souvenir shot-glass industry would collapse; so would the body-glitter industry -- and, the stretch Hummer rental industry. Tiny cowboy hats would be worn only by tiny cowboys. And when 'Brown- Eyed Girl' would come up on the jukebox, all you would hear ... would be silence .... and 'Brown-Eyed Girl.' But who would "woo"? Who would "woo"? Would you? Would you ... "woo"?

I tried to define The Woo Girls to a woman I know her response was, "What's wrong with being a Woo Girl?"

Unsurprisingly, we're not close.

Stolen Glances

For the most part we see people for who they are now. But sometimes, if you're paying attention, you can see a flash of who that person was as a child.

A few months ago I was having a conversation with a co-worker and I made him laugh. It was a head thrown back, mouth wide open laugh that doesn't hold anything back. In that instant I saw what he looked like as a 10-year-old boy. For that one moment he was free.

This happened again recently. I saw a video of a man I knew as a boy. He has grown up to be a fine specimen of a man. But in this video, he was trying to set up a video conference with his parents. There is a moment where he's struggling with where to put the camera. His eyes shifted from left to right and you could see the frustration/worry in them. It caught me off guard because in that second I saw the boy I once knew.

I don't know if anyone ever sees the girl I was once. I've got to start looking for her.

Funky Feet

A friend that works with me has stanky feet.

Right, not stinky feet . . . feet so rank they are stanky.

After sloshing through the puddles in the parking lot, she walked into my office\and said, "My feet are stinky." I said, "You didn't have to announce it. I was well aware."

So we got into this argrument trying to determine if it's her feet that stink or her shoes that stink. She said, "No, it's because I don't wear socks with my shoes (women's dress shoes), and that is why my feet stink."

"Okay," I said, "So all of the shoes that you put your feet in are stinky." She said, "Yes, it's the shoes."

I said, "Girl, if all of the panties that you put on were stinky would you blame it on the panties?"

Her, "No, that means my pussy stinks. Wait, what . . . oooooooooh."

Me, "Yeah girl, it's not the shoes."

Crazy Train

Lately I've felt a bit manic.

My emotions are all over the place, and I've fallen back on some old, unhealthy behavior patterns. I've written about my history of trich, and I've recently relapsed. I'm even pushing my sweet husband with my cray-cray mood swings.

I'm working hard to figure out the source of this latest episode, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Is it work stress? Is it my 36th birthday looming before me? Is it the epic fail that was Valentine's Day? I don't know.

I know I need to figure this out before my sweet husband runs out of patience.

C - please don't go blabbing about this to mom and dad.

I Am What I Am

No mother fucker, you are who you choose to be. Who the hell do you think you are? Popeye!

I've met so many people who try to excuse their shitty behavior by trying to say they just can't help it. It's who they are. Assholes.

My dad is a gruff, rude, son-of-a-bitch who has rarely said an encouraging thing to me. He says he doesn't mean any harm, it's just who he is.

I work with a woman who is an attention whore that likes to throw shade. But you know, that's just the way she is.

Listen up people: YOU ARE WHO YOU CHOOSE TO BE.

I'm not perfect. There is shit I say and do that I'm not proud of, but I don't ask you to accept it because that's just who I am, and I'm not going to change. I work every day to make conscious decisions that affect my behavior. Being a bitch comes easily to me. Remarks that can cut you to your core are always geing formed in my head. But I'm an adult and I don't just come out and tell you, "Honey, I've known dozens of girls like you and you all think you're special. Your laugh is brash and your looks are flashy, but there is at least one of you at every trailer park. Get a ladder and use it to get over yourself."

I think these things, but I don't let myself be that heinous person because then I'd be Janice Dickinson.

I'm just so tired of this "I can't change" attitude.

It's bullshit.

We'll Have a Gay Old Time

I didn't intentionally set out to marry a closeted man, but I do have a long history with gay men. I have in fact been referred to as a f@g h@g. I hate that term.

I hate the word f@g, and I would definitely never refer to myself as a h@g.

Instead, I prefer to think of myself at the center of an amazing coterie of men.

It's My Life

If this blog were my child, I would have been reported to Child Protective Services a long time ago. The charge? Neglect.

When I started this blog I was a fucking mess. I had left my ex and I was falling in love with Steve.Oh, and yeah, I'd just quit my job and didn't have anything lined up. I had a lot going on, but things have calmed down considerably: thank god. However, I'm going to try to be a better momma and check in more often this year. So - every Tuesday evening I'll submit a new post.

I'm in a better place now. I'm married to my dreamboat husband, and I have a job that I absolutely adore. No really, I am thankful every day that on my drive to work I don't burst into tears. I've done that before and it's no fun.

I still deal with depression. It's something that I'll always have to fight. I don't just take meds. I try to get plenty of sleep, eat well and exercise. I still engage in bouts of trichotillomania. If I let things slide at work for too long I get anxious and I start to pull at my hair. I know my triggers at least so I'm managing my time better and lessening the frequency with which I feel behind at work.

When I'm not at work I'm kicking it at home. Steve is the best match for me. He appreciates laying in bed for hours on Sunday morning. We wake up, have breakfast and sometimes crawl back into bed with our coffee. He watches Headline News and I eventually fall back asleep with my head on his chest.

On Saturdays sometimes we go to estate sales - he looking for antique tools and me looking for vintage kitchenware. If the weather is nice we'll go to the Farmer's Market and take the dogs to the park. If we have a little extra in the account we take another step towards completing our kitchen remodel.

We live a quiet life, but it is our beautiful life.