Doing Better

Some days are good and some days are bad. Lately though I'd found myself having more bad ones than good ones. However, like most downward swings do . . . hopefully, eventually they move upwards again.

I found a new job!!!!

There's a part of me that thinks I was damn lucky because sometimes finding a job takes luck, but the honest truth is that finding a new job takes a lot of hard work. So I really want to shout Oprah-style, "IIIIII DIIIIIID ITTTTTT!"

I hustled.

I sent out a ridiculous amount of resumes to job openings, recruiters, former bosses . . . former bosses that I would rather have rather used my tongue to walk on hot coals than to ever speak to. I made a pathetic, ineffective plea to a former trainer I used to work with whom I hadn't spoken to in months. I did a little worst case scenario thinking, but I didn't get mired in it.

From the time the FDIC took over Colonial to the time I got my job offer it took five weeks. A few days after the shock wore off I updated my resume and created two different versions of it. A functional resume and a regular chronological resume. I wrote cover letter after cover letter, cold-contact prospecting letters, I made finding a new job my full-time job.

Did I get lucky?

I got lucky that in this economy I found a job doing what I want to be doing at a slightly higher pay. But, I was ready for it when I found it.

I DID THIS.

Budgeting

The bank I work was seized and sold, and while right now I have a job there is the possibility I will be let go. I'm not entirely sure what my department's odds are, but just in case I'm sending out resumes and talking to everyone I know about finding a new job.

In light of this, we have temporarily stopped working on the kitchen renovation. Steve and I have agreed that right now it's more important for us to save money rather than spend money it on home improvement.

Then I went out and got a pedicure.

Because I suck.

Push, Push, Push

Ever since my friend B started reading this blog he's always pushed me towards writing a novel.

I always just roll my eyes and blow off the idea. I know I keep this blog and I know a lot of bloggers want to be "discovered," but I don't have those aspirations.

Now, as an English major in college I'm pretty sure I harbored dreams about being a published author. But, I've never wanted to be Milton, Chaucer, Welty or even Danielle Steele. I wanted to be Judy Blume, Lois Duncan or Paula Danziger.

The trouble is . . . I don't feel like I have much to say.

I don't even blog very regularly anymore.

I was diagnosed with clinical depression 18 months ago and while most days are okay days a lot of days are a struggle. It's a fight to get out of bed to go to work. forget about me getting on the blog to say something entertaining. I haven't had it in me to do that for a while. Funny things happen in my life, but the white noise of depression drowns those things out quickly.

And God, I've never been able to get a handle on how to respond to my well-meaning mother when she says, "Oh, I've been depressed, Melissa. You just have to pick yourself up and decide to be happy."

This makes my blood boil and I want to get in her face and scream, "You don't fucking get it!"

It's not her fault.

Maybe she's had the blues in her life, but she doesn't know the way depression is like quicksand and the more you try to fight the more it feels like it's pulling you down.

Then this year while watching the Tony Awards I saw the cast of Next to Normal perform the following:

Next to Normal

DIANA (spoken)
You know, really?
What exactly do you know?

DAN (spoken)
I know you're hurting. I am, too.

DIANA
Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?
Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?
It's like living on a cliffside not knowing when you'll dive.
Do you know, do you know what it's like to die alive?

When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if you look back.
You don't know.
I know you don't know.
You say that you're hurting, it sure doesn't show.
You don't know.
You tell me let go.
And you may say so, but I say you don't know.

The sensation that you're screaming, but you never make a sound.
Or the feeling that you're falling, but you never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at you day by day by day by day.
You don't know, you don't know what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done.

End Scene

I was devastated when I saw this scene because I felt like I'd been broken open and all of my secrets had tumbled out.

I wanted to stand up and say, "There . . . that is what I feel like every fucking day so don't tell me I can just pick myself up and shake this thing off."

Maybe I have things to say, but it feels futile when others have already said it so much better than I ever will.

Whatevs

I've been thinking about why I don't post, and I don't really have a reason.

I just don't.

So, here's a little story my dad tells proudly. When I was six I had a crying fit in the middle of a store. You know, I was THAT KID. The one that starts to scream because she doesn't get what she wants.

My dad snapped off his belt, spun me around and gave me a few stinging licks on the back of my bare thighs.

I never again had another crying fit in the middle of a store.

That last part there is when you can see the pride gleam in his eyes when he tells this story.

I don't actually remember this happening, but it sounds like my dad. I think what really must have stung was the humiliation.

That's just how my dad worked.

When my mom wanted to learn how to drive a car he told her, "You'll never learn how to drive. You're incapable."

My mom has told me that after a few weeks of replaying his words in her head she called up a driving school, and set out to prove him wrong.

She did, too.

After years of taking the bus with my mother she finally got her driver's license.

After years of being a mediocre student (As, Bs and Cs) my dad said to me, "You know you'd get better grades if you weren't so lazy."

My response wasn't as motivated as my mom's. I just thought to myself, "I'm lazy."

I know I've written about my dad spanking me before, and every day I forgive my father a little bit more.

But every year around Father's Day I think about these things, and I struggle with the task of picking out a card. Typically, I go for the "thanks for doing the best you could do" card.

A Good Example

This past weekend Steve and I were driving home down a six-lane highway. He was driving, and I was in the passenger seat.

I looked out my window and noticed a car waiting to merge into traffic.

I said to Steve, "Oh my God, look at that guy's car!"

The car itself wasn't spectacular, but there was a foot-tall stack of papers on the car's roof.

I said, "That's gotta suck."

The next thing I know Steve is swerving our car onto the median. I looked forward and thought Steve was trying to avoid an accident.

No.

Steve pulled up onto the median and ran back towards where the car was still waiting to merge. He started waving his arms to get the driver's attention. Surprisingly, the guy took a split second to stop looking for a place to merge and saw Steve.

The guy looked at Steve like he was thinking, "What the hell does this crazy want?"

Then Steve started pointing at the guy's roof, and it was like a lightbulb went off over the driver's head.

I saw the guy get out of the car, retrieve his papers and thank Steve for making him aware of the situation.

When Steve got back into the car I was still sitting there with my mouth hanging open.

I looked at him and said, "Thank you."

He asked, "For what?"

I said, "For showing me how to be a better person."

Dated

Sometimes I look at this blog and wonder why I even bother.

It seems like lately most of my online time is spent of Facebook. Tonight I IM'd with my second cousin for almost an hour. I haven't seen her in over a decade, but there we were "talking" about our crazy families.

I get instant satisfaction from Facebook.

I know: fast food generation. We want it and we want it NOW!

I also wonder whether or not keeping a blog is just dated. I'm just another loser who thinks people want to know what she's thinking.

These days I'm thinking, "Will I still be employed next week?"

Working for a bank is not for the faint of heart.

So, if you know of anyone looking for an instructional designer . . . call me!

Betrayal

Imagine if you will a world where no one tells the truth.

No, this entry is not about the Bush Administration. This entry is about a horse I can't bring myself to let die.

In life, if we are lucky, there are a handful of friends that we can count on take care of us.

I haven't always been that friend.

When a close friend of mine got married I did everything I could to miss the wedding. But, no matter how hard I dug my heels she yanked even harder. So, I went to the wedding even though I didn't think she was marrying the right guy. I didn't have the courage to tell her that. Not before the marriage, a few years after the marriage I finally told her how I felt about her husband.

She was rightfully pissed. If I recall correctly she slammed the phone in my ear. I don't blame her. I didn't speak to her for two years after that and you know what happened?

Out of the blue she called me and said, "I can understand why you didn't want me to marry XX. Whenever you and I talked I was always telling you about the fights we had or whatever shitty thing XX had done. I never told you any of the good things. I completely understand why you didn't like him.'

That is friendship. Being able to get pissed, cool down, re-evaluate, hold out your had again and say, "I understand."

The same goes for a another friend who once accused me of sharing an embarrassing secret. I didn't do it, and I knew who had. When I told said friend the identity of the blabbermouth she vehemently responded,

"She wouldn't do that . . SHE'S my best friend."

It felt as if I'd been slapped. I stood up and walked her to the front door. I said, "I'm sorry that you feel that way." I opened the door, and I didn't see her for five years.

Then one day, four years later, out of the blue, she showed up at my front door. She said, "This won't take long. Remember when I accused you of telling WW about WW?"

Me, "Yes, I think that was the last time we talked."

Her, "Well, I'm hear to tell you I'm sorry. I recently found out it was who you said it was."

I was shocked. I was 18 when T showed up at my door to apologize . It was the first time in my life that a peer had said to me, "What I did was shitty and wrong and I'm very sorry."

She taught me a lot in that one moment.

Our friendship was beyond the point of no return, but I've always respected T for having the stones to own up to that when the average teen would probably have kept such a thing to herself.

I've been thinking about these two events recently because there is just one thing I've never really gotten over. If you've read the early entries of this blog you know my ex-husband is gay. I didn't know when I married him. In fact, I didn't know until we'd been married for five years.

What I also didn't know was that a friend of mine knew years befoe I did. She and I had met in my dorm room when I was a freshman. We used to go out, drink and fall asleep in each other's bed. I thought we were close. Near the end of my freshman year she came out to me. She made such a big deal about it that when she finally said, "I'm a lesbian" I was relieved. She was so tense I thought she was about to tell me she was in the witness protection plan.

My response to her coming out was, "Oh, okay." It was fairly understated, and I wasn't scandalized or clutching my pearls. I really didn't care. Jen was still the same Jen she'd been five minutes prior to coming out.

About six months after this admission I start hanging out with J. We'd all go out in groups, and I'd occasionally find Jen and J huddled together in the corner of the bar. In hindsight I can admit they always looked busted. I never knew what they were talking about, but it seemed pretty intense. I never stuck my nose in it. I just figured they were friends, too.

I distinctly remember a moment when Jen turned to me and asked, "What do you think about a woman in a committed heterosexual relationship sleeping with other women."

Me, "Well, does the husband know?"
Jen, "I don't think so."
Me, "If the husband doesn't know then it's cheating. I don't care if she's sleeping with another man or another woman. That's cheating."
Jen, "Well, what if all of the people involved know?"
Me, "Well that's between them I guess."

Pause . . .

Me, "Jen, you don't want to sleep with me do you?"
Her, laughing . . . relieved, "NO . . . I was just posing a question."

We were Women's and Gender Studies girls so these kinds of conversations weren't all that bizarre for me. After J and I split up Jen called me and my heart hit he floor. I said to her,

"Oh Jen, honey, I can't be friends with you."

Her, "What?"

Me, "You knew, you knew what Jason was up to all that time. You should have told me. I wouldn't have married him. I wouldn't have gotten sick."

Her, "Oh Melissa . . . "

Me, "Oh don't worry, it's nothing that will kill me . . . "

Yeah, I'm still pissed because on top of having had to deal with my husband's betrayal I also had to deal with my friend's betrayal.

I've tried to justify her behavior. Is there a gay code that I don't know? Do you foresake your straight friend, and protect your closeted friend because you understand the pain of living a closeted life?

I really don't know.

I can tell you that if I was certain my brother's partner was playing the field I would call Carlos up and say, "Carlos child, you in trouble!" He'd probably be pissed at me, and he might not even believe me, but you can bet your ass I'd tell him what's going on. I love my brother and I want what is best for him. Or, if I knew my friend M's fiance was creeping around I'd let her know. That's what you do when you care for someone. You do your best to protect them from getting hurt.

So I guess it was that simple: Jennifer was never really my friend.

To Breed or Not to Breed

Steve and I have decided not to have children. If you know me well, you are aware of this already.

I guess I'm addressing this here because in previous entries I've said that I might want to have children someday. I think I only said those things because it was the right thing to say.

Or, maybe I'm just a flip-flopper.

The truth is I have never wanted children. When I was a child I knew girls who would pretend their baby dolls were realy babies. They would change them, feed them, put them in a toy stroller and push it along the sidewalk. I never did that.

I clearly remember that at one point I set up a daycare in my bedroom closet. I'd dress my dolls, carry them around, and then I'd drop them off at daycare saying, "Okay, it's time to go to daycare." I'd leave them there for days at a time.

I could understand if this behavior had been modeled for me at home, but my mom was an at-home mother, and my brother and I never went to daycare. I've just never been the mothering kind.

Last fall I told my mom that I didn't want children, and she was not happy. I said that I was sorry I wouldn't be providing her with grandchildre, but that Steve and I are happy and don't want our lives to change.

She said to me, "Children won't change your life."
I smirked and said, "Mom, come on . . ."
She started laughing and said, "Okay, yeah, you're right . . . "

My not wanting children always gets misinterpreted as me not liking children. That's not true. I love the smell of a clean baby's head, and the way smile at you like you're the only person in the world. I get the appeal, I just don't want a child in my life. Neither does Steve.

I've asked him because sometimes I worry that he just doesn't want to rock the boat. But, he said, "No, I really like being selfish. I couldn't buy the antique tools I've bought or the scooter. I'd have to save all that money for diapers and formula. Not to mention saving for college."

Thank God.

Police Blotter - Sunday, January 18, 2009

Two dog chains, a tree pruner manual, a lawnmower and a weedeater were stolen from a home in the 3100 block of Wxxxxxxxxx Road at 1p.m., Sunday.

I think what amuses me the most is the tree pruner manual.

Police Blotter

I don't always read the Police Blotter, but I think it's good to stay up to date on the goings on in your town. Plus, you want to know what criminals are stealing these days:

A pair of earrings and a bottle of lotion were reported stolen from 6243 Woodmere Blvd., Sunday afternoon.

Someone stole 17 bags of sugar from a service station in the 900 block of W. South Blvd., at 12:38 a.m. Sunday

I get the earrings, but a bottle of lotion and 17 BAGS OF SUGAR.

What?

Holiday Cheer

The last time I was with my brother he turned to me and said, "I have no idea how to deal with in-laws. What are the rules?"

I replied, "The first rule of in-laws is you don't talk about the in-laws."

Yes, it's an old joke but it's true.

One has to be careful when it comes to in-laws. I think as a general rule you shouldn't initiate any discussion about your in-laws unless your partner introduces the conversation. Even then you have to tread carefully.

You don't just hop in the car after a family dinner and say, "Man, you're sister's kind of a bitch isn't she?"

You save that for your rage diary.

No. You hop in the car and say, "Dinner was really good wasn't it?"

If say, your partner turns to you and says, "It was good. Hey, did you notice anything about _______?"

You ask, "Like what?"

Then he's free to elaborate and you can comment, but only on the issues he brings up.

Don't try to add in your own colorful observations.

Apply these rules to any in-law: mothers, cousins, brothers, sisters . . .

However, if your partner's sibling wields a knife at you, or your mother-in-law flat out accuses you of being a snob then have your partner hold you back and let you go when they least expect it.

Thrift Store Find

After having spent two hours on this guy's website last night, I got inspired to do a little thrifting of my own.

I now have my own Betty Draper.



She's a 1950s Napco Head Vase and she's not perfect (one earring is missing and part of her bow is broken off), but neither is Betty.

I got also found a six-piece bar set for $1 that includes stainless swizzle sticks and a spear for digging up that last olive out of the jar. They are very plain in design, but exactly what I've been looking for to stir my Sunday morning Bloody Mary.

Thank You

Big thanks to everyone who donated to the Montgomery Humane Society Walk-n-Wag! You helped me raise $160 online and in these tough economic times that really means a lot. My co-workers were also generous as well as some friends and neighbors, and I raised a grand total of $280!

There were booths filled with pet products and there were some large dogs.



There were also some small dogs.


Some dogs wore costumes.




Dean made a new friend.


Max made a new friend, too.


We had a great time and all of the excitement wore us out.

Please Help Support the Montgomery Humane Society

Max, Dean Martin and I are participating in this year’s Walk-n-Wag. The Walk-N-Wag is a fundraiser that benefits the Montgomery Humane Society.

What some of you may not know is that Dean Martin is a rescue dog.



Sure, Dean is living the high life now but not all dogs are that lucky.

This is why I’m asking you to support my efforts by making a pledge to the Montgomery Humane society.

I’ve even made it really easy.
Follow this link to the MHS Walk-n-Wag website.


Under Give a Donation select my name: Melissa Martinez.



The following page allows you to type in whatever amount of money your comfortable donating.



Click Continue.

The following message will appear.



Click Continue to PayPal.

Your PayPal Shopping Cart will appear to confirm your payment.



Click Proceed to Checkout.

The Pay with Credit Card Page will appear.



On the Pay with Credit Card page, provide the following information.
1. County
2. First Name
3. Last Name
4. Credit Card Number
5. Payment Type
6. Expiration Date
7. CSC: For your safety and security, PayPal requires that you enter your card's verification number. The verification number is a 3-digit number printed on the back of your card. It appears after and to the right of your card number.
8. City
9. State
10. Zip code
11. Home Telephone Number
12. Email

Click Review Order and Continue.

PayPal will provide you with a final screen that will confirm your donation.

If you have trouble completing your online donation please contact Lea Turbert with the Montgomery Humane Society at 334-409-0622.

Follow-Up:Has anyone actually donated anything? Nothing is showing up under my pledges with the Humane Society. I'm asking because if you are donating under my name: Melissa Martinez and it's not showing up then I need to contact the Humane Society.

Thanks!

A Conversation Between Siblings

Scene: On the phone with my brother shortly after watching an episode of the L-Word.
Note: We watch a lot of the same shows and then caucus afterwards.

Carlos: I could never be a lesbian.
Melissa: Oh I know, me neither. Women are crazy!
Carlos: It's not just that . . . it's so much work.
Melissa: Hee, you're totally a lazy bottom.
Carlos: Well, so are you.
Melissa: True, plus I have this whole carpal tunnel thing . . .
Carlos: Pfft, whatever.
Melissa: Well, yeah. Plus, you know, eating pussy . . .
Carlos: OH - don't EVEN go there.
Melissa: I know, right.

Philadelphia

It's amazing to me how much the movie Philadelphia still affects me. Mostly it's Tom Hanks' portrayal of the main character, Andy and Jonathan Demme's decisions as a director.

My favorite scene is the one right after Denzel Washington's character turns down the opportunity to represent Andy. Jonathan Demme slowly zooms in on Andy's face and Hanks goes through a bunch of different emotions in about five seconds. There's Andy standing in a doorway on a cold Philadelphia day and he's just been turned down by the 10th lawyer he's visited.

He's cold, frustrated, sad, alone, crestfallen, broken . . . and it's all there in Hanks' face. No tears, no teeth gnashing . . . and thankfully, no wailing at the heavens with open arms. I applaud Hanks and Demme for for approaching that scene and the character with dignity.

There is one think I really don't like and it's the way Washington's homophobia is handled. I get that we have to see his transformation from scared homophobe to understanding advocate, but do we have to keep hearing how much he hates gay men, how they make him sick and that what they "do" makes him sick.

There's a reason Atticus Finch never says, "Look, I don't like niggers either but the fact of the matter is a law's been broken here."

It's unnecessary.

I've never self-identified as a homophobe. From the start of the movie I rooted for Andy, so this movie breaks my heart in a million different pieces for a million different reasons.

The main reason though?

I remember this:


Every time I see this:

Moment from a Marriage

Scene: Steve and I are standing in the living room having just rolled up the area rug that has been in there for six months.

Me: Baby, why does the floor look so dark right here?
Steve: Where ...
Me (Pointing with my right foot): Here.
Steve: Where ...
Me (Sighing): Well, here . . . (Tracing the area THAT IS CLEARLY VISIBLE with my foot).
Steve, now annoyed: Well, where ...
Me, now visibly annoyed: Seriously, do you not see this?
Steve, smirking: W.E.A.R.
Me, slackjawed: Oh.

Say A Little Prayer

On Friday, August 29th Steve and I celebrated our three-year anniversary of homeownership.

My parents, however, remember August 29, 2005 as the day Katrina hit. This year all any of us can do is shake our heads as we watch computer modules showing Hurricane Gustav and his New Orleans or Bust sign.

My family will evacuate on Sunday, tomorrow. My brother is heading to Atlanta to be with his partner and his family. My parents and in-laws are heading to Montgomery. I know that my loved ones will be out of the path of Gustav, but I'm still worried about their stuff.

My in-laws weathered Katrina with hardly a scratch. The water stopped one inch before their doorways. My parents however got two feet of water. I know it's just stuff, but my mom just finished her house thanks to Katrina.

She was finally feeling like she lived in a home and not a construction site. I hope that they are spared the worst of it. I know that my mom is strong, but I'd hate to see her go through living in a trailer again. She put a happy face on things, but I know she felt out of sorts.

Since Katrina they've jacked the house up a good four feet so we're all hoping flood waters won't be a problem, but you just never know. They also got fancy new hurricane grade windows so I guess we'll get to see how well those work. My mom said she scoped out the trees around her house and they were all leaning "away" so I've got my fingers crossed.

If you're religious, say a little prayer for them. If you're not religious then send good vibes or whatever.

Sexual Fluidity

Just assume that anytime I refer to a conversation between my brother and I that it was recent and on the phone. We talk a lot.

Anyway, we got on the subject of sexual preference. We were discussing "queer by beer" and girls kissing girls for attention. I think we finally worked our way to the more conventional gay and bi labels.

See, we do talk about more than just Tyra, The View and Swingtown.

Very casually he mentioned that he thought today those definitions were prehaps too confining and that the younger generation (high school and college students I presume) see sexuality as more fluid.

In other words: Bi Now, Gay Later . . . Maybe not.

I get what he's saying, but there's a part of me that worries about this new label because I fear it gives credence to those who believe being gay is indeed a choice.

It would be easier to argue that if sexuality is indeed fluid then you have the power to change the tide.

Let me just add that I don't think one chooses to be straight, gay or bi.

Am I wrong?

I Am So Ashamed

When I was a kid I had a lot of celebrity crushes. The other day I was flipping channels and I came across this:



When I was 11 I thought this movie was awesome! The other day I could only watch 5 minutes of it because it was so awful, but damn I loved me some Jason Gedrick. (Poor Lou Gossett Jr. To this day when I see him in a movie I internally shout "CHAPPY!")

I'll admit I still nurse a crush on Jason Gedrick. Does anyone even remember Windfall?



It was a crappy show and the fact that Luke Perry was cast in it should have been my warning, but the Gedrick magic still has its influence.

I was so excited when he turned up on Desperate Housewives.

I realize I probably still sound like an 11-year-old girl, but that really doesn't surprise me. My favorite shows? Degrassi: The Next Generation, Gossip Girl . . . oh and you can bet your ass I'll be watching the new incarnation of 90210. HELLO . . . Darcy from D:TNG is playing the Brenda-like character. Those are some big bangs to fill.