I know it's been a while since I've written and the first thing I have to say is this - tonight I'm going to miss the Oscars!!!!! AHHHHHH!!! I haven't missed it in years. It's the only award/contest show that I watch! Not The Grammy's, not Miss America, not The Biggest Loser, not Survivor, not Top Chef, not The Emmy's, not Who Wants to be My Bisexual, not A Shot at Burnin' Love (a reality show that I just made up in which Elvis impersonators compete to win the love of one woman - as opposed to one man, in which case it would be A Shot at Flamin' Love). And tonight I'm going to miss The Academy Awards because I'm chairing an Al-anon meeting! Whyyyyyyy????!!!! Am I being overly dramatic, or overacting, you could say? Yes. Will it win me an Oscar? Yes. I would kick Kate Winslet's ass.
On top of that, I will also miss Uptown and Metairie parades. It's my mom's birthday and everybody's coming over.
But let's focus on the good things, shall we? First: I finished editing the book! I emailed it to Sarah (the agent) yesterday. Sigh. Sarah...isn't that a beautiful name? It suggests someone well-read, someone sympathetic to struggling writers, with a preference for young adult novels. So hopefully I'll hear something soon. I'm so used to getting on the computer lately just to work on the book. This morning when I fired up the ole laptop I almost went straight to the book and then I remembered, "Hey! I'm done!...for now. Until I have to do more edits." Because I know enough about publishing to know that if Sarah likes it she'll still want me to tweak some things.
Ok, this has nothing to do with anything, but that's the ADD place I'm at this morning. Yesterday Chris and I took the kids to the Luling parade, which is called The Krewe of Lul (take that originality!) We ended up having a good time, but there were a couple of times that I was uncomfortable.
Now, for those of you who have never been to Mardi Gras (ahem - Tom) you must understand that when you take your children out to a parade you run the risk of exposing them to nudity. Even at "family" parades, as The Krewe of Lul likes to strut around bragging about itself. There were people in obscene T-shirts. That, I expected. And I mean both obscene in a sense that there was pornagraphic artwork on T-shirts, and obscene in a sense that some women wore skimpy shirts with cleavage hanging out. It's cool, you know. We're all mammals here. But my tolerance for public nudity was challenged when the woman standing next to my 7 year-old daughter caught a bead with an enormous penis pendant. This woman, who I will call Trixie, was delighted.
"Woooooohooo!" she cried, brandishing the penis bead, and then swinging it over her head like a lasso.
Then she set down her beer so that she could put it on, and I was able to get a good look at it. At this point I was still in the "Is that what I think it is?" phase. She put it on, and adjusted the pendant so that it lay in the center of her boobs. It was, indeed, a large pink penis with a red straw, like a catheter at the tip. It was quite realistic looking if you took away the straw and added testicles. Trixie gave it an affectionate squeeze and the thing squeaked.
"It squeaks, y'all!" she hollered to her friends, like it was a clever pet that could do a trick. Trixie stuck out her chest and waltzed around so that everyone could admire her squeaky penis.
The problem was that Emma was standing on a cooler next to her, placing her at a height at which put her face to face with the crazy thing. I had to do something. Sure, Emma has taken a bath with her brother and knows that boys have those things, but I felt uncomfortable with one in her face. I also didn't know what to say to Trixie. Mardi Gras is a time of freedom in which anyone can act like a complete ass. They're encouraged to, actually. Trixie was drunk, loud, and crass. Maybe I was being a coward, but to avoid a confrontation and to rescue my daughter I grabbed Emma and moved her to another spot.
"Hey!" Emma cried. "I wanna stand on the cooler."
The cooler made her tall enough to see the floats passing by and gave her a fighting chance to catch something in a crowd of taller kids and adults.
"Why don't I hold you?" I asked.
This worked. And so Emma's purity remains intact. But honestly, and I don't mean to sound like a prude, but why are there exposed body parts in the middle of the day at a family parade? Can these people not make it downtown? Yes, drunken, crass nudity is kind of part of our culture, but must it rear its head during the same parade where Winnie the Pooh and Tigger march down the street?
I sound so old.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Movie for one
In my annual attempt to see as many Academy Award nominated movies as possible, later tonight I'm going to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." I'm as equally enthusiastic to see "Slumdog Millionare" but my friend Libby (who will be joining me) said that feelgood movies make her feel like crap. Libby has a way of putting things that bewilder me and win my sympathies at the same time. So "The Button" it is. I plan to see the "Slumdog" later in the week by myself.
Before you go feeling sorry for me, you must know that I love seeing movies alone. It's something I started doing when I was 13 because The Outsiders was my favorite book, and that's what Ponyboy Curtis did. The first movie I saw by myself was "Scrooged" and I remember feeling weird about it at first. During a funny part there was no one to look over at to see if they were laughing too. Laughing at a scene just because I alone thought it was funny felt kind of like talking to myself. I think it's because when I'm with another person or a group, seeing a movie is a true social experience. I'm more likely to laugh if the person next to me is laughing too and not because I don't have my own sense of humor. It's like I'm saying, "I think this is funny. Do you too think this is funny? Excellent. We are having a marvelous time."
But there are some movies that for me to fully experience them, I need quiet. "Schindler's List" comes to mind. God, after I saw that alone I don't think I spoke for the rest of the day. I don't think it would have been the same experience if I'd gone with a friend or one of my sisters. I would have felt pressured to talk when we stepped out into the daylight, and I probably wouldn't have felt like talking at all. A movie that is done well, or hell any art form that is done well, leaves me with too much to think about. Only, unlike most of the things I overthink, the thoughts and emotions I have after a good movie are not a burden. It's a storm that I leaves me happily soaked.
And yet for all this love of movies, I don't think I've seen a single one this year that I really wanted to see. Like "Rachael Getting Married," "Changling," "In Bruges," "Slumdog Millionare," "Schenectady, NY" and "Tropic Thunder." Yes. That last one was a joke. See how funny I am on my own? Ha. I need to get crackin' on the ones I can rent. Only 19 days until the awards (bites nails with anticipation)! I hate watching it without knowing a single thing about the movies that are nominated. Sure I could watch it for the fashion, the the social commentary, the tense moments when someone legendary like Peter O'Toole is run offstage by the symphany for talking too long. Because, damnit, there are commercials to think about.
And at the moment there is breakfast to think about. What does a sophisticated moviegoer like myself have for breakfast, you ask? Fancy bagels? Homemade grits with bacon puree and a slice of papaya on the side? No, no, nothing that Hollywood. Oatmeal and coffee. Not sheek enough, you say? I'll bet you a hundred dollars that Anne Hathaway wishes she could have a Pop Tart while she walks down the red carpet. Now, whether I see any of the nominated movies or not, THAT would be worth watching.
Before you go feeling sorry for me, you must know that I love seeing movies alone. It's something I started doing when I was 13 because The Outsiders was my favorite book, and that's what Ponyboy Curtis did. The first movie I saw by myself was "Scrooged" and I remember feeling weird about it at first. During a funny part there was no one to look over at to see if they were laughing too. Laughing at a scene just because I alone thought it was funny felt kind of like talking to myself. I think it's because when I'm with another person or a group, seeing a movie is a true social experience. I'm more likely to laugh if the person next to me is laughing too and not because I don't have my own sense of humor. It's like I'm saying, "I think this is funny. Do you too think this is funny? Excellent. We are having a marvelous time."
But there are some movies that for me to fully experience them, I need quiet. "Schindler's List" comes to mind. God, after I saw that alone I don't think I spoke for the rest of the day. I don't think it would have been the same experience if I'd gone with a friend or one of my sisters. I would have felt pressured to talk when we stepped out into the daylight, and I probably wouldn't have felt like talking at all. A movie that is done well, or hell any art form that is done well, leaves me with too much to think about. Only, unlike most of the things I overthink, the thoughts and emotions I have after a good movie are not a burden. It's a storm that I leaves me happily soaked.
And yet for all this love of movies, I don't think I've seen a single one this year that I really wanted to see. Like "Rachael Getting Married," "Changling," "In Bruges," "Slumdog Millionare," "Schenectady, NY" and "Tropic Thunder." Yes. That last one was a joke. See how funny I am on my own? Ha. I need to get crackin' on the ones I can rent. Only 19 days until the awards (bites nails with anticipation)! I hate watching it without knowing a single thing about the movies that are nominated. Sure I could watch it for the fashion, the the social commentary, the tense moments when someone legendary like Peter O'Toole is run offstage by the symphany for talking too long. Because, damnit, there are commercials to think about.
And at the moment there is breakfast to think about. What does a sophisticated moviegoer like myself have for breakfast, you ask? Fancy bagels? Homemade grits with bacon puree and a slice of papaya on the side? No, no, nothing that Hollywood. Oatmeal and coffee. Not sheek enough, you say? I'll bet you a hundred dollars that Anne Hathaway wishes she could have a Pop Tart while she walks down the red carpet. Now, whether I see any of the nominated movies or not, THAT would be worth watching.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
For someone who needs it...possibly
****(In this post names have been changed to protect the anonymous)****
This is a brief update! I met with my sponsor (who I will call Maryl Streep) today for about two hours. I've just done the third step and am gearing up for the fourth where I make a "searching and fearless moral inventory" of myself. Heh heh- fearless! Waaaaaaaahahahahahahaha! I'm scared to death! Ah ha ha! [laughter dying down] Ha..ha!...oooh.
So what I am about to write is for those of you out there (Al-anon, AA, or NA) who might be going through the steps too.
Just in case you're shaking constantly, feeling raw and terrified most of the time, I'm right there with you. And when I saw "raw" I mean really, really raw. I'm a sushi roll. And I mean, like, not even the rice is cooked. On my Sunday night meeting I trembled the entire time. But Meryl Streep told me today that she thinks I'm doing awesome. She said she's seen a lot of growth in me since I showed up in Al-Anon last summer. Hooray! Approval from the big sister I never had! She said that the first three steps are really a daily continuing practice - admitting I don't have control, that a higher power can help me, and then giving my problems up to God.
On Sunday I met a new person, named Pat Benatar who is also new to the program. She said she was scared too and we bonded over that for a while. Then, without thinking about it, I volunteered to help for the next meeting.
The group moderator, Ulysses S. Grant, raised his bushy eyebrows. "Awesome," he said. "What do you want to do?"
"Uhhh...what do you need?"
He was unclear about this so he said he'd call me.
The group leader (I don't remember exactly what they're called) of the Wednesday meeting, Sophia Loren, was much more specific. That meeting is in the middle of the day, and it attracts mostly retired old ladies. This is a sharp contrast to Sunday's meeting which is mostly bohemian. Anyway, Sophia Loren, like most small old ladies I know, had a list of things I could do.
"First, honey, if you could lift this suitcase for me that would be wonderful," she said, beaming.
There was an entire suitcase of new books and meeting materials that needed to be carried back into the supply closet. So I am now the brute strength of the group. Feels good to be doing service.
Anyway, what I wanted to tell you if you happen to be new to all of this like me is that it is the most painful and wonderful thing I've ever gone through. Even right now I'm shaking and my stomach feels sick, but I wouldn't go back to the way I was before if you paid me. (of course, you never know, I'm willing to take offers) There's a new voice that's talking in my head, and it's the parent I never had. She's cool and calm, and maternal, and I think she's the person I'm turning into. I hope she is. She's so strong and groovy.
And amazing things are happening! My mom apoloized to me! She's on the 9th step and she said I was the first person she wanted to apologize to. At first I was nervous. I didn't know what she was going to say, and I was afraid for her to bring up really painful things. But she didn't get specific and I was glad. She just said, "I'm sorry for how much I've hurt you. I know it's a lot. I want you to know that I'll do anything I can to make up for it. Is there anything I can do?"
The kid in me thought, "Ask for a Wii!" but the new, stronger voice in me came out and said, "Take care of yourself. You know, I used to have all those nightmares that you were screaming for help and I couldn't help you. You're taking better care of yourself now, and it makes me feel better. You're doing good, just keep it up. It's nice to see you this way." I could have told her never to drink again, just promise me you won't drink or take pills again. But she can't promise that. So I guess I told her the next best thing.
For those of you who don't know my mom this was amazing. I never thought she'd say that. I never even thought she'd stay dry so long, but she's really working hard. I was proud of her because I know that must have taken a lot of courage to admit with your own kid.
Anyway, I just had this nagging feeling that somebody else needed to read this. It could just be the caretaker in me. We're in this together whoever you are, Meryl Streep, Sophia Loren, Ulysses S. Grant and Pat Benatar!
We belong to the light!
We belong to the thunder!
This is a brief update! I met with my sponsor (who I will call Maryl Streep) today for about two hours. I've just done the third step and am gearing up for the fourth where I make a "searching and fearless moral inventory" of myself. Heh heh- fearless! Waaaaaaaahahahahahahaha! I'm scared to death! Ah ha ha! [laughter dying down] Ha..ha!...oooh.
So what I am about to write is for those of you out there (Al-anon, AA, or NA) who might be going through the steps too.
Just in case you're shaking constantly, feeling raw and terrified most of the time, I'm right there with you. And when I saw "raw" I mean really, really raw. I'm a sushi roll. And I mean, like, not even the rice is cooked. On my Sunday night meeting I trembled the entire time. But Meryl Streep told me today that she thinks I'm doing awesome. She said she's seen a lot of growth in me since I showed up in Al-Anon last summer. Hooray! Approval from the big sister I never had! She said that the first three steps are really a daily continuing practice - admitting I don't have control, that a higher power can help me, and then giving my problems up to God.
On Sunday I met a new person, named Pat Benatar who is also new to the program. She said she was scared too and we bonded over that for a while. Then, without thinking about it, I volunteered to help for the next meeting.
The group moderator, Ulysses S. Grant, raised his bushy eyebrows. "Awesome," he said. "What do you want to do?"
"Uhhh...what do you need?"
He was unclear about this so he said he'd call me.
The group leader (I don't remember exactly what they're called) of the Wednesday meeting, Sophia Loren, was much more specific. That meeting is in the middle of the day, and it attracts mostly retired old ladies. This is a sharp contrast to Sunday's meeting which is mostly bohemian. Anyway, Sophia Loren, like most small old ladies I know, had a list of things I could do.
"First, honey, if you could lift this suitcase for me that would be wonderful," she said, beaming.
There was an entire suitcase of new books and meeting materials that needed to be carried back into the supply closet. So I am now the brute strength of the group. Feels good to be doing service.
Anyway, what I wanted to tell you if you happen to be new to all of this like me is that it is the most painful and wonderful thing I've ever gone through. Even right now I'm shaking and my stomach feels sick, but I wouldn't go back to the way I was before if you paid me. (of course, you never know, I'm willing to take offers) There's a new voice that's talking in my head, and it's the parent I never had. She's cool and calm, and maternal, and I think she's the person I'm turning into. I hope she is. She's so strong and groovy.
And amazing things are happening! My mom apoloized to me! She's on the 9th step and she said I was the first person she wanted to apologize to. At first I was nervous. I didn't know what she was going to say, and I was afraid for her to bring up really painful things. But she didn't get specific and I was glad. She just said, "I'm sorry for how much I've hurt you. I know it's a lot. I want you to know that I'll do anything I can to make up for it. Is there anything I can do?"
The kid in me thought, "Ask for a Wii!" but the new, stronger voice in me came out and said, "Take care of yourself. You know, I used to have all those nightmares that you were screaming for help and I couldn't help you. You're taking better care of yourself now, and it makes me feel better. You're doing good, just keep it up. It's nice to see you this way." I could have told her never to drink again, just promise me you won't drink or take pills again. But she can't promise that. So I guess I told her the next best thing.
For those of you who don't know my mom this was amazing. I never thought she'd say that. I never even thought she'd stay dry so long, but she's really working hard. I was proud of her because I know that must have taken a lot of courage to admit with your own kid.
Anyway, I just had this nagging feeling that somebody else needed to read this. It could just be the caretaker in me. We're in this together whoever you are, Meryl Streep, Sophia Loren, Ulysses S. Grant and Pat Benatar!
We belong to the light!
We belong to the thunder!
This is not a metaphor
I woke up this morning, dragged myself into the bathroom and turned on the light. My immediate reaction, when I looked in the mirror, filled me with joy. I said (out loud, mind you), "Hey! I'm pretty!" and hugged myself. Then I froze and looked at myself again. There I stood, arms wrapped around myself, an embrace inspired by my own perceived cuteness. "What am I, three years old?" I asked myself.
You see, my darlings, with all of this self-help I'm going through I'm a little worried about how weird and over the top New Agey I could get. April lent me a book on CD called "You Can Heal Your Life" by Louise Hay, a woman who survived severe child abuse and poverty, and then went beyond surviving to thriving like a one of those house plants that starts off small and then blooms like mad, with Audrey Two-like vines draping out of the pot and onto the floor. I jived with most of what ole Louise had to say, you know, all the thinking positively stuff, and how if you tell yourself that you deserve nothing then you're likely to get nothing. But there were times I felt that Louise went slightly off the deep end. She was talking about her body and accepting it the way it is - stretch marks, blemishes, wrinkles and everything. All very cool. She would say, "I love my face!" and I thought, "I love your face too, Louise! You rock!" And then she said (and I don't remember the exact quote except for the last four words), "Every part of my body serves me and I love it and respect it. Even my anus. I love my anus!" This is where I felt that our paths split. I feel that I can become a healthy, confident person without giving my anus the time of day. It will go it's way and I will go mine. Does it have a function? Sure. And I respect that. Will I annouce our love to the world? No.
But what if I eventually do? What if I become like some of the people I meet at Wild Lotus who talk constantly about "the universe." Don't get me wrong, I dig the universe. I acknowledge that I am part of it, and I even dig on karma. But I have this fear in the back of my mind that in about ten years I'm going to do something bizarre like change my name to Lilypad Lovinfields and teach a children's yoga class where I also play the lute.
"And now children," I'll say, as I strum. "We're going to learn to chant! Say it with me, "OooooommmmIlovemyanusooooooooooommmmm."
Am I playing on stereotypes just a wee bit? Perhaps. But everyone I know has a fear of becoming some sort of stereotype, and it's high time that I admit that, yes, I'm afraid of becoming weirder than I already am. And why am I afraid of it, you ask? Sigh. Because I worry about what people think of me just a tad much. I think it's healthy to have a little dose of this. It's why I don't do things like expel gas in public. I know a few people like this and I wish that they would worry about what I think just enough to stop, or go to another room.
I will say one thing, though, and if I sound all cheesy and New Agey then so be it. There's a serendipitous quality to all of the messages I'm getting lately. Yoga, Al-anon, therapy, and believe it or not FLY Lady (a website I visit that helps chicks like me get their houses organized) have all been saying the same things. They all tell me to love myself the way I am. When I first joined FLY Lday I didn't know that FLY stood for "Finally Loving Yourself." I thought, "Wait, I just want you to teach me how to keep my house clean so that I'm not embarassed when people come over." But it turns out that it's so much more! The first thing FLY Lady tells you to do is shine your sink, and then make sure when you wake up every morning to get fully dressed and wash your face. In essence, to take care of myself first thing.
FLY Lady sends me motherly reminders each day, and the one from the other day was so fitting it was creepy. She said this, "Each one of us has a light that shines. Some of our lights have been shaded by those negative words we have heard all our lives. We have to remove that shroud of sadness that has dimmed our lights and let our light shine! Let me start this process by reminding you that our parents did all they knew to do! Their little lights were dimmed too. We begin this process with forgiveness. Forgive them because they did not know what they were doing...Now go shine your sink! This is not a metaphor! Take this action and see that little ray of hope for yourself! Your shiny sink is just the beginning! Let your light shine and see the beauty that is you!"
Keep in mind, I originally joined this site to learn how to keep my house clean. So, like, the universe (insert a vision of me with my eyes all wide and trippy cosmic-like) is telling me in every possible way to love myself. Duuuuuuuuuuude! I must totally obey.
I'm off to make silly faces at myself in the mirror. Am I acting like a three year old? Yes. And I love it (insert a vision of me blowing a raspberry).
You see, my darlings, with all of this self-help I'm going through I'm a little worried about how weird and over the top New Agey I could get. April lent me a book on CD called "You Can Heal Your Life" by Louise Hay, a woman who survived severe child abuse and poverty, and then went beyond surviving to thriving like a one of those house plants that starts off small and then blooms like mad, with Audrey Two-like vines draping out of the pot and onto the floor. I jived with most of what ole Louise had to say, you know, all the thinking positively stuff, and how if you tell yourself that you deserve nothing then you're likely to get nothing. But there were times I felt that Louise went slightly off the deep end. She was talking about her body and accepting it the way it is - stretch marks, blemishes, wrinkles and everything. All very cool. She would say, "I love my face!" and I thought, "I love your face too, Louise! You rock!" And then she said (and I don't remember the exact quote except for the last four words), "Every part of my body serves me and I love it and respect it. Even my anus. I love my anus!" This is where I felt that our paths split. I feel that I can become a healthy, confident person without giving my anus the time of day. It will go it's way and I will go mine. Does it have a function? Sure. And I respect that. Will I annouce our love to the world? No.
But what if I eventually do? What if I become like some of the people I meet at Wild Lotus who talk constantly about "the universe." Don't get me wrong, I dig the universe. I acknowledge that I am part of it, and I even dig on karma. But I have this fear in the back of my mind that in about ten years I'm going to do something bizarre like change my name to Lilypad Lovinfields and teach a children's yoga class where I also play the lute.
"And now children," I'll say, as I strum. "We're going to learn to chant! Say it with me, "OooooommmmIlovemyanusooooooooooommmmm."
Am I playing on stereotypes just a wee bit? Perhaps. But everyone I know has a fear of becoming some sort of stereotype, and it's high time that I admit that, yes, I'm afraid of becoming weirder than I already am. And why am I afraid of it, you ask? Sigh. Because I worry about what people think of me just a tad much. I think it's healthy to have a little dose of this. It's why I don't do things like expel gas in public. I know a few people like this and I wish that they would worry about what I think just enough to stop, or go to another room.
I will say one thing, though, and if I sound all cheesy and New Agey then so be it. There's a serendipitous quality to all of the messages I'm getting lately. Yoga, Al-anon, therapy, and believe it or not FLY Lady (a website I visit that helps chicks like me get their houses organized) have all been saying the same things. They all tell me to love myself the way I am. When I first joined FLY Lday I didn't know that FLY stood for "Finally Loving Yourself." I thought, "Wait, I just want you to teach me how to keep my house clean so that I'm not embarassed when people come over." But it turns out that it's so much more! The first thing FLY Lady tells you to do is shine your sink, and then make sure when you wake up every morning to get fully dressed and wash your face. In essence, to take care of myself first thing.
FLY Lady sends me motherly reminders each day, and the one from the other day was so fitting it was creepy. She said this, "Each one of us has a light that shines. Some of our lights have been shaded by those negative words we have heard all our lives. We have to remove that shroud of sadness that has dimmed our lights and let our light shine! Let me start this process by reminding you that our parents did all they knew to do! Their little lights were dimmed too. We begin this process with forgiveness. Forgive them because they did not know what they were doing...Now go shine your sink! This is not a metaphor! Take this action and see that little ray of hope for yourself! Your shiny sink is just the beginning! Let your light shine and see the beauty that is you!"
Keep in mind, I originally joined this site to learn how to keep my house clean. So, like, the universe (insert a vision of me with my eyes all wide and trippy cosmic-like) is telling me in every possible way to love myself. Duuuuuuuuuuude! I must totally obey.
I'm off to make silly faces at myself in the mirror. Am I acting like a three year old? Yes. And I love it (insert a vision of me blowing a raspberry).
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Boots of Chinese Plastic
I just discovered this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVPSC321Fg8
Damn, Chrissie Hynde is awesome.
I'm working on the end of the book. Stop me if I've blogged about this. I emailed the agent a synopsis of the new ending on Friday and she wrote back to say that it's "fabulous." Wooooohoooo! Fabulous! Yes, I cherish every nice thing that she writes about the book as if I were reading a love letter. So I'm finishing the damn thing, and then I'll ship it off to her. I've been sitting at the laptop today, writing steadily and youtubing songs that go with my mood.
Back to work, gents.
By the way,
You look fantastic
In your boots
Of Chinese plastic
Damn, Chrissie Hynde is awesome.
I'm working on the end of the book. Stop me if I've blogged about this. I emailed the agent a synopsis of the new ending on Friday and she wrote back to say that it's "fabulous." Wooooohoooo! Fabulous! Yes, I cherish every nice thing that she writes about the book as if I were reading a love letter. So I'm finishing the damn thing, and then I'll ship it off to her. I've been sitting at the laptop today, writing steadily and youtubing songs that go with my mood.
Back to work, gents.
By the way,
You look fantastic
In your boots
Of Chinese plastic
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Damn
I'm better this morning. Gees, I don't think I've written a post like that before. I think that was a cry for help. Sorry guys, I try not to do that on the internet. I'm trying to compose my raw emotional posts in a way that if someone else indentifies with it they can feel comforted by it. The good thing is that this parental voice has come around in my mind and last night I was able to soothe myself to sleep - no beating myself up physically, or entertaining thoughts of hurting myself. That's a significant babystep I think.
So allow me to be more specific than I was last night. I was upset with myself for the insane way that I handle anger. Whenever someone I like, love, or even if it's just someone who I don't know well but want them to like me I'm extra, super nice. I know, I know, what an asshole right? Well, yes. Sometimes. For example, about six years ago I was a hostess at Houston's restaraunt for a very brief period of time. Like, just a few months. Eventually I was fired and it wasn't because I did anything horrible. I was told that I was not "seating aggressively." When my manager said this to me I imagined a hostesss politely leading a couple to their table, and then suddenly lifting one of them in the air, dropping them, and then body slamming them into their seat. But that's not exactly what he was talking about. Houston's is a busy restaurant and they want waitors and hostesses to be neaurotically fast and OCD on the ball. This is why my sister Stephanie was lead hostess. She was totally on top of things and damn good. I was kind of pokey and joked around a lot. But I also knew that the unspoken reason here was, "we want sexy hostesses who flirt." I knew this because I was told to put on more makeup, even though by more standards I was wearing a lot, and because all of the hostesses were very flirty and sexy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Stephanie is a tease. She's just hot and she's got a good game face. If a regular customer came in who liked to flirt with the hostesses, she was able to handle him even if he was a real slime. I was not able to do this. If a dude was all weird and flirty I would maybe giggle and fall silent, or I would look at him funny before I had time to stop myself.
Aaaaanyway, the manager didn't like me very much. This somehow made me want him to like me more even though this guy was kind of a jerk. I wanted him to see me as sweet and genuine. But these qualities only seemed to aggravate him. A few weeks after I was fired I came into drop something off to Stephanie and when the guy (whose name I don't even remember) came to the podium to tell her something I told him hi and then gave him a hug. When I hugged him he back away and said, "No, no. Good to see you" and scurried off.
I actually hugged this guy, this guy who I didn't like, who didn't like me and who had fired me a few weeks before. Though it was rude of him to push me away atleast he was acknowledging that there was a problem between us. I don't like being angry at people. I don't handle it well. I can even handle them being mad at me better than I can handle my own anger, and that's not saying very much. This reaction is seemingly genuine. A lot of people have been touched by it. They're kind of like, "Wow, you really forgave me fast, what a great, merciful person you are." But how could I have forgiven them when I didn't even acknowledge that there was a problem in the first place? I wasn't being all merciful and wonderful. I was in complete denial, and it's only caused complications in every single one of my relationships.
It's because this stuff tends to build. And build. And build. And then...you know...build. Until eventually I'm an enormous ant hill of supressed anger, like one of those mountain sized African ant hills that you see on Animal Planet. I've said before that it takes a lot for me to completely cut someone out of my life, but that statement is misleading. That makes it sound like the problem is all theirs when the truth is that with all of these people I let them hurt me again and again, and each time I held them closer. Until I exploded. There are times when I've even said "I love you" when I'm extremely angry. I can think of times that I've done that with both family and friends. The reason those moments stand out in my mind is because I remember thinking, "Why aren't I mad? I should be mad." The friend I lost once asked me, "Why aren't you mad at me?" And I thought about it and told her, "I don't know." I wasn't able to let myself feel it. I numbed it with, "She didn't really mean it. I know deep down she respects me," and also "She's aldready so hurt. I don't want to be mad at her on top of that." As if anger is the absolute worse thing I can feel for a person. As if love is "I'm totally cool with you all the time no matter what you do," and "I'm pissed at you" translates into, "I hate you." But that doesn't make sense.
You guys are all wondering if the times I've said "I love you" out of the blue were times that I was pissed, aren't you? :) Well, honestly, I might have been. But to make it up to both of us I'm trying to learn how to bring a problem to light without acting extremely one way or the other. Also remember that the "I love you" wasn't a lie. I love all the people (who I know) who read this blog. It was just beside the point. It was more like a distraction. Like, I could have said, "Oh look, there's a pretty rainbow. Let's focus on that instead of the problem." The reason I felt pathetic last night is because I've done that sooooooo much in the recent past that it makes me feel crazy.
I know it might sound weird that trying to be really nice has made my life out of control and unmanagable, but it's true. I guess I could have done worse. I could have hit you all over the head with a plumbing tool. I could have buried my anger with drugs, World of Warcraft, or alcohol. (right now Christy is totally digging that I lumped World of Warcraft with addcitive drugs)
And now, my lovelies, it is time to face the reality of the day. I need to pick up the cat from the vet, post something for Creature Feature House, and attack the looming pile of laundry. Also accepting that I'm human and that getting mad doesn't make me the devil. And it should be noted that from what I know the friend I lost is doing very well. I'm getting there, I think. May we both have happiness.
So allow me to be more specific than I was last night. I was upset with myself for the insane way that I handle anger. Whenever someone I like, love, or even if it's just someone who I don't know well but want them to like me I'm extra, super nice. I know, I know, what an asshole right? Well, yes. Sometimes. For example, about six years ago I was a hostess at Houston's restaraunt for a very brief period of time. Like, just a few months. Eventually I was fired and it wasn't because I did anything horrible. I was told that I was not "seating aggressively." When my manager said this to me I imagined a hostesss politely leading a couple to their table, and then suddenly lifting one of them in the air, dropping them, and then body slamming them into their seat. But that's not exactly what he was talking about. Houston's is a busy restaurant and they want waitors and hostesses to be neaurotically fast and OCD on the ball. This is why my sister Stephanie was lead hostess. She was totally on top of things and damn good. I was kind of pokey and joked around a lot. But I also knew that the unspoken reason here was, "we want sexy hostesses who flirt." I knew this because I was told to put on more makeup, even though by more standards I was wearing a lot, and because all of the hostesses were very flirty and sexy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Stephanie is a tease. She's just hot and she's got a good game face. If a regular customer came in who liked to flirt with the hostesses, she was able to handle him even if he was a real slime. I was not able to do this. If a dude was all weird and flirty I would maybe giggle and fall silent, or I would look at him funny before I had time to stop myself.
Aaaaanyway, the manager didn't like me very much. This somehow made me want him to like me more even though this guy was kind of a jerk. I wanted him to see me as sweet and genuine. But these qualities only seemed to aggravate him. A few weeks after I was fired I came into drop something off to Stephanie and when the guy (whose name I don't even remember) came to the podium to tell her something I told him hi and then gave him a hug. When I hugged him he back away and said, "No, no. Good to see you" and scurried off.
I actually hugged this guy, this guy who I didn't like, who didn't like me and who had fired me a few weeks before. Though it was rude of him to push me away atleast he was acknowledging that there was a problem between us. I don't like being angry at people. I don't handle it well. I can even handle them being mad at me better than I can handle my own anger, and that's not saying very much. This reaction is seemingly genuine. A lot of people have been touched by it. They're kind of like, "Wow, you really forgave me fast, what a great, merciful person you are." But how could I have forgiven them when I didn't even acknowledge that there was a problem in the first place? I wasn't being all merciful and wonderful. I was in complete denial, and it's only caused complications in every single one of my relationships.
It's because this stuff tends to build. And build. And build. And then...you know...build. Until eventually I'm an enormous ant hill of supressed anger, like one of those mountain sized African ant hills that you see on Animal Planet. I've said before that it takes a lot for me to completely cut someone out of my life, but that statement is misleading. That makes it sound like the problem is all theirs when the truth is that with all of these people I let them hurt me again and again, and each time I held them closer. Until I exploded. There are times when I've even said "I love you" when I'm extremely angry. I can think of times that I've done that with both family and friends. The reason those moments stand out in my mind is because I remember thinking, "Why aren't I mad? I should be mad." The friend I lost once asked me, "Why aren't you mad at me?" And I thought about it and told her, "I don't know." I wasn't able to let myself feel it. I numbed it with, "She didn't really mean it. I know deep down she respects me," and also "She's aldready so hurt. I don't want to be mad at her on top of that." As if anger is the absolute worse thing I can feel for a person. As if love is "I'm totally cool with you all the time no matter what you do," and "I'm pissed at you" translates into, "I hate you." But that doesn't make sense.
You guys are all wondering if the times I've said "I love you" out of the blue were times that I was pissed, aren't you? :) Well, honestly, I might have been. But to make it up to both of us I'm trying to learn how to bring a problem to light without acting extremely one way or the other. Also remember that the "I love you" wasn't a lie. I love all the people (who I know) who read this blog. It was just beside the point. It was more like a distraction. Like, I could have said, "Oh look, there's a pretty rainbow. Let's focus on that instead of the problem." The reason I felt pathetic last night is because I've done that sooooooo much in the recent past that it makes me feel crazy.
I know it might sound weird that trying to be really nice has made my life out of control and unmanagable, but it's true. I guess I could have done worse. I could have hit you all over the head with a plumbing tool. I could have buried my anger with drugs, World of Warcraft, or alcohol. (right now Christy is totally digging that I lumped World of Warcraft with addcitive drugs)
And now, my lovelies, it is time to face the reality of the day. I need to pick up the cat from the vet, post something for Creature Feature House, and attack the looming pile of laundry. Also accepting that I'm human and that getting mad doesn't make me the devil. And it should be noted that from what I know the friend I lost is doing very well. I'm getting there, I think. May we both have happiness.
Friday, January 23, 2009
I'm having a really bad night
I'm on step 3 now. I'm supposed to give things up to God. What if I'm mad at God, though? Not always. Just tonight. This process is so fucking slow. The major highs and lows of this whole being-honest-with-myself-trip are terrible. I see things and accept them and then the next day I see them again, the same things, and I run screaming. And I've hurt people and I've lost a friend. I had another meltdown in November. What if I fall apart again next week? I'm supposed to be getting better. I'm looking back on the last year and a half and hating myself, I mean seriously loating the pathetic dweeb I've been. I just read back through my journal and a lot of e-mails I sent this time around last year to get some perspective on where I was when I was falling apart and where I am now. Oh my God, I was crazy. I'm sorry I put you all through that. The list of wrong doings that I'm going to have to write eventually is going to be a bitch. Sometimes I feel like I'm not moving forward at all. I'm just looking back at everything. But I couldn't really look at it when I was in it.
Arrrrrgh. I should go to bed. I know this mood I'm in.
Ok, I just reread my last post for 2008. Leather Fanny Pack Lady said that Al-anon lows are bad shit. I need to get to a meeting tomorrow. I need to get to sleep, it's 1:00 in the fucking morning.
Arrrrrgh. I should go to bed. I know this mood I'm in.
Ok, I just reread my last post for 2008. Leather Fanny Pack Lady said that Al-anon lows are bad shit. I need to get to a meeting tomorrow. I need to get to sleep, it's 1:00 in the fucking morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)