Posted in daily, la familia, life, meme-tastic, who needs a psychiatrist?

Day 20, A Bit Late: A Difficult Time In My Life

I don’t talk about it a lot. I don’t like to talk about it, at all. Mostly because it’s embarrassing and honestly, it’s something I keep private, because it’s really nobody’s business. I don’t need to feel judged about what I’ve done or how I got through it, not when I’m already ashamed of it. A few years ago, I found myself in major financial trouble. I was spending too much and making too little and we all know that’s a very dangerous combination. It got to the point of…well, I’d rather not say, but I was lucky to have parents that were able and kind enough to help me instead of letting me fall into an even deeper hole that there was no way out of. I owe them literally everything, and I will always be grateful to them for having the will and compassion to help and forgive me.

I learned so much from that experience, and I’m bound and determined to not let it happen again. I budget my money, and I started a second job a little over a year ago to have some extra spending money (and to bulk up my savings!). I still shop on occasion, but only if my budget allows, and I have vowed to never get a credit card again.

Unless my ridiculously rich (and handsome and¬†well hung¬†funny!) future husband says it’s okay.

Join in at the 31 Day Blogging Challenge!

Posted in blogging, daily, don't mind me I'm new at this, who needs a psychiatrist?

Too far inside my head.

I know I’ve covered this before, and I apologize for sounding like a broken record. It’s hard for me to know what to write here. I think social media is ruining me. A few years ago, I used to write almost every day. It wasn’t an “official” blog, more of an online journal that I shared with a few friends, and I wasn’t exactly Emily Dickinson — I would ramble and not always tell the best stories, and would occasionally forget where I was going with things, but damn it I was writing. Then MySpace came along, and my thoughts and ramblings gave way to wall posts and group messages. I joined Twitter and facebook and my more coherent, drawn-out ideas ended up as 140-character outbursts and status updates. I was writing less and less, just when I wanted to try to be an “actual” blogger.

I think — I know — I got intimidated. I started reading more and more blogs by writers that were light years ahead of me, talent-wise, and I thought “Who the hell am I to try to attempt this?”. I trudged on in my own way, but with my increased use of social media it fell by the wayside. Compound this with my innate shyness, my want to keep private things private, and my fear of sounding like a jackass to total strangers on the internet and voila, there’s why I’m not writing.

Also the whole “Two jobs and a house to take care of” thing, oh and the fact that I have no dating or married/family life to speak of. Shit has to happen to someone before they can write about it, no?

It’s incredibly narcissistic of me to think why on earth anyone would care about why I am or am not writing, and I suppose I should just first and foremost write for *me* and not worry about anything else. I would do that, but there are things I am just not ready to put out there at all. It’s up to me to find a happy medium, I guess. Stick with the things that are simple and fun and easy first and dig deeper later on.

In closing, I’m working on it. And there are things I want to say, I’m just struggling with the notion of sharing everything with…everyone.

I’ll get there. Maybe. Until then, there will be cupcakes!

Posted in blogging, daily, life, who needs a psychiatrist?

On Holding Back, and Letting Go.

A few years ago, I spent a lot of time around Yahoo — in chat rooms (cringe) and on message boards, and on their first foray into the social media world and blogging platforms. I wrote about anything and everything. I shared my thoughts and goals, the minutiae of my everyday comings and goings, and my opinions on everything from pop culture to whether or not you should wear pajama bottoms to the grocery store.
By the way? No, you shouldn’t. Put some real damn pants on, you lazy so-and-so.
The thing was, all that stuff I wrote? I was sharing with people I knew only from the internet. The few dozen or so faceless people I interacted with, that I considered friends, but had never actually met in person. These people knew a different side of me, a side I was a little afraid to share with my “real” friends, or family or coworkers. So, in my mind at least, it was almost as though what I was writing was safe. Safe from comment or derision, opinion, and most of all, repercussion. 
I’m of two minds about what to share here anymore. I have things to talk about and to get off my chest, things that bother me and things I’d love to shout from the rooftops. But I know the things I say here aren’t always safe to share, because you’re not all faceless people from the internet. Many of the people that read this little blog are people that know me in person — friends and coworkers, even family, and I’m afraid what I say might be misconstrued or cause hurt feelings, when most of what I would say wouldn’t be more than just a way to get things off my chest, to open up, to air out my thoughts and vent my frustrations.

So what’s a personal blogger to do? (Gah, I just internally cringed at calling myself that. One post a month does not a blogger make, young lady.) I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t keep holding things in. So, I’m going to try to open up more, and see where this takes me. I definitely won’t be sharing everything here — I do want to keep at least some aspect of my private life private — but I think that sharing, talking, ranting, even confessing — will help me more in the long run than keeping quiet for fear of upsetting anyone else.

Posted in daily, life, who needs a psychiatrist?

You Can’t Carry It With You If You Want To Survive

Oh, children. It’s been a rough month indeed. I started NaBloPoMo with the best of intentions, but at some point (looks to be the 12th?) I lost interest, lost direction, lost my voice. To be honest, I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately. With Jasper passing away, some uncertainty at work, and another more private issue that’s been weighing on my mind, I guess I just haven’t been feeling particularly chatty. This is in no way an excuse, and I know I could have shared my feelings here freely (what is a blog for, anyway?), but there’s just some things one has to work out on their own. I’m definitely not all the way through it, but I’m getting there.

I went for a walk on my lunch hour today – it was a beautiful, brisk autumn afternoon, and I felt the need to get out. I was listening to some newly downloaded songs on my iPhone, including this one from Tuesday night’s episode of Glee, a cover of Florence and the Machine’s Dog Days are Over:

If you listen to the lyrics, the song is actually about a girl that runs away from happiness, which is admittedly a sad concept, but I listen to this song and can’t help but think that this is what joy sounds like.

         Run fast for your mother and fast for your father
         Run for your children and your sisters and brothers
         Leave all your love and your loving behind you
         Can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

          The dog days are over
          The dog days are gone
          Can’t you hear the horses
          Cause here they come

I listen, I close my eyes, and I know I’ll be okay.  

Posted in daily, life, twitter, who needs a psychiatrist?

Blogging To My 16 Year-Old Self.

I usually don’t pay attention to the memes that circulate around Twitter — 9 times out of 10 they’re childish and annoying. Today, however, I saw one circulate that I actually participated in; the ‘Tweet yourself at age 16’ meme. I only tweeted twice with the tag, but it made me think about what else I would say to myself at that age. 

Dear Me at age 16;
First off, honey, stop being such a bitch to Mom. She ends up being your best friend, and the one person in the entire world who will put up with all your shit and still love you the next day. Secondly, do some damn homework. Study. Consider Penn State, but maybe take a year off first to grow the hell up. Travel when you can. Learn to speak Spanish. Take pictures. Fall the fuck in love. But not with him, because he just used you to get over her. 
Don’t waste your tears. 
Be reckless. Be wild. Enjoy your youth. Don’t be so concerned with being the good girl. Make friends, but be careful who you trust.
Tell Grandma you love her, a lot. 
Credit cards are a bad idea before you get a real job. As are denim overalls in 1997. 
Stop perming your hair. It’s gorgeous. 
And so are you. 
You at age 35

Posted in daily, life, who needs a psychiatrist?

Things I Think About When I’m Bored.

I know we all have irrational fears; those fears that, while it’s ridiculous to believe they could ever happen, you think of your friend who knows that guy whose sister hung out with the girl that found, like, a toe in her Dairy Queen Blizzard that one time and then you think, “What if?”

I’m more than willing to admit most if not all of my irrational fears are more whacked out than some – like, driving beneath an overpass on the highway and wondering if it’s going to collapse right on top of me. Or, when walking downstairs to my basement I wonder how long it would be before I was missed if I fell down and broke my neck.
Before the dog started to eat my face, I hope.
I take the stairs one at a time now, just to be safe.
Posted in daily, Kitchen Remodel, la familia, life, RIP, who needs a psychiatrist?

Dudes. I Don’t Even Know Where to START.

It’s been a really weird couple of weeks for me, let’s just leave it at that. I’ve been fighting off some sort of weird depressive episode, which was brought on by a number of factors, one of which I’ll get to later, and my day to day operations have been severely affected by it. I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I collapse on the sofa. Fun? No. Depressing.

I’m slowly working through it, though; this past weekend really helped, as did a small amount (Small. Very Small. Like minuscule.) of Retail Therapy in the form of Marshall’s Home Goods and Old Navy online. The trip to Marshall’s barely counts because I used my birthday money, so kindly shut it. I finally, finally got an enameled cast iron dutch oven very much like the Le Creuset I’ve been coveting for years, except for a fraction of the price because, hello? Expensive much? And last Monday I ordered a pair of jeans and some cute tops for fall from Old Navy, which have yet to arrive. What the hey, Old Navy? Send me my shit.

As for the weekend, we had some gorgeous fall weather in the Lehigh Valley, and I took advantage of it by…cleaning. (Par-tay!) The house really needed it, too. With all the pouting and laziness of the past few weeks I had kind of let everything go, so Saturday I opened the doors and windows to let in the air and sunshine and went at it.

Sunday was a banner day in that I finally bought my new kitchen floor! Seriously, I cannot tell you how happy this made me. Of course, the floor hasn’t been installed yet, but IT IS IN MY HOUSE. And that’s the most important part. Not sure when Big Poppa wants to install, but will post pics as soon as we do. We’re focusing on getting the kitchen done first, then the living room if all goes well (fingers are crossed).

Let’s see, what else…Oh! I went to Lowe’s over my lunch break today, and had kind of a weird encounter with one of their employees. I was in the seasonal section looking for a winter cover for my air conditioner because we’re so not taking that big bitch out the window this year, and from out of nowhere, 20 feet behind me, some dude is all, “Hi Ma’am! How are you today? Can I help you find anything?!” I looked around, startled, and was all, “Uh, no, I’m cool, thanks.” Dude says, “Okay! Well, just let me know if you need anything!”

This might have been nice and not at all creepy had he not already been helping another customer and also not 20 feet away from me talking to me while my back was turned. I then recalled seeing this very same fellow a few weeks ago when I stopped into this very same Lowe’s and he reacted the very same way. While I was in line to check out. As a matter of fact, at the time it was so peculiar that the person in line in front of me said, “I thought he knew you or something.” Uh, no. Not at all. Needless to say, when I saw this ever so helpful and not at all creepy Ohmifuggingod so creepy fellow by himself walking towards me I shot down another aisle and got my ass out of there. I’ve since been assured that many Lowe’s employees of the male persuasion react in the same manner when there’s breasts about, but all the same, I don’t believe I’ll be returning to that particular Lowe’s by myself any time soon.

And finally, the bad news. And I have to write this part because it’ll help to get it out, no matter how much it sucks. My great-aunt Madlyn, the wife of my great-uncle Bob and the mother to my cousin Randy, passed away two weeks ago after a three year battle with pancreatic cancer. Three years. With pancreatic cancer. If you know anything at all about pancreatic CA, you know that surviving with it for three years is unheard of. I like to think the fact she fought so long is a testament to the kind of woman my Aunt Madlyn was.

My great-aunt Madlyn was the woman in my family that never forgot a birthday, ever. She made sure we all – every kid in the family- got ‘just a little something’ for Christmas and Easter. If any of us made the newspaper for anything; sports, honor roll, engagement or birth announcements; she kept the clipping in a scrap book. She could keep you on the phone for hours at a time. She made the best fruit salad ever. She loved her family, all of us, to no end. And now she’s gone. Sometimes you don’t realize just how fucking much you love someone until they leave you, you know? I’ll always remember Aunt Madlyn. I’ll always try to love as much as she did. I’ll always be grateful to her for being the mother my mom should have had, and the friend she needed the most. One day it’s going to stop hurting to think about her. One day I’m just going to remember how wonderful she was, instead of how much I miss her. I know it won’t be soon.

Until then I’m coping, and avoiding the creepy dudes at Lowe’s.

Posted in daily, lack of common sense, who needs a psychiatrist?

You can almost smell the crazy.

I was headed to the movies tonight with my friend Cheryl and missed my exit, which happens from time to time, especially when you’re me and you’re driving on Rte. 22 near the 33 interchange and the traffic just seems to lump together in the right hand lane and NO ONE FUCKING MOVES and they’re doing it just to spite me so I say Screw it and drive to the next exit. It took about the same amount of time to get to the theater that it would had I taken my original exit, but I still freaked out about it because I was worried about being late.

And then I realized I have this thing about being late to the movies. I hate it. I hate having to rush through buying a ticket and my popcorn and Sour Patch Kids. I hate walking into a theater when it’s dark and you can’t see. I hate missing a trailer. I hate having to pick a seat when the theater’s more than half full. I can feel people’s eyes on me, judging me for being late, or for making them squish their legs in so I can get by. Because I totally do that. If I’m seated in a darkened theater watching previews and munching on my popcorn and you have the audacity to walk in and disturb my preview-watching serenity? I will glare and judge and mock you silently. That is how I roll.

Anyway, I got to the theater, found a good parking spot (hallelujah!), Cheryl had Fandango’ed our tickets so we had no wait, there was hardly any line at the concessions, and our theater was the first one in the door. We did miss one trailer, but the sound wasn’t working during that one so it TOTALLY DOES NOT COUNT.

By the way, Julie and Julia? Two thumbs up. Meryl’s my girl.