Blurring the Lines

The crazy must be piling up because lately I'm thinking to myself in blog.  Words start to bubble to the surface and soon it becomes this roiling thing in my head reaching out with tendrils growing to branches unfurling swirls and layers of tumbling thinkingness until I can't even procrastinate with Spider Solitaire anymore because the words are clogging up my whole brain.

Soooo, HI!

Okay, I mentioned a couple of posts ago how I was being my Junior Counselor to the Free World self over at WYRD101.com right?  I did a podcast for them that one time?  And you all listened to it and thought it was much better than CATS and you'd listen again and again?  Remember that?  Well, I did another podcast.  This time it was a video which you can download from here: http://wyrd101.com/bbb03/

I make my appearance around the 50 minute mark of the video and if you don't have the time or inclination to go listen to my SAGE WORDS OF ADVICE, just know that I did the podcast in catface makeup.

Like so:

mrawr

Because when someone tells me they're having problems getting along with people and they just don't know what in the world could be wrong and HALP! and then I get clickety and find out pretty quickly that this guy belongs to the Furmunity and identifies more strongly with a German Shepherd Dragon Hybrid at times than regular human people?  I'm doing the podcast in catface because I think that's a kind of significant detail that might factor in to your interpersonal relationships and next time you might want to mention that because see how being a humanimal might be a little distracting?  And I'm not even mentioning the pregnancy fetish thing.  So, what I'm saying is that I'm not a One Size Fits All junior counselor, okay?  It's called caring, people.  I haz it.

Anyway, that's just a smidge of what I've been up to.  Also I want to address the blurring of virtual and 3D people lines, because that's something I've been bumping up against lately.

See, I run into people I know in 3D who've stumbled across the blog (hey! maybe it's you) and it's always awkward for me because I have to wonder if I've talked shit about you here and what dear diary insanity you may have read about me so far. Because you don't really say what you've read, you just give me a knowing look and tell me I'm an amazing writer which, y'know, *BLUSH! and Thanks! and all and I don't know what to say except I'm a little paranoid now and how long have you been lurking around for god sakes?!  sorry.  It just seems weird to me that we've run into each other at little league and the grocery store with the neighborly "hey there" head nod 27 times and all of a sudden I find out you know my secrets.  that's all.  


Because I want to write more.  I do.  It's therapeutic for me and stuff.  I can't believe I made time to do this every day for most of last year just because why not.  And I could kick myself for checking out right before the entire blog awards season because I think I could have gotten an honorable mention or something from somebody.  yeesh.  But that wasn't the point.

The point was that while it's liberating to splay myself wide open all over the internet, knowing that my audience is just as likely to live around the corner as across the country is something I'm still working at reconciling.

Baggage Claim

She's feeling a bit lost and sad.  She knows she doesn't want to be where she was but she's not sure where Next is.  She feels like maybe she doesn't deserve a Next.  She tells me all the reasons why not.

"You're being too hard on yourself," I tell her.  Junior Counselor to the Free World kicks in.

Nobody's perfect and anyone who expects you to be can go suck an egg. There is no such thing as normal, don't try to compare yourself to anyone else.  Just be the best YOU.  I love you.  It will all be okay.  Just breathe.  Really, some days breathing is enough.

I try to tell her that so many times.  No negative self talk.  Nuh uh.  Not around me.  Admitting faults is fine but not to a hyperbolic degree.  You are good enough, smart enough and doggone it people like you.

And yet.

Left to my own devices?

I'm flailing too.  Panicked gasping sobs and eyes wide shut with imagined social terrors.

No man will ever truly love me again.  I will die alone.  I don't deserve to be happy.  There is no hope.

I don't feel like that right this second but just the remembering of that feeling finds me big blinking and swallowing sad.  but I can't tell you that.  because who wants to hear that.

It's preposterous in the first place, right?!  I'm fearless and bold!  I jump out of planes for fun!  well, just the one so far but I'd do that again in a heartbeat.  I write my self to thousands hundreds tens of readers on the internet just because!   And I'm funny!  And pretty!  and stuff.  I'm all those great things people remind me about all the time that I don't hear when it's late at night and I'm alone.

Alone.  Again.  Still.  For the howeverymanyth year in a row.

The loneliness used to not get to me but every so often.  Now it gets to me about every day.

tears over time drip trickle stream gush torrent and the lonely carves a canyon right through me.

But canyons are a wonder, aren't they?  People like to hike around in there.  See the striations.  Marvel at the depth.  Whatever else people do in canyons.  Camp?  I've never been to one, so I don't know for sure.  All I know is that the steady force of even the smallest thing given enough time can create something I can't find the right word for.

And maybe that's part of my problem.  I can't quite find the right word for me.  For where I am.  I feel pretty proud of what I've accomplished since I've been divorced.  Just about everything I've done in the last 7 years would not have happened if I were still married and hiding behind a husband.  But I wonder if I've missed out on love.  I never positioned myself in a place to find it.  That wasn't my focus.  I had my own concerns that didn't involve putting myself on the back burner.  Again.  Not that that's what love is about.  I know that.  now.

And that's where the problem lies.  Logically I know better but emotionally I'm in a weird place.  Now I'm lonely and that's a terrible time to seek out a relationship.  It's like going grocery shopping when you're hungry.  You start putting everything in your cart because all you want is something and it ends up a godawful mess.  I can't do that now.  not NOW.  I've come too far for that fortheloveagod.

So, I'm feeling conflicted is what I'm saying.  I'm pep talking people into feeling great about themselves and convention be damned, love who you are and don't worry about anything or anyone else!  And then I cry myself to sleep because why can't I just fit into the box that so many other people fit into?  Why do I have to be this awkward thing that doesn't lend itself to a container?  Like I'll be found only when I'm tripped over as you're looking for something else.

But I was telling my pen pal the other day that the alternative to this is being one of those boxy, Glitterati people.  You know the ones, most likely out on the display shelves?  And I really don't want to be one of them because those people annoy the hell out of me as a general rule.  I mean, I can make small talk at a buffet table with them just as well as anybody else but the second I see an opening, I'm probably going to seek out someone with some texture who has something real to say.

So anyway...where was this meant to go...?

Oh.  Right.

You, you presently unclaimed piece of baggage, are zippers full to bursting with valuable content.  You will be found.

me too.

just breathe.

Catching Up

It's not that I don't love you, readers.  I do.  I promise.  It's that...well...it's hard to explain.  The absence I mean.  Why I went from the Blog-a-Day Great Blogsperiment to jack diddly nothing two months ago.  You feel gypped.  Confused.  Bewildered.  It's okay.  I understand.  I would too if I were you.

And it's not like it's something I planned.  It was just Thanksgiving and I thought I'd take the night off and things started to happen that I couldn't write about but couldn't get my head away from and then all of a sudden I wasn't thinking about what I had done I was thinking about what I was going to do and rather than  fill you full of empty promises I didn't write anything.  I fell off twitter too.  Even facebook for a while.

Because even though hundreds upon hundreds of people find me witty and entertaining, it only takes one strategically placed accusation that my online presence is ruining someone's life for the whole thing to fall right the hell apart.  Hypothetically.

But it has become overwhelmingly obvious that whether I'm out loud in a crowd or not? some things are just going to suck.  And since I can't keep quiet in church?  the blog is back.  maybe not in the daily form like before, I still have some 3D stuff on which I have to focus that does not allow for hours and hours of navel gazing each day however charming you or I may find it, but in some form.  Weekly, twice weekly.  I'm not making any promises.  I'm still figuring out the details.  I will not be caged by your expectations!  or something.

So there's that.  I just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead nor have I been inhabited by pod people so you don't get too worried.  Everything's cool.  Just had to hold down the reset button for a smidge of time there.  Thanks for understanding.  You're the best.  etc.

AND ALSO, my friend Kris, or Nine as I believe his minions call him, has invited me to write over at his site WYRD101.com.  Which I always thought was pronounced "werd" as in "word" but apparently it's pronounced "weird" as in...well..."weird" I guess.  And I should have known that because he calls his minions twistoids so you know there's something less than normal going on over there.  Which is FINE with me.  totally fine.  There's no such thing as normal anyway, that's not what...anyway.  not the point.  The point is my friend asked me to write with/for him on his site.  And I've been stumped.  STUMPED I tell you as to what to write about.

So here's the preliminary deal.  I'm going to drop some of my Junior Counselor to the Free World stylings on the general internet over at wyrd101.com on a somewhat regular basis.  That is the plan at this point.  Because people need my advice.  Perhaps even you?  When my eyeballs aren't floating from too much Dogfishhead IPA, I'm an incredibly intuitive insightful person.  Which you've of course figured out after two months of poring through my archives because you were so desperate to find out my opinion on life as we know it while I was away.

Wait.  What?!

You DIDN'T spend the past two months poring through the archives?!  You just thought, "Huh, no blog from Silver.  That's odd.  Oh well, Studio Thirty + is chock full of other people, I'll just mosey on over there." without so much as batting an eyelash?  REALLY?!  Not that I blame you.  Studio Thirty + is doing some amazing things.  As is MamaPop, DadCentric, Polite Fictions and a whole slew of other group blog sites that I love dearly.  So that's fine I guess. I can't fault you for that too TOO much.  but...it stings.  It... ow is all I'm saying.

Okay, so, advice.  My free opinion for your viewing pleasure will be available at wyrd101 as soon as I get my act together to write an intro post and start taking questions.  I'll answer anything you might need to know, like "What does it mean when your husband starts spray tanning and your pillow smells like unfamiliar cologne?" or, "How soon into stalking should I drink my face off then send an incoherent email at 3 a.m. professing my love with as few consonants as possible?" or even, "Uggs.  Crocs.  One bullet."

I'm here to help is what I mean.

So that's what's going on.  Oh, and I'm becoming an Event Coordinator, which I have been on a volunteer basis for years but now I'm branching out into my own gig.  So if you need any parties planned, shoot me an email.  I can do anything from multi-day events with 400+ guests to the more intimate "I'd love to have some people over but the thought of planning it stresses me out" gathering.  When you don't know, go with the pro!  No event is too big or too small!  And other propaganda-ish stuff as well!

Aaaaannnnd...what else?....hmmmm.  That's about it for now.
Thanks for being here.

Friends Help You Move

You: [RANT!  RAIL!  AGAINST THE WORLD!]  THE WORLD FUCKING HATES ME!

Me: [wide eyed look of "okay"] okay...?
You: You saw it coming, didn't you?!  You told me all along!  WHATNOW?!
Me: Get a financial exit plan.
You:  But I'm not ready to leave.
Me: You don't have to be ready to leave.  Just map out a financial exit plan for when you are.
You: But...what if I should stay and see if things will work out?
Me: Fine.  Do that.  But get.  A financial.  Exit plan.  justincasetheydon't.
You:  I should do that.

Me: [exhale]

I love you.  I want you to be happy.  Where you are right now is about the least happy place I've ever seen anyone.  I know you think I'm your friend and I'm supposed to be on your side no matter what. 

And that's true.  I am your friend.  I am on your side.  Nomatterwhat.  Even when you're wrong.  because I know you well enough to know that wrong was provoked.  I will stand up and fight in your defense on that point.  And I will win.

But you should still get the hell out of that nightmare immediately.
Or quit asking for my opinion because you already know what it is.
Just let me know when I need to move boxes.
or bodies. 
I love you.
I'm ready.

Good Advice from a Bad Boy

In mid July 2008 I had a lot of free time.  I lost my job and the kids were spending the Summer in Carolina with their father so I pretty much had one full entire month to sit around, evaluate my life, figure out what the hell just happened, etc.  I was writing some but I had no clue about the blogosphere as I know it today.  To occupy myself, I bought some books.  Novels, humor, entertaining reading.  nothing major.  But one book stood out for me.  The Manual.  By Steve Santagati.

The cover caught my eye across the bookstore.  Hot guy with I-dare-you eyes glinting over a smartass smirk.  hmmm?  what's this?  I crossed the room.  "A True Bad Boy Explains How Men Think, Date, and Mate - and What Women Can Do to Come Out on Top"  is that so, Mr. Santagati?  we'll see about that.  I flipped through some pages.  It looked funny.  Humorous I mean, not...unusual.  nevermind, you know what meant.  Anyway, it looked amusing, and common sensical and...I bought it.  And I ate the whole thing up immediately.

It was funny.  And common sensical.  And unapologetically straightforward.  It was a male point of view I had been missing for a while.  This guy wasn't trying to get me in bed.  He wasn't trying to avoid me.  He didn't know my X.  And wasn't married to a friend of mine.  Or old enough to be my father.  And he was telling me what guys look for in women, dating, sex, whatever.  All the things I'd forgotten.  or had old information about because I was too long out of touch with all the men I used to have as friends for this kind of stuff.

He wasn't some degreed professional quoting statistics and scientific terms about brain chemistry.  His tone was conversational and full of analogies and self effacing humor to which I related and found endearing.  He wrote like someone I could be friends with.

When I read Chapter 47, the Black Widow chapter, I saw myself.  Not myself at that time though.  At the time I read the book I'd put on 8 months of grief weight, just gotten fired and was in this weird victim headspace.  But in that chapter I saw the self I had been before.  The one who, at the age of16 years, wrote "Flirt to Live, Live to Flirt: A Survival Guide to Flirting for the Beginner" for my best friend because deargod she was awkward and she really didn't know how not to be.  That chapter reignited a spark I felt like I lost after life had kind of pummeled me.

Now, Steve's description of the Black Widow is pretty intimidating.  Unapologetically sexual, heavy on the nonverbal communication, excellent navigator of male territory and dressed with the intent to kill.  His version of this personality type is like my personality on steroids because holy crap that's a tall order to fill all the freakin' time.  It doesn't always come through...but my friends these days don't compare me to lava lamps and Venus Flytraps for nothing.  Black Widow.  I love it when things have names like that.

Reading that chapter, that whole book really, reminded me how attractive confidence is.  How it's okay to be unapologetic about who you are.  To be who you are out loud.  and I started to get my confidence back.  It encouraged me to not settle for whoever crossed my path just because I was bored or lonely or it was a slow TV night.  It made me want to invest more time in myself.  To have something to bring to the table if and when I ever did get involved with dating again.  And if the guys didn't want what I had to offer?  then they weren't worth my time.  really?  I don't have to change for someone else...for serious?  experts agree and stuff?  *exhale!*   (really though, that was a serious exhale moment for me at the time...so weird.  anyway)


Obviously, reading that book was not the golden ticket to some crazy amazing dating life, because if you've been reading this blog for more than a minute then you pretty much know I'm perpetually single.  but it gave me a different outlook on being single. 

The Manual was basically a well-timed smack upside the head is what I'm saying.   If you're a woman stuck in a rut and willing to take a look at yourself through the eyes of a guy who is kind of extreme about how much he loves life and women (and himself...which I don't have a problem with) yet is everyday enough to edit a typo you might point out in his blog [skyward looking whistle] ...then you might find The Manual useful. 

Or not.  Really.  Totally your call.  I mean, feel free to fight each other to the death over some idealized fantasyland dreamscape of what romance should be according to whatever Danielle Steele, Nicholas Sparks or the next Twilight novel has to say if you'd rather.  I'm just offering up an alternative is all.

He's got a website Bad Boys Finish First, and if you want to get me something for Christmas, I'll take the Side Saddle t-shirt.  Purple writing.  Size small.  thx.  But mostly I pay attention to his blog, Ask Steve Santagati. Depending on your circumstance, you may think he's oversimplifying, or oversexualizing things, but for my demographic, he's shooting from the hip.  He's talking honestly from a real life single male perspective and I appreciate that.

And he's nice to me.  So I'm feeling pretty loyal.  And even though his blog post today went in a totally other direction from the question I asked, I still feel certain that he will applaud the surgical precision with which I dispatch of the dude who keeps texting me even though I never gave him my number.

Little League field.  Saturday.  3 o'clock high.  It'll be like a movie scene where the guy gets sliced in half but it's such a clean cut he takes a few seconds to slide apart.  Because I'll smile so pretty he won't know what hit him til after the blade is back in its sheath.

Nobody's Perfect

I used to have a gym membership and there was this one trainer, Jeffrey, who I used to talk with while I was there.  He set me up on the machines when I joined and encouraged me while I was trapped on the elliptical throughout.  We became friends.  He'd tell me all about his girlfriend while offering to give me massages and stuff.  I was unhappily married, so this was pretty much the highlight of my day at the time.

This was about 7 years ago.  Jeffrey was the age then that I am now.  Maybe a little older.  and he was dealing with this crazyass girlfriend drama that made no sense to me whatsoever.  They'd break up, get back together, fight some more because she was suspicious of his "massage" gigs and he'd go begging back to her for reasons I still don't understand.  This went on for at least a year that I knew about. 

He asked me once, "Why is it so hard to know if you're with the right person?"  I asked him back, "How old are you?  Shouldn't you know this shit by now?  How many times do you have to go through this before you realize it's not working and move on to something that does?"  I'm thinking she was adventurous in bed.  Because he wasn't shy about describing that.  including hand gestures.  Unfortunately, this was a fairly popular gym and the PTA circuit has never looked at me the same since witnessing those conversations.

Anyway, I still feel that way about dating.  I could date, I'm sure.  It's not like I don't get approached from time to distant, distant time but god sakes.  They're all, well not all, but most of them...are so easily dismissed in stereotypes.  ...yeah, "labels are for cans"  got that.  fully understand.  but come the fuck on already. 

Don't you get to a point where you can see these people coming from three miles away?  And at the first sign of familiar human nightmare experience shouldn't you just cut and run for your own survival?  We're not getting any younger.  Do you really want to waste six months of you life trying to decide if you truly love someone who pays attention to what Glenn Beck has to say?  or thinks Jar Jar Binks was a fine addition to the cast of Star Wars characters?  or has some other deeply rooted opinion that is infinitely objectionable to the core of your existence?

Why on earth do we trick ourselves into shit like that?  If you think these people are broken and you can fix them, you're wrong.  If you think you're broken and they can fix you then you are also wrong. 

Because everybody's broken.  And the only person who can fix your broken is you.  If you want it to be fixed.  And even then you just move over to another class of broken because everybody is broken all the time.  Do you understand that?  Do you get that no one is perfect?  And what the hell does perfect look like anyway?  I like the fucked up people...I mean, the ones who hang around my category of fuckedupness at least.

Bringing it back to Jeffrey and his girlfriend who I am guessing was just girlfriend number 357 in his repertoire...what was his fate?  Maybe she WAS his particular brand of crazy and he bought a seat next to her on that train.  Or maybe he broke up with her and continues to break up with these women because he hasn't met the other piece of his crazy puzzle in the right way yet.

I can't be sure.  We both quit the gym before I found out the end of the story.  I do wonder though. 

Those massages were pretty hot.

It's Like This...

Life makes sense to me by way of analogy.  Now, I wasn't sure if it made sense via analogy, simile or metaphor so of course I had to Google and according to About.com (which usually annoys the hell out of me) I'm pretty sure analogy is the term I'm looking for.  Although I feel that as I writer I should have already known that but whatever.

Analogies shape my perspective.  Bad therapy days, when I used to be in therapy that is, made sense to me like cooking.  When you're making a complicated meal, the process can look like the kitchen exploded but the result is a lovely souffle.  I don't make souffles but they seem sufficiently impressive in my head.  think of something with lots of ingredients and steps that's very delicious when you're done.  Okay, so it made sense to me that if I felt like an unmitigated mess at times, it was all a part of the journey (gack) to being a not only functional but also very emotionally attractive human being.  And I could carry on knowing I was on the right path.

I do this when acting as Junior Counselor to the Free World also.  I don't have an advice arm of le blog as yet, but you guys don't know what you're missing.  Just ask my closest friends.  They're convinced I could stage a coup and overthrow Dr. Phil with minimal effort. 

For example: Your boyfriend is neglecting you.  You talk about this constantly with him.  He tells you you're being overly needy and irrational and makes you feel dumb for wanting more from the relationship but you still know that you're unsatisfied emotionally and what now?  Who's right?

Let's think of it like this.  Say you're thirsty.  You ask someone for a glass of water.  They hand you a dixie cup.  You down it and ask for more.  They refuse because what the hell?!  I just GAVE you water.  What do you MEAN you're still thirsty?!  No.  That's all you're getting and quit whining about it.  So, what are you going to do?  Stand there and die of dehydration or take control and refill your own cup of water?

It's like that.

Here's another one: Your relationship started out fine.  It was fine for a couple years. You were both happy.  Now, it's gone to hell.  You're both miserable with each other but where did it go wrong?  You've got so much time invested already, should you stick it out hoping for things to get better or back to the way they were?  Did you imagine the initial happiness?  Is it your fault?  What do you do?!

Okay, imagine for a minute you're in the shower.  It's a comfortable temperature.  Then for whatever reason the water is no longer comfortable.  Freezing cold, scalding hot...either way it's intolerable.  Do you linger in that shower for an extra 10 minutes because the water USED to be the right temperature and it might be your fault that the temperature changed even though you keep messing with the knobs and the water won't do right and you can't figure out how to fix it?  or do you hurry the fuck up and get out?

Feel me?

Now, I've mentioned before that despite some people's perception I am NOT encouraging everyone I know to break up or get divorced or anything.  These just happen to be two examples of shitty relationships that aren't/weren't working and needed permission to open the escape hatch.  I'm sure I could come up with other examples of gardening or something about how you need to nurture a relationship and watch it grow and bear fruit and shit.  I don't garden well, so this would be guessing mostly.  And I don't do romantic relationships at all really but those who can't do, teach and stuff, right?  heh.  Anyway...

I got a million of 'em on all kinds of topics.  And they're all tailor made for your situation/hobbies/etc.  And I don't require a team of writers either, Dr. Phil.  *cough* fraud *ahem*

So, what do you think?  Start an advice segment of le blog?  Write a book?  Pitch a show?  or a podcast or something (even though I don't know how those work)?  Or do I just retain my amateur status for 3D people and leave you all to your own devices?  I'm open for suggestions here.  Like a...something...waiting for a...something else that's relevant.

I may need more coffee.

Keep Swimming

I learned how to swim at the Y in Davenport, Iowa when I was 6 I think.  I remember roll call.  They always called out "Jean" because that was my name and when she signed me up, my mother must have been having one  of her moments when she was rethinking calling me Silver.  No one ever called me Jean, so it never registered when they'd call it to me during roll.  There was always this "Jean? ... ...  Jean?" Followed by a long pause when everyone would look at me and I would briefly land back on the planet from whatever daydreamy place I'd been.  I'd snap-to with, "Oh!  Me!  That's me!  I'm here!"  The unspoken "duh" hung heavily in the air. 

But anyway, at the very end of the weeks of swim class they tested us to see if we could swim in the deep end.  I remember hanging on to the edge of the pool; the instructor was just a few feet away.  Just out of reach.  She called for me to swim to her.  no problem.  paddle paddle.  Then she backed up.  wha?  paddlepaddle.  She backed up some more.  not fair!  quit moving.  paddlepaddlepaddle!  She was right past my fingertips.  And I was not pleased.  She stayed *just* that distance away until I got all the way to the other side of the deep end.  And she was all, "You did it!  Great job!"  And I was not the most proud beaming six year old girl you ever saw.  I just remember thinking, "So what if I did it?  You tricked me."

And it's been like that ever since.

That All By Myself feeling is tempered with seething surges of Look, You.  This was not supposed to be that difficult.  Or maybe it was supposed to be but good grief you should have told me that at the beginning because I didn't know I was going to have to open up the reserve tanks here and yeah, I got 'em and stuff but I would have appreciated a heads up of some kind.  So, yay me or whatever but also...fuck you.

That's what life is, isn't it?  Or parts of it anyway?

A neverending series of swim tests where just when you think you're THERE you still have a good distance to go.  And you can stop if you want but you'll only be treading water because it's too deep to stand where you are.  And you're still going to have to get there anyway.  And treading water with a bad attitude because you're mad you're not there yet will only wear you out and make everything take three times as long.  So you should just put your face in the water and move. 

Or rather, I should.  paddlepaddlepaddle

We Validate

One of the tricks of being Junior Counselor to the Free World is not telling people how they should feel.  I think that should be a trick of all counselors really but since I don't have access to them and the only person I can totally control is myself, (at times, when I'm not being completely irrational about something and consequently forgetting every common sensical thing I know to be true) the only thing I can do when a friend spills their guts is to listen.  And not say, "You shouldn't feel that way."  Because saying that to someone is so amazingly selfish I just...it makes me glare and grit my teeth to bite back barbed words.

People have their own reasons for feeling the way they do about things.  If you don't know the backstory then I'm pretty sure you should reserve comment.  Or pay enough attention to their delivery of the information at hand so you can follow their lead and see how the rest of the conversation plays out.  That is if you ever want them to tell you anything again ever.

For example: Someone mentions she got a job.  She doesn't seem happy about it.  It is not your place to say, "You should be happy!" because you don't know that the only reason she's going back to work is because her husband keeps getting fired up and down the Eastern United States and the deal was that she was going to stay home and raise the kids but now she can't do that because he's blown through all her savings and he doesn't have any prospects and they can't wait around for him to land something because...kids gotta eat.  So she has to not only take care of all the household stuff because he is largely oblivious about the workings of a home but now she also has to go out and be the breadwinner because he is largely oblivious to the workings of the corporate world as well it would seem. And she's not feeling especially warm and fuzzy about her future.

But you don't know that.  All you know is that Job = Happy!  Yay!  And you should be quiet.  Or just say congratulations or way to go or something.  But for the love of everything, don't sit there and tell someone how they should feel.

A good Junior Counselor to the Free World, or any other kind of counselor or friend in my opinion, should ask third level questions.  Like, "You don't seem thrilled about that.  Do you mind if I ask why?"  And then they can tell you or not and then you'll know.  And you can certainly try to help them reframe their thinking about the subject at hand but only if you know how to do that.  Third Party stories are helpful here.  The ones where you had a friend who went through something similar and how that person dealt with it and it all worked out just fine and stuff. 

But if you can't separate yourself from the subject at hand and all you have to offer is some loudmouth, oppositional, knee jerk reaction about what you did or what you would do if that were you then seriously just keep it to yourself.  Because this is not about you and whatever fairytale bullshit you've created in your head, okay?  This is about someone else and if you can't get some perspective then please zip it.  You're not being helpful.  I know you think you are but you're really not.  Nothing personal, just want you to stop talking is all.

And this applies to pretty much any situation whether it is a thing broken or made whole, it doesn't matter.  This applies to any time when the person you're talking with isn't having the "appropriate" reaction to their circumstance and you, Deemer of All That Should Be, take issue.  You want to identify.  I get that.  Me too.  But sometimes you can't.  You're out of your depth.  It's alright.  Let it go.

Junior Counselor to the Free World says:
Feel what you feel.  There is no right and wrong here.  These feelings are there for a reason.  Lets find out what the reason is and deal with that part.

#RealWriters

I don't suffer fools gladly.  Or bullies.  Or smarminess.

My favorite stories growing up were those of the underdog.  The Country Bunny and The Little Gold Shoes and The Little Engine That Could are leaping to mind at the moment.  Both are stories of the everyman searching for a place in the world while being thwarted by jackrabbits and important engines who loved themselves very much and the rest of the world very little and given that?  Probably didn't love themselves very much in the first place. 

These stories were read to me over and over again through the years by my mother.  We didn't do the Bible so much in my house as the mythology of stories like this. My mother loved the underdog and made sure that resonated.  She intertwined her own stories of Memphis police in the 1960s.  This is maybe why I don't love cops so much.

As such, when I see my friends, my people, those I care about, getting smarmed at and summarily dismissed, disenfranchised, and otherwise made to feel worthless?  I want to go MamaBear mad on those who would perpetrate such a slight.

But that's not always the wisest thing to do.

My mother also said, "Consider the source."

As in, the people who are being bullies are probably the ones who are hurting the most.  And a Murphy's Law favorite around my house growing up was, "Never argue with an idiot, people might not know the difference."

So.  There's been a small debate in the blogo/Twittersphere about whether bloggers are #realwriters if they aren't published and that stemmed from another debate where I lean on the side of the slighted writer.  The underdog one.  The one who doesn't have a whatever figure book deal.  The one who lit my cigarette literally last weekend and figuratively last year.

What I want to say to him, and to all those who go MamaBear on his behalf (I'm right there with you btw)

1. Considering the original submitter of the idea draws probably a lot of her audience from unpublished bloggers?  Not the most strategic statement in PR history
2. Based on who the submitter of the idea originally gave her assistance to and HIS extremely whatever take on things?  I wouldn't necessarily knock on that door for help if I were you
3.  WE love you.  We can't wait for your book.  We will rally on principle to make sure you're on some super bestseller list because you would be infinitely more provocative than she ever would.

From someone who still answers the question, "What do you do?" with a slight twinge of weird when I say, "I write." because I really only just blog to a small audience...

Please keep the light on for me.
(but I do love demolition)

Adrenaline Crush

The blog had to go dark for Blogapalooza.  I didn't even open my computer since Thursday afternoon til I got back home tonight.  This had to be a full 3D experience.  And it was wow amazing.

I will follow up and let you know that I did not find the Thousand Cranes scarf in New York's Chinatown.  I didn't even make it over to Chinatown.  I didn't even look.  This doesn't make me the least bit sad.  Because I didn't have to look.  I found a thousand pieces of hope smack in the middle of Midtown Manhattan. 

My standard line for most things powerfully new is a sarcastic steal from an 80s SNL skit: I laughed.  I cried.  It was much better than CATS.  I'll see it again and again. 

But this time I accidentally really mean it. 

I did laugh.  so much.  And I cried.  a few times.  

Blogapalooza,  Blogher '10, was one hell of a ride.  I'm not off it yet.  I even skipped Sunday night TV (sort of.  BigBrotherTrueBloodMadMenHungEntourage are all waiting for me in the magicness that is DVR) to revel in the weekend.  Replaying moments. 

A thousand big small moments that I love as much as I wished I would.  way more than cats of any kind.  maybe even more than cranes.

I met almost all the people I wanted to meet.  I met so many more people I didn't even know would have the impact on me they did.  bliss.  serious, breath-stopping bliss.  I can't imagine having not attended. 

It.  Was.  Exactly where I was supposed to be.

See?

I love that.

I'm adrenaline crushing right now but I did love sharing time and space with everyone.

Between panels and smoke breaks, drinks and elevator conversations and so many of the other big small moments during, I found you all quite genuine and I thank you for that.

For my writing friends who weren't there...I did miss the meeting of you.  I hope to make you three dimensional at some point. 

For my nonwriting friends who read anyway I wish for you a sense of place like that wherever you choose to find yourselves. 

But mostly, I wish you all the thousand pieces of beauty I found this weekend. 

. 

It Will All Work Out

I honestly believe that everything will work out just like it is supposed to.  Everything happens for a reason.  Every moment in time is meant to be exactly where it is.  My X hated that attitude for a long time.  "Why?!  How can you possibly think that everything will work out?"

My response, "Because it has to."  Seriously, how can it not?  What's the worst that could happen?  You die?  Well, then you'll be dead and it won't matter anymore will it?  Not that I'm endorsing suicide...god, no.  I certainly don't want to come off like that. 

More like a Steel Magnolias "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" type thing.  And I don't know if it makes us stronger...I mean, there are those people who keep banging their heads against the same brick wall over and over again and they never learn a damn thing.  That doesn't seem like strength to me.  Endurance maybe, but not strength.  Anyway...don't kill yourself is what I'm saying.  It will all work out. 

Maybe not like you planned.  Maybe not like you hoped, but it will work out.  And the path you end up walking along is there for a reason.  You were meant to be there.  To learn something.  Or to be lead to the thing you're supposed to do next.  or something.  I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that's what happens. 

Can you just float along on your back with your eyes closed and expect life to be sublimely grand?  Eh, I don't think so.  I think you have to swim with the current, watch where you're going, avoid big rocks...stuff like that.  I think you have to work with your life to make it the best possible experience you can but if you do find yourself lost or hung up on a branch or in some other way deviated from where you thought you were going to be...that's not necessarily the worst thing in the world. 

It may feel like it.  You may feel frustrated and upset and rage at the unfairness.  And that's valid.  Spend some time there.  Feel what you feel.  Then get over it.  Figure out how to be where you are now.  What that might mean.  Then figure out how you can use this to your advantage and keep moving forward.  And be willing to change your plan from time to time. 

I don't mean you should sacrifice who you are.  You should always be who you are.  But figure out how to incorporate whatever it is that's so astonishingly irksome into who you are.  Acknowledge it.  Roll with it.  Embrace it.  Because if you're getting that upset over something then it has clearly struck a chord with you.  Let it resonate. 

Accept that reverberation as part of the symphony that is your whole self.  Not just the parts you like.  Because all of your parts are valuable.  It's a yin yang thing...can't have light without darkness or up without down...I'm sure some philosopher or physicist has explained this extensively somewhere else.  Don't just take my word for it, go Google or something.  Or you could Wikipedia but I recommend aspirin first.

Anyway.  Everything will work out.  This time next week, next month, next year it will all be different.  It will all work out exactly like it is supposed to. 

Self Extreme*

I'm not a fan of the idea that there are things you aren't supposed to talk about. 

I would prefer, I think, to be honest and say what's on my mind without people going ape and getting super offended and being judgy and twisting my words around to spin me into the bad guy just for expressing an opinion or mentioning something utterly bizarre that happened during my day that I just can't get out of my head. 

Wouldn't that be nice?

Wouldn't it be nice to just be able to talk and say things without running the risk of alienating the people who should be closest to you because they get hyper freaked out about random crap that's just ...random and really none of their business to get freaked out by and run around badmouthing you over it?

And then they say something like, "Well, YOU'RE the one who put it out there.  If you didn't want people to see it you shouldn't be putting it on the internet in the first place."  And yeah, I get your point, but why on Earth are you reading stuff that you know is just going to get your panties in a bunch in the first place, hmmm?

I do not seek out what Ann Coulter has to say for this very reason.  Because hitting people with bats is still considered assault as far as I can tell and as I have mentioned I really don't like jail.  Anyway...point being that if you purposely seek out things that are completely out of your control for the sole purpose of making your own blood boil and going around and yelling about it and the only outcome is you just being all yelly... then you should stop fucking doing that.  Or you should lighten the fuck up. 

Because I use this little Blogsperiment to talk about things that pop into my head so I don't go crazy, right?  Says so right at the top of the page and everything.  But there's a few things I can't talk about here because of the repercussions in real life. 

But guess what?  There may be another way to vent.  And it's not just all ranty, hate spewing garbage either.  These are real, relatable WTF moments and other people might just like to know there's someone else out there who had them too and maybe we can share some wisdom in the comments section about dealing with the aftermath or just bond over the ohmyfuckinggodareyoukiddingmerightnow-ness of it all. 

And nobody gets hurt because it's all anonymous and stuff.  Like for real without my name and picture and whatever.  And I get to cling to the illusion of sanity for a little while longer. 

That...will be nice.

But I haven't written anything there yet and I'll let you know when I do but you'll have to email me for the site address because blasting it out over here would be the opposite of the point.

***********

* Title credit goes to Mean Girl Garage who typo-ed "self extreme" in a tweet when she meant to say "self esteem" but in the case of the Hyper-Offended who take themselves and every other thing in the world so goddamn seriously every second of the day I think Self Extreme is fucking Brilliant and it should become a new catch phrase if it isn't already. 

Sometimes the Bad Guys Win

In the almost two years that we have been friends Audrey and I have exchanged roughly 7,000 emails.  I am not making that up.  A vast majority of these emails center around her fiancee Dennis and his fucked up sociopathic behavior.

Over the course of this 7,000 count email volley I have used absolutely every empathetic, intuitive, encouraging, occasionally raging, amateur psychological, intellectual, emotional, motivational, sales-driven Jedi Mind Trick in my vast arsenal to empower her, to help her find a way to find her own two feet and steady them firmly underneath her so that she may stand strong and rid herself of the Dark Forces at work in the monster we know as Dennis.

But Dennis is the Puppet Master and he is seductive in ways I am loathe to imagine.  She is like Lucy to his Count Dracula and it seems she has made herself unwilling to leave his clutches.  And after 7,000 emails in the face of this ravenous maw that giggles wickedly and drools with the anticipation of swallowing her whole...I have run out of things to say.

She is walking into the abyss and I can't read one more word about it.  Because it makes me physically sick when she tells me how he grabbed her crotch like a six pack of beer on their nightly walk.  Or how he reached across the front seat and grabbed her breast as if he were honking a clown nose even though she's told him 50 times how much she hates that.  Or how he accuses her of having a boyfriend on the side.  Or how rudely he speaks to her 8 year old child.  Or how he tried to bully her into buying a house she didn't really want and that whole episode gave her a dibilitating panic attack. 

It makes me sick because I can't help her.  I can't fix it.  I can't kidnap her or give her refuge because HE moved into HER house and he just won't leave.  And she won't make him go.  And she keeps saying she thinks she might want him to stay.  Forever and ever.  And I just don't understand what he's like when he's not being mean and pressureful about eloping to Vegas getting married and putting a baby in her belly having children and wiping out her savings buying his their Stepford dream house. 

And then all I can do is dig furiously in the dirt or walk a few miles really, really fast because if I don't then I'm certain my heart will burst into flame and I'm not a doctor or anything but I bet that's probably bad for me.

But I do love her and want to keep being her friend, so the next 7,000 emails won't mention Dennis at all.  We'll talk about Real Housewives and kids and people we mutually stalk know.  And I won't even get to go to her birthday party this Friday.  And I'm really going to miss being there but I know it's for the best that I don't go because if I do go then I will reduce Dennis to tears with a full frontal verbal assault at the first shitty comment to escape his lips which means within 15 minutes of starting, the party will devolve into a complete chaotic mess and it's going to be at a really nice place that I kind of would rather not get kicked out of and god fucking forbid the cops get involved because they HATE me and I don't like them too much either but it wouldn't even be worth it because Audrey and Dennis wouldn't break up after that and they would probably band together and make me a mutual enemy because of Stockholm Syndrome or something and then I'll know for sure I should have killed him months ago when I first suggested it but she wouldn't let me and I really don't want to know what prison is like because even though it would be a really good idea and a noble thing to do I'm pretty sure that killing an emotionally abusive sociopath on behalf of a dear friend is still illegal although I could maybe claim insanity but then they'd seize my computer and between 7,000 emails and some pretty surprising Google searches they would have no other option than to go with pre-meditated and that would probably get me the death penalty and even though I'm not afraid of dying I'm just not quite ready for that yet.

But fingers crossed Audrey and I will get to have dinner on Wednesday night and celebrate her birthday a little early so I won't miss the Friday night thing too, too very much.  But ohmygod do I want a chance to give Dennis a big fat whatfor.  Because I hate bullies who push my friends around and give them heart attacks and panic attacks and brainwash them into believing Bizarro World is real. 

But Audrey is grown and she can do what she wants.  I know for good and all that me being another bossy voice in her head isn't helping.  Dennis, I surrender.

Just Swim, Okay?

You are not a piece of driftwood in the river of life.  Swim already.

I said that twice today to two different people.  I guess this is something about which I need reminding?  Maybe we all do from time to time? 

I definitely don't feel like driftwood right now, three dimensionally I mean.  There are choices being made and actions being taken all over the place.  I'm even going to the MamaPop Sparklecorn Extravaganza now!  Writing is eluding the hell out of me at the moment but I'm pretending not to notice that because I'm sitting here typing anyway. 

However, if my camera weren't all wonky right now you can bet you'd be seeing a picture or ten.  And if I had one single, solitary cohesive point to make that I could wrap up in less than four minutes without saying "Um" 57 times?  Vlog.  Totally.

See, the camera's gone haywire because Thing 2 seems to have inherited my gift of zapping electronic equipment.  Some of you may be new.  You may not be aware that I blow out at least one dozen light bulbs every month.  I thank heaven for DVR because VCRs and DVD players used to die after about 3 months of being in my presence.  Microwaves?  Can't do those either; they turn on when I'm not even in the room and start running.  For 44:44 random minutes if I didn't unplug them.  sweartogod.  very creepy.

Thing 2 killed the battery in my phone AND my camera one afternoon last month.  Each appliance spent five minutes in his hot little hands and *poof!* dead beyond recharging.  Of course I'm a little proud of him for that but I really don't want to hassle with replacing a camera.  I'm hoping if I just let it sit for a while it will right itself.   I like the new phone though (yeah, I'm a dummy.  forgot to get the phone that takes pictures.  be quiet).

So anyway, back to the driftwood thing?  Seriously, SWIM.    I don't care if it's up, down or sideways.  As long as it's not backwards.  You are not a salmon; you didn't leave your keys upstream.  Just pick a forward-ish direction and swim.  Please?  While the water is calm?  Because the rapids are coming up and it's going to be a lot harder to get your bearings after that. 

I'm sure I need to remind myself of this too but that doesn't mean it's not good advice.

Life Lessons from a MYLF. (wait, what?)

I'm not ready to be a MYLF.  I mean, I get called that often enough and I think that was my nickname during the glorious days of in the Cult of Sales (Anonymous will have to confirm this).  But I always thought people were being sarcastic and kidding.

And then yesterday I got googly-eyed, jaw-dropping stares from some neighbor boys walking home from middle school.  Probably had something to do with the dress I was wearing though.  It was dicey in the "age appropriate" realm when I bought it 6 years ago, I just didn't feel like hassling with two pieces of clothes.  Whatever.  It was flattering and all, but jesus...the elbowing and ...seriously!  Stop fucking staring!

Luckily the Things and their friends haven't reached the chemical assault of puberty yet so this hasn't come up as an immediate issue.  But since our house is ground zero for kid activity these days?  I'm going to have to be prepared for this situation in a couple years.  I'm going to have to use it as a teaching moment.  We have a lot of those.

For example: Group of tween girls walking down the street one afternoon.  Gaggle of 9-11 year old boys in my driveway.  Boys start hooting and calling out, "Hey!  You're hot!  Can I get your number?!"  I roll my eyes in the garage looking for stuff.  The girls just giggled and kept walking.  Then the boys started shouting mean things at them.  Yeah, notsomuch kiddos...

Me:  HEY! (attention getter) 
Them: [scared looks]
Me:  [soft Mind-Tricky tone] Hey guys?  Can you come'ere for a sec?
Them:  [shuffle over terrified]
Me: I know it seems like those girls are way older than you.  But in a few years you'll be freshmen in high school and they'll be juniors and seniors, right?
Them:  [confused nodding in agreement]
Me:  Okay, so listen.  If you want any kind of a shot with them, like asking them for dates or dances or stuff?  That's not the way to do it.  Yelling mean things now will get you nowhere later.  They'll remember you as the bratty kids who called them names and you won't even get the time of day.  Does that make sense?
Them: [more confused nodding, muttering]  Yeah.  Wow.  I never thought of it like that.  Thanks.

The More You Know...and all that. 

So I don't actually know what I'll say when the hormones really start to rampage.  But rest assured Parents of Daughters I'm training them as best I can along the way.  Maybe I'll print them out What is a Man by Tom Chiarella that I love so much and we'll have discussion time the next day.  That might work.  Shaping young minds and stuff.

Speaking of, Thing1 asked me possibly my favorite question in parenting history yesterday morning getting ready for school.  He asked, "Mom, is there a right and wrong answer to an opinion question?"  I was in "where the hell is the lid to this snack container?!" mode and couldn't address this properly.   He brought it up again today.

Me: Well monkey, what if you really liked strawberries but had a friend who thought they were gross?
Thing 1: Yeah?
Me: Would he be wrong for thinking strawberries are gross?
Thing 1: [ponders]  I guess no.  Because in his mind he's right.
Me:  So, would that make you wrong for liking strawberries?
Thing 1: No.  We just think different.
Me:  Would he be a bad person for not agreeing with you?  Would you not be his friend anymore?
Thing 1: No.  He'd still be my friend.  We just like different things.  And he won't eat my strawberries.
Me:  Exactly.  Smart thinkin', good job.

*BEAM*  Holy cow I loved that conversation.  He can learn the finer points later.  Lord knows he's got a front row seat to the narrow-minded parade with the X and the Outlaws around.  But to consider that question at all and come to it with that kind of attitude.  I have definitely done something right.  *whew*

And I'll leave you all with this video, because today marks the one year anniversary of what I hope was only my first skydive jump and there will be many more to come.  It's probably just like every other skydive video you've seen if you have ever seen one.  But...my blog, my rules.  Deal with it.  The moment of standing in the door of that plane, seeing the world, and jumping into it?  One of the best Total World Domination memories in my repetoire.  Enjoy.

Finding Yourself

I have a friend who made a New Year's resolution last year to take a picture every day.  She named her project The View From My Kitchen Sink.  She took random photos of whatever captured her interest throughout the year.  Some of kid toys, the dog, even the actual sink.  There was one of medicine bottles when everyone had the flu, because that's just what some days look like no matter how creative you were hoping to be.  But she took a lot of other pictures: landscapes, nature, etc.  And a lot of those were pure art.  But every time I think of that photography project my mind lands on one black and white shot looking down the neck of a banjo her husband was playing one night at home.

I was thinking about that picture last night because she and I were exchanging email that really inspired me and I'll tell you about that in a second.

The reason I like that banjo picture so much is because that one simple moment captures the essence of what I think a respectful, loving marriage looks like.  Think about it.  He's just sitting there, goofing around on a banjo which I'm pretty sure he spends a lot of time doing.  She grabs the camera because she's doing this photography thing for a while and why not.  And turns that everyday snippet of regular into art.

They were both enjoying interests that had nothing to do with parenting or partnering at all.  Only to do with feeding their individual souls.  And they were doing those two different things together in the same space and time and made it beautiful.  And that is how you do marriage.  Because mine certainly didn't look like that and we all know how that worked out for me.  See?

Now, I'm sure things aren't always perfect around their house.  Sometimes you'll hear, "I'm going Sean Penn if you don't get that camera out of my face." or maybe, "Again?  With the banjo?  Listen Hee Haw, you're starting to scare the dog."  Nobody's perfect.  But I have known her husband since we were kids.  He also has a color for a name and that makes him a superhero in my book.  And he's always been a really good guy.

I have only ever met her one and a half times in person but judging by the things in which she finds beauty, you'd be hard pressed to convince me I'm not lucky to know her.  And even a harder pressed after yesterday.

She didn't know until yesterday that she was part of the reason for my committing this blogsperiment to 365 days of posting.  But I thanked her for proving that every day of doing something you love is possible.  She helped light the path, pave the way, whatever you want to call it and The View From My Kitchen Sink totally deserves this big, fat mention.

She went on to say how she was nervous before she started her project and felt exactly and I mean exactly the same as my little self-doubt freak out sessions over here.  But she did it anyway.  And proved it was possible.  And I'm doing it anyway too.  Maybe someone will get inspired the way she and so many other writers I've read lately have inspired me.

If you're inspired then feel free to send me a weird, gushy email.  I send those like it's my job sometimes.  Or I'll accept cash because I STILL haven't found that stupid $400.

Anyway, my friend and I were talking last night about how we felt the need to do something just for us, that fed our souls.  We didn't know WHY we wanted to write or take pictures, but we felt we HAD TO, like it was important, not at all unlike Richard Dreyfuss' mad sculpting frenzy.  And see?!  ALIENS!  This means something. 

It had to be something that had nothing to do with being a MOMMY!  Because, first of all, if you ever call me Mommy I will death-stare at you so hard your skin will melt.  Secondly, life ain't all about MOMMYNESS, okay?  Anybody who tells you that is lying.  Or very effectively medicated.

I mean, all these women who only exist on the surface of themselves and never get real or deep or interested in anything besides shoes and (ugh) bunco - they're in denial I think.  Or maybe their IQ really hovers around today's high temperature because nobody was put on this planet to be vapid.  Who the hell ARE you?  What do you love so much it makes you uniquely you and if you don't do that out loud sometimes you feel like you might just go crazy?  Do you even know?

Once you complete a goal or feed your true self for a while?  It sounds like this.

In one year, I went from a creatively and personally frustrated (out of the box-styled,) stay at home-mom - to a much more satisfied, and goal-oriented stay at home mom -- who occasionally gets to do some pretty amazing things with her camera.. I still don't really fit in, with all the other more typical moms. But now that I have found this new direction, it doesn't matter as much, somehow.

And that just makes me happy.  And a little teary eyed.  And I really hope your upcoming alien encounters bring you heart swelling joy.

EDIT:  I heard this song on the radio today.  It's not sappy or sweet or anything but I was composing this post in my head when I heard it and it made me cry in the car.  And yeah, further confirmation I'm weird but omg Dave Grohl.

Me Being a Life Coach is Probably Not a Good Idea

Sometimes I entertain the notion of becoming a Personal Trainer.  Then I remember how much I drink and smoke and how much I don't run unless I am chased, which thankfully doesn't ever happen because I probably wouldn't run even then.  I would just stand there with a really intimidating look and verbally bash the shit out of my would-be pursuer and even though I am short and you start out thinking that I am not at all intimidating looking because I smile a whole fucking lot, I would make you cry like a child.  I know I can do that because I may have done that once or twice in real life.  So becoming a personal trainer is kind of off the table. 

I could be a Life Coach if the idea of life coaches didn't make me want to laugh my face off and throw up at the same time, which is a really weird feeling I can assure you.  Life coaches are ridiculously crazy and also very unaware of how exactly crazy they are.  I know a couple.  They are so fucking batshit that I avoid eye contact if I see them in public.  Even knowing this, the only reason I would dumb it down to life coach instead of actual Psychologist is because psychology would require a lot of time and school that I don't particularly feel like bothering with when I am way smart enough already to have people pay me to tell them what to do. 

I don't think you need a degree for life coaching.  You can probly just buy a crystal and meditate for 10 minutes and then go ahead and order scented business cards with rainbows and butterflies all over them.  Or glittery sunrises or some shit like that.  Which is exactly why I wouldn't want to be a life coach because if I tried to join a group that truly identified with glittery rainbows over a sunrise and a butterfly landing on the arc I would have a psychotic break and actually start killing people instead of just fantasizing about it while using a sledgehammer to take apart my deck.  Everything in moderation, people.  That's what they say, right?

So, I'm not going to be a Personal Trainer, or a Psychologist, or a even a bullshit Life Coach.  I just want to share my message of how to embrace your inner fucked upness and be okay with that because everybody else is fucked up too.  And if you're super fucked up then I'll give you marginally effective methods to reframe your perceptions and help you move on toward, like, growth and healing and stuff.  I'd be like Jillian Michaels but without the scary eyebrows and heavy lifting.  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  Of course you would.

You should privately email me your issues and I will answer them in a weekly advice post.  Wouldn't that be fun?  We could call it Therapy Thursday or something.  I would protect your privacy completely.  I'm just looking ahead at 200 something more blogs here and if my days continue to be anything like today (boring as all hell except for reading a bunch of  The Monster Apathy which made me laugh out loud many, many times and kind of inspired the tone of this post but with no references to doing obscene things to your mom...because 1. It's Mother's Day and B. I'm not a lesbian) then I worry that my well of what the fuck might dry up.  Which is stupid really because my wtf well hasn't dried up in the past however many years and I don't see why it would now.  I'm just thinking out loud, people, I didn't write this one out beforehand.

So anyway, consider it?  I've got shit on DVR I have to watch now because it's a school night and I try to go to bed before the sun rises on those.

Old Fears For Sale

Fear.  Totally sucks.  And is useful if you know how to use it.

I was feeling particularly fearless today but then I remembered Ouija Boards.  Do not fucking put me in a room with one of those things.  Ouija Boards are from a special hell even I believe in.  Awful.  Anyway, not the point.  The point is today's theme was fear.

Even fear is useful when you figure out what you're afraid of and why.  Once you identify the problem, you can come up with ways to fix it.  Otherwise it's just this gigantic, nebulous thing that hides in the closet waiting to kill you.  And kill you it will whether you let it out of the closet or not.  Fear is super sneaky like that. 

But if you face it...if you acknowledge and confront it then you take away its sneakiness and also its power.  Fear hates that.  When fear is found out for what it really is?  It turns into ketchup and old lunch meat and weeps in a corner.  Fear is way more scary with backlighting and a good soundtrack.  Even knowing that, you still couldn't pay me to watch a horror movie.

I'm not saying, "don't be scared."  That would be too hypocritical even for me.  But if you ARE scared will you please take a moment to figure out why, I mean really why?  Same for angry, sad, lonely, depressed, helpless, hurt, whatever?  Because before you stuff that feeling down with whatever your tamping tool of choice may be, you should know that there is a reason that feeling is there. 

Just like they say in the military how pain tells you you're still alive...it does.  That pain of unpleasant feelings tells you you're still alive and there is a serious thing you need to face if you want to stay alive.  So face it.  Open the closet door.  Most likely you'll find that closet stuffed not so much with monsters but with mismatched gloves and old shoes and other things you forgot about that take up so much of your space and energy.

Dad update: His counselor has given him homework to be more tuned in to his emotions and less about escaping into his intellect.  So far, all the emotions he feels are fear and anger. So that's not fun right? Right. But he's "trying" to feel those. But it's still not fun. So I said that if you face your fears instead of running away from them, they go away (or not go away all the way, but you can deal with them).   This is not new information.  I swear, HE was the one who told me this in the first place.

So he said he's trying to confront them.  I said No.  You're not.  You are only THINKING about confronting them. You aren't actually confronting them.  Because they're still there.  And that's the problem. 

It's like you've opened up the closet door a little bit and all this shit has started to fall out and you can't stuff it back in. You're saying, "Oh god, it's so scary.  I can't see all of it, but I'm sure it's really fucking scary.  I can't deal with how scary this could be."  And you think closing the closet door is dealing with it.  It's not.

I know you think you are the most broke broken person who ever lived in the world of broken people who are broke.  Doesn't matter how you try to fix it.  Can't be done.  Guess what.  You're not.  You don't suffer from terminal uniqueness.  All you have to do is push the tiller.  Guess what.  It rolls.  So too, will you.  Eventually.  When you find the right way to push it.  It can be done. 

And other stuff about how when you finally open the previously mentioned closet door and deal with the crap you haven't wanted to look at for howevermany years, you can say, "Hey, I forgot I was hanging onto this crap.  This belongs to someone else."  or  "Wow, my cherished memory.  Aww.  Thankgoodness I finally retrieved it from ruin." and you either give it away or put it someplace special depending on what it is. 

And that is kind of what a hard-hitting Junior Counselor to the Free World session looks like.

It's Spring Cleaning/Yard Sale time, people!  Old fears for sale!  Four for $1.

I Want to Be a Jedi Master

I've been thinking about confidence.  Consciously anyway.  One of my reader friends messaged after the post about Blogginess that confidence was an important part of getting more readers.  I have been processing that email for about a week now.   

See, this blog is my dear diary blather, right?  This is where I spill out that even though it looks like I know what I'm doing on the outside, the inside of me is just making this up as I go along.   I know a lot of people in 3D think I have my shit together, good head on my shoulders, outgoing, blah, etc.  They've thought that for as long as I can recall.  I would love to think that too.  I would love to feel that.

Please have a little patience with me while I get there.  I believe Woody Allen's theory that 80% of success is just showing up.  So my usual internal monologue is, "Okay, I'm here.  What now?"  Even as Reunion Chair.  I do know what I'm doing sometimes (more lately); trusting myself is usually where the glitch lies.  But I know that you have to start somewhere.  Sticking a toe out the door is a good thing.  Putting your whole self out there is even better.  I say things to my self like, "The journey of a thousand miles..." and "You can't win if you don't play" and other cliched encouragementisms as well.  I mean, Yoda didn't start out as a Jedi Master, right?.  He was probably some punk little kid too smart for his own good using mind tricks he had no clue how to properly employ.  That thought comforts me.

Anyway, I want to be a Jedi Master.  Y'know, all Zen-like and whatnot who can still kick ass when ass-kicking is required.  Someday this dear diary will reflect that transition.  But you have to know the backstory.  Makes it more human.  When I vent about ACK!  What the hell?! personal stuff, consider yourself witness to the beginnings of my path to Jedi Mastery.

X update:  He's only halfway through his dental stuff.  Halfway through?!  Wha?  At least that's what he told me today.  He's got a dermatologist appointment tomorrow to investigate these skin abnormalities that seem to have popped up.  Apparently it wasn't only the one mole on his never-seen-the-sun stomach (out of the horse's mouth, people, so don't just take my word for it).  There are multiple Dysplastic Veni on his person.  I googled.  This is some kind of complication of the cirrhosis and his GP caught them and wrote a derm referral.  I've already mentioned I like this GP although I haven't met him and I'm not exactly sure how much good painting more deck chairs on the Titanic will do.  However, Dysplastic Veni could be cancerous and wouldn't that be a kick to the head at this stage in the game?  After that tomorrow there's a meet and greet with the new gastroenterologist around the corner (you will not be surprised that I am not invited to tag along).  X is also waiting on ultrasound results to see if he's got kidney stones (from the GP?  Urologist?  it's hard to keep them straight lately).  And the hits just keep on comin'.

And I don't know if this is related at all but Thing 2 is desperate for the next meteor shower to wish on a star for SpiderKid powers.  He wants to fight bad guys, swing webs and see things coming before they happen.  X is supposed to take the Things out to "the country" next week so they can see the meteor shower without too many city lights.  Thing 2 daydreams about this SpiderKid business in class a lot.  I told him, "Look, Peter Parker had to get good grades in school to go college even after he became SpiderMan.  You can be SpiderKid all you want, but you still have to focus on your work and be Thing 2 during school hours.  Does that make sense?"  Basically: Don't quit your day job.  We're working on it.