There is always a turning point when you try on clothes and you ask yourselves what the fuck happened? A couple of months back maybe even a blog or two back I described how I managed to almost kill myself in a dressing room trying on a jumper I couldn’t get out of. Well the other day I decided I wanted to try an outfit from thot.com okay maybe its not thot.com but some of the clothes look like thotty wear. I ordered a romper from fashion nova. I thought to myself its a romper, likely stretchy looked loose in the picture leggo.
I wish I had not leggo. When it arrived I was ecstatic at what I thought would be my new hot outfit. That it was not. My boobs were flying out all over the place, it was just not a good look. So now, I’m like this is why bitches go bulimic. It was just crazy. I go to New York and Company, Ann Taylor Limited, Express and I feel good about what I buy. This was not that at all. This was personality shattering, alter ego creating mind fucking is what this was. I don’t know if I can say I looked like an exploding can of Pillsbury dough or what but I can tell you.. that’s the last outfit for me from thotty.com.
You’re legacy is whatever your decisions,choices and paths you decided to take. You can leave behind a great legacy or a disaster in your wake. The one thing I always wanted was to leave a trail of fire in my wake, not a blaze of destruction but a blaze of powerful influence. Like all things in life, you can use your gifts for good, or you can use your gifts for bad. Facing my own mortality and thinking about the future is both enlightening and frightening.
Right now, my fears in their own way have come out of their closet. I’m battling my own health issues and thing not to let them hold me down. I’ve decided to bask in my own sadness for a moment before I pick myself right back up. I never discourage people to not feel what they feel. Bask in your emotions good or bad because they are yours. There are no right feelings to feel when shit goes south, when you get bad news. The only bad reaction is to not bounce back. You have to. There’s no other choice but to stop crying eventually and keep fighting to see another day.
Today I got news that made me realize that the fire that I storm everything in my life with is fully ablaze. It was the most powerful news for me that I could get. You see, somewhere that I thought I was never appreciated, it turns out that my hard work and due dilligence paid off. I was used as an example. The fact is that I work damned hard to make sure I’m the best at everything that I do. If I plow shit for a living I’m going to be the best damned shit plowed that ever was.
The notification that I got today lifted my spirits from the depths of despair that I was living with fear and worry about my health. It made me once again remember that I’m going to law school. I’m going to ignite an even bigger blaze in my path before my candle blows out in the wind.
I have a six year old. I’ve raised her thus far to think little girls are not grown women. As she gets older she will earn the right to do more things like paint her nails, go out etc. At 6, she’s not ready to hit the club like it’s her birthday as best sung by good ol 50 cent. One day though she will be, but hopefully by that time I have prepared her as well as I can for life.
Shopping for girls these days is hard. The fashions are outrageous. I once saw a tube top that doubled as a mini skirt. I mean am I dressing a future baby prostitute or a child? It’s sick. I dress my daughter as age appropriate as I can, as fashion forward as I can without trying to turn her into a self obsessed monster. So imagine the difficulty in finding age appropriate shows.
She’s 6 but bores of cartoons. She’s an uber smart (to smart for her own good) kid. So although the screen shows tv shows with a G rating which are hypothetically for the general audience, I’ve found one massive reoccurring theme. Boy crazy girls that are just obsessed with boys. Okay, obviously kids grow up and start to eventually notice the opposite sex. But why are shows aimed at the general consensus of just showing boy thirsty girls? I take issues with that. Is that all we can teach girls? Granted, teaching starts at home but you can’t deny the outside influences are like subliminal Devils. Where else are girls younger and younger developing body image issues from? Instagram? Where everyone takes photos like their waiting to film their next debut with Brad Pitt. Social media. Magazines. Tv shows. This all plays a part.
People like to argue that it’s a parents fault or problem to screen and monitor their children. I agree but to a degree. I can’t raise my daughter in a bubble. There has to be some sort of accountability about what we show kids, what we put forth. How about a show about a girl who’s an A student who invents the cure for some formerly incurable disease or a show about the first girl ground breaking scientist who’s also a teenager like Dougie Howser who was a doctor at like 13? We need more shows about women and girls shattering those glass ceilings than incorporating all the dumb shit that at the end matters so minutely.
Have you watched that show? What would you do? Some of the situations are mind blowing and enraging. Ironically, the other day they showed a situation involving babies. A couple brings a baby to a 10 star restaurant and the question was what would you do if the baby is crying through your dinner. Me personally I’m an asshole. I would side eye through my entire meal. Listen, I’m a mom, but I didn’t take my daughter out until I felt ready she was a silent presence out in public. I can honorably say my daughter never had a meltdown in public. Then again my silent motherly theme song was L.L. Cool J’s Mamma said knock you out. My daughter knew better. Even now, I take her to work no one even knows she’s there. Which brings me to today.
Today, although I’m dying from a cold, I took my daughter to go see boss baby the movie. The thing is, it’s obviously a kids movie. But why did I hear actual screaming babies that were not cast on the movie? Listen, I sacrificed and didn’t expose the world to a constantly screaming child. Even before I had kids I hated the parents who just let their monster scream bloody murder. Kids are unpredictable, I know you can’t just put a cork in them, but you do have to teach them manners. I used to purposely take my daughter down the toy aisle to teach her that not always would she get a toy and we do not act up. She never had a meltdown for a toy.
When I became a parent my mantra was I don’t want to hear this shit, so neither should you have to hear it. Some places are baby free zones. Would you take your newborn into a nightclub? Would you take your infant to the bar? Maybe some body shots for the kid? The answer is no. So if you wouldn’t take your kid out to those places why is it so far fetched to not take your screaming child or infant to a 5 star restaurant where my chicken costs as much as a god damned farm of chickens. I just think it’s prudent. So yes, I’m an asshole but I also was prudent enough to put parenting first above my own need to go see the latest flick. By the way the movie was awesome. Some adult intended suggestive comments but overall hilarious, a tad sad but great.
I couldn’t sleep. I woke up at 1:00 am and my mind was racing. I’m not sure what to call him. I suppose after 7 years together there should be a more defined role or title except I don’t feel it. It would be a bold faced lie to say it’s my significant other. I have an engagement ring that lines my jewelery box. I’ve always been a free spirit. The ability to walk away from relationships and bad situations. Except for this nightmare.
In my 20’s I thought it was crazy for women to stay in bad situations. Especially when they had children. Then I had my daughter. Something become clear. The fact that my poor decision would now affect her entire life and I had to live with that. The weight of that was like atlas carrying the world on his shoulder. So I stayed. Knowing one day I’d take my passport and my shit let my daughter know I’m out. Catch me in Europe. I’d served my time. The irony between my plan and my own mothers disappearance does not elude me.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. My “partner” told me my dad fell out of the car when he was getting out for dialysis. He couldn’t get up. My stomach dropped. The stress has magnified. The pressure intensified. That coupled with a lunatic that you have to walk on egg shells with are the recipe for a stroke or a heart attack. I’ve never met a person I couldn’t speak with. I deal with difficult high strung professionals and even then, nasty or not I can communicate. I can peg them. I can asses who I’m dealing with and how to deal with them.
I’ve never been in a situation where I couldn’t express myself. Where it’s like North Korea. You can’t express anything outside of the designated permitted forms of expression. Trust me, I am expressive. The moral is that the anx I felt came from knowing my dad fell and he didn’t want me to know. My limited ability to be everywhere, and the argument that ensued with this so called partner. The partner proceeded to spout how this was his fucking apartment and he didn’t want a nurse here until it’s spic and span. The problem is he has shit all over the place. But in his eyes this is not a problem. When you deal with someone who’s issues are everyone else’s except his own, where everything is someone’s fault but their own, there is no winning.
I take great issue with people who have a need to try to exert their power. In my eyes, they’re weak. If you need to hold power over someone who can’t or just because, know that you are weak. A strong and powerful person doesn’t need to exert power over anyone. People will do your will because they respect you and you command so. Not out of force like a dictatorship where it’s done out of fear. Fear is the seed of resentment, after resentment anger grows. There’s a phrase I say all the time that I stand by. “Those who need to control are they themselves out of control.” That’s what I’m dealing with. A cyclone of a personality and my life.
I’m not complaining by any means. I’m simply acknowledging what I know and that’s the similarity between myself and my mothers decision to one day pack her shit and leave. Except one massive difference. My father was not a bad person in his entirety. He made poor decisions but I chalk that up to a lack of education. But he took care of us, made sure we lacked nothing. As strong as his personality was, I know he loved me. That his intent was never to hurt me. That’s the defining difference. The difference is that I’m genuine. This partner is selfish. He does everything for the added bonus. Oh here let me help you with this, so later I can hold it over your head. Sure if you need my help now you can’t say anything to me. Here’s a 100 bucks but when I need you there’s no out. And that to me is disgusting…
I’m not going to lie. I’ve texted my friends this morning letting them know I look like I escaped Bellevue. You know, the insane asylum. My hairs knotted and crazy and I’m still in pajamas. Should I care? Possibly. Do I care. No. Although at this moment, I won’t walk outside for fear of being chased with a straight jacket. I can see it now: the paddy wagon people chasing after me with a straight jacket screaming “There she is.” There’s no use trying to explain I’m not an insane escapee. Who’d believe me right? Especially when I look insane.
You have no idea how many times a week I have to resist the urge to show up to work in sweats. I haven’t done it yet, but one of these days I seriously just might. No effort. No fucks given. That actually reminds me of my partying days…
I worked at this one firm where almost always I’d party in Miami drive an hour home possibly change go straight to work. Often times for a while there I looked like I was stripping all night. I did hide my clubbing outfits by throwing on cardigans and coats. It was Florida though. So what was I doing in 80 degree weather with a baby blue furry coat that made me look like fucking Cookie Monster at 8 am? Yeah that resulted in a talk to. A sit down to discuss my recent appearance. That convo also discussed my “cleavage” issues. Listen I’m sorry not sorry. I have big boobs. If I don’t wear a v neck not a plunging neck line to my ankles just a v neck I think it’s worse. Then I look like I have a big ass football on steroids on my chest. Not happening. Lo siento. Apparently from the second floor the attorneys could see my boobage. Listen NASA could see my boobs. I mean their there. I can’t just swap them out like a handbag.
The moral of today’s story is that I look unapologetically insane. And that’s okay. My eyebrows look like Frieda. My sweats look like I’m homeless and my hair looks like I hit a 240 volt socket. It’s quite alright…
Everyone has secrets. Mine are not the kind that you might think. I’ve spent my life trying to live my life in a way that would one day make my friends and kids proud. One of my secrets is singing. I love to sing. It’s been a source of release all of my life. There’s two parts to this secret.
I’m elementry school I was a soprano in my private school church choir. I was a dorky behind the scenes kid, smart but never really challenged enough. One day we were going to sing a song called Kyrie and they were looking for a soloist. Laura K. tried first. Then I went up. I’m not even sure why. What came out shocked not only me but father Peter. Father Peter made me redo it and I did. Laura threw a fit because I got two chances. This was my first experience with jealousy.
When the Sunday came for my solo, I was nervous even though my parents hadn’t come. If you’ve read anything about me or my blogs, it’s that I don’t give power to anyone or anything. In this regard my father has held me captive. I would sing when I was sad, hurt, upset and sometimes happy. It was a place of release where others could literally feel my pain. The more upset I was, the more soulful my voice.
My father would often tell me that if I thought I could sing, to go ahead and sing for him. My nerves would get the best of me and he would tell me I couldn’t sing. Even today I can’t face people when I sing. At karaoke with the few friends I let into my secret, I would let loose but it took a while. I never sought a career because of the fear. I was for all intents and purposes at one point an entertainer. I could dance, I could sing, I had brains and I wasn’t bad on the eyes.
This is something that I still battle with in my own ways because all I heard was you can’t sing my entire life from the person who was supposed to lift me up. He often told me I was an elementry school drop out because I chose to do a GED and go to college at 16. That didn’t bother me at all. I’m thriving otherwise. But the dig about something that was me, that made me, that I loved, was devastating.
I still sing in private or like last night after a few drinks in front of some new friends. All I can say is this: Words are powerful. Be wary of the implications of your words. I know the weight of my own towards others. I try to uplift others unless I have to drag them down and that’s only as a means of necessity. I don’t take that lightly because I understood very clearly that tearing someone down, doesn’t put you in a better place.