Like My Marriage

I would describe my marriage as a pairing of fine wine and cheese. Our relationship has become more valuable and refined with age, but also a lot smellier.

Acceptance

I think there is a quote somewhere that states there is no such thing as letting go only acceptance. And in order to grow you need to constantly change...if you are not changing, you are not growing.

Your closest relationships in life are often the most painful and the most joyous. They show you yourself in ways you've never seen. No one is perfect, but what would life be with out people.

When I was younger it seemed like all the grown-ups in my life kept trying to drill in the idea that being an adult is difficult. Constantly, using the expression, "In the real world..." I had no idea what they meant and honestly, I am not sure they did either.

Yes, I see that having a family and a home is tireless work, but the real job of being an adult is maintaining and fostering relationships with people. There is so much fear in not knowing what will become of the people you love or have loved.

I think now, being an adult means we have to learn to accept ourselves and our inadequacies and those of other people...otherwise we are not growing.

Am I an Asshole?

This shit has been such a rollercoaster of emotion. I just can't give a fuck anymore. No one that I know really understands what it's like to have a family member as fucked up as mine. I know it's a goddamn pitty party (Alex) but guess what you went to fucking bed. Not only that, but you've had enough of hearing about how my brother shits on me. If my brother is really mentally ill, than am I a fucking asshole for signing him off?
How can I continue on?
My mother is now going to meetings for parents of mentally ill. Am I an asshole?

The Real Deal?

My husband and I were watching TV and some character on some stupid reality show exclaimed that a certain person was really real... which my husband then asked, what does that mean?

I had no answer.

Ma and Pa

I was born in the D.C. area and when I was 8 months old we moved overseas. My mother was a french major in college and subsequently a french teacher. Through IBM, my father had the opportunity to work in Paris. Apparently, my sentences were always mixed with french and English. My best friend and next door neighbor was Scottish, so I also learned a few of her colloquialisms.

Inevidebly my very first memories are from living in Paris. The one memory that always stands out, was the weekend my father was home cocking the window panes in my bedroom. For some reason, I found it endlessly fascinating. So fascinating in fact, that when my mother asked if I wanted to go to the market with her I said no. I attempted to help my father by picking up one of his tools, to which he growled, "don't touch that." Oh well, I decided since my father did not want my help I would go with my mother to the market. Unfortunately she had already left. Since I had walked with my mother to the market hundreds of times, I figured I would catch up with her.

Unlike American grocery stores where you do your shopping all in one, in Paris, you have to go to the butcher shop, the bakery and then there is your open air market where you can purchase all your fresh produce. In order for my four year old self to get to this market, I had to walk underground through the Parisian Metro system.

Once I arrived at the market my mother was no where in sight, apparently, she had stopped at the bakery beforehand and I had passed her. Dozens of french women surrounded me and asked me my name, but I knew better then to talk to strangers. Eventually, my mother spotted me and immediately took me home.

This is when I received my first spanking by my father's belt. (and I think now, why didn't he get spanked for not paying closer attention to where his child was?) Afterwards, my mother made me a nutella sandwich with sprinkles, I suppose because she felt guilty about my spanking, or maybe she wanted to appear as the nicer parent. Whichever, it didn't work.

Big Brother

When I was a little girl, I thought my big brother was the smartest, coolest most talented person I knew. I was completely under his spell. He knew best, so I believed everything he said. Even when he told me I wasn't very smart, or that I was obese.

His spell weaned as we got older and I saw how emotionally retarded he was. How difficult it was for him just to brush his teeth, let alone hold down a job or a relationship.

He eventually got wise and married a girl that would be his mother for years. She enabled him to be the perpetual teenager that he is. But that ship is sinking. The wife wants out. And I don't blame her. I feel guilty for not being there for my brother and siding with his wife. He thinks I don't know anything about the situation. That he is being wronged.

I know that he is wrong. So, I will let go of this guilt and grieve instead, for the big brother I never really had.

Baby Jesus

Hanging out with my niece the other day, I discovered that she names all her dolls, "Baby Jesus." This is incredibly, ironic considering the first time I met her mother, she told me she was an atheist. Regardless, it reminds me of a story that I have told before but never written about.

In my early twenties, I lived in Boston for a year. During this time I was pretty impressionable, and miserable to boot. One evening, I was so unhappy about who knows what, that I said out loud, "if there is a God show me a sign."

The next morning, on my way to my waitress job downtown, I had an encounter with a homeless man. I was headed out of the T station, when I noticed an elderly, Native American man walking towards me. His back was bent over so severely, that he needed a cane to walk. Right as he was about to pass me, he said, "Hi Suzy." I was in disbelief, I kept walking but then turned around to see that the man had stopped in his tracks and was smiling at me. I walked further, and turned to look at him again and he was waving. Right as I was about to turn the corner of the building and he would no longer be in my sight, I looked one last time, and he was blowing me a kiss.

Right then and there, I remembered the night before when I had asked God for a sign. I felt an electric current pulse from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I wanted to fall over and get on my knees immediately. However, there was work to be done, and I was late.

When I walked into work, the other servers were setting up their stations. Most of my fellow employees were older and wiser, and obviously just waiting tables temporarily until their book was finished or their record deal came through. It was definitely an eccentric group, one that I found to be enlightened. Don't ask me why, I can't remember. So, while rolling napkins for the downtown business crowd, I told a select few of my holy encounter. Everyone seemed slightly indifferent to my story. I wanted people to get on their hands and knees, God had spoken to me. But, my fellow waiters and waitresses were not sharing my enthusiasm.

After work, I was desperate to get home and call my amazingly, spiritual mother and share the unbelievable news with her. She also was hesitant, but nice nonetheless.

It was husband, (my boyfriend at the time) that really put a pin in my balloon. I told him the story in it's entirety, even my fear as to why God came to me, in such a twisted physical form. He listened quietly and when he was sure that I was done, he asked, "How do you know, he didn't say, 'Hi Sweetie'?".

The Terrible 35's

Apparently 35 is the new terrible 2's. I'm not saying I don't enjoy my age. I feel however, like I am in toddlerdom when it comes to adulthood. Granted I have been an adult legally for 17 years. But, the human brain doesn't finish physically developing until the age of 25, so really that's 10 years of adulthood. I think what I'm trying to say here is, that I haven't been an adult long enough to not fall back into adolescent behavior. It's a strange age, I could very possibly be middle aged. Yet, I've still been a child longer than I have been an adult. But, lately it's been feeling like my young number is up and it's been causing quite the tantrums and acting out.

No worries though, I have read all the best child rearing books I can get my spindly hands on.

Pet Peeves

The Wikipedia definition says a pet peeve is a minor annoyance that an individual identifies as particularly annoying to them, to a greater degree than others may find it. Examples may be; poor table manners, sloppy kitchen hygiene, grammatical errors in written passages, inconsiderate driving or lazy co-workers.
I've always hated the phrase, "I'm all about (fill in the blank)". I'm not sure exactly when this phrase came about, but it's definitely from my life time. I think it started with the MTV era/ reality programs. Where regular people were declaring themselves special, just because they were stupid enough to put themselves on national television. Maybe I didn't like the phrase at first because, there simply was not anything that I could declare that ,"I was all about". However, these days I pretty much know what I'm all about, and I still find it annoying.

Ah Ga Ga

I have to pack for our trip today. I don't want to. I have no motivation, because I drank myself into a stupor last night. I passed out before Super Nanny was over. My husband tried to rouse me for some sexy time, but the Tylenol pm had advanced my body past the point of anything other than sleep. He then said, "come on you're wearing those sexy, satin panties for me, because you know you want it." Ha, Ha, Ha, these panties are blue, ripped, polyester from Victoria's Secret circa 1993.