All You Need is....

There is a superstition I have on road trips of making a wish when I cross over a state line.  For added measure, I will also kiss my hand and tap the ceiling of the car.  I am not entirely sure where this superstition came from, maybe from watching a friend or family member do something similar, but it is something that my daughter now does too.  I cannot speak to her wish, but mine is always the same: “Health, Wealth, Happiness, Love.” 

Lest you worry that these things won’t come true if I share this wish with you, don’t.  After all, they haven’t yet.  But as we are in a period of reflection at the start of a new year, maybe this is the perfect time to re-evaluate this wish. 

HEALTH

Although I have managed thus far to stave off any major illnesses or injuries, there is a certain level of physical and mental disintegration that I have endured within this last year (and by year, I really mean decade).  Anxiety, depression, physical and mental exhaustion…these are my normal states of being now—so much so that I find it difficult to even sit and write. I need to recharge my battery, fill my cup, whatever it is that will help.  And I have no idea what will help.  It’s certainly not the hormonal imbalances that have started to affect this “woman of a certain age”. 

WEALTH

We've heard it said that “money is the root of all evil”…but not having it doesn’t bode well either.  I will tell you something that not many people know:  I have never been so effing broke in my entire life.  Perhaps it just seems that way because I am working multiple (low-paying) jobs, the creditors (and bankruptcy) are hounding me, rent has doubled in the last three years and I am a single mom to a teenaged daughter.  Due to unfortunate circumstances, what was supposed to be a second job, has become the first job.  Ain’t no one can live on minimum wage, my friend.  Yes, I traveled to England this past August, but was only able to do so because my ex gave me airline miles to go pick my daughter up from camp (which he also paid for) and an angel of a friend let us stay with her.  In reality, I only had $700 at the time, garnered from the meager tips I’d collected for months of working as a barista at Starbucks…and I was stressed out the entire trip that I wouldn’t have enough to make it back home.

HAPPINESS

Not gonna lie…working as a barista is the worst job I’ve ever had.  Oh, I suppose the job itself is fine, but I have never seen such awful, entitled people in my entire life (and I’ve worked A LOT of customer service jobs).  It’s like dealing with a bunch of toddlers who have been deprived of snacks and naps. 

But there is one advantage to working at Starbucks:  tuition reimbursement.  Even with all of the school I’ve attended, I’d never completed my bachelor’s degree (just an associate degree).  Strangely, I really love going to school and this job will help pay for it.  If I can just keep it together for a little while longer, I will have a nice shiny degree to show for it.  Not sure why I need this degree so much, other than knowing I can allegedly get a higher paying job because of it.  If nothing else, hey, I love going to school.  Lol. 

LOVE

Um…I got nothing.  OK, not nothing.  I theoretically have my daughter, friends, and family.  But I also have an overwhelming sense of loneliness—which probably explains all of those online streaming services (like Netflix, not porn, people), my two cats (crazy cat lady here I come!) and the cocoon-like piles of laundry on my bed (who needs a boyfriend pillow or a weighted blanket?  Not me!).  Most of my close friends are married or in committed relationships so I rarely see them.  Instead, I’ve resorted to crawling into my hobbit hole rather than seeking out companionship (romantic or otherwise) because it’s, well, easier.  The older I get, the more I understand that I am no longer an extrovert.  I don’t prefer to be around people—especially after slinging coffee for the assholes of the world.  It also becomes harder and harder for me to reach out to others for fear that I am bothering them.  I am exhausted by trying to live my best life and not feeling that I have the resources to do so.

Le big sigh. 

So, where does that leave me for 2020?  Finding a new wish?  Not taking any more road trips.  No, of course not.  But perhaps the way to achieving what I want isn’t just in wishing for these four things for myself, but for others as well.  I resolve, therefore, to endeavor to spread the positivity this year. 

May you find Health, Wealth, Happiness and Love, fellow humans.  Don’t forget to spread it around.

Until next time, my Lovelies….

On the Fourth Day of Christmas....

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...THE MUPPETS

Stuck in the bottomless rabbit hole that is YouTube the other day, I came across a clip from the 1979 film, The Muppet Movie.  Old enough to have seen this film (and every subsequent Muppet movie) actually in a movie theater—and the first run of “The Muppet Show” and “Muppets Tonight” and "The Muppets" on television besides—I’ve always appreciated the comedic, plucky nature of the characters, the cheesy yet cheeky sense(s) of humour and the often ridiculous storylines.

Although Kermit (with his easy going can-do spirit), Rowlf the Dog (sweet and laid back) and Gonzo (delightfully clueless) hold special places in my heart, it is impulsive, tempestuous and feisty Miss Piggy with whom I most closely identify.  I think at some point I even wanted to be her.  Always ready with a karate chop (or “pork chop” as was the running joke) or a sassy quip, she wasn’t always very nice or particularly generous, but there was something about her.  Maybe it was her fabulous wardrobe, her bouncy blonde hair or just the fact she was voiced by the same person who voiced Yoda, but she was a gal with which to be reckoned. 

And yet she has often left a wake of (emotional) destruction in her path, time and time again.  We first see evidence of this in the scene in The Muppet Movie where Rowlf and Kermit bemoan the fact she has just left Kermit in the middle of a date…and then in almost every single movie thereafter!  Of course, that isn’t a path I would choose to follow, (hey, dates are hard to come by!), but sometimes shit happens…sometimes in such a way that a relationship can’t be repaired.  While it is true, however, that sometimes the “destructor” is also destroyed or at least admonished (remember Piggy dangling from the cliff in Muppet Treasure Island because Long John Silver was mad at her?  Ha ha.), I still think Piggy and her selfish behaviour could well serve as a reminder that we still need our friends and loved ones.  I know I’ve said it before, but a lack of appreciation or compassion is really so detrimental to any human (or Muppet) connection one would hope to have.  True to theory, Piggy’s lack of awareness bites her in the pork butt almost every single time. 

But let’s not spend too much analyzing the mating rituals of the somewhat ill-fated Piggy and Kermit.  There are so many other lessons to drawn from the Muppets.  After all:  Life’s like a movie.  Write your own ending. 

I leave you now with a clip of the Muppets performing Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”.  Mostly because it also features my favorite “new” Muppet, Pepe (the King Prawn!!!) and Janice (fer sure, like totally) from the Electric Mayhem.  And, well, Muppets. 

Until next time, Lovelies….

On the Second Day of Christmas....

ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...HALLMARK MOVIES.

Right around Thanksgiving, there is an onslaught of romantic Holiday movies (most of which were made popular on the Hallmark Channel).  Almost every woman I know (and some guys too) will binge-watch these movies,  maybe until their eyes bleed, like an addict phening for Love and Hope.

The premises and character archetypes are almost always the same, almost as if the creators were pulling plotlines from some Holiday Movie Generator:  Plucky young women, often bakers or workaholics or single moms with a precocious kid, who may not believe in love or are in the wrong relationship or down on their luck romantically;  Hot, single men, often carmudgeons who don’t believe in Christmas (or love), but who have hearts of gold—and sometimes a precocious child.  Sometimes they are old friends who have history…or maybe they are strangers shoved together due to dire circumstances.  My favorites films also tend to have a mystical element (a magic calendar, an angel, a ghost, the real Santa!), because how else will these stories be more believable?   Oh, and there is almost always someone who either teaches (often a toothy little rube or an elderly gentleman) or learns (our main characters) about the true meaning of Christmas.  And a happy ending.  OF COURSE, there is a happy ending.   

Predictable or schlocky these movies may be, however, we gobble these movies up like  platefuls of baked goods.  Their syrupy content is like a complete sugar rush, but without the caloric intake.  A fact which brings us back to them, over and over.  I’ve had numerous conversations this season alone about the intrinsic value of these films and how much we enjoy them.  Easy to digest, they offer repast from the stresses of our own Holiday reality.  And that is hardly a bad thing.

It is only when we actually do return to our reality, of course, that we are challenged.  My love life is no Hallmark Holiday Movie, that is for sure.  Too bad, I think a sassy single mom (of a teenaged goth daughter)/divorcee in her 40s who finds love in spite of financial troubles, a messy apartment and a fat, grumpy cat would make for a wonderful plot.  Guess I’d better go write it now.  Watch for it soon, will you?

Until next time, my Lovelies….

Dating and the Divorcee, Part 5: The Dangers of an Open Heart

I am no stranger to heartbreak.  As someone who often lives and loves fiercely, openly and unapologetically, I have been called “intense” or “intimidating” or even “exhausting” more times than I’d care to think about.   And yet, in spite of having been hurt many times before, my heart is still open and ready for love, even as it becomes more and more difficult to find it. 

We started as friends.  I never thought our relationship would be anything more until he introduced the idea, telling me he had been interested in me when we first met three years ago.  Perhaps it was my own folly to think that his words were an invitation to embark on the journey toward something more than a friendship, but that’s how I took them.  Suddenly, with that simple introduction of a thought, there seemed to be Possibility.  When he kissed me at the end of our first date, I knew in that instant that this could be something great.  I could maybe even love him.

Tragically, it was not to be.  Oh, I wish I could tell you that we had a great love affair.  That we are blissful and happy, like something out of a fine Hollywood romance movie.  After all, he was smart, funny, charming, with just the right level of naughty, all things I wanted and desired.  Sadly, he was also emotionally unavailable.  Worse, he was physically unavailable too. 

For almost three months, I spent way more time pursuing him than he did me, even when he’d cancel our dates or neglect to communicate.  It wasn’t that he didn’t desire me.  Hell, he even acted like he liked me.  Unfortunately, he was also giving that impression to three other women (one of whom showed up at his house while I was there.  That was a whole different type of dating movie.  Fatal Attraction maybe.).  Yup, the boy had all the earmarks of a man whore. 

But I am nothing if not adaptable. I decided to put aside whatever feelings I might have had and to take a step back from the idea of a romantic relationship.  I figured if he was only interested in sex, well, why not be Friends with Benefits?   Every man whore’s dream, right? 

Surprisingly, even that was a challenge.  While one might assume that I would be the one getting emotionally attached, he seemingly flip flopped between wanting to take me up on the benefits and being absolutely terrified of following through.  Sure, we could text (steamy, torrid, filthy and intelligent texts with no pictures), but to actually have him take me up on any of it?  No, instead, I seemed to be the one who could better separate sex from emotion.  I was the one who was honest and forthcoming about my desire and my intentions.  I was the one who could just as easily go to coffee as to bed with him.  I was the one who was held at arm’s length.  And yet, he was still stuck in my craw.  

After weeks of the “Will We or Won’t We?” dance, we finally engaged in the horizontal mambo.  It was just the once, and really nothing more than a hasty quickie after work.  Definitely fun and, I thought, easy going.  He absolutely panicked.  When I saw him a few days later, he seemed skittish and nervous, like he didn’t know what to say.  It was so awkward that I, in my usual habit of overthinking, could only imagine the worst—some of which was confirmed when he showed up later at a bar I was at with another woman (“She’s just a friend.  Honest.”).  Whether we (or they) were dating or not, I still felt absolutely disrespected, used and, well, small.   Needless to say, that is not OK with me. I am a strong, capable, decisive girl, so, pardon the language, fuck that.   

I ended up mourning the loss of our "relationship" that night with copious amounts of alcohol, dancing, tacos and cake.  You know, as one does. 

Ah well.  Here’s to making better choices in the future.  May they lead my open heart to someone who recognizes its gift.