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 Seventh Day of Christmas....

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...TRIUMPHS  (OR REFLECTIONS OF THE PAST YEAR)!

Every New Year’s Eve I, as many of us are wont to do, reflect upon the past year.  This generally involves revisiting my previous list of resolutions and creating a new one.  As with the end of 2017, however, I feel like my resolutions are ONCE AGAIN virtually the same ones I have every year.  I don’t know if that denotes that I haven’t done all of the work or that I need to change my resolutions...or, maybe, that I just keep doing the same thing in hopes of a different outcome?  I mean, I still find myself broke, single and living in a messy apartment.   What else is new?

So let’s take a look back at some of the triumphs of 2018, shall we?  After all, amidst the clutter and chaos there is still buried treasure. 

THEATER

Ever my bliss, theater has proven to be pretty rewarding this year.  My production partner and I created a beautiful and poignant show comprised of original and published works entitled The Human Perspective as a fundraiser for a local charity.  We have also begun pre-production on two other shows (both musicals!) and production on a series of musical revues for a local theater (opening next year).  Additionally, I have also been cast in not one, but three shows which I am not producing (yes, that is a good thing...a luxury, even)—two of which open next year!

WORK

In July of 2018, I switched to a different salon.  Although there were many benefits to working at the first one, I knew it wasn’t the place for me—a fact which was exhibited by poor health, increased anxiety and decreased performance.  I am grateful for what I learned there, but also for the opportunity to have found a new place where I feel more at ease.  I am still working on building my clientele and continuing education (OMG I took the most AWESOME color class in Los Angeles!), but I am hopeful that I can take more ownership of my career in 2019. 

HOME

My thirteen-year-old continues to be…well, really good at being thirteen.  Lol.  She is intelligent, stubborn, witty, poised, determined, stubborn, delightful, feisty, kooky…did I mention stubborn?  In the past she was always very much a “daddy’s girl”, but I really feel that we’ve been forging much more of a bond lately.  I wish that extended to her cleaning the house more, but, ah well.  Baby steps.

Besides, the cat doesn’t do anything either. 

PERSONAL

I keep working toward just being the best person I can.  That, after all, is the only all-encompassing resolution this work-in-progress gal seems capable of handling sometimes.  I still feel things intensely, but I am always working to communicate in a level-headed, intelligent way.  Sometimes that means writing more.  Sometimes that means just letting shit go.  Sometimes that means being very honest and open with my thoughts—or just showing my crazy once in a while.  You’re welcome.  Ha ha.

FRIENDSHIP

I wish I had spent more time with my friends in 2018, but I am appreciative for the ones with whom I was able to get together.  I will have to work on that for 2019!  Yes, it probably seems funny to think that someone as seemingly extroverted as I am would need to work on socialization, but I do.  It never really does me any good to hole up at home.  Sometimes a little social interaction is all I need.  I do like my Netflix time, though. 

I have also met/become better friends with some REALLY awesome people this year.  I look forward to being around them more too. 

So there you go, Lovelies, some of the highlights of my year.  I hope that you are able to look back at your year and find some triumphs of your own…and that you are able to build upon them for 2019!

Until next year, Lovelies...HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Teacher Teacher

There are many lessons to be learned in life.  Some we learn in school, some are learned through our experiences.  Some lessons are readily apparent…and some are silent ninjas that whap one upside the head in a sudden moment of clarity.

And then there are the lessons that as they are being learned leave one with a sense of (and there is no real nice way to say this) what the F*CK?!

It is this last type of lesson that plagues me most often.  In the midst of attempting to draw enlightenment and personal awareness from my individual experiences, I find that I am often more confused by them.  Even as I am asking myself, “What am I to learn from this?” I admit I don’t always know the answer.  Sometimes I never do.  Not unlike Neo in The Matrix, I guess, I must realize there is no spoon.

If you don’t understand my rather dated reference to the 1999 film, let me further explain that all this stems from a relatively recent understanding:  I have a habit of attracting (and usually falling for) unavailable men. This, of course, is not something for which I ever plan.

As I further attempt to feed my romantic soul, I find myself taking more High Fidelity-style trips through my past relationships than should be allowed (Yes, another dated pop culture reference.  Damn, I am old.  Ha.).  It is on these trips that I better comprehend the validity of my previous statement.  Whether emotionally or physically, I do indeed attract unavailable men.

It all began with my first love.  Although I’d had other boyfriends in high school, there was one for whom I fell hard.  A bit of an odd pie with somewhat of a Peter Pan complex, I adored him.  He was sarcastic and funny with a penchant for Oingo Boingo.  I told him I loved him.  He said “Oh”…and then disappeared.  The next thing I knew he was dating one of my best friends.  Well, what did I expect?  We were sixteen. 

Interestingly, he is one of the rare few with whom I still remain friends—although, to be fair, this is partially because of his persistence in the years after high school and because he is now married to an amazing woman (who actually is the one with whom I communicate more often).  We have no need to be anything more than just friends again.  

Then there was the one to whom I refer to as “Cherry Popper”.  Oh my, but he was a beautiful boy.  Recently out of a long relationship, he wasn’t looking for another.  Of course, I was absolutely smitten with him—as were most people who knew him.

I think I always sensed that he would only be in my life for a short time…I didn’t even delude myself into thinking that we were dating (although in a conversation I had with him years later, he surprisingly referred to it as such).  He introduced me to a different side of myself and then was gone so quickly that even now, I still occasionally wonder if we don’t have “unfinished business”.  This is most certainly wishful thinking.  He too is married now. 

I have opened myself up to many unavailable men in the subsequent years after Cherry Popper:  the one nicknamed “Guillermo” who eventually thought me “exhausting”; the former fiancé who just couldn’t choose to be with me until I finally decided to leave him; the sexy blue-eyed devil I had liked for years, rebound dated and then got dumped by when he met—and married—a girl with my first name one month into our relationship; my ex-husband who stopped communicating with, respecting and allegedly loving me well before I realized it; the long-ago friend who found me on Facebook, chatted me up and then, when it was about to get “real”, became angered by something of which I am still not aware and completely withdrew; the friend (and former crush) whom I counseled through a supposed rough patch in his marriage then discovered he was really buying a house and having a baby with her; the recovering meth addict who still had to work on getting his own sh*t together; the one who interrupted my two-year re-virgination project with ideas of possibility even though he wasn’t really mine to have….

I have cried a lot of tears in my 25ish years of relationships.  While it is likely I too have left a trail of broken hearts in my wake (due to my own inability to share my heart with those poor souls), I still wonder why I keep getting introduced to and involved with men who are perhaps not ready for a relationship with me?  What am I putting out into the Universe that attracts these men to me?  Am I still not ready for lasting love myself, choosing subconsciously to avoid any intimacy that is not solely physical?  Am I just plagued with really shitty timing?  Or an unflapping “take what you can and make it work” attitude?  Am I, as in The Matrix, not realizing that it is not the spoon that bends, only myself (whatever the hell that means)? 

The other day, my friend sent me a picture of a printed T-shirt.  The shirt slogan read, “My life is a romantic comedy minus the romance and just me laughing at my own jokes.”  This is funny to me because it rings true, but it also makes be a bit wistful. Underneath all of my bravado, bluster and so-called “slut sparkle” (so named because people often assume I am wilder than I feel I really am), I want what I imagine a lot of people want:  a companion.  I want a partner in crime, in life, and yes, in the sheets—someone with whom to share my life for more than just a “certain period of time”.  There comes a time, after all, when singlehood becomes hermitude and, while I like my solace, I realize I am not built for such things. I do want the meet cute, the love affair, the lasting romance, “the One”…Damn you, Hollywood.

Therefore, the search continues.  To be honest, though, after 11ish (collective) years of dating, 11 years of marriage, 3 years of divorce, I don’t even know where to look anymore.  I don’t even know if I should look—or to just let it “happen”?  But then how does it happen? 

I am not jaded about love (or even marriage), yet I sure am disheartened by my past choices in men.  Not necessarily because of who they were as people, but because I would like to stop feeling like Good Luck Chuck (another movie reference for you) and dating people who are meant for someone else.

And so, Universe, I have to ask you to please stop sending me the unavailable men.  I am fully aware of the value of casual encounters, yet if the men are already married or attached and/or not capable of or open to a more lasting relationship with me, I know they are not for me.  Please help me then to make the best choices when it comes to relationships and to recognize the men of action and purpose, not just words. Grant me the opportunity to appreciate the man who is capable of prioritizing my role in his life and allow me to (and want to) prioritize his role in mine as well.  Assist me in knowing who will provide a positive, supportive and loving influence and recognize my worth, therefore preventing me from losing myself in a relationship that is detrimental to my wellbeing.  Please quell the drama that occasionally accompanies relationships, while still allowing me to be thrilled, excited, enticed and enthralled.

Oh, and if you want to make him British, Irish or Scottish, I cannot say I would mind.  ;)

AAAAAAAHHHH-MEN!

See, I am learning. 

Until my next blog entry, Lovelies….

40 Days Till 40 (Day 39)

HAVE A GRATEFUL DAY!

Holy balls, it is only 2 days until my birthday!  For some reason I am all weepy, but then I suppose that is not uncommon.  Birthdays, like the New Year, are a time for taking stock in one’s life and figuring out what to improve, what to eliminate and for what to be grateful. 

As I sit here in my darkened bedroom, typing on my laptop, Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” is playing on my iTunes.  Coincidentally, the lyrics I hear are  “So you take a look around…at least you got friends.” 

So apparently Prince knows what’s up.  I am definitely grateful for my friends, both because they are my friends, but also because they are so kickass that they inspire me every day.  There are thankfully many of you, but I'd like to give a special (vague yet sincere) shout out to four of you:  my Tom-Hiddleston-obsessed mama bear, my fiery, sassy, redheaded pragmatist, my uber-talented, auburn-haired sassafras (who also introduced me to "Asian Buns") and my favorite extroverted hermit…you’ve helped pull me out of some dark times lately.  Thank you. 

I am grateful for my pink hair.  That probably seems shallow, but my rosy locks make me feel better.  As my hair stylist and I agreed today, there may be sh*t going on in my life, but at least my hair looks happy.

I am grateful to know that I, like Gloria Gaynor, will survive.  I am strong, resourceful and capable…and I keep proving that to be true.  Thank you to everyone who keeps reminding me of that too.   

I am grateful for my ability to have food, shelter, employment and amenities.  I may have to live frugally, but I am not yet destitute—even if it feels that way sometimes.  

I am grateful for my daughter, who gives me a reason to keep fighting, even when I am over it all.  Plus she’s pretty damned funny. 

And finally, I am grateful to everyone who reads my blog.  I started writing this blog to make sense of my random thoughts, but I like knowing you’re there (especially when some of you quote my entries back to me!).  Whether or not you agree and/or commiserate with or are amused by my entries, I thank you for reading…and pity you for now knowing WAY too much about me.

Until tomorrow, Lovelies….

A New Lease on Life

Property Division.  Check.

New apartment.  Check.

Signed divorce papers.  Check. 

At long last, the baby steps are becoming leaps and bounds as I head toward my emancipation.  Although I am still awaiting the judge’s approval to finalize the divorce (and therefore sever the last remaining connective marital strand), it feels that this past year of heartache and misery is finally drawing to a close. 

Yeah, you read that right.  It’s been a year since this all began.  In fact, ironically, the day I signed the paperwork was just one week shy of a year (almost to the day) since our initial break up.  I now have thirty days to move all of the crap I have accumulated over 11 years of marriage from the community property into a two-bedroom apartment.  Oy.

I technically obtained the apartment before actually signing the divorce settlement, but have yet to move in. I have found the prospect of moving daunting--certainly not because of lack of desire to move, but instead because there is just so much stuff.  In essence, just as my life has been thrown into chaos by this divorce, so too have my belongings.  I will readily admit that I am a collector and a clutter bug but as I survey my belongings and try to determine what is to be moved, I wonder, dear God…have I become a hoarder?!

Time to clean up my life (In more ways than one)!  How invigorating, how exciting, how…stressful. 

I tackle the papers first.  Because I haven’t felt comfortable using the office (hello, community space), I have taken to “filing” my necessary documents in my bedroom.  I have receipts, bills and check stubs in my nightstand (which, incidentally, is staying in the house) that must be sorted.  In my sewing room are magazine clippings, files and boxes filled with sentimental ephemera.  In the loft are further items that were just thrown in a box when we moved into this house.  Oh man, I haven’t even started working on the downstairs. 

Aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhh.

Shake it off, girl.  Shake it off.  It’s just stuff. 

Or so I keep telling myself. 

As I am sorting through all the junk, I find birthday, anniversary and Valentine’s Day cards from the ex.  Taking a moment to read them fills me with sadness.  The sentiments contained in these cards strike a chord in me…here, in my hands, is written proof that he loved me once, that there was meaning in our relationship.  In the last year, these sentiments have been so easily negated that it’s been hard to be sure.  Just as I begin to feel myself getting weepy, I find a letter amongst the cards, tucked in like some dirty little secret.

Now let me give you some background:  In the first year of my relationship with the ex (before marriage was even a thought), I was very gung-ho and goal oriented and decided to return to college to get my Fashion Design degree.  Upon learning that the ex could not articulate any goals for himself, I decided to break off the relationship.  We were separated for about a month, during which time I dated another person (which is a whole other debacle).  Toward the end of that month, the ex and I discussed trying to work things out.  He came to my house to find that I was not there.  In my absence, he left me the aforementioned letter. 

Back to the more present day and the finding of this letter….

Over the past year, I have often questioned myself on whether the cruelty and anger exhibited toward me could have been there all along.  I had so often thought of him as being a “good man” or “kind” or “decent” that it seemed impossible that he could ever say or do anything harsh or contrary to that.  Dealing with the idea that my relationship with him was not what I had thought has been something that I have discussed ad nauseum with my therapist (Don’t judge.  Therapy has helped.).

Finding this letter, however, brings with it a sobering reality.  I have always known that hurt and anger can make one do and/or say some awful things.  This letter is perhaps further proof of that.

As I reread the letter so many years later, I can still sense the blame and disappointment.  The tone and wording are so similar to many of the recent emails I’ve received that I have but one fleeting thought:  “I should have known.”

It is always easy to see clearly in retrospect, isn’t it?  As I continue to sort through the cards, I realize that they are representative of a now-closed chapter of my life.  I have no more use for them or the sentiments they contain.  The letter, though, the letter I might keep as a reminder to look deeper, to not be blinded by love, to know that ugliness does exist.

Or maybe I’ll just burn it as a sublime release from the unrecognized shackles of the past. 

Ah yes, much better.  Here’s to my new lease on life—once I get all of my crap moved into my apartment.  Ha ha.