Dig Your Own Whole is gone. It has been deleted. I likely will not write much here either, but you should know where to find me. Unfortunately, I had to take some steps to get parts of my life back...and that meant deleting my blog, which I have worked on for many years. I am saddened by this.
Peace.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Just That Simple
My friend Paul wrote me a pretty impassioned and articulate email regarding the word "fucktard".
He wasn't mean. He didn't judge. He simply typed his perspective and demonstrated his ability to see both sides of the coin.
There are many different things that affected me that day.
Perhaps his timing was aligned the way the universe wanted it. I really do not know.
His email hit my Blackberry while I was driving and because I didn't want to dismiss it and possibly forget to read it, I pulled over into the Shell station and read what he had to say. (It helped that the subject line was "Fucktard". Makes it difficult to ignore.)
Paul is not a confrontational person in general, so I knew I wasn't going to have my head ripped off. If I had thought I was going to, I probably would have put it off.
I'm glad I read it.
I didn't get his permission to repost it, so I won't, but I will say that every word penetrated me and brought me back to volunteering at the Seagull School and my years spent with sweet George, the 12 year old son of my then boyfriend.
George was a genius living with Autism and the child was simply amazing. He was brilliant and sweet and people were so mean to him, which did not sit well with me. He could hack into anything, and some of the phone calls we received from his school were pretty amusing.
I remembered a day in which George had come home and he had pulled his eyebrows out as a coping mechanism to inwardly deal with the stress of being picked on. He was also dosed on ADHD meds, so it was tough to pull it out of him. When we got him to stop rocking and got him to look at us, I could see every ounce of comprehension in that child's eyes that what they were doing to him was wrong and that it hurt. That being said, he didn't want us to fight his battle for him and he outwardly expressed this to me.
"Don't do anything, Cory. Let me fix it. I can fix it."
I believed him. His dad was generally less amused than I was when George would hack into the school's main frame or tell his bullies what was what, but we both adored him.
When I was going through chemo and laying on the couch, George hit me on the head with a hammer. He wanted to transfer my pain. (It worked.) I suddenly had a whopping headache and all the energy in the world to chase the little shit around the house until I could catch him and sit on him and tickle him while hovering a loogie over his face in case he thought such therapy would work a second time...
When I read Paul's email, I immediately thought of George.
It didn't take much before I had tears and snot dripping and wanted to talk about George and how much I miss him.
By that time, I could only type the simplest of emails...knowing that text would never convey all that was rolling around in my head.
I don't want to exploit that email or imply false depth. I do want to thank Paul again for taking the time to email me and I am stating here that the word "fucktard" is now officially stricken from my vernacular.
I do not feel bullied.
I do not feel like it is a PR move.
I simply heard the simple and complex (yes, sometimes things can be both) pain of a good person.
I cannot tell anyone else what words to use and I would be a hypocrite to attack anyone who does use the word. However, I will no longer use it myself and will not acknowledge it if used by others.
I will not publish comments using the word. This is my promise to Paul...and to George, who was never a fucktard, a retard, or a dastard...but who more often than not made me happier than custard.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The Reality of the Imagination
This weekend was my daughter's weekend with her dad.
On those weekends, The Sass is with him from Thursday afternoon until Monday morning.
Those weekends destroy me a little bit. Still.
As it happened, this past Friday I had to stop by and drop something off for her before school because it was due that day and she had forgotten it.
As she came around the corner, her face was pure light and magic.
My heart was immediately warmed by her big and dancing green eyes and dangling front tooth.
Since we had both believed we would not see each other until Monday, we were both excited.
I gave her her envelope, kissed her goodbye, and headed to my car.
My throat immediately tightened and my eyes began to burn.
I could not believe the happiness and love I felt from that 60 second exchange.
I wondered if my mother had ever burst into tears at the sight of me or my sister.
...I mean, I am sure she did (especially regarding me), but I am not sure they were happy tears...
I mean, when I was younger, before she left us, I had semi-worshipped her. I think that was because I could never get her to smile or love.
She was angry and tired all the time.
Though she had for quite some time worked in pediatrics, I could find no evidence that the woman actually liked children. Any children.
She wasn't mean (yet) but she was completely indifferent to our existence on the planet.
She didn't become mean until I was 8 and I never knew what made her snap...but she didn't unsnap until I was almost 28.
Had my mom ever felt the amount of happiness that I have felt over the past 17+ years since giving birth to my big brown eyed wonder, Ty?
Had she ever looked into my sister's or my eyes and felt absolute love?
Had she ever watched us sleep (without wanting to put a pillow over our heads or have a "do over" and get an abortion)?
Had there ever been a time when just seeing us happy or hearing us laugh made her smile or feel good?
What gives some women this ability to love while others seem to have an eternal backorder which will never be filled?
While my mom and I have a relationship now, and she openly expresses love and affection toward me, I still often wonder where that came from after almost 28 years of it being either dormant or non-existent...
As Ty and I wrestled and tortured each other before our dates with our significant others last night, I felt myself getting choked up about how grown up he has become, how strong he is, and how soon he will leave for college...
Time was moving too fast for me.
As Jay and I chatted over dinner, I felt the fastness of time closing in on me and tightening like a vice around my chest.
My mom left when I was 10. I was on my own when I was Ty's age, and in a blink I was about to turn 27 and was being diagnosed with cancer...
In another blink, I was 37 and had lost a decade to the fight.
I have few memories of childhood and even fewer memories of being allowed to simply be a kid.
I remember getting my first bike (it was yellow with a super obnoxious flowered banana seat), and being jealous that my best friend got the same bike but in a super cool purple.
Justine always had the better stuff.
She was prettier, with blonde hair and blue eyes and I looked like my dad, which pissed off my mom.
Justine had better toys too. Her mom was pretty liberal, so Justine had the Jaws game and one Christmas she even got the most controversial toy of that time...a baby Joey doll which enraged conservatives because he was anatomically correct.
I loved playing at Justine's house, where we could make all the noise we wanted and her grandma allowed us to make mud pies and also make our own dough in the kitchen, regardless of the mess that created.
Kids were not allowed over my grandparents' house...which is where I spent weekends and my childhood would end every Sunday night when I had to return to the house of hell where my mom and step-dad lived.
My mom was completely against my making friends and although she wanted me out of the house from sun up until the street lights came on, she preferred that I did not play with other children.
(She believed friends were simply future enemies who would fuck you over and hurt you. She had been hurt in her childhood by such a person and they could not be trusted. I think it involved a charm bracelet of some sort, but I can't remember exactly and never wanted to ask her a second time.)
I used to ride my big blue Schwinn (which had been red when I found it in someone's garbage but my step-dad painted it in case they weren't really throwing it away and I had accidentally stolen it) all over our neighborhood and beyond...not realizing that I really shouldn't be riding in some of those places. I was 8.
I lived for the weekends at my grandparents' house and never once recall my mother being sad that I was leaving or being happy upon my return.
She was busy with my sister, who was a year old and quite frankly one of the whiniest creatures ever born. (To my knowledge, this has not changed, but I am fairly certain she is at least potty trained now.)
OK, that last part is a joke. I mean she was a whiney little kid, but they all are. She is actually 30 now and in spite of sharing the same mom, she actually also loves her 2 kids. (She is whiney though.)
As I looked at Ty, I could not imagine not loving him and I can say this even after he went through a pretty remarkable brat phase in middle school.
I felt really lucky.
I also felt sad that I didn't have moments of closeness with my mom and only recall her cracking up 3 times...and those were all in 1995 when I was already a mom and had developed a pretty interesting sense of humor. (This was also right before I moved REALLLLLLY far away from her to Missouri...which for 3 years she mistakenly believed was Mississippi because I refused to correct her and would talk in a Southern drawl during the rare occasions when we were forced to speak to each other.)
This is indeed a fantastic portrait of love and function, yes?
Anyway, as I fast forward to today, when communication (and the fact that the Colts are in the Super Bowl) worked out positively for me, I was over the top excited when my ex delivered the beautiful Sass to my door so that she could attend a commercial watching party with us and play with her friends whilst her dad could actually pay attention to watching his hometown team win the game...
Again, she walked in and immediately brightened the room as she knowingly smiled at her brother and I.
I wondered what type of child I would have been had I had the confidence of my mother's love.
I wondered what type of person my mom would have been if she had ever realized how amazing it is to actually receive love from her children instead of dismissing it as inferior to the love of a man...which she never received and eventually stopped searching.
I found myself feeling sad for my mom, who now sits alone many nights allowing her mind to go numb in front of the television, which has never broken her fragile heart.
As I look at my two children, who are both easily brought to giggles and playfulness, I cannot help but allow myself to remember my mom's laugh and imagine what it would be like to goof around with her.
As time and reality smack me hard across the face, I realize that my life will never experience that moment...nor will hers...and it saddens me.
On those weekends, The Sass is with him from Thursday afternoon until Monday morning.
Those weekends destroy me a little bit. Still.
As it happened, this past Friday I had to stop by and drop something off for her before school because it was due that day and she had forgotten it.
As she came around the corner, her face was pure light and magic.
My heart was immediately warmed by her big and dancing green eyes and dangling front tooth.
Since we had both believed we would not see each other until Monday, we were both excited.
I gave her her envelope, kissed her goodbye, and headed to my car.
My throat immediately tightened and my eyes began to burn.
I could not believe the happiness and love I felt from that 60 second exchange.
I wondered if my mother had ever burst into tears at the sight of me or my sister.
...I mean, I am sure she did (especially regarding me), but I am not sure they were happy tears...
I mean, when I was younger, before she left us, I had semi-worshipped her. I think that was because I could never get her to smile or love.
She was angry and tired all the time.
Though she had for quite some time worked in pediatrics, I could find no evidence that the woman actually liked children. Any children.
She wasn't mean (yet) but she was completely indifferent to our existence on the planet.
She didn't become mean until I was 8 and I never knew what made her snap...but she didn't unsnap until I was almost 28.
Had my mom ever felt the amount of happiness that I have felt over the past 17+ years since giving birth to my big brown eyed wonder, Ty?
Had she ever looked into my sister's or my eyes and felt absolute love?
Had she ever watched us sleep (without wanting to put a pillow over our heads or have a "do over" and get an abortion)?
Had there ever been a time when just seeing us happy or hearing us laugh made her smile or feel good?
What gives some women this ability to love while others seem to have an eternal backorder which will never be filled?
While my mom and I have a relationship now, and she openly expresses love and affection toward me, I still often wonder where that came from after almost 28 years of it being either dormant or non-existent...
As Ty and I wrestled and tortured each other before our dates with our significant others last night, I felt myself getting choked up about how grown up he has become, how strong he is, and how soon he will leave for college...
Time was moving too fast for me.
As Jay and I chatted over dinner, I felt the fastness of time closing in on me and tightening like a vice around my chest.
My mom left when I was 10. I was on my own when I was Ty's age, and in a blink I was about to turn 27 and was being diagnosed with cancer...
In another blink, I was 37 and had lost a decade to the fight.
I have few memories of childhood and even fewer memories of being allowed to simply be a kid.
I remember getting my first bike (it was yellow with a super obnoxious flowered banana seat), and being jealous that my best friend got the same bike but in a super cool purple.
Justine always had the better stuff.
She was prettier, with blonde hair and blue eyes and I looked like my dad, which pissed off my mom.
Justine had better toys too. Her mom was pretty liberal, so Justine had the Jaws game and one Christmas she even got the most controversial toy of that time...a baby Joey doll which enraged conservatives because he was anatomically correct.
I loved playing at Justine's house, where we could make all the noise we wanted and her grandma allowed us to make mud pies and also make our own dough in the kitchen, regardless of the mess that created.
Kids were not allowed over my grandparents' house...which is where I spent weekends and my childhood would end every Sunday night when I had to return to the house of hell where my mom and step-dad lived.
My mom was completely against my making friends and although she wanted me out of the house from sun up until the street lights came on, she preferred that I did not play with other children.
(She believed friends were simply future enemies who would fuck you over and hurt you. She had been hurt in her childhood by such a person and they could not be trusted. I think it involved a charm bracelet of some sort, but I can't remember exactly and never wanted to ask her a second time.)
I used to ride my big blue Schwinn (which had been red when I found it in someone's garbage but my step-dad painted it in case they weren't really throwing it away and I had accidentally stolen it) all over our neighborhood and beyond...not realizing that I really shouldn't be riding in some of those places. I was 8.
I lived for the weekends at my grandparents' house and never once recall my mother being sad that I was leaving or being happy upon my return.
She was busy with my sister, who was a year old and quite frankly one of the whiniest creatures ever born. (To my knowledge, this has not changed, but I am fairly certain she is at least potty trained now.)
OK, that last part is a joke. I mean she was a whiney little kid, but they all are. She is actually 30 now and in spite of sharing the same mom, she actually also loves her 2 kids. (She is whiney though.)
As I looked at Ty, I could not imagine not loving him and I can say this even after he went through a pretty remarkable brat phase in middle school.
I felt really lucky.
I also felt sad that I didn't have moments of closeness with my mom and only recall her cracking up 3 times...and those were all in 1995 when I was already a mom and had developed a pretty interesting sense of humor. (This was also right before I moved REALLLLLLY far away from her to Missouri...which for 3 years she mistakenly believed was Mississippi because I refused to correct her and would talk in a Southern drawl during the rare occasions when we were forced to speak to each other.)
This is indeed a fantastic portrait of love and function, yes?
Anyway, as I fast forward to today, when communication (and the fact that the Colts are in the Super Bowl) worked out positively for me, I was over the top excited when my ex delivered the beautiful Sass to my door so that she could attend a commercial watching party with us and play with her friends whilst her dad could actually pay attention to watching his hometown team win the game...
Again, she walked in and immediately brightened the room as she knowingly smiled at her brother and I.
I wondered what type of child I would have been had I had the confidence of my mother's love.
I wondered what type of person my mom would have been if she had ever realized how amazing it is to actually receive love from her children instead of dismissing it as inferior to the love of a man...which she never received and eventually stopped searching.
I found myself feeling sad for my mom, who now sits alone many nights allowing her mind to go numb in front of the television, which has never broken her fragile heart.
As I look at my two children, who are both easily brought to giggles and playfulness, I cannot help but allow myself to remember my mom's laugh and imagine what it would be like to goof around with her.
As time and reality smack me hard across the face, I realize that my life will never experience that moment...nor will hers...and it saddens me.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Pee on the Seat
(sung to the tune of PANTS ON THE GROUND)Pee on the seat
Pee on the seat
Pee’n like a tool with your pee on the seat
Got it all over your feet
On the front of your pants
Drippin’ down your leg
You think you’re pretty neat
Pee’n like a fool
Makin’ a hot mess with your pee on the seat
Wipe it up, hey!
Get your pee off the seat!
Pee’n like a fool
Drippin’ & sprayin’ your pee on the seat.
Wipe it up, hey!
Get your pee off the seat
Pee’n like a fool with your pee on the seat
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Sucking Suckiness that is Me
I was feeling pretty happy and in a silly mood when I received the email.
I started off not being angry, but as I thought about what was actually being said to me, I got downright pissed.
It made me think of a few people actually...
Without going into details, let me say this...
If you are an alleged friend of mine, you better think long and hard before sending me an email, text, or whatever about how left out you feel because I haven't been available to you...even when I thought I would be.
I refuse to apologize that on a group ride (which was really a non-race) in below freezing temperatures, that I rode at a pace that kept my body warm a week before major surgery. (Why the fuck would I freeze for you or anyone else? Are you going to pay my medical bills? Are you going to give me a fucking lung when I contract pneumonia?)
Why not? What's the matter? We're not that tight?
hmmmm...
I refuse to apologize.
I am NOT fucking fast.
The times in question where times of extraordinary physical pain for me, so you know what, fuck off if you couldn't keep up with me. I didn't keep up with the other female who I agreed to ride with and I assure you I didn't think twice about it. It never crossed my mind to make her feel like shit for riding faster than me. (Penelope Cruz on the cross...it was a fucking "race" for crying out loud!) I know I said we were going to take it easy, but I signed no agreement to freeze.
The second ride in question had a remarkable average of sub-14 MPH. Dropped you? Where? Where was this alleged dropping? Can you actually drop someone at 14 MPH? (13.8 to be exact.)
Frankly, this isn't about one person. It is about a few. The few who want to put the appearance out there that they are your friend, but then beat you down or abandon you when friends should be readily available.
I know who came to the hospital.
I know who cooked me meals.
I know who called.
I know who sat with me.
I know who gave a shit.
Some of you think I am fucking invincible.
That I can recover and rebound no matter what...
I can...but it takes longer when the people you thought were your friends bitchslap you for not paying them attention while they were not paying you attention.
Wouldn't it be a wash?
Would it not be even if both parties simply ignored or failed the other?
I'm not going to do this.
I am not going to play this stupid vagina, high school game of boo-fucking-hoo.
I didn't grow up here and am not down with the bullshit.
I don't give a shit if you make me the Evil Vagina of St. Louis, but keep that nonsense to yourself or start a Facebook group or something. Just keep that drama away from me.
There are very few females I can hang with, and they are generally pretty confident in who they are and what they are. That is why I typically hang with dudes and always have. (Don't get me wrong, dudes have drama...it's just different drama.)
Don't make your issues my issues. I have my own.
If you are someone whose itty bitty wittle feelings I have somehow trampled on by being completely self-absorbed with my own shit, I am truly sorry.
I will not promise that it will not happen again because frankly my shit is more important than your shit (unless you can provide me some evidence that I should care more about you than myself, my children, my S.O., and my dog.).
You want this to be a contest?
I assure you, I will win. Other than your generally crappy and attacking attitude, your life is pretty simple. Embrace it...and stay away from people like me. We will call you out and make you feel childish.
I am the type of person who generally would do anything for my friends. If you don't feel this is the case, perhaps there is a reason. Perhaps things between you and the general public are not as one-sided as you have convinced yourself.
You better ask yourself some important questions about yourself before you start flinging poo this way, because if you force me to open your eyes, you will not find the experience pleasant.
The ball is now in your court.
Self awareness or head back in the sand? You decide.
*Please do not send me emails asking if this blog is about you. Only you can answer that question. Please do not ask other people if this blog is about you. Only you can answer that question. If you find yourself asking yourself if this blog is about you, it likely is. Deal with it...if you have that skill. I'm all tapped out, so I have none to lend out.
Peace, love and bikes to all...especially to all the really left out people in the world whom I have neglected.
PS: Thank you for ruining my martini buzz with your selfish stupidity which you have apparently harbored for quite some time. Two giant thumbs up on your communication skills. I meant to ask you how that was working out for you...?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Kissing Girls
This morning as The Sass and I were conducting our super secret dance off/work out, the song "Take me on the Floor" by The Veronicas came on.
There is a part in the song where they sing, "...I wanna kiss a boy...I wanna kiss a girl..."
The Sass looks at me very seriously and says, "I've kissed a girl."
I look at her in amusement (and shock because she seems pretty "in love" with her "boyfriend" Logan).
Also, The Sass is 7 and I really don't want her kissing anyone, no matter the gender.
"Really?" I ask her.
"Yeah. I kiss YOU all the time and YOU are a girl," she giggles at me with sparkle-dusted magic as if I am the densest human on the planet.
I have to laugh.
I want to live in her sweet and magical world forever and poop butterflies and glitter speckled cupcakes.
I want to protect her from a world which will attack her perception of her world at this very moment and attempt to make her beautiful images ugly.
I want to take my world (and so many others') and see it through the eyes of this loving, tree-hugging, animal-worshiping, magic dispensing child goddess...
I want to stay in bed and hold her tight and let her goodness soak through my bones and make me whole.
Instead, I kiss my girl and we continue dancing and jumping around like fools, both secretly hoping the song will never end.
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