Mayan Schmayan

It's 2:27 on 12/21/12 and I'm still here. I figured I would be. Nothing looks different outside. Nothing is different inside. Here's my humble opinion on the end of the world....it's already happened many times over just within the scope of my little existence. The world ended the first time in 8th grade when what I thought was gonna be the haircut that made me cool actually made me look like Ellen DeGeneres's ugly twin. It ended again the day my grandparents died and the day I found out that my husband cheated on me. All these events altered my perception of my world and caused me to change the way I interacted and lived in it. Collectively our world ended on September 10th and some people would say on November 6th it happened again. I can guarantee the parents in Connecticut feel that that their worlds ended last Friday. There are people who would say that my belief in a book thousands of years old is just as silly and irrational as their belief in the Mayans and that's ok, Matthew 24:36 makes it really clear for me "no one knows about that day or hour, not even the Angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Seems pretty straightforward. The very same sncient book gives me hope. Since the beginning of time we've been trying to predict the end of it. Call it a universal hobby. It's ok if you believed in the Mayan deal but you probably feel a little silly today. I say if they were so great at predicting the future they might still be here...either way despite the calendar that looked like a cookie..we're all still plugging along on planet earth. Someday my time here really will come to its final end but no Mayan can say when.

Stupid Girl

I am an optimist but not a fool. I am honest and I expect the same in return. The hardest person to be honest with is ourselves. After all who knows how to fool us better? As it turns out not everyone is capable of that level of honesty and today I can accept that. So now I go about the business of removing you from my life. Delete you from my Facebook page and block you so even if you wanted to look you can't see me. Delete the text messages, voicemails and photos. Take your name out of my contacts list and hope you listened when I asked you not to ever, ever talk to me again. It's easy to electronically cancel out someone's presence in your life.... It will take a little longer to remove the memories of chemistry, touch and smell. Maybe having the flu will help the process along...I have decided to keep the lessons I learned and I'll spot your kind quicker next time. I already had you once in a different wrapper. My learning curve is getting faster. I hear that Garbage song "Stupid Girl" in my head when I think of you... I won't be a stupid girl anymore.

Turkey Day

I don't like Thanksgiving. Not as a concept, but as a holiday and certainly as a dinner menu it is not my favorite. There are several reasons behind this theory, chief being I don't like turkey. I'll eat it if I have to but I'd rather not. Add to this the fact that until my mid twenties I hated to cook and you have a recipe for disaster. No pun intended. When I was little Thanksgiving was a loud, drunken holiday filled with football and food I didn't care for. Shuttling between my grandparents houses so that just when I got comfy at one place it was time to leave and go to the other. Eat at both houses so as not to be rude equaled an upset stomach for the long ride home. As I got older and married, had kids of my own I began to understand the insane pressure to be everywhere and celebrate with everyone. I once drive from West Hills to Victorville then back to Canoga Park just to have all the bases covered. I always wanted to just drop out of Thanksgiving. Boycott all together and go out for Chinese. The part that was good was family. Being little and running around like a nut ball with my cousins. Listening to my grandparents and aunts and uncles tell stories. Plus, surviving turkey day meant Christmas was that much closer. About half way through my marriage my ex and I began bucked convention and started our own tradition of going dirt bike riding for the holiday. The girl who hated to cook became Martha Stewart of the motorhome and I loved it! We cooked turkey in a trashcan, had bonfires, rode dirt bikes all day and watched the stars at night. No stress. No pressure and no over eating unless you wanted to. I began to love Thanksgiving.  Now it's the second turkey day since my divorce. The ex claimed this holiday because he has the motorhome and the dirt bikes. I agreed because after all I could care less about turkey. The first turkey day I had the kids. He was busy and couldn't put together the trip and that was fine by me. This year, they're going and my heart hurts. Selfish me. I hope they'll have fun with their dad and his girlfriend. I hope they ride safe and wear all their safety gear. As for me... I still haven't made it to the point of Chinese food on turnkey day but I am going to the movies with a friend and hopping between two places for food and fellowship. One house even has ziti along with their turkey! Genius!  I have cultivated some wonderful friendships and I am blessed to have family that loves me even if I don't love Thanksgiving . 

BTSN

BTSN...better known as "Back To School Night". Anyone with school aged kids knows what this is all about, however High school BTSN is a whole new world. I haven't had my backside in one of those wrap-around desks since the 90's and it was bizarre doing it tonight. As a freshmen I felt anxious and self conscious...my son seems to have none of those emotions. The campus seems smaller as an adult and my son goes to a "rival" school from my own alma mater. Some things never change...the student government kids are still way too serious. The cheerleaders have way too much energy and the jocks still rule the school. The demographic has changed but the cliques are still the same. You know what else hasn't changed....the square toilet paper that comes out one sheet at a time and never does the job right! Teachers are still mostly the same...there's the young, excited ones and the ones who've been at it too long and the ones who make you happy just to be in their class. I got to meet one of those tonight. A fabulous PE teacher with a beautiful African/French accent. No wonder my son likes her so much. Then there's the weird twist of fate that only occurs when you stay in the place you grew up in...that's the oddity of having a high school friend become your child's Healthful Living teacher....and for that I send her my sympathies. It was painfully obvious to me the impact that years of budget cuts have had on the classroom and it made me sad. Maybe it's just me but high school was a time of hope and infinite possibility. It's hard to feel that way in a rundown classroom with not enough books. Bummed that my kids won't have the joy of decorating the inside of a locker too. Lunch options have improved but they still have taco snacks...what I would'nt give for a case of those!  All in all I realize that seeing high school through adult eyes is exactly what it should be and it's time to pass the possibility glasses to the next generation. Good luck kids,,you're gonna need it.

Keep Calm and Get Tattooed

Tattoo therapy is what my good friend calls it. Desecrating my body is what my mom calls it. My favorite kind of pain is what I call it. Anyone who's read Fifty Shades of Grey might say that's a little kinky but from start to finish I love getting tattooed. The smell of the "green soap" used to clean the skin, the buzzing sound of the gun, the pressure of the artists hand as he stretches the skin,,,,I love it all. There is a rhythm to the process that really is therapeutic. It can be a little like sex, just when you think you can't take anymore and you're about to lose it,,,you get a little break, the sensitivity dials down a little and you can catch your breath and then BOOM back at it again.The main difference being that at the end of the sitting you're left with something meaningful and lovely that will never go away. My first tattoo was a tiny piece on my ankle done by an artist who no longer works in the business. The following seven tattoos have all  been done by the same artist. I also have two spur of the moment tattoos. One on my wrist done by a local female artist and one on my rib cage done by a talented guy who happens to have just one hand. Some tattoo lovers collect pieces by certain artists like others would collect Van Gogh or Monet. I like to collect experiences, the whole process. Each shop has its own vibe, each artist a different personality. My artist is someone I've known for years, he used to come into the record store I worked in and always scared me to death with his appearance. Now ten years and seven tattoos later I call him a friend. Tattoo culture fascinates me. I dance along the edge of it all always trying to strike a balance between what is socially acceptable and my inner desire for a neck tattoo. Seriously.
I fully intend to continue getting tattooed, someday maybe I'll branch out and give some skin to another artist. There are a few people and places I'd like to visit. Until then, it's time to put some aquaphor on my latest edition and contemplate the design of that neck piece......

"Our house, in the middle of the street "

I remember the first time I walked through the model home, I fell in love but didn't really think it could be ours. This was a Dream House and packing up the first place we'd lived outside our parents homes to move in was almost too good to be true. We had followed the progress each day, walking the construction site and taking pictures as it turned into a house. Its just a building but with each nail and wall going up I felt hopeful for the life I believed we'd live inside it. I decorated it with enthusiasm and this was way before Pinterest. Many trips to Ikea and Lowes later we had a home that reflected all of our tastes. My 80's paint splattered office, my sons space themed room with the spray painted ceiling, the movie room,the nursery with the barn animal theme, my daughters tie-dyed room and the bathroom with all three of their handprints smushed across the wall. It had turned into Home. Each Christmas party and BBQ, birthday party and sleepover,first day of school and learning to swim in our pool made it a part of our family. Now as I'm preparing to leave this house I see things differently. As I walk up the stairs I see the hole in the wall that was made when my ex husband was moving out his half of the furniture. I see so many holes from angry fights when his temper got the best of him. I see projects that were never finished and it feels like hope became a deflated balloon. Dustbunnies and dirty hand prints around a massive pile of boxes as we wait to move to the next building. As I wake on this last Monday morning I'm not even sure where we're going but I do know this...where ever it is will be Home.

May 4th

My something old was the lace that came from his mom that made up my veil, something new were the hot pink 10 hole Doc Marten boots I was wearing, something borrowed were my Grandmothers pearls and something blue was the garter around my thigh. I walked down the aisle to the battle song from Braveheart and then proceeded to do battle for the next 15 years. Sometimes with myself and my expectations of what marriage and family life should look like, sometimes with him and his inner demons. Sometimes with the families we'd married into and sometimes with our so-called "friends" but battle I did until 15 years later sitting at the Gordon Beirscht micro brewery wearing a Dodgers jersey and a worn out look on my face. In the year since that day I have reflected on the mistakes that were made and tried to figure out what lessons could be learned. I've gained things and lost things - I lost my nice car and I'm about to lose my nice house but I gained employment and self worth. I lost material things and gained humility. I haven't turned bitter or become distrusting of all men. I have forgiven myself and I'm working on forgiving him. This past year has gone quickly some times and very slowly others. I have discovered that I don't sleep well when my babies aren't home and that I can handle more than I thought I could. I've learned that I have friends and family who will help me pack or clean a pool, let me cry on their shoulder or help with my kids. Growth has come in leaps and bounds this past year and I expect that God will continue to provide me opportunities to do some more growing. Happy Fourth of May Melisa and congratulations on a year well spent.

It's 3D bitches!

Make fun all you'd like but Yes....I did it. I contributed my hard earned money to the James
Cameron Retirement Fund. Last night a friend and I took our daughters (who weren't alive when the film originally came out, by the way) to see Titanic in 3D. Sushi for dinner and then off to the theater. The first time I saw it I was pregnant and quite uncomfortable. This time I had stuffed myself with one too many monkey brains and was equally uncomfortable in my seat but I was ready to go back to Titanic. Little known fact about me....I truly believe I am a reincarnated survivor of this tragedy. Yeah, I get it, it weird but it's the truth. I knew I soon as I read in entertainment weekly that the film was being re-released that I would be going-plus it's in 3D!! That being said there were elements of the film that did not benefit from the 3D treatment. Mr. Cameron's computerized passengers looked even more fake than last time. The details of the decor, roses' dresses and that guy who hits the propeller before falling into the Atlantic as the ship sinks-stellar crispness! Besides crying as the life boat comes back only to find most of the people have turned into Popsicles be best moment for me was singing that God-awfully cheesy Celine Dion song (out loud, in public)to the deep embarrassment of our daughters. A friend said that the only history in the fil is the launch and the sinking but I'd like to imagine, as a survivor, that jack and rose were real. Happy 100th anniversary Titanic. Rest in peace.