REO freakin Speedwagon

“I can’t fight this feeling any longer”….the first few notes of that song hit my ears and it’s 1985. I’m standing against the wall in the gym at my middle school, the lights are low and it smells like Polo, Loves baby Soft and Aqua Net. Against the wall on the other side of the gym from me are all the boys.  You remember the rules, boys on one side, and girls on the other with the exception of the few brave dudes who would get out in the middle of the room and breakdance. Yes. I said breakdance and yes I realize how old that makes me sound. What about the girls who would walk back and forth between the DJ table and the girl’s side of the gym with that look of purpose on their faces?  Like they were on a mission or something.  I stood my ground holding up the wall on my side of the gym and intently stared at one particular boy. Tall, braces, pegged levis, skate highs, a plain white t-shirt and a black members only jacket.  I sat next to him in science class and observed that he had the Subhumanz and DRI logos written on the front of his pee-chee folder. I was in love.

I kept up the same routine at each dance for the entire school year. I was committed to being a wallflower and since that boy was one of the most popular guys in school the chances of him picking up on the purpose behind my awkward staring was not likely. The last dance of the school year came and I decided to be brave. I marched over to the boy’s side of the gym when the DJ announced “ladies choice” and that damn song was on. REO freakin Speedwagon. And a slow song at that! Why couldn’t it be something cool? Depeche Mode?  Yaz?  DRI?? YEAH right. The chances of any of those bands being played in the gym at a middle school in Palmdale were about the same as that tall handsome, polo drenched boy saying yes to me asking him to dance.

But he did. He said yes and there we were following each other onto the dance floor with all eyes on us. At least that’s what it felt like. REO Speedwagon “I can’t fight this feeling” was now our song. He draped his arms around my waist instead of just laying his hands on my shoulders Frankenstein style like all the other boys. His hands were folded at the small of my back and I was sure he could feel the butter flies in my stomach as I reached up to put my arms around his neck. That was a stretch since he was taller than me. Another attractive quality in the land of “I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet”.  The top of my head hit the bottom of his chin which made his lip catch on his braces and begin to bleed. Our magic moment was cut short for a trip to the nurse but not before I managed to get covered in his Polo cologne and have my 13 year old body closer to a non-related boy than it had ever been.

I apologized for my clumsiness as his friends came over to assess the damage. He looked over his shoulder at me as he was headed out of the gym to the nurse’s office and winked. He winked at me like he was Frank Sinatra or something. This boy had swag before any of us even knew that word existed. I went home that night and wrote all about the dance in my diary with my Lisa Frank pen like any good 13 year old in the 80’s would do. I’m writing this now entirely from memory however because some things just get burned THAT deeply in our minds.  1985, REO Speedwagon and that boy. It’s the memory lane trifecta.

The Friendzone

It’s not often at my age that I get to do something new.  The new thing I’m working on isn’t what I would have picked out if I had all the new things in the world to choose from but life is a bit of a crapshoot so here I am.  I have to learn how to be friends with someone I used to date.  Isn’t that about a bitch?

When I was younger I had lots of rules about who I would and wouldn’t date.  It was mostly about not going out with anyone that my friends had ever expressed interest in or dated at any point. It’s that whole “I licked it so it’s mine” thing. That still applies of course but it’s less of an issue now that most of my friends are married. I wouldn’t date anyone who had ever cheated on someone – regardless of their reason and I wouldn’t date friends.  Now that I’m divorced and a little older my rules are still pretty much the same with a few additions to satisfy my shallow side – like no tribal arm bands, no clunky, white Costco tennis shoes, no white sunglasses, no balls on your trucks’ tow hitch. You know - the basics.

If you’re half-awake as you read this you can probably guess what’s next.  I broke my own rule. I dated a friend. Initially I thought it was a grand idea. We knew a lot about each other, we were already comfortable together, had tons of mutual friends, liked a lot of the same things and clearly had interest in whatever the other side might look like so why not?

I’ll tell you why not … because if you don’t wind up with a happily ever after story it never goes back the way it was. It’s like trying to push silly string back into the can after you’ve sprayed it. The shits all over the place, it’s a sticky mess and it’s never going to go back the way it was.  Sure we said it would be fine, I think we may have even believed it at the time, but its bullshit.

We don’t talk like we did before, no more easy, side-splitting conversations. I can’t send him the funny things I see online, and he doesn’t send me the stuff he finds.  We don’t spend any time with that ton of mutual friends. If I go, he doesn’t. I can’t tell him about any of the times I see or hear something that makes me think of him…and it happens a lot. Not in a gushy, girlfriendy way, in the “hey check this out” kinda way.  No more inside jokes. No more “name that tune” sessions.               

No more friend.

Don’t get me wrong, I miss all the non-friend stuff we did too but not having my friend anymore is worse. Maybe it will go back to the way it was and maybe it won’t. It’s too soon to tell. The lesson is never date a friend. Keep em in the friend zone, keep your hands to yourself and never, EVER break your own rules.

All the Ordinary Days

My last post was about my son flyin the coop, cutting the chord, pullin up stakes..whatever cliché you like. It was a little rough and it took some adjusting. Circumstances being what they were he only spent a few months at his Dad's house and then the rest of the weeks before boot camp were spent between his buddies house, my house and his grandparents house. Kinda just being a gypsy and he seemed to liked it that way. Im sure he had his reason's and he didn't share them with me. Now he is the property of the US Government and his home is Great Lakes, Illinois for now. He's doing well and is on his way to whatever his future will be.
Our routine is different now being just the three of us. It's only one person less but it feels like a huge empty space that he left in our house. Now it's his little brother's turn to be the "Man in the House" as he puts it. It's his shoes that are layin all over my floor. Nintendo patterned Vans and bright blue running shoes. Soon it will be baseball cleats and Nike slides trippin me up in the middle of the night. It's his botttonless pit appetite that I have to contend with which is actually just fine with me since I can't figure out how to cook for only three people.
His sister has decided to follow in her big brother's military footsteps so in a year or so I will be doing the boot camp routine again. Until then she helps me with my eyebrows and makes sure my hair looks ok in the back. She shares all her funniest texts and memes with me and we laugh till we cry. Lots of spontaneous karaoke in the kitchen and late night talks at the foot of my bed.
A million ordinary days and seemingly insignificant conversations but these are the things that life is made of. These ordinary days filled with nothing but mundane shit are the magical glue that holds everything together and the days are going too fast. Like I said in my last post..I am acutely aware of the time going by - Isn't that from a song? THAT I can't remember oddly enough. My point is this...
Each day holds the potential to be burned into your memory like it was a trip to Disneyland. Each day can be the best day ever (in my SpongeBob voice). It all depends on your perspective. I choose to grab each day with my kids and put em in the vault like the treasures they are. Even on the days when nothing goes right and I wanna run away. Because for every day like that there are two days when my daughter cooks dinner and has it ready when I get home. For every bad day there's days when I get a letter from my Sailor telling me thanks for the sacrifices I have always made for him, his brother and his sister. There are days when my little dude tells me I'm  more beautiful than any dumb man can see...
These ordinary days are the ones that get me through and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Thursday, April 2016 - UPDATED

All 3 of my kids are laying in their beds under my roof tonight. Just a Thursday. Each of us doing whatever our bedtime routine is now. I don't rock anyone to sleep anymore. No more story time or one more last cup of milk to deliver. I do remind them to brush their teeth. Shut off the TV. Say their prayers. Set their alarm. There's a time limit on these days. I hate that sentence. Seriously.
There is a finite number of days when all 3 of my kids will fall asleep under my roof because they all live here. They'll come back and visit but there are only so many Thursday's just like this one left. I can shout out to each of them in my little house and say I love you and they can hear me. That makes me grateful for such a small building. I'm tired most of the time and there aren't  enough hours in the day but I wouldn't trade a minute with my kids. And if I'm honest I don't want to share either. I deserve all these minutes. I'm the one who wiped the tears and cleaned the puke and ran the errands and got the last minute night before fill in the blanks. I hope I've given them the roots to find their wings as greeting card as that sounds. I'm certain I've given them a few things to talk to a therapist about because I'm not perfect. I am however, totally devoted and loyal to these beautiful humans I was blessed with. I don't make choices that could harm them. With the exception of the fact that I still smoke and I eat too much cheese and don't do any cardio. I worry more about them than myself. They get the stuff before I do. Sometimes I resent the fact that I have no partner in this and then I remember that I don't have just one I have like 30. Family and friends. Maybe I don't have their father but I really never did and I don't want him. I want these kids all to myself. He doesn't deserve one good night hug, one "this happened at school today", one single extra kiss. Not one "smell my hair" or "hold my backpack" or "where's the toenail clippers". He sucks as a parent and didn't make them a priority ever. What these kids deserved was two parents that were hopelessly devoted to them. They got one. I hope it was enough. In the mean time I'm gonna treasure my Thursday's and Tuesday's and all the days in between until it changes again. Thank you God for my Mason, for my Samantha and for my Declan.

- UPDATE- June 2016
I wrote this but didn't publish it. Since that day back in April my Mason moved out of the house to live with his father until he leaves for boot camp. I'd like to think this was wholly my sons choice but given what I know of his father's manipulative manner I highly doubt it. I understand my boy's desire to be in his father's light because it feels good to have his attention. He makes you feel as though you're the only human that matters once he decides to acknowledge you. He makes you feel like only you can provide what he needs. Point being that even as I wrote this post, laying in bed listening to my kids bicker, things were already changing. The limit for Mason was reached on June 10th, 2016 and that was it. It felt like an earthquake in my soul. Possibly because it wasn't on my terms or on good terms at all. Possibly because as a mother you're not ever prepared for your babies to leave. Either way it's come down to text's he barely responds to and me begging him to come over for dinner. One thing I do know is that regardless the discomfort or sore heart things are exactly the way they are supposed to be. He was taught to be loyal and kind and to look for the good in people, It is time for him to apply that to his father and to see where it takes him. I wish my number one son all the luck in the world and the door is always open at Mom's house.

The Dude

I saw on Pinterest once a meme that read "The thing about dating is.. you're either going to break up with the person or marry them'. There it is in a very tight nutshell. Love sucks. We know this. Movies and books are devoted to the topic. Songs are written about it. Pat Benatar is singing one as I type this. A hundred years ago I thought I knew what love was... the romantic kind. Today if you asked I'd not only say I have no clue but I'd add in fuck it anyway for good measure. I 've been dating someone for a few months and admittedly I have no patience but I thought we'd be further along the food chain by now. If you look at my social media you'd suspect that I am in fact dating someone. His....No clue. He allows photos to be added but posts none himself. He did this with the last chick too. The woman he dated prior to me is still on his page and likes all his pictures. Which is fair I suppose because when they were dating I did the same thing.  Maybe he's going back to her? I wouldn't know. I know the world feels differently regarding social media than I do but I don't have ex's on my page. I don't gather new male "friends" who show sexual interest in me. Years of abuse make me leery of all motives. Really WTF is wrong with me? 

22 years with a narcissistic, emotionally abusive drug addict will leave you with some scars. Thing is most of them weren't visible until I developed feelings for Him and I have BIG ones. I don't think I'm so broken that it's a waste to date me and I don't think my baggage is too heavy. Hell.. I'll happily leave that suitcase where it sits for the right guy. Is he the right guy? Too soon to tell. He and I have been friends for a few years and truth be told I've had it bad since we met. Of course getting down upped the ante and now I'm screwed. Literally and figuratively. My damage tells me to trust no one. My past experience tells me that every woman is out to take what I THINK is mine and that every man is willing to go. Maybe this growing knot in my stomach is right.. maybe He is on his way out. Despite the fact that he said he had feelings for me, despite the fact that he said the sex was amazing. Despite the fact that he has met all my family and my kids which NO ONE has done since the addict. Despite the fact that we have a great time together and have a ton of things in common. I try to tell myself it will be His loss, or not to worry that it's all in my head. Truth be told..it's all in my heart and it f u c k i n g hurts.

Face to Face with.......

Facebook memories.....today's popped up and it was a picture of Trevor Keith and Scott Shiflett playing an acoustic set at the Troubadour. What gets me isn't just the memory of the show which was stellar but of the day itself. It was a beautiful summer Saturday. That mooring 18 people and a moving truck showed up to pack my life up and put in in storage for 8 months. Friends of mine from my recovery group, friends from high school, family, friends of my parents, men who I'd met through my ex husband..all these people gave up a Saturday to help my broken  little family move out and begin to move on. I rode on the adrenalin of the work for hours. Shuttling boxes in fire brigade fashion, stacking furniture, making trips back and forth from the storage unit back to what would soon never be my home again. I was then and remain still completely overwhelmed by the love and fellowship dumped on my family that day, There were plenty of hands to make light of the mountain of possessions that needed to be moved, lots of laughter and jokes. No time to really feel the weight of what was happening - it was just work. And then....the drop. I stood inside the empty rooms making sure nothing was missed. The space themed room wih the spray painted ceiling. The tie dyed sanctuary, the paint splattered 80's office, the bathroom my kids shared with their tiny little 1, 5 and 7 year old hand prints stamped onto the walls. I walked down the stairs for the last time soaking in the way the light glinted off the blonde wood floors that my ex husband had installed himself, the unfinished concrete floor in the kitchen and from over my shoulder my friend told me not to worry,,,,this was indeed my dream house but the next one would be my reality house and it would be better than Id imagine because it would be mine. She held me as I turned the key in the lock one last time and at that exact moment the key chain that had been a valentines gift from the ex broke. The tiny little heart at the bottom of the chain fell off. After I had a good cry and a shower I got in the car and drove to  Hollywood to hear my favorite band play an acoustic set at the Troubadour. That night as I stood outside with my good friend  and musical road dog I got to share my song lyric tattoos with the man who wrote the words. He wouldn't sign my ribs as he thought his wife would be uncomfortable with that and I appreciated his no. How nice to see the lead singer of my favorite band as a loyal husband as well as a kick ass songwriter. I admired him more in that moment than ever before or since. We went inside after I finished my smoke and enjoyed the show. Driving home it hit me how lucky I really am. Marriage or no, big house or no. I have music, friends and love.That's more than most folks.  

Say Hello to Heaven

The Forum - aka the Fabulous Forum is a magical place. It has its own smell...and no, not just the smell of years of spilled drinks and popcorn. It smells like history. All the events that have been held there since it was built in 1967 have left their mark. Maybe I'm weird because I think of stuff like that as I am walking into places..wondering who's footsteps fell in that spot before mine, who's butt was in that chair last. It has an elegance that only old buildings have and even with the "updates" that have been made to the interior over the decades it still feels cool, the kind of cool that only comes with age. I've been to the Forum for concerts so many times over the years and big moments in my history happened there. I took my oldest to see Depeche Mode when he was 5. He sat on my shoulders in our floor seats and then danced his skinny white booty off right along side my skinny white booty. In fact I saw Depeche Mode there every time they played over the past 20 years. The Forum started to feel like a home away from home. The Red Hot Chili Peppers and I hung out solo one night.. My then hubby didn't want to go and I didn't want to miss the show so I went alone. I've seen Duran Duran, Muse, Coldplay and Fiona Apple. I saw the Foo Fighters there with my dear friend Erin and it felt like we had been thrown back in time to some rock god show in the 70's. We screamed like teenagers all night.
Each time the stage is different, the interior takes on the personality of the band it's hosting. The last time I went to see my friend the Forum it was to hear Temple of the Dog. Since I spent some years in the 90's making babies I missed the chance to see Pearl Jam or Soundgarden in their heyday. I was able to catch an STP show but not at the Forum. At any rate I wasn't about to miss the chance to see the conglomeration of so many of these bands. Even though the tickets had sold out I was able to get some through a scalper but the thing that made the TOD show even more cool was the person who went with me. I can't remember the last time I had a date for a concert. I don't know if I ever have actually. Typically I go with friends or my kids. This night I had by my side a big, tall, handsome man who appreciated the music and the history of the venue just the same way I did. He knows things about music that I don't even know and has some pretty amazing history himself so to be there in that place with him was truly special.
The crowd that night was full of stellar individuals. Some who looked like they had stepped straight out of 1990 and into the beer line. Other people looked like the soccer moms and dads they had become, out for a night without the kids. Then there was us.. I wish I could have seen what we looked like to the people around us. I did run into my cousin and his wife after and he said we looked good together but I'm getting ahead of myself. Beers in hand, we stopped at the wall for one last smoke before going in when the lights dimmed -  the signal that the show was about to start. We rushed to our section and just as his hand pulled the red velvet curtain open for me to walk in I saw the stage covered in Persian rugs and guitar stands, chords like spaghetti all over the floor and Chris Cornell standing there as the first few notes of "Say hello to Heaven" spilled out into the arena. I can see it in my minds eye as I type, I can hear the music and smell the mix of breath and beer and his skin. We found our surprisingly good seats and spent the rest of the show not sitting in them. He kissed me as the music played and the lights were low. Everything was perfect in that moment. The rest of the set was spot on as they paused between songs to tell stories and make us feel like we were hearing them back in some garage in Seattle circa 1990. I don't think I have ever had a concert experience just exactly like that one. Even if I never have the stars align in that same way again that will be ok. One more time the Fabulous Forum worked it's magic....

Always the Martha never the Ally

I have a love/hate relationship with the movie the Notebook. The first time I saw the movie I was married and deeply, madly, stupid in love with my then husband. My first Noah was "lay down in the middle of street and wait for the light to change" exciting. He was handsome, could build anything and made me laugh till my sides hurt. I related heavily to Ally’s character because like her my parents didn’t think my Noah was good enough for me either. In fact - my Dad once told him that he would only marry me over his dead body. It was less dramatic than all that. My dad wore a tuxedo and was very much alive as he walked me down the aisle to my doom… eh hem, I mean Groom.

The next time I watched the movie roughly ten years later I was going through a divorce from my first Noah and that was when I related to Martha. She’d lost the love of her life. Albeit to a World War and I’d only lost mine to drugs and a slew of drug related affairs but you get the idea. She took up with Noah and proceeded to fill in that blank relationship spot losing her sweetie had left. Martha had a lot to offer and no place to put it. Me too girl....Me too.

 A few years after my divorce I met my second Noah, he seemed like a good fit. We got along easily even though we’d both had our hearts broken by loss or other people. We were willing to give it a shot. Things were cruising along smoothly until I found out that I was the Martha. Dammit. I was the proverbial place holder and he married his Ally about 9 months after he ended things with me. Unlike Martha I'd never heard stories about Ally and how wonderful she was. I didn’t even know she existed but the end was the same. I found myself alone with my hands in my apron pockets, uneaten dinner on the table wondering what the hell just happened. Ok, so truthfully it was more like my hands shoved into the pockets of my jeans as I sat for a new tattoo and I don’t wear aprons. I’m not sad to have missed the whole “let’s have lunch together so I can see how awesome the other chick is” moment like Martha and Ally had.  A respectful, face to face goodbye from the Noah would have been nice but this isn’t a Nicholas Sparks movie, this is real life.  

More recently I've been the Martha again but this time to no one in particular - I don’t think. Hard to say cuz my third Noah was about as close mouthed as the Nicholas Sparks version about what was closest to his heart and what he was up to. I think I'm just Martha to the Ally’s of the world in general. I even have the same color hair as the pair of them. Redheads aren't everyone’s cup of tea but Noah’s seem to love em. The Martha process is always the same. Fall hard and try to fill that empty relationship spot with a Noah. The handsome Man’s Man who just isn’t ready to settle down. Well, not with YOU anyway. We plug along in our little Martha lane, making dinner, being nice, wondering where we REALLY stand with Noah but not wanting the answer at the same time. Don’t be mistaken..Martha isn’t someone to be pitied. She’s a badass in her own rite. Cooks a mean meal and not bad in the sack. It takes courage to carry on with the ordinary. And THAT ladies and gentlemen appears to be the story of my life. Always the Martha and never the Ally.  

Maybe someday my true Noah will reveal himself in all his over 6 foot tall, honest, handsome, mechanically inclined, family oriented, badass splendor. OR maybe I’ll just keep watching Nicholas Sparks’ movies, getting tattoos and being my own damn Ally for no one other than myself in my own effing splendor.  That seems like a plan the OG Ally would approve of.

Hustle

Hustle  - Urban dictionary defines it as anything you need to do to make money ..be it sellin cars, drugs, ya body. “If you makin money you hustlin”

Webster’s Dictionary defines it a tad differently – to convey forcibly or hurriedly, to obtain by energetic activity.

I think my current situation would fall somewhere in the middle of the two definitions.  I am not “sellin cars, drugs or my body” but I do obtain my money by mostly energetic activity….if frenzied rush and huge amounts of stress powered by even more huge amounts of caffeine counts as “energetic” or “hurried”.

During the last 6 years I have almost always had two jobs. My 23 year old self decided to get married and be a stay at home mom decorating my white picket fence rather than completing my degree. As a result when the fence blew down and I had to dig out my resume my work experience was all out of date and I wasn’t qualified for much. Luckily I had friends and family who were willing to help me out and I found two part time jobs that equaled one full time job. I was grateful.  I still didn’t go back to school because my kids were small and I didn’t want to leave them alone in the proverbial fenceless yard all the time. They needed a parent present full time to do the parent stuff. That parent is me.  I will never regret that decision because the end result is that my kids are productive members of society, heretofore with no prison records and no ridiculous psychological damage. 

In the past few days I have been complimented for my “hustle” a few times, close friends and coworkers making mention of how hard I work to hold things down. Maybe because they noticed I’ve been a little bummed out, because I have been.  Maybe just because they are kind souls, which they are. With the need to hustle also comes the fact that shit is hard. If it wasn’t hard you wouldn’t have to hustle so much right? I don’t know. It’s been such a long time since I’ve rested on my laurels that I don’t even know where they are.

My kids are good but the rest of my world is laggin to be honest. The yard is a mess. The car needs maintenance. I still haven’t unpacked all the boxes from when I moved out of my Barbie dream house. My “hustle” runs a little low by the time I get home from job number two and I prioritize what gets the remainder of my energy. Don’t we all? I guess my point in all this is we ALL hustle. We all work hard and do our best every day to get shit done.  Our priorities may differ but the people I gravitate to are the Hustlers. Not the shade peddlers only looking out for themselves but the people who do honest work, treat others with respect, work on their own mess and own their shit. No one’s perfect but with a little hustle you can be better than you were yesterday and that should be the goal.

Cheers to your hustle…