rants « single with vodka

rants

ponderings of a mad woman / rants — 4 Comments
19
Jan 12

paper or plastic?

i bet you had no idea that grocery shopping, a seemingly mundane activity, we must repeat over and over and over and over again is much more abstruse than you ever could have imagined. it involves a complex thought process that embodies our very womanhood – the nurturing of our families, defining ourselves, maneuvering though the female social hierarchy, consumerism, romance, and unspoken suburban customs. so, let’s explore this fascinating dark underbelly of food procurement, shall we?

before we even pull out of the driveway and slightly run over the grass on the right side, we are very hotly divided on the issue of where we shop. we all have our idea of The One which is based on our individual major concerns: such as: is there adequate aisle space for pulling over carts and chatting? what about a chatting threesome? can they accommodate that? can i find those 100 calorie snack packs (who am i kidding, i eat the whole box on the car ride home) easily or have they moved them again when they were just fine they were they were? is the produce fresh or harboring fruit fly colonies? is the meat too expensive? and if so, does the butcher flirt with me adequately enough to make up for that? do they have a kosher and international section worth mentioning to my rabbi and cleaning woman? and what about the deli counter? didn’t i see that deli guy working at home depot last week? where is that damn take a number thingy? and does their health plan cover repetitive motion injuries because i really worry about that 18 year old who has no idea that he’s going to blow out his shoulders by the time he’s 30 from using the slicer 8 hours a day and the union dues he’s paying a ransom for won’t really cover it? and just how much plastic wrap is being used to re-wrap the slabs of cheese and meat between serving each customer? (i could do a page on the deli counter alone.) is the store clean and decoratively pleasing? do they bag for me or do i have to do it myself as the cans are being hurled at me at 50 mph down the conveyor belt? and most importantly, do they have a comprehensive and organized selection of random non grocery shit i can buy at whim so i can be sure i’m spending $200.00 every 15 minutes? but, after much research and hundreds of thousands of dollars in impulse buys, i have come to this simple conclusion: like a man, there is no one supermarket that will fulfill all of my needs. and like the aforementioned demon beasts, some markets have the thickest cuts of meat and some have the largest bananas. others are the cheapest, but don’t have a large selection. some are expensive and gourmet, but kind of self involved and pretentious, never stopping once to ask about me and my shopping needs. some are very attentive with excellent service and keep you coming back, others, leave you feeling cold and abandoned. some are pretty, but mostly empty inside and some are homely, but really comfortable. and in light of this epiphany, i no longer feel that i must choose and commit myself to just one market. i can use them all depending upon my needs and mood at the time…

then there are the personal decisions to be made about the type of shopper one is. major self-defining moments like: am i a couponer or not? if yes, am i extreme or casual and just happy when i remember the one 25 cent one i have that is one hour away from expiration? normally, i just collect them until they expire and then revel in the accomplishment of organizing my purse by throwing them away at the end of each month. can i ever be a preventative shopper or will i continue to only go when i am down to the last unopened can of creamed corn that was from 1994 and why is that even in my house anyway? will i study every store’s weekly circular like it’s the bible and know every sale item before i get there and then run from market to market to get an extra 5 cents off (highly, highly unlikely)? there is the issue of being a brand versus non brand buyer (store brand, which is exactly the same shit for less bucks, is fine for me, but the ex husband thew a fucking tantrum if i bought something otherwise). (and, by the way, remember when you were a kid and it was actually just a black and white label that said GENERIC or SOUP?) am i a holier than thou label reader who won’t buy a damn thing with high fructose syrup or partially hydrogenated oils in it until i get to the organic section and see they want FIVE BUCKS FOR A TINY BAG OF PRETZELS? and think a little bit of that stuff wont hurt them will it? am i an ipod wearer or do i openly sing along to the lite fm, the favored soundtrack of The Suburban Supermarket (which i so dearly love but haven’t totally come out of the closet about. That Brandy really is such a fine girl…)? am i a sampler or a faith buyer? why are grapes universally okay to taste but you can’t take a bite out of an apple? surely, they wouldn’t charge me $8.oo a pound for sour cherries out of season! or would they? and forget the bulk section. do they really think i’m putting the correct sku on the sticker when i’m mixing stuff in one bag that ranges from 1 to 10 dollars a pound? please. i’m taking an average and we all know that. and what about being a recycler with those I’m Greener Than Thou reusable bags? first of all, don’t sell me something that will save you money. give them away free if you want me to use ‘em.

once you have a cart in hand*, you must navigate a battlefield littered with social landmines that spurn endless internal dialogues that go something like this: there’s that bitch and her friends from the pre-school who i see like 8 times a week but they never say hello. they shun me at the supermarket. who still does that after high school? and i look like shit, but i’m coming from the gym. what’s her excuse? at least i exercised. just wearing gym clothes doesn’t make you thin, you know. shit, did she see me? avoid avoid, alter course. whew, narrow escape. oh no, there’s that crazy chick who talks my ear off. quick, hide in the magazine section. omg, i just want to get a few things. why did i come here today? and OH SHIT, is that The Senior’s Bus? crap, now i will never get out of here. i know they have to eat and i know i will be old one day but i have like 40 minutes to get everything done before i have to get the girls (damn my after bus stop napping) and if i get stuck behind one, it’s All Over. omg, there’s a gf i haven’t seen in ages, but i feel so fat today and i have like no makeup on. plus she is with her ugly kid, who’s name i can never remember. head down. keep moving. maybe she won’t see me. and there is that chick with the twins i don’t actually know but i see every single time i am here. god, she always looks so exhausted. i feel like i should just say hello at this point, but what if she wants to talk? i don’t want that. i’m a lone milf today hunting down my groceries without the pack!

*do i really have to tell you that i drive carts about as well as i drive actual cars? i actually crashed a car cart with my child in it into a freezer case. and just imagine how i attempt to master the whole coffee or cell in one hand thing while i attempt to steer with the the other – one handed. plus at 5’0, i am scarcely taller than the cart, so it’s just like the old lady in ferris beuller who eyes are barely above the steering wheel. this is why i wear heels.**

of course, if i have come fresh off a mani/pedi, shower, haircut, and a loss of 10 pounds in a fabulous outfit and heels** (because it’s always appropriate to shop for food in heels. what these old things? just threw them on) because this is my only major event of the day, then it’s a whole different scene. then i am there for at least 3 hours seeking out everybody i can to chat with like i’m at a reunion and flirting with all the underage produce guys until my frozen foods defrost. look at these melons, boys. you got any bananas? yah, im old old enough to be your mother, but no one else pays attention to me, so suck it up and check out my cleavage, buddy, because someone better tell me i am hot today. and where else can bored, unappreciated suburban housewives find self worth if not in the produce department? certainly not in poultry. and forget seafood. though, i did once stalk an adorable front end manager for a year until he asked for an out of state transfer. boy, i sure do miss Cute Joey.

and after i have made my way through every single aisle for my goods, waited endlessly at the deli counter because some people do their entire shopping there buying things i have never heard of like a pimento loaf (wtf is that and who eats it? well, that guy before me i guess), narrowly escaped that frightening, grabby, disembodied hand from the other side of the milk case, annoyed countless stock boys to bring me out a box of anything that wasn’t already out, noticed that the guys stocking up the freezer cases are wearing parkas and gloves for below zero conditions (do they actually go to alaska for the frozen salmon burgers?), wasted 25 minutes reading all the funny cards in the stationary/random balloon section (who is paying $4.95 for a card in this economy?), wasted another 25 in the floral department (before realizing my stupid cat will just east 30.oo worth of tulips), nearly seized at the amount of teas and neighboring cheese counter choices, witnessed mounds of cardboard disappear ominously into The Back, mistook every outside vendor with a snack bag for someone who works there that i can ask random grocery questions of, wandered like a lost child looking for those tiny elusive crackers my kid likes that aren’t where they were last time, checked out/stalked any available looking age appropriate man, spent 30 minutes in the hair care and makeup aisle before deciding everything was way too overpriced and i will just go to Harmon where they take Bed Bath and Beyond coupons (for shizzle, peeps), repeated the same exact thing in the vitamin aisle, noticed an entire gluten free section that wasn’t there last time (is this really such an epidemic now? i had no idea.), successfully avoided my nemesi, drank 2 cups of coffee (one of which was a refill which i deemed complimentary), scarfed down a tray of sushi, eaten every sample that came my way and pretended i would buy to make at home (never gonna happen, sista), patronized the attached but somehow separate booze shop because new jersey is bizarre when it comes to drinking, and slunk out of the pharmacy area with the knowledge that the pharmacist knows too much and i may have to kill him at some point, its finally time to check out.

now, let me begin by saying, i think it’s wonderful that my favorite supermarket strongly believes in equal opportunity employment and hires The Handicapable to work there. everybody has a place in this great land of ours, but i just don’t think that place is on the front lines of battle at the checkout bringing the whole war to a grinding halt. this is the place where a store can make or break my shopping experience. and, frankly, there are just too many cashiers to avoid at this point in my shopping career: there is overly friendly, high functioning, autistic man who wants to be my facebook friend, deaf guy with whom communication is impossible due to my lack of ASL proficiency, crazy/angry cat lady who’s black shirt is completely covered in cat hair, sports a cat lapel pin while discussing her 8 cats, and admonishes me for mixing my peppers even though they are all the same price per pound. there’s Germophobe Betty who wears blue medical gloves for my protection or hers more likely- i’m not completely sure, and practically blind, 83 year old guy with an extremely limited range of peripheral vision and motion who tosses my food near the bag and hopes most of it makes it in. the star cashiers are always holed up in the express lanes which i never qualify for even when i come in “for just a few things.” and even if i were brave enough to flout social convention and ignore the limits and go over, by say, 5 or 50 items, i can’t take the openly disgusted glances of the people behind me (since i’m totally one of those annoyed people when it suits me). and i always wonder if the cashier is looking at what i bought with judgement. like, does she approve of my organic fruits, but wonder where the 47 cans of chef boy ardee fit in? and what if she knows i don’t wash my produce before eating it because i don’t think it really makes a difference, but that it sends my mother into a tizzy? and at this point, it seems fitting for me to address those of you still writing checks these days: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? it’s time that was just outlawed.

all of this aside, there are rare times when i am the mode of The Super Shopper and my food adventure is always so full of promise. when i relish my arrival at my favorite market, full of vigor and vim, and park 27 rows back, because why not get the exercise? thank god i am healthy with all of my limbs i say. with my super duper list in hand, my weekly menu painstakingly planned, and my coupons clipped, i glide effortlessly like i am jesus walking on water up and down each aisle, scrutinizing every nook and cranny, crossing off items as i gently place them in perfect harmony in my cart (here carrots, you go next to celery. soon you will be soup brothers), and feeling smug for remembering things not even on the master list (thought i would forget you randomly sized lithium battery, didn’t ya?). i painstakingly pore over every ingredient on the labels as i imagine my darling children eating perfectly healthy snacks and balanced meals that i have lovingly prepared like the earth mother i am. no bags of salad for me -i will chop my own vegetables, make my own fruit salad, and mix my own dressings. and after two extremely self-satisfying hours, i place all of my items on that magic conveyor belt in a food utopia, grouped by category and temperature needs of course, at the register of the cashier i have elected to share my prize with that day. and after it is all accounted for, (“oh, don’t forget the water on the bottom of the cart,” because i am such the very honest shopper…today), on a receipt at least a foot long, and i have swiped my “club card” which tallies my purchases to collect endless secret information about my fascinating buying habits, but never actually births a coupon, i am, oh so, pleased to swipe my credit card through the machine and pay the over priced booty for my cart full of pure love. on the ride home, i can just see myself slaving away over my home made meals born of the very best and purest ingredients. we will gather round a properly set table and discuss our day at great length. and when i get home, i can’t wait to put everything away, which inevitably always spawns a new reorganizantion mission of my pantry and fridge. then i sit back and revel in my fabulousness. did you say cook tonight? oh no, i must rest from achieving this selfless feat of human endurance. and the house was just cleaned. tonight, i got us a rotisserie chicken – already cooked, of course. maybe tomorrow i will make one of those planned meals, but i wont bother with the salad because, really who feels like doing all of that chopping after a whole day of work? and the fruit salad can wait too. they can just eat an apple for now. and by day three, i am serving microwaved, but still partially frozen waffles on a paper plate callously tossed across the counter without so much as a hello. day four i’m throwing out all of the spoiled fruit and vegetables because canned and frozen just weren’t good enough for my brood. and day five, i’m putting the uncooked meats in the freezer vault not to be seen again until a protective layer of ice for maximum freezer burn has formed over them. and, besides, if i do make something and then there are leftovers, i will need the perfect, exact size of tupperware in which to store the remains. and what if i don’t have it? that is storage blasphemy. no, i can’t risk it, maybe i will open a can of tuna and possibly mix some lemonade. but, i’m positive i will repeat this whole shopping process again and again regardless of this predictable course of events, because next time will be different…

well, i will be sure to avoid you next week at the market.

Update

ponderings of a mad woman / rants — 6 Comments
21
Jun 11

susie wonders

how many times is it necessary to stomp on a stinging thing that should be cleared for takeoff by the FAA while wearing a 5″ platform shoe before you can be sure its dead after already killing it with a magazine? i thought 49.

why do the stall doors always open into a 2 x 3 space wedging you in between the toilet and the door in the most disgusting bathrooms?

why can’t we improve caulk technology? i caulked my bathroom shower (and i am proud to say i did a roundly less schlocky job than the original application) before reading that i couldn’t use the shower for 48 hours. so we all know how that turned out.

i have this recurring, really stressful dream about having to gather my stuff to bring somewhere else quickly for some unclear reason and i just can’t seem to do it in the time allotted. do you think people in non-materialistic third world countries where they have nothing have this dream too?

why is kesha so obsessed with glitter?

not that i am in a rush to reach it, but do you think there will still be acne after menopause? or will there be senior clearasil? and if so, will i get an AARP discount for buying it? will have to mix zit cream in with my anti-aging cream?

where do people from manhattan get buried when they die? do they realize that they will have to be sent to new jersey, the very place they abhor the most, for eternity? serves you right, haters.

and won’t we run out of room for cemeteries eventually?

and also for our garbage – won’t we run out of space for it? when i think of all the waste i make in one day as one person and multiply that by zillions of people, i can’t imagine there is enough room for all of it. and i then i think about the hospital waste alone and all the tons of disgusting stuff they throw out. it makes my head hurt. why are we so wasteful? and then i wonder, have i already ranted about this exact thing before?

i wonder about outer space and if nothing existed at all: no planets, no stars, no black holes, no meteors, no stars, wouldn’t there still have to be something there, like a blank piece of paper? can there really be complete nothingness? wouldn’t there always have to be something? wouldn’t that “paper” have to have been on a surface at one point if it wasn’t there either? and if space is infinite, that means there is no end or beginning which means there are no perimeters. how is that possible? that gives me a migraine and explains why i got a D in intro to astronomy.

and when you wish upon a star, does it really make no difference where you are?

all that “checking in” to places on facebook where people are asking to be stalked, what am i supposed to do with all that information? “oh, she’s at The Yogurt Barn right now? let us go, tonto, post haste!

how can there always be new music? that amazes me. so much has already been written yet people keep coming up with new tunes. albeit much of it sucks, but still.

does my daughter have any idea how insane it makes me when she voluntarily watches commercial on a dvr’d show? does she know how many people suffered for that technology to become a reality?

my neighbor gives clothes to our other neighbor who then sends them to china. do they not realize the irony of this? it’s like the circle of life.

did the school office staff realize i was wearing a t-shirt that said “little miss late” as i was signing my kids in after the bell rang?

how many times is disney going to make the same movie with the soup du jour “stars” and when will my kids figure this out so i can stop being tortured needlessly?

you know what i really miss about college and high school, besides the binge drinking and ensuing random hook-ups? the house parties. i loved those. why cant we have those now?

one time i went to the liquor store and not only was the sobriety of the dude who was obviously hired as someone’s favor, in question, but he was openly picking his teeth with a giant dental pick while making recommendations (like i would take then anyway). when i told him he had to stop doing that he looked at me like i was the problem. lead to me wonder how can some people lack any self-awareness whatsoever?

i wonder, is it me, or are the americans on hgtv’s house hunters international, the most pretentious, pompous assholes upon which you have ever laid eyes? (other than my ex husband and his family of course.)

there is a salon i used to pass daily called, Valina Day Spa. do they realize they are just one letter off? do they know the visual i get every time i drive by it? surely i can’t be the only one. do you think this is on purpose? subliminal advertising? come to think of it, my Valina could use a trip to the spa…

if The Simpsons have been on for over 20 years, why do i keep seeing the same 10 episodes?

what if animals talked just like we do? things would be totally different. you wouldn’t have pets, so much as roommates. then when you said,”he lives like an animal,” it would be true. we certainly wouldn’t be eating them, using them as unpaid labor, entertainers, or athletes. we would have to give horses a cut for racing and roosters a purse for prize fighting. and there would be a whole other kind of racism that would spawn even more political correctness – you couldn’t say “he eats like a pig” without backlash. they would be able to form their own communities and cable channels. they wouldn’t be wild, but homeless and there would be no such thing as the pet food aisle or pet stores, just items marketed to them directly and adoption agencies. lawyers that specialized in animal adoptions. it would be up to them to get their own birth control and we cut off welfare at the first litter. and what about international policy with other animal nations? what would the universal language be? oinking or meowing? we would need animal to human translators. imagine what the UN would look like… orrrr, maybe it would all be reversed where we would be the pets and at the bottom of the food chain. actually, i guess planet of the apes and family guy addressed this already. well, if they could talk, i would love to tell my cat to stop being such as asshole or at the very least get a security deposit from him. now he’s like the dry cleaners, where they suddenly don’t speak english when they fuck my shit up.

is anyone else sick of the fucking magnet “ribbons’” people have on their cars and the morons that put them sideways like jesus fish? isn’t it enough already with these things? i care about as much about what you support with bumper magnets as i do about your kid being on the honor roll at Jack Off Middle School. or are you one of those people?

do you think at some point, you will just let it all go? the endless dieting and maintaining the looks? the caring what you wear and what others think of you? i was at a party several years ago where a 70 year old turned down delicious cookies because they were was “fattening.” when do you decide you have lived ling enough to stop worrying about all that bullshit?

i have realized than when you date someone you are also dating their car. you have to take a long hard look in the mirror and ask yourself, can i be seen in a yellow miata for the rest of my time? am i willing to ride shotgun in a saturn? can i really break up with this sweet bimmer? and after that, you have to look at how someone keeps said car. If it’s messy, chances are they are a childish slob. If you are not allowed to bring your coffee in with you, chances are you have a giant control freak on your hands. if it’s tricked out, you may be dating a teenager and if they have bumper stickers, do you really want to ever see them again?

we can do better than 243 fans on facebook!

ponderings of a mad woman / rants / the suevolution(tm) — 6 Comments
7
Jun 11

oh, swv, where art thou?

so, where has the gggb been since march? well, i would love to tell you that i secured a lucrative mutli-book deal, or i am now writing a syndicated column, or that my blog is being made into an HBO series which will then lead to several movies, or that i’m the head writer of my own sit-com on a major network, but the truth is, i just got plain busy and sucked into my own chaos. in the last few months i sold my house, packed it up, dealt with a ton of last minute fuck yous in the selling process which were perfectly in tune with the nasty divorce proceeding it, turned 40, weathered the second anniversary of my father’s death, bought a new place, moved, and had a whirlwind romance. and since i had to do all that shit alone (well, other than the romance part of it), somewhere along the way i didn’t make time for the blog, my dear fans – all ten of you. it’s been a tiresome and long road full of pitfalls lined with booby-traps, but now that i have finally arrived at one of the main destinations on this crazy train, it has inspired much reflection. and i warn you now, it’s a poorly organized, rambling, and random reflection devoid of proper transitions and full of deliciously run-on sentences like this one…

you know, no little girl dreams of the perfect wedding day being followed in 14 years by the perfect divorce day, so understandably, no matter how much i wanted the split and came to accept it, it’s still been a lot to deal with and adjust to. on top of that, i had to face turning 40, (i am still not quite sure how that happened) which actually seemed a lot worse looking toward it from 39 when i was so unsettled and in month 21 of a very nasty divorce. but, in reality, my 40th birthday found me in a great place – the divorce was close to a year behind me, i was almost in my own home, and it was spent with someone very special. it was actually the best birthday i ever had. i remembered back to my 35th, when i made the life altering decision to change my path. i had looked at myself and how miserable i was trapped in a loveless marriage and decided i either had to make a plan for liberation or just stay until i died and try to eek out some happiness somewhere and absolutely stop complaining about it. however, i decided i had OLTL, and i had get out with the goal of being happily settled into a new life by the time i was 40. and that is exactly what i did. so, other than the terror of knowing my life is most likely half over, that i have wasted much of it with poor decisions, and now it’s just downhill physically from here, i still have a lot for which to be extremely thankful. so far, part II of The Book of Sue is a great read. and of course, it doesn’t hurt that i still look pdf (prettay damn fiyne )

so about the moving part – you see, i have never ever lived alone – i went from my parents’ home to living in tiny spaces with bitchy roommates (sometimes i was the bitchy roommate), then back to my parents’ home, and then to living with my boyfriend, turned fiancee, turned husband and kids. so this is a huge bfd. the first weekend after i moved into my new home (which i love, love, love with a territoriality matched only by a mountain lioness for her cubs, and fills with me great joy every minute i am in it, and when i’m not in it, i’m looking forward to going back to it), my mother and my sister helped me unpack my clothes, we had so much fun, laughing, mostly as the expense of my wardrobe (“no really. it looks good on…”), and i realized it was the first time the three of us laughed together since my dad died. and i love being Head of Household (i get to file that on my taxes now): every decision to be made is mine alone. if there is underwear on the floor it’s my underwear. if there is dirt on the floor, it’s my dirt. everything is how i want if from the placement of the couch to the setting on the thermostat. the leftovers are always there in the morning and my shit is wherever i left it the night before. if it gets messy, it because i let it get that way. right now, i can not imagine sharing this space. i run a very tight housekeeping ship -my kids know they are lucky i even let them stay here.

and once i got physical space, i realized i needed mental and emotional space. while embracing my cliched rebellious slut alter ego the past few years, i had also become a text whore – i wanted texting attention 24/7. but now i see it was at the expense of having real relationships. i think i was hiding behind all that e-chatter because while i desired the human interaction, i was still so broken inside that i wanted to keep people at a comfortable distance. it made sense, that since i had become so utterly withdrawn and marooned during the marriage, i had to be reintroduced into society slowly. and fittingly, my marriage along with other relationships ultimately lived and died by the text. but i see now, all that texting was just a way to distract myself from my life and avoid adult relationships. and the immense amount of energy it required, became a drain on me and a distraction from my life and children.

being in a long bad marriage can really fuck a girl up for future relationships, but finally a lightbulb moment after the last recent breakup occurred: i realized i have never given myself a chance to Just Be since this all began. to just sit and be quiet and think and revel in my singleness. look at what i survived and how i how survived it and see that i really did come out of it stronger and better. really figure out who i am, what i want, and to be clear about it, and then to follow that path and respect myself in the process. really think about why i choose whom i do to become friends with and date. why i become friends with people so quickly, trust way too soon, and fall in and out of love so easily. why i can be madly in love one day and walk away the next. why i am living so unconsciously like a hamster on a wheel or a rat in a maze repeating patterns time and time again. and to see that what it is i am hiding from, is, most likely, myself.

so much of who you are with in life, in my opinion, is due to timing and proximity – you can marry the wrong person at the right time or you can break up with the right person at the wrong time. you can be with someone who is perfect for you, but you are not perfect for them. you can fall in love with someone you can never have and not be interested in those who want you. you can be friends with people simply because of what you have in common at the time, but then that eventually ends because the circumstances change. but all of those relationships shape you and help you define yourself and who you want to be. and, then, hopefully you paid attention and you take something away from each one that you will use to make your next relationship or friendship better. maybe, you figure out what you want to do differently the next time around. maybe you learn, evolve. however, it’s really hard to know that in the midst of it. and it would be easy and comfortable to go back to those old habits and back into the beds of those old habits, but, and don’t fall off your chairs folks, but i am taking a self imposed vow of chastity. crazy, i know, but it’s a detox of sorts. getting clean, so to speak.

i refuse to be labeled as just another crazy woman who doesn’t know what she wants. i have always known what i have wanted, but most of the time i haven’t acted on it. for now, i know i need and want to just be alone and figure a lot of things out. i know i am not ready for another relationship nor will i be for a while. the thought of strangers in my bed, dealing with the bottom dwellers in the shallow dating pool of online dating, or meeting a new penis repulses me right now. i have no desire to look or be looked at. i am not bitter with men (well, at least not entirely), just tired of dating and sleeping with them. tired of using them to distract me from my own thoughts when i’m the only one awake late at night – you know the ones about dying alone with twenty cats who will ultimately nibble my toes when i’m dead because there is no one there to stop them. and the thing is, i just don’t have the desire to even try to be good at a relationship right now. i don’t want to work on it for even a minute, or share anything with anyone, or pretend i give the slightest shit about how anyone’s day was. and i know that is harsh and selfish and unrealistic for maintaining a successful relationship, but i have to honor where i am right now. it’s okay to see that i just need some breathing room. and my girls need me, all of me. and i want to go back to being the dedicated mother i was before all of this nonsense started. the mother who made dinner every night and played on the floor and laughed with them and read stories to them and cuddled them to sleep every night. they are growing up too quickly and will be slipping past me soon into teenagedom and i could cry over wasting so much of that precious time with them while i was lost in all of this madness.

i see that my life is has been greatly improved as a result of the divorce, but theirs has been completely thrown into upheaval. they have to maintain two new homes, two schedules, navigate two parents and extended families that have made their disdain for each other painfully clear at times, and adjust to seeing their parents with different people. they are the ones that truly have the task of adjusting. and there is no easing the pain and guilt i feel over that. and now, i really understand “staying together for the kids,” but i also know a happy mommy will make happy children. though it’s still hard to live with the fact, that just as they never asked to be born, they never asked to have their family torn apart and lives irrevocably changed. i can only hope it will ultimately be for the best and they will make better choices in their lives because of it than i have up to this point. life is all about learning from mistakes and as one of my friend’s students said, and whether he wrote it or not, i have no idea, but i sure wish i said it: “in school you learn the lesson first and then have the test. in life you take the test first and then learn the lesson.” he figured out at 15 what i just figured out at 40.

and along that vein, i quit my poverty level suck-ass job with useless health “benefits” too – it had turned into a toxic and abusive relationship of its own. and while completely financially irresponsible, i am taking off the summer to relax and enjoy my new life. to get back to my girls, my friends, and most importantly, myself. doing all the things i used to do before i relinquished who i was along the way. and if losing my dad taught me anything, it’s that life is short and happiness is fleeting so you have to grab it whenever you can. no ones knows what tomorrow holds. we can make all the plans we want but its not really up to us, is it? i certainly didn’t plan that last dinner with my dad to be the last one. and i have not yet even begun to lick those wounds or even try to heal from them. i haven’t wanted to even acknowledge that rawness and i know until i do i won’t be able to be in a healthy romantic relationship.

i wrote about transition once during the divorce, which really is a constant thing in life, but i find myself so obviously in it again. strangely, this time it’s welcome. and all i know is that for the first time in my entire life, i am starting to feel at rest and at ease and i am beginning to feel a calmness and peace wash over me. it’s like unwinding on a sorely needed vacation except this is actually my life (the proof: i don’t even yell at my kids anymore – i just sigh and walk away). and that is a gift i have been given, albeit, in a very circuitous and torturous way: the gift of a second chance to do it right this time. to live consciously with self-awareness and for the first time ever, i am not going to squander it. i will stop operating from what i don’t want and stop running from, and instead focus on what i do want and run toward.

and following that, i have a new bumper sticker: 40 and over it because i am done with poor decisions for act two. i will no longer do things i don’t want to or am unsure of. i wont be pushed into anything before i am ready ever again – be it a job, relationship, or friendship. then maybe, i won’t be so quick to jump ship. i won’t care what others think of me and my decisions (err, or less than i already don’t). i will remove anything toxic from my life, learn to see the gray areas, i will fight my poor impulses, listen to my wise gut, and i will love myself for all of it. and i certainly don’t want to grow old alone, but i am not afraid to do so if that means being true to myself and honoring who i am (but i do set the limit at four cats). 40 is actually liberating and i probably wouldn’t appreciate all i have now if i hadn’t gone through all the bullshit.

you know, last summer began the suvoltion ™. it was the Summer of Sowing Her Oats Sue. this one is gong to be the Summer of Self Discovery Sue (i don’t know what is about summer than inspires me to make changes, but it just does. i think it’s a throwback to coming back to school after growing boobs one summer. “hey, look at me now, assholes”). to truly evolve, i have to be willing to really look at myself and face some hard truths i have been fiercely avoiding, to finally try to heal, unlike this goddamn fissure on my ass (yes virginia, there is such a thing as too much grooming). and i think i am finally on my way home, toto.

and, so here i sit; blissfully alone, on my patio, on a beautiful, clear, quiet morning, birds chirping (those fuckers never shut up), ac humming, trees rustling, flowers in full bloom, drinking coffee, writing my blog- all of it just as i had imagined when the whole thing began a few years ago. but i realize i did forget to envision one thing: this giant smile across my face.

viva la suevoltuion!

now go like me on facebook, bitches!

ponderings of a mad woman / rants / seriously, folks / the asshat / the suevolution(tm) / true but unecessary confessions — 3 Comments
12
Nov 10

the suevolution ™

despite the fact that my period came early & i was utterly unprepared for the ensuing cramps that had me bent over my desk at work, i was in the most spectacular mood on tuesday. since i am normally so cranky, i had no idea why, but then i realized it was november 9th.

15 years ago, on november 9th, i donned a beautiful, borrowed white dress, allowed a “professional” make-up artiste to apply too much make-up to my innocent, young face, wore my hair piled high atop my head in gloriously huge jersey girl curls, ignored all the red flags i had so carefully buried, promised my father i wanted to go through with it despite his numerous assurances it wasn’t too late to back out, swallowed my doubts, and gladly began my walk down The Aisle which, in turn, led me down a path of unfulfilled promises & despair – yes folks, i got married. thanks to disney’s incessant barrage of evil propaganda aimed at young girls, it was all i ever dreamed of as a child & young woman- i never had any real intentions of having a career and actually making my way in life on my own. i was a sweet, but spoiled suburban princess and i just wanted to get hitched, have babies, be a wife, a mommy, & live wealthfully ever after. and i thought i was going to do exactly all that, but early on, perhaps during the cocktail hour that he went to without me, or the reception during which he danced primarily with his mother (i hope they are very happy together now), or maybe it was during the brawling on the honeymoon, it became apparent i had made a huge mistake (oh, and the honeymoon was over, literally, after hitting that poor deer on the way home from the airport. omen, much?). i obviously hadn’t thought it all the way through. clearly, i had married the wrong man for me – sure he looked great on paper – nice jewish boy from a good family, smart, decent enough looking, had the potential to make a lot of clams, and truly seemed liked he would make a good bug handler, occasional diaper changer, burgler beater-upper, light bulb changer (still waiting on that one), & bill payer. sure, his idea of dressing up was the fancy tee shirt. sure, he wore high top velcro reeboks and liked terrible music he demanded i listen to, but i could change him right? and i had already invested 5 of my best firm bodied years on shaping & molding this lump of clay into what i thought was the perfect future. and i had absolutely no idea that what i thought was the truest of love was really just pathetic and desperate co-dependence.

fast forward through 12 lonely years of a marriage to an addict in which there was constant oppression, neglect, emotional abuse, physical intimidation, and general assholishness. it was a devastating death of my dreams & hopes for the future in which i learned i was considered merely a possession to be owned & controlled, bought & sold, and placed in a corner when not needed. then add another 2 years of a nasty, messy divorce (which is exactly how i always knew it would go down when the time came) and the birth of what my mother claims is an alcohol problem (mr. schmirnoff & i disagree). the weight of my misery rendered me unrecognizable: i had become isolated and cut myself off from family & friends. i tried to throw myself into motherhood and running my home but it just wasn’t enough. i hated holidays and reunions and felt ragefully jealous of those around me whom i perceived to be happy. i refused to travel & go on vacations because it was all just such an unpleasant endeavor with an eternally miserable person. and i was soooooo wasteful during my marriage- because i could be – money was all he gave me, because he wasn’t capable of love. so i would shop to fill the raw emptiness in my gut and then i would get rid of things on a whim without a thought as to future need (god, i wish i had half the stuff i gave away over the years or sold for 99 cents on ebay). i would knowingly spend way too much on one item thinking, “so there! take that, you asshole,” as i handed over the credit card. i led a desolate existence even thought there was so much abundance. but the thing is, i won’t miss any of it. of course, that’s not hard for me because i do have plenty of things from the marriage & i thank god i can tell you i won’t go hungry, but i just don’t care about any of the material possessions anymore. not the lexus, the 3500 square foot house, the vacations, the expensive meals (my mother used to insist i go out with him for Date Night & i would ask her why she wanted to punish me), the $200 pairs of jeans, diamonds, gold, or the money. because without a loving partner & happy family, none of it meant a damn thing to me – it all just became items with a resale value on ebay. i finally realized i did not have a price, i could not be bought! it was a feeling of empowerment i never had. and then The Asshat’s worst fear was realized - he no longer had any control over me. and let’s face it, no one can control you unless you allow it.

you know, many single people think being with anyone is better than being alone, but there is nothing more lonely than being tethered to someone who could care less about you. who pays no attention to you, nor acknowledges you when you speak, or doesn’t even look up from what he is doing when you enter a room. someone who can’t even muster the effort to say hello or goodbye, pretend to laugh at a joke, give you one compliment, or show you a morsel of gratitude, or won’t even touch you. to be with someone who goes to concerts instead of spending holidays or your birthday with you and can’t be bothered to plan one evening out together to do somehting you like. someone who makes his disdain for your family clear to you and them, while also systematically alienating every friendship you ever had as a couple. i used to mark off each year that my anniversary passed as one more year of my life wasted in misery with a man who never truly loved me, but now i mark it as a day of freedom. beautiful, glorious, peaceful freedom. i can now celebrate is as the un-doing of a mistake, the un-niversary of a poor choice.

a bad marriage is carried around like a terrible secret, a huge burden that is ultimately shouldered alone. the shame of the realization i was married to an addict and i was the enabler combined with the disappointment of the way my marriage turned out was unbearable. and while i was mired in that humiliation, my oppressor came very close to breaking me. nearly convincing me, i was the problem, i was crazy and i needed help. and i tried so hard to make it work, to suck it up until the girls went to college, but one day i realized i couldn’t do it anymore – i would just end up empty & used up, a mere shell of myself like the military wife in american beauty who sat at the table staring straight ahead at nothing, dead inside from a life of oppression at the hands of a dictator husband. worst of all, what if my girls followed in my footsteps and ended up in the same kind of marriage? that was my greatest fear & the ultimate motivating factor to leave. but even near the end of the marriage, i still made insane attempts to stay & make myself happy. while clinging to the edge of the precipice desperately with only my fingernails, i did things i never thought i would to keep hanging on any way i could. i did fall into a chasm of delirium temporarily but, that “insanity” is what finally got me out and i haven’t regretted a single thing, not even for a moment. and when i finally did reach my breaking point where i just knew it was never going to change and i just didn’t care anymore and i was done talking about it and working on it, i finally was just over it and i knew i was finished, i somehow gathered the strength to say out loud that it was over. (i actually remember during the third & last round of marriage counseling, which is a big fucking joke, because once you are there it’s essentially too late, the utterly useless therapist asked me in a private session if i even wanted to save the marriage and without a moment’s hesitation, i answered with a resounding no). ultimately though, he was the one to file first – i think he wanted to beat me to the punch. i was served with divorce papers at my home, in front of my children, within 48 hours of telling him i wanted a separation. and while marveling at the speed at which it happened, i couldn’t help but wonder if he had an attorney on retainer because he knew too, that i was finally done and the day was coming soon when i would tell him so. i walked upstairs to my bedroom, read the papers and the scathing accusations they contained in utter disbelief, cried for about 20 minutes and then felt glorious relief. it was finally over. i had struggled with the decision to leave for over 10 years and he had set me free! he did it for me! i felt gratitude wash over me as i prepared to walk away willingly from the comfort of a life with the only man i had been with for 15 years . i was ready to leave it all just for the mere chance at happiness.

last year at this time, i was holed up in my guest room with my 2 girls at my side like a family of immigrants in some dysfunctional dorm room watching full house reruns. as we slept 3 across in my trundle bed (mommy in the crack, of course) behind a closed door, 10 feet down the hall lived a mentally ill, malevolent, pot smoking ogre who was prone to tantrums and fits inside a deadbolted lair from which the smell of “incense” continuously wafted. every night before drifting off into a vodka induced slumber, i would pray for the ogre’s untimely demise – perhaps a smoting by dragon or being eaten alive by a pack of transient wildebeasts, and for my incarceration to end. after living imprisoned in my own life for 12 years, i had to live through another 2 in a jail cell in my own home with a warden that tirelessly tried everything in his power to keep me on death row for eternity. he would stop at nothing to try to destroy me trying to take my money, my possessions, my children, my freedom, & my pride. and i summoned a courage and strength to fight him that i am sure he never imagined i could or would possess. he always undervalued and underestimated me and that became my greatest weapon in the War of The Asshats.

this past june 21st was my divorceiversary – the day i was truly emancipated thanks to a combined succession of 5 lawyers and a terribly lengthy, exasperating, & expensive legal process that finally forced the divorce’s end – the ogre would have let it go forever but was finally slain by my lawyer (it’s no secret, that i have a huge crush on him). and i have never known a peace like this in my entire life. i had never lived so deliciously alone and been in complete control of everything in my life. after high school, i left my parents’ home for dorms and apartments with inconsiderate college roommates, i returned home to live with my parents after college where i manifested my 16 year old self again, after a year, i moved into an apartment with the aforementioned fucking jackass who said he wouldn’t marry me unless i did, and then i moved to my marital home. in my entire existence, i was never free to run my own life, make my own decisions, have any say in the finances, or breathe without someone’s approval. so, you can see, how the simple acts of paying bills, leaving lights on when i chose and setting the thermostat to any degree i want are all pure heaven. my leftovers are there when i wake up the next day. i can leave my cell phone on the counter and it will be there when i return for it and it will be dry. i can leave my purse out and my cash will still be there when i open my wallet. i no longer have to try to get to my mail first or tote around a huge purse with my garage door opener, cell phone charger, jewelry, ipod, personal papers, and anything else i hoped to keep. i no longer flinch at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, share the dvr, or share anything for that matter. i don’t have to listen to music that makes my ears bleed (well, other than the jo-bros) or pretend to give a shit about someone’s day. oh, and the bed – it’s all mine. no one waking me up with their sleepless seismic activity or snoring loud enough to annoy corpses (oh, how often had i had fantasized about what i could do with a well placed pillow?). i never again to have to play personal assistant in a life of indentured servitude to an ungrateful moron. i don’t have to stroke an ego or look at anyone’s flab other than my own in disgust. i don’t have to find hairs on the floor, toothpaste globs mixed with shaving cream gunk in the sink, or petrified snot on the shower walls. i don’t have to hear someone hocking loogies in the kitchen garbage can or coughing up pot induced mucous from his lungs that i kept hoping would fail. in short, i don’t have to live with an absolute pig anymore. if there is dirt, it is my dirt, if there are dishes in the sink, they are my dishes, if there is an ass impression on the couch, is it on my couch from my ass (and we all know what a great ass i do have). i now have a deep appreciation for life & the things that fill it in a way i never did. i live my life fully and enjoy every day as much as i am able. i laugh and feel a warped gratitude to The Asshat every single day for setting me free.

i certainly have no intentions of marrying again because i think marriage just ruins a perfectly good relationship, and i just can’t see how number 2 would turn out any differently. i hate other women’s husbands for them. i joke a lot about being bitter, and sure, i probably am to some extent, but i have never been so happy in my life as i am now – not even as a child. i have finally found my voice, found out who i am, and most importantly found out i love sex… mostly with strangers… but seriously folks, in my mind, a life lived in quiet desperation, always settling, continuously wondering what could have been, dreaming of “someday,” isn’t one worth living. i have watched so many people become resigned to such a life -and i was almost a casualty of it myself - and being too scared to fight for their own happiness. being a victim is a choice. next to wasted potential, this is one of the he saddest things to me- because you only get one shot at life, my friends, and it’s yours alone to spend as you wish. you are not a doormat for your spouse, friends, kids, boss, parents, or anybody. and i pity those who realize they are miserable yet never summon the strength do something about it. you are never stuck no matter how bad things may be and i believe you get out no matter the price. your happiness is priceless. ultimately, it’s a choice to stay in a bad situation because it’s easier not to change. change is hard and terrifying. and, i, of all people get that, because it took me 12 years to make that change and someone else ultimately had to pull the plug for me. but, there were so many times during the making of that change where it would have been much easier to lay my weapons down, give up the fight, stop suffering, and crawl back to the security and ease i could have had, but it would have come at an enormous cost – my self respect & my happiness. i will always encourage those around me to be more, to want more out of life, & above all be true to themselves and fight for their lives.

the suevoltiuon ™ (a brilliant term coined by not me) continues…

if you like this blog, then like it on facebook too! please?

rants — 1 Comment
8
Apr 10

spring cleaning

i don’t know what it is about being on the verge of a season change that inspires me to clean. just as winter is begrudgingly winding down and giving way to the coming of warmer climes, i have the strongest urge to bust out the pink rubber gloves. so, of course, it follows that i have a Spring Cleaning Procedure that includes, but is not limited to, major household restoration, closet purging, clothes swapping, cobweb scouring, family haircutting, colon cleansing, officially changing the sheets from flannel to cotton, and intense personal grooming. i do all this by employing a completely anal retentive organizational strategy that verges on pathological which covers every nook and cranny of my life – hell i even cleared out the voice mail box on my cell and y’all know how much i hate to do that.

after scrubbing my house all sparkly clean from top to bottom with earth un-friendly cleaning products, and purging the house of enough stuff to fill 17 contractor size trash bags which will sit in landfills for the next millennium, it is time for the official Changing Of The Closets (if you are lucky enough to have several closets all to yourself. in my case it is the Changing Of The Giant Tupperware Containers. or for those of you that watch late night infomercials, The Changing Of The Space Bags. none of this to be confused with The Changing Of The Guard). and it absolutely never fails that every year i suffer from premature closetation. this is a yearly condition in which i become convinced that the unseasonably warm weather (98 degrees for 3 days in march) is here to stay and i eject the winter clothes from my closet, put all the coats into long term storage and take out the flip flops in time for the last record breaking noreaster of the season (i guess i am just a hopelessly thermometer half full person). after i dump every single last item out of my closet and clean the shelves, i force myself to survey the damage i have done to my summer body by hibernating and drinking vodka (just to keep warm) for 4 months. yes, it’s time to face The Winter Blubber for The Trying On Of The Summer Clothes. i look at all those cute little dresses and capris tucked neatly away in the dusty containers and can’t imagine those tiny things fit a mere 12 months ago. there is also the category of clothes called “I Can’t Believe I Wore That Last Year” in which i gasp in horror at some seriously hideous pieces of clothing that i thought were So Cool At The Time. soon, disgust ensues, and i just start getting rid of everything without prejudice. this, of course, has the hidden benefit of making more room in my closet for new stuff which means it’s time to go spring shopping (because lord knows i am completely seasonally unprepared since i really can’t deal with the summer clothes when they show up in nordstrom in the dead of winter). but worst of all is the knowledge that my Sworn Nemesis, Bikini Season, is not far behind, and, i, nor any other self respecting woman who has not honored her personal commitment to start working out in january to avoid the terror of this very situation, is not even looking at those swim suits until forced. we will just order new ones and shove the other ones under the bed til next year (yeah, i said order -i am not facing that fear of actually trying them on at the store. puh-leeze). The Official Wardrobe Change also encompasses two of my all time favorite wardrobing activities- the Switching of the Shoes and Cute Little Jackets Round Up.

like a squirrel hoarding nuts, i store up fabulous warm weather shoes all winter – and there is nothing like a fresh pedi to show ‘em all off. now, i personally get pedified all year round, but you know spring has truly arrived here when you show up to your favorite foot palace one day where there is nary a wait all winter and every pedi chair in the joint has a fat ass in it already in the process of obtaining perfectly manicured hooves. i can barely wait my turn because i am salivating to get back home and shed the protective footwear boxes to unsheath those new killer sandals, wedges, flip flops, & “going out shoes.” nothing makes a girl feel sexier than perfectly painted piggies and a pair of brand new open toed f-me pumps (are we not all suckers for a guy who tells us how gotdang fabulous our shoes are?). next are my Cute Little Jackets – they come out to play for a very small window of time: that nanosecond when it’s cool enough to need a light jacket but too warm for a real coat. i buy these darlings obsessively all fall & winter imagining all the adorable get-ups i will be seen in come spring and then only actually wear 10 per cent of them if i am lucky before the weather gets too warm (i am also lucky if i can even button them after the winter. because i bought them months earlier while saying, “it will def fit by spring since i will have lost this last 5 lbs by then.” okay, fine…10). and those of us with children get to do all of this closetation for our kids too, but it is not nearly as fun as we learn that all those clothes we saved for Next Summer now fit nobody because the tots, unlike the grass, grew like crazy all winter. then we have to go out and spend a ton of money on new clothes for them anyway. totally not as cool as spending money on new spring shoes and purses – but hey, it’s still shopping. and shopping is always good.

and i clean up not only my home this time of year, but the loose ends in my life too – case in point: emancipating the bf. what seemed like a great comfort during the lazy hibernation of winter, suddenly seemed suffocating on the cusp of spring. it was time to shed that heavy winter coat and trade it in for the feeling of freedom that only the warm weather can bring (and truth finally be told, i just couldn’t be bothered to fake one more orgasm. it was becoming entirely too exhausting). it sure ain’t easy to clean out the cobwebs of your life, but it has to be done every so often. i once had a friend who called it “weeding her garden” (which i thought was a great analogy until i became one of those so called weeds). i too used to cull my address book (back when we had such things during the flinstonian era of my youth before pen & paper gave way to email & blackberries) and remove the entries of people to whom i no longer spoke. now i go through my cell phone, email, and facebook page to update (nice way of saying delete) my contacts- those people formerly known as friends (used to be you just stopped speaking to someone when you broke up and then screened their calls; now you “defriend” them on facebook). and i do it not to make a statement to the person. it’s just part of my spring cleaning. because along with the peace i find by cleaning off the months of dirt and grime from my floors and purging unused physical possessions from the junk drawers, i also find well being by permitting myself to let go of relationships that i no longer need to hold on to.

so, yes, i feel deliciously accomplished: my house & my psyche (and my colon) are totally clean and ready for spring and it’s myriad of possibilities.

got my shoes already picked out…

hey! if you enjoy the blog, become a fan of swv on facebook!

plus would it kill you to comment once in awhile?

rants — 4 Comments
17
Mar 10

eggshell or satin?

so, after about an 11 year hiatus to raise the babies, i have re-entered the work force. of course, my impending lifestyle change will require it, but even before that whole mess started, i had planned to return to paying endeavors this year -now that both kids were in school for full day, i was terribly b o r e d. an empty house for most of the day does not require as much housework and such anymore; and i was longing for a life of more than coming up with excuses to not go to the gym & having lunch with my bitches every day (no offense beyatches – you know i love nothing more than carb bashing among friends while eating a good salad, but sometimes a girl just needs more).

after marriage, but pre-preggers, i had gone back to school and received a AA in interior design from FIT and i dabbled in the field before the rug rats invaded. now, i really wanted to make of a go of it – problem was, my previous experience (and i use the term loosely) was not all that impressive or much. so, i went to staples, laid out a benjamin for some proper resume paper, stamps, envelopes, & ink. i then went home with my supplies and spent countless hours “updating” my resume. i tried to fill in the 11 year employment gap by making my personal home improvement projects & consulting (read: helped friends decorate their homes) seem like design experience (even i had a hard time buying it). i mailed off at least 189 resumes to every designer in the tri-state area. i didn’t stop there when the calls didn’t start pouring in. oh no. i mailed a resume to anybody even remotely connected to interior design – the guy who did my window treatments, the chick i bought overpriced “accessories” from, every furniture store i ever shopped in, the tile store, the granite place, the designer working with my friend on her new house, and called in every other name-dropping favor i could pull out of my ass. i would have fucked handy manny for a job if he was hiring – but that little bitch kelly with the hardware store has her hooks into him pretty deep…

i followed up on my leads diligently, but after 3 months, all i got was ONE call for an interview. it was from a Major Home Improvement Retailer that had a Decor Department. i was thrilled! i plead my case to get back onto the field to the store manager, wowed him with my supreme bullshitting abilities to sell anything including the fact that he should give me a job despite my total lack of experience, and was awarded with a position in the paint department (because,”we have martha stewart paint now and that’s designer.“). since i was clear about my desired career path, i was promised that i could eventually make 17 lateral moves over to hardware, then to window & wall treatments, flooring, and finally to the Coveted Kitchen Department to be a Real Deal Kitchen Designer. i am not sure how many years of grovelling, ass kissing, & reminding him of this promise it will take, but i have time (hopefully my projected advancement occurs before the current store manager gets promoted himself & leaves). the pay is less than my babysitter’s hourly weekend rate (my first paycheck after taxes was $8.80 – my lunch cost more) and there is NO employee discount (which really sticks in my craw), but the deal sealer is that part timers are eligible for health benefits after 90 days. this was all i needed to hear, because of all the things i worried about regarding post divorce life (should an actual end be realized before The Rapture), the most anxiety causing thing was how i was going to maintain health insurance for myself. and since my pee was as fresh as an irish spring, i was hired. suddenly, i felt a supreme feeling of empowerment as i was on my way to a new life (albeit a messy paint splattered life, but a new life nonetheless).

before i could start, i had to attend an orientation where i learned all kinds of neat stuff like: the air here is flammable. umm, come again? flammable as in ignitable by flame? yes, it’s full of fine flammable dust particles. so, never light a cigarette inside the store and whatever you do, do not consider for one minute that the air you are breathing every day for 8 hours is most likely detrimental to your lungs, the very organs you need for minor bodily functions such as breathing. also, there are cameras all over the store to prevent shoplifting. definitely not to watch you. so don’t feel like it’s big brother or anything though we do know everything you are doing at any given time. but really don’t feel the least bit paranoid. we are a family here (doesn’t the mob say that too?). and the dress code is fabulous! what other job doesn’t suggest, but insists you wear your old beat up jeans, dirty sneakers and gives you a pocket knife, a tape measure and your very own apron? and the Code Of The Apron is taken very seriously – while you can wear it to the lav, you can not under any circumstances leave the store in it. you just absolutely can not wear it to your second job as, say, a pole dancer. it is strictly verboten, no matter how handy those pockets are for stashing singles. i was assured that in addition to all the handy stuff i learned that day, i would have my very own “coach” and receive tons of wonderful training before being thrown to the werewolves of Home Improvement.

i was really excited to be back in the high powered world of retail. i had my $200 paige jeans on and my $110 sneakers. but, by god, i was rocking that dress code and i looked hot in an apron. i gladly traded in my old appellation of “suburban princess” for my new title of “paint babe.” i was roaring and ready to shake those gallons of paint but, my special pal called out my first day, which meant the dude who was there for a mere 3 weeks before me had to fill in as my O-fficial trainer. apparently no one trained him in not being a jackass because it took him 4 hours to tell me that i had red paint all over my face. doosh-tacular. anyway, it’s not rocket science. paint is mixed by them fancy computers these days (the Vortex 8800), so i quickly mastered that task. the rest of the time i worked on learning the “merch” as well call it in the biz. i have been acquainting myself with the 87 varieties of caulk, 35 types of glue, 64 different kinds of brushes, and 397 flavors of paint, among hundreds of other paint related items. very often, the customers know more than me, but i am not ashamed. i just point to my spanky new, “i’m in training” pin and they don’t mind. plus being somewhat cute helps…

now most of my gfs immediately imagined what a dating wonderland this job would be – “oh, you will be one of the few women working there with all those guys,” (translation: fresh prime cut of beef) and “oh, the hot contractors you will meet.” “strong, burly men to fix stuff for you in your new place.” umm, yah it’s fucking raining men if you’re into guys from the cast of jersey shore with 8th grade educations at best who make $9.00 an hour at the high end; and who’s idea of an impressive night out involves a bloomin’ onion. then, yes it’s a veritable buffet of eligible bachelors in the form of stoned dudes, guys sweating out their 6 pack lunch, and cheating husbands. but i admit, my ego thoroughly basks in all that glory that is the stereotypical mating behavior of these cretins from land of the apes:

cretin:”where is the glue?”

me: “this way, sir. after you.”

cretin: “no after you, the view is better.”

me: “you do realize you said that out loud right?”

cretin: “yup”

me: “okay. just checking. so, do you want crazy or super?”

i would be lying if i told you (despite the feminist i claim to be), that i didn’t enjoy it a tiny bit. okay a lot bit…

unlike when i was a snot nosed 16 year old cracking my gum while folding clothes at the gap who worked because my daddy said i had to, i now work because i want to. so, i am happy to be there, and as a result my attitude is great. the messy shelves appeal to my anal side and i can’t wait to get there to organize to my heart’s content . i don’t even mind working on the weekends .and although there are many potential annoying situations & customers, nothing really bothers me. the only thing i don’t like is when it gets slow and there isn’t much to do. looking busy takes far more effort than actually being so. i dig the socializing and chatting with peeps while i am learning tons of valuable info in my “field.” to me the sky is the limit and i am all about climbing up the corporate retail ladder (literally). everything i do there is a goldmine of resume fodder. the weirdest thing is how a place goes from being strange & new to being a second home.

but, what i get the biggest kick out of is thinking how much it would amuse my dad that i have this job. we called him butt-crack bob, because he was our personal handyman. my dad took great pride in maintaining his home and teaching his daughters to do the same & be independent -we don’t need no stinking contractors. during his employ as mr. fix-it he frequented the home improvement retail establishments. he regularly referred to the sales associates as schmendricks and proclaimed they were useless and “dead from the neck up.” well pops, i am now one of those schmucks. oh, how i wish you could come into my department for some door & window silcone II…

you need a stirrer?

rants — No Comments
14
Mar 10

monsoon watch 2010

so i knew the weather was crappy when i left at 8:30 am for my very first day of work yesterday (which i promise to tell you about in my next post), but since i don’t smoke, i used my breaks to pee; and i had no idea just how bad the storm got during the day and that cows were flying through the parking lot by 3:45. always happens when i pay no attention to the local “accu-weather forecast.” but never mind that, i needed to eat. my search for food only yielded uprooted trees and downed power lines which meant most of the roads were closed. when i got home by 4:30, i was starving & the garage door opener was not working which meant one thing: the power was out.

the girls were already home and pounced on me like cats on a drowning rat. it was clear they needed entertainment and there is nothing like a power outtage to show you how pathetically dependent you are on electricity for such:

let’s watch tv: can’t

let’s listen to music: can’t

let’s watch our shows on dvr: can’t

let’s surf the net: can’t

let’s watch a movie: can’t

let’s make some microwave popcorn: can’t

let’s play light brite: can’t

let’s do perler beads: can’t (no iron. “but, i can melt them together with the lighter for you.” “umm, no thanks mom. that’s alright.”)

you know nothing electric works but the habits are so ingrained, that we can’t stop trying: i must have flipped the switch in the bathroom 10 times before i realized i was just going to have to suck it up & pee in the dark. we complained incessantly about the lack of power until we got sick of listening to ourselves and imagined how much it would suck to be amish. then nightfall was upon us and we had to get provisions. we gathered all the candles we could find, the torch lighter, the emergency flashlight, all the batteries from the toys, and every single overpriced flashlight collected from all those kid’s shows i suffered through. who ever would have thought those would actually be useful one day: go forth elmo, dora, & wiggles car: light yonder way to the board games…

we gathered all the board games we could find: don’t tip the waiter, candyland, perfection, superfection, chutes & ladders, boggle, mastermind, spill & spell, & blokus. there is a reason these games are called, “bored.” because they fucking are. you try showing children who have lived with technology their entire lives how much fun it is to figure out if a mastermind peg is yellow or white using a dim flashlight or if the square on the candyland card is blue or green by the light of a shabbat candle. and it turns out a 6 yr old is just as sore a loser when you kick her ass at memory in the dark as she is in the light. after 30 minutes, we blew through all the games and were once again whining how bored we were. “mom, will you play with me?” “you want me to play more? ummm, is your DS battery charged?” i started to consider an early bed time. “you’re sure you’re not tired yet?” “no, mom. it’s 6:45.” i began to wonder if tylenol pm came in children’s doses.

there really is just nothing to do when the power is out. my oldest said, “we can’t even cook.” to which i wholeheartedly agreed, not reminding her a.) that the range is gas and b.) like i ever cook anyway. “here’s a box of black out cereal, kids. enjoy.” i couldn’t use my cell because i had 1 bar left and no way to charge it. i was getting desperate – i wasn’t far from sitting in my car in the middle of a monsoon to charge it off the battery. i couldn’t text. i had no one to have sex with (that would kill 20 minutes at least). nor sext. there was only one thing left to do: pour a tall one.

finally we all settled into my bed (i with drink in hand, girls with crumbly snacks) and decided to read by flashlight and candle light. i was down to six votives and the large shivah candle i got when my dad passed away. i carried it around the house like jack who jumped over the candlestick which is probably not what the rabbi had in mind when he gave it to me, but i know my dad would find that hysterical. i was praying the remaining votives would last long enough for me to finish my book – like the oil during that first chanukah. it’s a power outtage miracle. i had only enough candles for 1 hour, but they lasted 8! finally, i decided to power off the computer to save whatever juice was left and make my blog notes with an actual pen and paper, rather than on my new LG (which has already been totally marred despite my very recent promises to treasure it). last to shut down was said cell phone which was a very traumatic separation. one electronic device at a time i was admitting defeat and decided to go to bed when the last votive flame flickered out. it was actually quite romantic with all the candlelight in my room, but i had 2 roomates and no batteries left…

and all that time you are essentially stranded in your own house, you are thinking to yourself, “they will have it fixed soon.” we put all of our faith in this faceless “they,” but really, we have no idea. it’s just like religion. we fervently believe in something we have no proof will come to pass. and 14 hours into zero power, i imagined “they” said “fuck it. we’re soaked. we can fix it in the morning.”

in summation, i learned a few things about myself from the loss of power:

1. i would not handle solitary confinement very well.

2. i can not raise children without the aid of television.

3. i am electricity’s little bitch and i like it that way.

Archive / ponderings of a mad woman / rants / seriously, folks / true but unecessary confessions — 4 Comments
23
Jun 09

the saga (and sagging) of my rack

i think the first thing you have to know about me is that i have extensively obsessive boob issues. my entire life has been about my breasts. i come from a long line of large breasted woman, but i was a late bloomer. and ever since i was a child, i wanted a set. bad. i was raised watching boobilicous cartoon super heros like wonderwoman, batgirl, catwoman & she-ra and couldn’t wait to fill in my underoos.

in fact, there are pictures of me when i was around 8, dressing up in my mother’s bras. i wanted boobs B A D. i did those crazy exercises, “we must, we must, improve our bust,” religiously every night before bed. i demanded my early bloomer friends show me what they had. i convinced my mom to buy me bras when i was in sixth grade & stuffed ‘em full of undies. That was a brilliant idea until one fell out on the swings during recess. STONE COLD BUSTED. not one of my proudest moments.

then my prayers were answered before my sophomore year of high school, when i was 15, & i sprouted a set of full C’s by the end of the summer. i came back to school with a sweet rack and was thereafter accused of sticking my chest out when i walked around. but, i wasn’t, haters! those were legit! soon the attention got to me & so did the inescapable teenage bad body image. that was the downfall of my super set. i started wearing minimizer bras. oh, the horror! by my senior year of college my boobs hadn’t stopped growing and i was 5’0″ (okay 4’11 1/2″) & 93 pounds, with DOUBLE D’s.

okay, so many did get enjoy them, but even though i had the perfect body, i hated it! yes, i was a DUMB BEYATCH! i began trying to hide the goods with baggy shirts and became more and more miserable. add in the fact that my mom has had gigunda tatas since she was 10 and she always HATED them and told me so daily. so she was on board the same unhealthy body image bandwagon that i was.

one day during a break between semesters, i saw a large breasted friend of mine. she spilled the beans that she was getting a breast-reduction and i was stunned that there was such a thing. sure I knew about implants, but making them smaller? and just like that, i decided i wanted to lop my boobs off too. i told my bff in crime, millie, (no names have been changed to protect the guilty) about my plan and she told me i was nuts & not to do it. “you have what everyone wants, ” she said. but, that only made me more determined, because i thought no one could possibly understand the plight of a petite huge breasted woman. besides the fact, that i am not a chick that ever listened to anybody. once something was in my head, there was no stopping me. i was sure the reduction was the answer to all my problems. the plastic surgeon with whom we consulted convinced me i would develop major back problems and the life before me would be that of an invalid, albeit, a sexy invalid, if i continued to carry those things around on my “petite frame.” what did he care? i was about to lose my tatas, but he was about to make a wad of cash. so after college I did the deed, and this, my friends, (all 3 of you reading this) is where my story gets really sad: the night before the surgery i had doubts about it & wasn’t sure i even wanted to do it, but i stuffed that down & ignored my gut. (exactly like the night before my now failed marriage, but that is another story entirely.) the other tragic twist is this: the insurance company rejected the pre-approval for the surgery at first. my father who would do anything for us & had no boobs himself lobbied the insurance company until they approved it. no one was telling his daughter she couldn’t chop her tits off.

Life Lesson One: Sometimes it is best to leave well enough alone. SIGH.

the ensuing recovery was a painful, awful, terror & when i first unwrapped my new jugs they were TINY. i had a full B & was feeling the first signs of remorse. the scars were hideous. when i gasped upon first seeing them, i said to my mother, “they are so small!” Her response was to say, “don’t let your sister hear you say that.” it was no secret boobs were not evenly assigned in my family. not only did I feel remorse, but i now had guilt too, and i had to keep it all to myself.

so, i tried to be okay with the boob issue for a few years by wearing mondo padded bras but regret slowly began creeping in until i couldn’t bare to even think about it anymore. i could no longer face my own girls in the mirror, but i became obsessed with other boobs, and just like a guy, i was always checking others chick’s racks out. i needed intensive boob therapy to get over it.

well, fast forward to pregnancy: i was now stressing that i wouldn’t be able to nurse because things may not have been reattached right, BUT, i had giant preggo boobs. it was awesome – AND the boobs stayed big & grew with each kid. so naturally, I wanted to have 4 or 5 kids. i was able to nurse, luckily, or not so luckily depending upon how you look at it – my life became even more about my boobs. there is no pain like engorged boobie pain and trying to get an ill tempered infant to latch onto a full boob. it seems logical that employing the fun bags for their actual intended use would be a snap, but its not and i elicited help from anybody within a 5 mile radius. forget the fact, the i went to an actual class to learn how to do this beforehand. useless. once the hungry screamer & i finally figured it out, my life was lived in 2 hour increments of nipple desecration and my life became a blur of boob chores – pumping, massaging, feeding, crying… and don’t get me started on nursing bras.

then several years ago, i found a lump in my right breast & it was terrifying. i had to to get my boobs mashed in the mammogram machine several different times which confirmed a suspicious lump. so, i had a biopsy & was told it had to be removed and they still weren’t sure if it was the c-word. i had it removed and thank God it was benign. of course, i had to have the lump removed from the smaller boob and i am sporting yet another scar which i tell dudes is a stab-wound ( it’s much more mysterious). i really just found the whole thing to be completely ironic. i wondered if there was no end to the suffering of my poor breasts.

the happy-ish ending is that I have made peace with the girls again (back to a DD thanks to the 2 babies), but feel terrible for treating my body that brutally. i hate the scars though they have mostly faded & are hidden by the (dare I say it) sagging (sigh). in a weird way i feel like they are fakes, because they have been altered.

so what is the moral of the story? mamas don’t let your girls screw with their bodies. they just need self confidence & your support to learn to love their bodies. plastic surgery isn’t the answer that we all think it is. i would absolutely discourage my girls from doing anything to their bodies at such a young age. women have it so tough, our boobs are too small or too big, but never just right. so ladies, love your gazungas no mater what size they are! they are part of what makes you, you, but they don’t define you. i finally realized, it doesn’t matter what size your boobs are, men will stare. it doesn’t matter what your body looks like as long as your head is on right. boobs & the women attached to them will always be used to sell stuff on tv. we will always use our boobs to get men to do what we want. men will always be on a quest to see ‘em no matter what size they are. they love ‘em all.

Life Lesson Two: Its all about confidence & good body image.

DUH. thanks epiphany for coming way late, but at least i figured it out. eventually.

single with vodkagood girl gone bad

rants

paper or plastic?

susie wonders

we can do better than 243 fans on facebook!

oh, swv, where art thou?

viva la suevoltuion!

now go like me on facebook, bitches!

the suevolution ™

if you like this blog, then like it on facebook too! please?

spring cleaning

eggshell or satin?

monsoon watch 2010

the saga (and sagging) of my rack

single with vodka: the homepage

explore my g-spot

subscribe and follow

recommended blogs

register

archives

my tweets