A Man Down

I guess I should have put a disclaimer on yesterday's post because I lost a follower. Oops.

Just to let you guys know, I stand by every thing I said, including the multiple "fucks" because, honestly, it's my blog and I can write any damn thing I choose. those that are sticking by me...thanks for accepting who I am, even when I'm crass and vulgar.

Just saying.

Wanting What You Don't Have

I am so pissed off right now I almost can't see straight. For real; I'm not kidding. Oh, you guys will be too, just as son as I tell you the latest in the fucked up saga that surrounds anything to do with ex's fucked up family. AAAAKKKK!!!!!

Anyway, just a bit of background....

whathisname's "father" left his mom when he was around 10ish and had no actual relationship with him. Zero. Nada. Nothing. I was the one who encouraged the ex to get back in touch with the "father" because I thought it was a good idea. I'm not sure anymore.

The "father" lives maybe 20 minutes from my house. 20. Two-Zero. Twenty. That's it. Has that man, or his wife (Note-not the ex's mom) darkened the door of my home? Nope. They came to Cait's birthday party and to Tristan's birthday party. No phone calls. No cards. Nothing.

Well, perhaps not nothing...occasionally I get a message on FB from the "stepmom"-written in all caps-which I begrudgingly answer because it is usually heavy with guilt trip sauce...and I don't tolerate guilt trip shit from MJ so why would I tolorate it from someone else? I mean really people.

Anyway, I got a box via the US postal service today from, guess who...that's write. It was from them. The box is full of Christmas presents for the kids.

That's right, FF, those assholes could not even be bothered to drive 20 fucking minutes to come see my children and hand them their gifts in person. Nope, they mailed them.

Did I mention they live 20 minutes away?

Did I also mention that ex's Mom lives further away and drives to my house almost every time she is off work to come visit the kids? She usually only gets one day off a week, and she spends at least a few hours of it with those babies because they are important to her. Because of that, anytime we are anywhere near where she works we stop by and visit for a few minutes. I make an effort because SHE makes an effort.

If she isn't able to come by for a couple of weeks, she calls for a general update. Ok, so most of the time it's after she's around a 6 pack in so it's a short, but interesting conversation, but she tries.

What do I get from the others? Not a goshdamn thing. Actually, damn near less than that even.

Do they expect me to drive to their house, while they sit in their recliners, chain smoking in front of my children? Umm, yeah, NO! If my children are SOO important you can make an effort, therefore I will make an effort.

Now, I should know better because they never came to our house when we were married, so why us not being married anymore should make things any different, but...dammit! It just pisses me the fuck off.

And you know what, I bet they talk about me like I'm dog-shit because I do not go over there and visit with them. Once again, I bring up the smoke the billows out of the house when they open the door. Every time we took the kids as babies they cried the entire time and ended up with a cold because of the smoke. Plus, I have nothing-nothing-nothing-NOTHING in common with either one of those people, except the kids. I'm not all about a social call. I'm not about a "let's catch up". I don't really know them and from whe I can tell they don't really want to know anything about my kids.

Pop says to let it go and to not worry about them becasue the kids have plenty of grandparents. And I know I should, but it just gets in my crawl that those people are treating my babies like second class citizens that aren't worth thier time enough to come visit.

I know how that feels. I've been treated like that by MJ's mother since I was 11. (Don't ask, I still do not know what an 11yr old does to become oustrasized by her own grandmother. However, suffice to say neither me or my sister are, were, or ever will be the "Golden Grandchildren" that she gives two shits about.) And I didin't have anohter grandmother to pick up the slack. I was just grandparentless and I always felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in my soul where something should have been and wasn't. The idea that this person genetically bonded to me disliked me to such a degree that I didn't matter to them. I don't want the kids to feel that way. To feel slighted. My parents (along with ex's mom and my brother-in-laws parents) will defintely take up any slack, but I'm afraid as they get bigger they will always earn for that thing they will never get-just as I always have. The acceptance and love of those people who could fucking care less.

I mean, tell me a single person who would not just love these faces so much they wouldn't want to see them as much as possible....

Pops's right (as usual), screw them..my kids ROCK!!

Smack me in the Face and Let's Start Again.

As I'm lying down to sleep, which I dearly need to do right now, I begin thinking about this search that has gotten started. It's something very akin to The Great Guy Search. I realized that every time I find myself in the vicinity of a male I instantly check out that left hand. It's almost a compulsion now. It wasn't until I was standing in the check out line in Hell Walmart that I noticed I had made a mental note of wedding rings on every male around me.

When did I become this girl? I mean, I'm not feeling some deep societal push to couple up because all of my friends are like "Meh, give it time." I'm not feeling familial pressures because my Pop has already made that one abundantly clear. I believe the conversation went something along the lines of, "I hope to hell you think you have to get married again just to make it because that's bullshit and unnecessary." I might have missed a word here or there, but that was the general message. I've always thought my Pop had such a way with words...

So, back to the whole bed thing...I'm thinking about my newest obsession with wedding rings and realize that, again, I have listened to my Pop, but not heard him. I found the kernel of doubt that has me looking searching and thinking I need a man in my life because (drum roll please) I seriously do not think it will ever be possible for me to live on my own with Things 1 and 2 without any sort of support or help from my Pop.

I mean, examining the evidence in questions so far, it's pretty plain why that issue exists. 

• teaching adjunct online
• teaching adjunct at community college
• no full time job
• no one is hiring (or at least not hiring me)
• I actually had to swallow my pride and borrow money from my Pop for my bills last month. (I get paid very erratically from U of P and won't get a ju co one until the end of Sept. Let's just say that I cried, my Pop wrote a check and couldnt' figure out how to make me not cry. It was just beyond me, but yet, he understood. Yes, pride is my Sin of choice.)
• I have 2, count them 2, children. Two.

Now when I think about "How Long" it been I am slightly deceived. Although I have been "married since June of 2009 (I don't care WHAT the law says; in my soul I was NOT married as of May 21-when I came out of my haze. Damnit!), I have only lived with my parents since after Christmas. This is what? Month 8? now in my head I should already have everything in life 4x4, but I do realize that life just doesn't work that way.

Kinda like losing weight-it took years to put it on so it'll take years to take off. Great in theory, but shitty in practice. I just hate waiting. (Humm, do I smell another bout of pride? Why, yes, yes I do!)  And it's especially hard for me because, lets face it, numbers have never been my strong suit and I have no idea what it would take for the 3 of us to live without me having constant panic attacks over what bill gets paid this month.  I always think, it was easier having two incomes...well, not really. It should have been easier, but nothing was easy living with, you know, whatshisname.

He's the reason I'm still paying off a credit card that I haven't touched since Tristan was born. thank God I've gotten the others paid off finally, but that one has a pretty hefty balance left on it and every time the bill comes in I get so pissed off I can't even see straight because I know that is because of beer, beer, nights he "had" to get out of the house and drink beer in a bar, more beer, and taking me out to eat once in a bluefuckingmoon. Did I mention beer?

Sorry...bitter rant. Should have warned you. My bad. Anyhoo...

I guess  the long and the short of the issue is that I'm afraid. There I said it. I'm afraid and I'd like someone to swoop in and take care of everything and solve all of these problems that I can't see a way out of.

Problem!!!!

Umm, last I looked at my birth certificate, it didn't say "Princess" or place silver spoon here AND the last time I got married it didn't solve a single problem.

I need to remember what started this journey. I started it. And I started it so I could make sure that I had a firm hold of "Me" so if, by some chance, since I'm not all that unfortunate looking, someone does come along I never lose me again. I started it so I could rediscover my voice and my passions and my dreams that got lost amid beer cans and nights sleeping alone.

So, like Elizabeth Gilbert says in Eat, Pray, Love...

Operation self esteem. Day fucking one.

(Take, at least, two. SNAP)

5 Years Ago

*Disclaimer* If you think Katrina hit and destroyed New Orleans you should stop reading here because I'll know you are reading and it will just piss me off...

 My life naturally separates into two parts-Pre Katrina and Post Katrina. For years I pushed every thought, every emotion surrounding "the storm" that shattered my life, as well as so many lives, in twain.



I've denied myself the luxury of examining my feelings for five years now, so perhaps it's time for a bit of reflection-honest reflection. You see, faithful few, I had to be strong and take care of business when it happened (because my ex decided to be completely weak and useless) and a few months later I found out I was pregnant with my son. That was definitely NOT the time to become overly involved with my emotions-they were very occupied by hormones. (BTW, NO, T was not a Katrina baby. I had been off bc for over a year trying to have a baby; the timing was just ironic.) After that I was just told to get over it…now I think I just might.


August 29th marks the 5th anniversary of Katrina demolishing the Gulf Coast, namely the Mississippi Gulf Coast. You see, the eye of Ms. Katrina passed right over Bay Saint Louis, MS, damn near over the roof of my house to be exact.


Yep, I lived in a little rental house in Bay Saint Louis, south of the tracks. Now on August 30th the only thing left of that little house was a couple of walls (literally a couple), moldy wood and plaster, piles or bricks, and a yard dotted with Trivial Pursuit cards. Well, and of course all of my material possessions ruined and waterlogged throughout the house-3 days of clothing, photos, and my car are the only possessions that made it out. Oh, and the roof was perfect....I do so love irony.


I know it was perfect because I saw it on Google Earth when I was staying at TB’s house. (TB is my aunt.) I remember being SO excited that it was there. Feeling hopeful, I so completely crushed when I realized it was all a lie. That everything wasn’t going to be ok after all.


I remember driving into the town and not really understanding what I was seeing, but I still felt that it would be ok. I really did. I was really naive.


As I crested the tracks, I remember looking out and seeing the water. Again it didn't make sense. I'm not supposed to see the water. Where are all the houses? My brain was just not registering the piles of wood and bricks as the beautiful homes I had coveted and dreamed of owning one day were gone. They were just not there, just vague shells or shadows of what had been their former glory.


It was at that moment, at the top of the tracks, that I realized nothing was going to be ok. I felt my heart sink to my feet and my whole body began to shake. No.no.no.no.no.noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. This just can't be happening. Please God this just can't be happening. Don't do this to me, please.


Every sense and sensation in my body shut down as I pulled into the driveway and looked at what was left of my former home. I knew even then it was my former home; that I would and could never live there again. How could I? Destruction of that nature can't be undone. Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing.I didn't know just how right I was thinking that.


Before we'd even looked over the whole house I was ready to go. I just wanted to leave. The need crawled under my skin and spread until I could no longer feel my body. It was like I was no longer really there. I kept looking around for the camera crew and cheesy host with slicked back hair and toothy grin. Where was he? It's too much and now someone needs to tell me this is all a joke! Maybe I just need to wake up. Quick, I have to wake up or be let in on the joke before I throw up. Shit like that just doesn't happen. It just doesn't.


My chest hurt. I felt like I was drowning and I had no idea whether it was the suffocating heat and humidity or the overwhelming sense of life never being the way it was before.


By the time we stopped at St. Stanislaus and I saw that the ex would not be returning to work because there was only rubble where the band hall had been, I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to see anymore. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I just wanted to get in the car and drive until I couldn’t’ drive anymore. I wanted to be anywhere but on the Coast. Please God, if this is really not a dream and not a colossal joke, please just take me away from here. Please take me away.


I saw my (then) husband starting to unravel and knew that I had to be strong. I had to carry the weight. I had to “fix” everything. So, I plastered a timid smile on my face and asked to leave.


We drove to Pearl that night. I couldn’t face going to Pascagoula because I couldn’t trust my childhood home to be safe and I knew I couldn’t handle seeing it destroyed. (It was fine. No damage. No water. But lack of cell service prevented me from knowing that.) Unknown to me, the ex had used this to his advantage and used my dropped basket to plant a seed of hurt and doubt in my heart, claiming that family members had betrayed me in the worst way. That they were ashamed of me and would never accept me-only he would ever love, support, and understand me. Admittedly I was too addled and too damaged (and too busy trying to be a good wife) to see through his lies and allowed this to take over my heart until I could finally see him for what he really was…umm, that would be a liar.


I’m thankful for the three days I spent with Aunt Jan and Uncle Wayne in the aftermath. Uncle Wayne explained everything that was wrong with the investigations while watching CSI and Aunt Jan told me stories about her experiences after Camille. I remember allowing myself to cry in the shower that first night; so happy to have air conditioner, so happy to have hot water, so happy to not have to face the ruins of my life for a little while.


Knowing that you will never be taken care of, that you will never be allowed a moment of weakness because the person who’s job it is to help you is weak. I wasn’t 100 percent sure at that time, but I am now. That experience defined my marriage. I worked. He drank. I white knuckled myself controlling my fears and emotions to keep my world together. He allowed himself the luxuries of unraveling that I was never allowed to have. I think that was actually worse than the storm itself; knowing that everything I thought I had up to that point was worthless. Four years of empty.


Thank you God that I now can put that pain behind me and I can begin with a new slate-even if it is five years too late.

Give me a Break

I just had a long chat with my buddy, Aggie, because I received the most interesting thing in the mail today.......

a letter from "you know who"

Yep, that's right. "he" (I wanted you guys to realize that isn't capitalized on purpose) sent me a letter letting me know where he was transferred and will spend his time as a "guest of the state of MS".


Of course, he just could not stop there. Oh no!!! he had to continue...

• he goes to counseling and AA meetings now (That might be better had he done that BEFORE there was a problem-just throwing that out there)
• he prays daily for the 3 of us and is in the search for God (Keep looking, buck-O!)
• he realizes how much he has hurt me (Umm, I'm not really sure he really has a fucking clue!)
• he misses the kids and realizes he has never ween Cait walk or heard her voice (Perhaps, as before, that should have been a thought BEFORE he decided to get stupid!! just saying)

As I red the letter I found myself getting more and more pissed off and then... WHAM...tears. WTFHell!!  I mean, it's been almost a freaking year and a half since the world slipped sideways and I thought I'd made great stride in my recovery.


Now, Aggie tells me that I have, in fact made amazing strides and that it is not strange that it triggered an emotional response. We were married for 8 years after all. But it still just flies all over me that I wasted another tears, another sniffle, another second of my life thinking about him and what he has done to the kids.


You see,  I accept my responsibility in what happened. I made the choice to marry him. I made the choice to not leave him when I first became unhappy and the marriage was slipping southward. I made the choice to have not one, but two children, especially when I actually knew in my gut by the time I was pregnant with Cait that he was having an affair. God, help me I knew and I couldn't prove it. I knew it and I never had anything by my personal instincts screaming in my head. For that I take responsibility, but I do not, can not, will not ever take responsibility for the behavior exhibited by that "man" (and I use that term loosely) and the things he did to my children.


Although I must say that all of the things he took away (traditional family until, home of their own, someone to call daddy), those two little monkeys are as happy as any other kids their age, and happier in some ways. They will never have to see me cry on a daily basis or feel so sad and listless that I can hardly get out of bed or fly into a manic episode of scrubbing the entire house and then fly into a rage because someone else got credit for it or any of the countless other attractive behaviors that were pretty normal during my marriage.


So, my final question is whether I write him back to explain that I will never give him access to my children-that he allowed that ship to sail when he started fucking someone who wasn't me. he will never receive a single picture, letter, card, or drawing from from one of my children or about my children. Perhaps his parents will oblige him, but not me. Nope. Nope. Nope. Absofuckinglutly not! If the kids want to seek him out when they are adults and he is no longer a guest of the state that is between them and their personal Jesus, but Mommy aint' having a damn thing to do with it. I will not watch him hurt them again while I am in control of their lives.

To write and express my true and deep feelings or not? The Aggie says no because I do not need to become tangled up in all of that shit again, but part of me really wants to inflict as much pain as humanly possible since I cannot actually put my hands on him and physically hurt him. I'm not normally a violent person, but I have been spoiling to hit someone or something for about a year now since I never got the opportunity to look him dead in his eyes and hit him with the biggest thing I could grab in my little hands. And trust me, I can sharpen my word into tiny, poisonous daggers that will need heal properly, but is it worth it? Will it just make it harder to leave it all behind me? Or will I just always want that last taste of finality that only a scathing letter can truly bring? Perhaps I should write it and not send it, much like my letter to that girl.

What say you, faithful few? I trust your learned opinions. Write and send? Write and don't send? Don't write and leave it alone? Leave me a little message so I can take everyone's pulse to help make my decision.

I will say this...I do forgive. It is not aulturistic though; I forgive him only because it is good for MY soul. Right now the only thing rconcerning around my little mind is the well-being of my little three person family-Me, Cait, and T. Everything else in the world is just lagniappe and I will deal with all of that as I feel like it...and right now, I'm not really feeling like it.

Weekly Wrap Up

There are so many things that happen in the course of a week. Good-Bad-Indifferent-Crazy-And each of them vying to overtake me and control the week as a whole. Most of the time I can keep a pretty solid balance, but I'm afraid I was not as successful this week. Looking over the past week there are some clear winners in the grand struggle for dominance in my life.

Coming into first place is: emotional eating. (Sometimes the physical discomfort associated is at least something to either distract from feelings OR something to feel out of the numbness. My job won't start until October, which certainly doesn't help my pocketbook. I did apply for a few other positions; although it was a bit hard to not think that there is no real point to apply because I probably won't get them anyway. *sigh* Just imagine me not on meds. )

A close second: Listlessness. (I have not written a single word in a week. That's right, a whole week. I'm so 'shamed, but I just have not been able to think or concentrate on anything long enough to accomplish much of anything. Hell, I haven't even to the gym but once because I just couldn't figure out how to get there with the kids not taking naps and Kalan with us. And Lawd, Lawd, did T and Kalan fight and argue.)

Ah, but we just can't forget guilt. (T is not registered for school. I'm not doing very well in the class I've been helping my Pop with. I really, really want to run away sometimes and depending on the day, most of the time I want to go alone. My kids are hyper and crazy and make mj nuts, so I don't feel I can go anywhere or do anything if it doesn't involve my children.)


At the very bottom of the list is a very slight spark of hope. Just because it got a bit buried this past week doesn't mean it won't reemerge this week. After all, tomorrow is another day.

W, F, and G - Part 2

Holy crap!

Just when I thought it'd be OK and I'd get through the rest of the book with out a hitch...WRONG!

I feel like a silly emo kid reading The Bell Jar or Catcher in the Rye for the first time because I want to break out my pencil and underline passages and make notes in the margines.

"Dieting was like praying. It was a plainative cry to whomever was listening: I know i am fat. I know I am ugly. I know I am undiscliplined, but see how hard I try. See how violently I restrict myself, deprive myself, punish myself. Surely there must be a reward for those who know how horrible they are. "

And that was the passage that almost made me throw up...but I continued on...

"And precisely because dieting and binging were the main ways I was expressing my despair, the consequences of not dieting or binging were staggering...like breaking a vow that was never supposed to be broken."

Moving from wanting to throw up to wanting to cry. Progress? Maybe or maybe not, I'll just have to see.

She’s shifty

(Please do not mistake my musings for one of those sad and pathetic “my family is the root of all my problems” kind of tirades. I’m just retracing my steps to find out where I got lost. All responsibility for actions or non-actions is mine and mine alone. Thank you.)

So, I'm not sure why, but I have this affliction. As soon as I as within a touching distance of a guy I like and I lose ALL ability to hold onto my personality. Yep, that's right-I'm a personality shifter. I become exactly what the guys either want or expects me to be. and i also suddenly begin to love whatever they love. Why? for example, i don't like classical music or seafood, but I've dated guys who did and suddenly I'm listening to music without words, which would normally either put me to sleep or make me want to scream) and ordering shrimp instead of steak. Wha? My Mom is not like that. Other women in my family aren't like that. Why am I? Hell if I know. But I'm willing to do the leg-work to find out.

I realized that for the past 15 years I have spent no more than 3 months in a row without being in a relationship of some kind. Now, is that healthy? Obviously not because I'm in kinda sad shape right now.

How do you form your own personality? Is it ingrained in us from birth what we are to become or do we get to choose who we are and what we come to love?

Everyone in my family swears my baby-girl looks and acts just like me. I watch my daughter (23 months) and I am amazed by her vibrant, yet mercurial personality. Am I like that? I joke with people that Cait is what I would have been had I had any self esteem, but that’s really not a joke. She is unabashedly true to her wants and desires in a way I do not remember ever being. Just as I shift with guys, I shift in my family as well. I am the peace-keeper-the ever neutral Switzerland. Never having an opinion, but going with the flow and smoothing feathers. However, that was years ago when my Dad and my Sister (both with strong personalities) clashed at every turn. Why did I not evolve into my authentic self when my sister went to college and left me an only child at 12? What held me back? My parents would not have; in fact, they tried to get me to have true opinions even when my sister would have yelled them down.

In trying to find what I lost I will begin with defining those things that I love? (*note- I will be leaving out my children, my family, and my friends because they are all just a given.) Hummmmm, what do I love? Gerber daisies (I’ve decided even though they were in my wedding, carried by my bridesmaids, I can still like them.), Pink, Purple, Sparkle (of any kind), dandelions, tattoos (yes, I really do, and I want a couple more. However, I do NOT want to look like Kat Von D.), Tinkerbelle, making sarcastic remarks, laughing until I cry, any book, movie, or documentary set in Victorian, Tutor, or Elizabethan England (yep, I’m an Anglophile), sitting outside and feeling the wind and sun on my face, sitting alone and reading in silence (so, I don’t actually get to do that one much.), pedicures, facials, my hair being red, Disney, writing, taking naps, yoga pants, sitting under the stars, cuddling....

What do I hate?
Roses (sorry, i just don't like them, especially red ones. The bright pink ones are pretty nice though.), being in a hurry, competing with someone I love, people telling me what to do, people telling me what I think (especially when they are wrong), feeling scared, being confused, having no time to myself, my cluttered room (normally it's due to lack of effort, but it's actually lack of space currently), feeling alone in a crowd, having anger and hate bubble up at random moments, crying...

I'm leaving the ellipses up because I think this will be an ongoing experiment in myself. Feel free to leave comments of your own favorites- it might jst give me more ideas.