We have been doing this so long, we’re forgetting how to be normal.
— Read on www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2021/03/what-pandemic-doing-our-brains/618221/
Category: #Beyourself
BLUE is the new BLACK
During my time as an ER crisis worker, I was written up at least once a year for accumulated tardies.
I have also been put on levels for mistakes I made.
I am one of two individuals in the history of my department that was on a “level”. (Level three is termination.) How unfair right!?
Back story: When I first started, I got so mad about a PTO policy that changed; I impulsively went straight to the CEO. 🙈😬 Soon after, I began to receive levels for “minor” mistakes.
Upon receiving this level, I went into full-on JED mode (justify, explain, defend) a.k.a JJM (JOLIET JAKE MODE) to my boss.
I was FURIOUS at her audacity because I had stayed late the night before!
HOW DARE SHE!?
How dare THEY!!!”
I then exclaimed, “It was 7:01! Can’t you let this slide?” (What about the other six late clock-ins? 🤔)
I pissed and moaned about it to my coworkers.
One day, a nurse in another department candidly told me “I’ve been on a level before. You know what? It’s just to help you learn. It’s not like a jail sentence.”
When I stopped blaming, I was able to see clearly what I did wrong and how I need to change. I DESERVED the LEVEL.
This level was about a choice I made.
This level was about a mistake I made.
My justification that it’s “no big deal” or my valid reasons for committing this violation does not matter.
It is a rule, policy, procedure etc. and I broke it. PERIOD.
I needed to THINK.
OWN IT. Learn from it. Accept. Admit. I.was.wrong.
I needed to feel the pain and shame of the consequences in order to change.
I preferred to “get in trouble” individually than have my whole team suffer for my mistake, my ignorance, and my stupidity.
Just as I HATED it when I was a kid and we lost recess because of the one asshole who wouldn’t stop talking. I never wanted to be that kid.
I didn’t want to be that coworker.
This “dumb” rule and it’s “unfair” consequences is to prevent much bigger mistakes from occurring in the future.
I attended a mandatory re-training, with clear concise examples and the consequences if not followed-ahead of time. Also annual trainings to keep this fresh in our mind.
Oh and remember how I went straight to the CEO when I wanted to have a tantrum about what I didn’t like? I learned to follow the chain of command. It is there for a reason. I get it…now. If I didn’t make those mistakes, perhaps I wouldn’t have.
Do I deserve to lose my pension because I made some bad choices?
Should my entire department lose their pension because of my mistake?
Speaking of losing pensions, here is another authoritative tale where I believed I was right…This is in regards to the countless tickets I have received for speeding, failure to come to a complete stop at a red light prior to turning right, and blowing red lights.
After my violation, I would respectfully hand over my insurance card and license to the police officer with a sweet, innocent smile. Sometimes, in a vain attempt to get out of the ticket, I may have flirted a little.
This manipulative behavior on my part would be dismissed with a “nice try” nod or a wink as if to acknowledge the effort. Then the police officer did their job by handing me the ticket.
Later, while attending court to fight this outlandish claim: I smiled, apologized and respectfully presented my case.
After all, I had VALID reasons why!!!
However, deep down I knew the truth.
I wasn’t truly sorry….I was sorry because I got caught. Perhaps this ONE time I may have been right; but what about was 27 other times I made the same mistake and didn’t get caught.
I was only sorry for my behavior because it hit me where it hurt. 💰 💴 ⏰ I could not afford the consequences.
Therefore, I was not GENUINELY sorry, but feeling sorry for myself.
After my presentation at court, you know what the police officer or judge would reply 97% of the time? Something like:
“You weren’t even close.”😂😎
I didn’t get out of it.
I didn’t have a tantrum. I didn’t persuade anyone in powerful positions that “I know” to get me out of it.
I was stuck with the consequences as I should be.
I paid the $200 fine. I went to traffic school. I drove more cautiously to avoid future infractions. I learned to stop the behavior.
Should I have gotten a lower fine because I’m a woman?
Should I have gotten a lower fine because women earn less than men?
Would a man have gotten out of this?
Was I just pulled over because I am a female?
Was I written up because I am a female?
I don’t know all the answers but I’m leaning toward a hard NO. My point is, we are all humans and make mistakes. I can at least own my part. Shouldn’t we all?
Some make worse mistakes than others and those individuals need to receive their appropriate consequences.
We still ALL EQUALLY need consequences to continue to learn and function in society. Yes, of course there are racist and sexist people in this world; but there are many more who are not.
What happened to accountability?
I knew the rules and I still chose to break them.
I am aware if I commit a serious crime, I go to jail. No getting out of it. I respect my freedom so I obey the law. (See below for Chris Rock- obey the law skit)
I DO NOT deserve special treatment because I am a woman.
I SHOULD NOT be let off easy because I’m really, really good looking 😜(Zoolander). (See halo effect)
People should not get out of consequences because they have alot of money. EVERYONE should have the same punishment for the crime.
That is the BOTTOM LINE.
There are NO excuses.
There are no valid reasons.
I should receive consequences and re-training.
It never even OCCURRED to me to argue with police or judges.
Perhaps some would call this an example of “white privilege.”
I call it RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY.
I call it RESPECT for our COUNTRY.
I call it RESPECT for the RULES.
I call it respect for those HUMAN BEINGS who are doing their extremely difficult job to enforce the rules.
I don’t know about you, but I NEED rules.
I need authority.
I’m not sure when all this ENABLING started, but it has to stop.
In a time, not too long ago, we used be like this:
How can we get back to this? Where we laughed and celebrated our differences? When we could joke and laugh about our stereotypes.
How can we move forward from today and stop being so divided? In the end, we are all equal human beings, aren’t we?
Perhaps making everyone read this book below as a mandatory part of being a United States Citizen would help us remember.
Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know about the People We Don’t Know https://www.amazon.com/dp/0316478520/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_glc_fabc_3j2aGb1RGFC5V
The Stocking is Half-Full
The biggest fights I had with my mother were about her relentlessly forcing me to watch old movies.
.
It was so “unfair”! I wanted to watch “normal” stuff like everyone else. I would fight her to the end.
.
I was SO stubborn! I STILL am! Right now, I am gritting my teeth like these defiant toddlers & teens below.👇🏻🤬.🙈
I haven’t watched THE BISHOPS WIFE since I was an eye-rolling teenager- too busy scowling to see the magic. Even if I did, I wouldn’t admit it.
To keep from slipping into that Charlie Brown-what-is-Christmas-all-about-depression this year; I needed something bigger than Buddy or the Red Ryder BB gun.
So I made a point to watch The Bishop’s Wife over Christmas weekend, remembering how much my mom loved it.
Watching this movie now at 46, in 2020, was like fuel for the soul.
How did I miss the sweet snowball fight scene? (Or my favorite kid of all time- the young George Bailey—Bobby Anderson). Probably because my mom was trying to tell me to look.
I didn’t appreciate the ice skating scene; probably because my mom gushed about it; which in turn made me think it was “dumb”.👇🏻
In pouting and covering my ears, I also missed the story about the shepherd and the empty stocking.🥰🥲😢🤩
.
I see it now. I feel it now.🙈👇🏻
White Christmas- I dreaded this one too- “I hate musicals!” is all I would defiantly scream.
My Mom: “You don’t hate musicals. You love Grease, West Side Story, Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music & Mary Poppins.”
Me: (grrrrrr🤬) “Those aren’t musicals, shut up and don’t talk to me!”
Over the last few years, I finally swallowed my pride and let myself enjoy White Christmas. Fine!
Ok! The songs are kinda catchy. 😜
Who am I kidding? I love all of them. 🙈
I get the true meaning of the story now.
That General Waverly chokes me up every time😢…
I now appreciate the insane dedication, practicing and hard work that went into this movie: the real dancing, the real singing, (not computer generated ) the lighting, and the dresses! Perhaps it’s because we live in lounge wear & jammies now but I never truly noticed THESE outfits!
I am grateful that my mom is still here for me to tell her THANK YOU for being so annoyingly persistent. It only took 30 years+a quarantine for me to come around.
Read this true story about Irving Berlin. It will break your heart even more about this song, the story and the👇🏻 movie.
https://www.countryliving.com/life/news/amp45720/white-christmas-song-history/
THE ULTIMATE GIFT
This year, I recognized the greatest gift I have ever received. The gift of this knowledge presented itself on Christmas Eve and was about as welcome as Ebenezer’s three spirits.
A old friend casually joked with me “at least you got to believe in Santa Claus.”
I never thought of “believing in Santa” as a gift or that having the “chance” or “opportunity” to believe in Santa Claus was a privilege.
It makes me sad that my friend did not have this opportunity.
I realize now how much effort is put forth into having your child “believe”. Perhaps some parents don’t have the energy, imagination or faith to keep this alive; or maybe some parents do not know how.
The innocence, imagination and simplicity of a child’s mind made the magic of Christmas easy to pull off.
Their excitement over little things made me excited; which in turn made me WANT to make it fun and magical.
The last two years have been opposite for me with two teenagers. I honestly had no clue what to do for them because they are genetically predisposed to be selfish, ungrateful assholes.
The vibe & statements I received from them was, “Christmas isn’t as fun anymore mom, it’s no big deal. It’s okay.”
The message I would give back, “It’s okay kids. I have nothing left to give anyway you life-sucking punks. I am empty.”
Which in turn caused me to NOT WANT to do anything for them this year. I didn’t care.
However, this is the year they needed me to care the most.
Then I remembered what my mom would do.
Despite what we said, she would do it anyway. My mom still did everything the same even when we were teenagers and early twenties. She still put presents out from Santa on Christmas morning and put stuffed animals in our stockings despite the eye rolls. It was as if she could still see our inner child; kinda like this commercial.👇🏻https://youtu.be/QJntbYytPz8
She had the ability to be where we were at… yet she still knew what we still wanted; even though we were too stubborn to admit it.
I did what my mom did and I did it anyway. I stayed present with where my kids are.
I had no expectations of them or their reactions. Instead of being mad about their lack of excitement, I rolled with it.
I made my kids wait until after church to open gifts.
I stalled a little longer to finish wrapping gifts for others. Even though “it’s not fun like it was, mom”…they may have accidentally displayed some anticipation and a glimmer of childlike-Christmas-morning-glow.
By expecting them to be as they are instead of what I hoped them to be; I was pleasantly surprised by their pleased reactions and gratitude.
It was a beautiful Christmas and my kids were grateful, sweet and thoughtful.
My mother gave this gift to me…
My mother “showed” me how to “do” Christmas.
Mom, I should just wrap you up and put you under the tree every year because you are truly a gift. 😢☺️
And you were right about everything.🤬😂 (Inner Teen: Thrashing defiantly inside.)
Well, almost everything….
I refuse to stay up til 4am wrapping – that shit is done way ahead of time while kids at school or out with friends. I also learned from this SNL skit to ask for exactly what I want, buy it for myself if I do not get it and to stuff my own stocking!. 😂
Sympathy For The Devil
I may not KNOW a lot of things but one thing I do believe for sure is that BOB (Esai Morales) from La Bamba is one BADASS mother fucker. He has to be THEE coolest and most captivating actor on the planet.
He should have won an OSCAR for best supporting actor for his performance; (Esai Morales) truly MADE the movie.
He literally SEDUCES the audience.
That being said, what I find most ironic is that no matter what he did or said, I still liked his character. I thought he was hilarious, I still do. What is even more puzzling, is that he is a complete dick.
As a woman, I completely identify with Rosie. As a mother and wife, I empathize with how she feels; I hate how she is treated by Bob. What was also puzzling is that she ANNOYED me. 🙈
I can actually feel her pain, grief, & confusion. You can see it written on her face. The “wait…wtf-just-happened?” face. The “how-in-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here” face. She displays this facial expression the majority of the movie. We all know that face.
We all know that feeling: When you realize you’ve been had. You got screwed over. The worst part about it, the majority of it was your own doing. You assumed. ASS-U-ME.
I get how she assumed as well. Any woman in a could easily fall into Bob’s trap; especially the married ones. Bob’s seductive allure could have wise woman entranced in his spell: After Bob flirts with you: Huh? What kids? What husband? You don’t have a job you say? Ballsy. Hot…You drink every day? Wild & crazy. You live in your mom’s trailer? Sounds cozy. Humina Humina 😍🥰😛
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I remember thinking: Awwww just leave him alone Rosie.. it’s your own fault you got yo self knocked up…
I STILL liked him after that horrible, disrespectful and honest statement by Bob. Like “Dayyyuuumm.” Why?
I am an educated & wise woman, yet I still like Bob. Wtf!? How come? 1. Clearly excellent acting by Esai Morales 2. Amazing directing
However, I am not satisfied with this. Inquiring minds want to know!!!
I was concerned with my reaction when I watching this movie recently. When the mother, Connie Valenzuela, minimized Bob’s cartoonist abilities and reminded him that he is about to become a father, I thought: Jeez Connie, buzzkill, what did you have to go and do that for!? Why don’t you get out of Richie’s ass and pay attention to poor Bob. He is trying. POOR BOB
Poor Bob: your womanizing, chauvinistic, selfish, entitled, immature, unemployed, alcoholic, manipulative, man-baby-son who just was released from prison.🤔 (Bob sounds like a real catch on paper doesn’t he?🤥😂)
From a biological & genetic standpoint, Bob does what Bob does best. Bob is a an alpha male who is genetically predisposed to flock his sexy shit to attract females. Bob does whatever possible to get laid; ultimately procreating more human beings to populate the earth. (Biology 101: It is vital for males to compete for reproduction and for females to choose between those competing males.
If a member of the opposite sex finds your tail, your song, or your dance moves sexy, you will have a chance to fulfill your primary biological role as a member of your species: to reproduce.
https://biogeoplanet.com/how-do-animals-find-mates-sex-and-sexual-selection/
This is “Bob’s” “primary biological role” aka his job and he rocks it. He got Rosie pregnant so now he needs to “move on” and to do this again.
It’s not his fault…yet. (Please don’t get angry, hear me out;)
From a biological/genetic standpoint, Bob is doing his job. He behaves how all male animals act. Bob is genetically predisposed to be what humans would consider “an asshole”.
The problem is, he also doesn’t know any better. No one has taught him otherwise. No one has had the chance to teach Bob to step above his biological urges.
Please don’t cause him to feel inadequate by making him have to THINK.
Don’t make him feel like a failure by asking him to have COMPASSION or EMPATHY? That is NO FUN.
What would cause a human being to behave this way? Or to treat women this way?
Bob’s True Story & my psychological interpretation😜:
Just like Rosie, Connie also hooked up with a bad boy at a young age and got herself impregnated. The hot, sexy biological father took off.
Connie then met someone else (Steve) and Connie married Steve when Bob was two years old. Steve loved Bob and treated him as his own. Steve and Connie then had a child together, Ritchie. Ritchie was a reflection to Connie what she did right=Ritchie=golden boy. However, Bob was a reminder of her bad decisions.
Connie, Steve, Bob & Ritchie were doing well together for a while. Bob assumed Steve was his biological father and Bob loved him.
In an interview, the real Bob Morales states his life took a bad turn when he was 14 and his parents (Connie & Steve) separated.
“I moved in with my mom while Ritchie went with my dad. One day I told my mom that I wanted to live with my dad and and that’s when my aunt told me ‘Why do you want to go with him if he’s not even your real father.’Bob Morales
Despite Steve conveying to Bob that he loved him as his own son, the shock devastated Bob. Also, it was horrible timing for Bob to find this out because soon after this discovery, Bob began high school.
Bob was getting into fights frequently so he stopped attending. Instead he gave money to the homeless nearby who would buy him alcohol.
While his now single-mom was working two jobs, Bob was not going to school and had no structure all day, no guidance, no direction=idle time which is the DEVIL’s playground.
Therefore, Bob ended up going to a detention center from age 12-17! Connie, his mother, signed him over as a ward of the state. He did not see his family that entire time he was locked up.
The first time Bob saw his mother or Ritchie in years; was the day of Steve’s funeral. Which also means he didn’t get to say goodbye to Steve or to grieve properly.
Bob learned to adapt to his lonely life by becoming the life of the party. He learned how to get what he needed by finding comfort in women and selfishly move on. This probably soothed his resentment toward his mother for while, but then he felt guilty; so he drank the pain away.
Of course he was jealous of Ritchie. Ritchie got his Dad and his Mom. He got nobody.
The point is that all of US are capable of evil depending on what we are exposed to.
I thought of this blog when I was about to bitch at my son for not cleaning up the mess he made after making quesadillas. I realized that I can’t assume he knows how. I’m not going to shame him like Connie. (Wtf is wrong with you? Think like a woman) Instead, I showed him how clean it up. I EDUCATED him on what I want. I told him that this is what I expect. I didn’t talk to him like he was stupid. I thanked him for making his own food. I didn’t clean it up for him. This is the only way they learn.
Mothers: We cannot assume that our sons are just going to know how to treat women when they’re older. We cannot assume that their Dad’s are going to teach them either. Most Dads are working their ass off and are never home. (Probably chasing tail 😂 not knowing why. Kidding!🤪)
We have to teach OUR SONS what WE want from them so they can learn how to GIVE this to their future partners. We need to teach them about affection, connection, friendship, compatibility, respect, and the long term.
We have to teach them that this may be a biological urge to continue to chase women and populate the world, HOWEVER, we are not animals. Reality: kids are expensive AF.
It costs a lot of time, money, energy to raise a human child properly into a respectable adult.
We need to teach them that human females can be hot and smart. Women can be attractive, fun, brilliant, and confident. We have to teach them, not ASSUME, that a Human FEMALE’S purpose is not only to populate the world.
You can have both!
We also have to teach our daughters: What they tolerate will become their future. Being a victim will not get you anywhere.
It’s OUR job to ALSO teach the FUTURE MEN of this world these skills. We need to teach them how to love unconditionally. Parents need to be a TEAM.
https://markmanson.net/compatibility-and-chemistry
#markmanson
#ericthomas
#glennondoyle
Adult Goldilocks
As a mental health clinician, I have the right to diagnose myself. Lately I believe I have been suffering from MULTIPLE OZARK PERSONALITY DISORDER. (…
Adult Goldilocks
Adult Goldilocks
As a mental health clinician, I have the right to diagnose myself. Lately I believe I have been suffering from MULTIPLE OZARK PERSONALITY DISORDER. (MOPD)
MOPD is located in the DSM-V: Diagnosis code: 69692020. ICD-10 Code: 2337.
Since quarantine, I have noticed that I am taking on more and more characteristics of these Ozark personalities. (You WILL definitely relate to this, whether you watch Ozark or not. Truly… no spoilers here, anything discussed is all pretty obvious.)
What I find ironic and hilarious is that my husband will no longer watch this show with me because he found the show “ridiculous” and “unrelatable.” He stopped after season one…typical. Season one of any show is comparable to a psych 101 class; basically playing just-the-tip with character development.Sheesh.
Anyways, the irony is, that the more outlandish and ridiculous this show becomes, the more I find it relatable.
Let’s be real, everything is ridiculous in the world right now. I mean who would ever think we would not be allowed to attend live sport events and there would be cardboard fans? Who would ever think that kids would not be attending school in person? Who would ever think that in the midst of massive change and uncertainty there would be a presdential election? I digress
These real-life events make some good old-fashioned, illegal activity seem refreshing. What’s the big deal about a dad who wants to make some extra bank on the side for his family?
Since we were encouraged to do nothing but sit at home, scroll on the phone and binge watch tv; we extinguished our coping skills. Now, everything is different at one time. All this change is just too painful for my brain to tolerate; my psyche has now split in order to protect my sanity…
Split Personality #1:The first episode of the third season of Ozark, Ben is introduced. He is a substitute teacher who seems pretty cool; but then he is exposed to the reality of tweens and smart-phones when a student begins to cry in class about a text with a photo received. The lack of eye contact, respect or response from the rest of the students infuriates the him. He then proceeds to take all the kids’ cell phones and throw them in a garbage. (I think this is a completely appropriate reaction.) He goes too far and throws them all into wood chipper. I find myself relating to this entire scene up until the last 17 seconds.
Take it easy Ben, you are just a sub. Substitute teacher: https://youtu.be/Dd7FixvoKBwSplit Personality #2: Ruth Langmore, who can make you blush with her raw cussin and brutal lack of filter. Ruth’s demeanor, even while having sex, gives off that don’t-fuck-with-me vibe that can make you cringe. She has also channeled her white-trashness into some useful business woman tips. What is cool as hell about her is she owns her mistakes; no excuses. Fuck is now a noun, verb, adjective, pronoun, adverb and a language in itself because of Ruth. Anyone else speak fluent fuck nugget?
Personality #3 The matriarch of the show, Wendy Byrde, who manages being a mom and wife with political policies. Wendy Byrde is completely transparent with her kids, does whatever the hell she wants in her marriage and uses her political knowledge to commit illegal crimes legally.
First episode of season one: Wendy is an ordinary, stay-at-home mom who gave up her political career/power to raise her kids. Her life was uneventful and easy, and she was unhappy and bored. She thrives in chaos. She had a rough childhood. 👈🏻(This article is brilliant about her acting out when she doesn’t belong.) She comes alive while juggling negotiations with a mexican drug cartel and her power soars when she comes up with strategies to legalize her husband’s money laundering operation. Wendy spins these webs from the safety of her minivan.
Just like any mom does, “Wendy’s got this.” Mom’s know what to do. Wendy can handle almost anything and plow through the day, unaffected. However, what is so relatable: it’s the little shit that throws her over the edge. Everything is cool until her damn emotions slow her down.
She can blow off a call from a drug lord👇🏻.
She can answer her kids tough questions without missing a beat.
Wendy’s-mentality: Don’t sugarcoat anything. Throw us a bone and let us know where we stand. Mama Byrde: OK, here’s a bone…straight up your ass.
TO HUSBAND: “Quite Frankly, I Don’t Give A Damn If You Like It Or Not, Cause I Feel Pretty Good About It. It’s A Good Idea, And I Did It For Our Family. What Did You Do Today… For Our Family?” Wendy Byrde (boom)
Marty replies flatly: “I bought a strip club.” (He is pretty bad ass but I haven’t gone numb yet;)
Everyone has a weakness and Wendy’s is: she cannot handle her brother and his “irrational” behavior. Why can’t her brother just understand that they are laundering money for a mexican drug cartel and everything is going according to plan? Why won’t he leave things alone and stop trying to make everything moral and just? Why doesn’t her brother “get it” that it is normal to be disintegrated in an acid barrel when you stand up to the cartel’s lawyer or you work with the FBI? Why won’t he stop behaving like a toddler and involving the police? Jeez…
Wendy. loses. her. shit. with her brother. The flooding of emotions causes her to get hammered in a parking lot in her minivan for days. When she does eventually come home, she wants to hide under the covers. She doesn’t want to get out of bed. She doesnt care about any of the stuff she was relentlessly working toward. She lost her tenacity and drive. She fell apart.
Which brings me to my “Wendy Moment”. No I did not get hammered in my minivan. What are you nuts? I do not drive a minivan😜.
Backstory: The last seven months during this global pandemic, I’ve taken pride in that I’m a Gen Xer. I have been thriving in this chaos. Watch movies with my kids every night, psshh, my dream come true. I have loved not having to go anywhere. I accomplished so many projects and got in the best shape of my life. I was kicking ass at work and rolling with the changes. My relationship with my kids and husband has never been better. Even when I struggled with e-learning and juggled my kids being home while I was working; I persevered.
Then the little shit happened that threw me over the edge. School started for 2 days, then was canceled for two more weeks (something died inside me that day😜). I broke my own phone and had wait 6 days for a new one (I am still re-doing every password in my life). My daughter received her scoliosis brace and she was NOT happy. This clusterfuck of events has triggered me to split. These are all NORMAL, regular, solvable problems, yet I cannot deal. Like Wendy, I can deal with the crisis and big stuff. The little, unpredictable, emotional shit…not so much .. 
MOPD Examples:
Monday: I was picking up some girls for a volleyball camp carpool and my friend was talking briefly about her day to me as a elementary teacher; now teaching her students online. It sounded unbearable, extremely stressful and overwhelming. A flashback of me teaching my daughter in May, triggered a depersonalization episode. It was as if I was hovering above both of us, looking at our life thinking “this cannot be real.” Similar to the Wendy-Goldilocks moment when she realized she did not belong in that life anymore.
The no longer knowing is terrifying.
The not knowing how to do our job, not knowing how to be a parent, not knowing how to behave in public (That awkward-should we hug, I want to hug but, are you hugging?…)
Everything we once “knew for sure” we no longer know.…(split) In comes Ruth Langmore: “This is crazy. I don’t know shit about FUCK!”
Tuesday 9/28/2020 – I Drive kids to school, attempted to listen to the news on my way home. The discussion about the presidential debate …Flood of emotions …I walk past my office, get in bed and hide under the covers…(split) Ben Davis “I will not fall into line with the others. What you walked into is normal… this is all normal….No, nope, no it’s not …smh…” (split) In comes Ruth again…
“What are you going to do, kill me? you bitch wolf?“
“Ok. Ok you can go to skate park after you take out the garbage. You better wear helmet, knee pads, elbow/wrist guards…and here’s some bubble wrap (dumb ass).”
In the end, the little shit is all that matters and that must be why it’s so hard. -Quillan Kelly-Dunn
True Romance…
When I win my Oscar for best screenplay and give my speech; I would love to say “and last of all, I’d like to thank my husband for not giving a shit.”
Despite how it sounds, I mean this in a good way. By his “not giving a shit” or being “too tired right now” is actually helpful. My anger at him forces me to figure it out myself.
When I do, my self-esteem sky rockets. I am no longer mad at him because I am too empowered; but not in a self-righteous kind of way. Like in a “men and women are equal” way.
Whenever I ask my husband for help, it is like an imaginary tennis match. He takes his pretend racket (tongue-on-roof-of-mouth-click-sound effect) and he just hits that request right back to me. My rebuttal (tongue-click) back to him. The longer I debate, the longer the match. Kinda like this: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-e3V7MDtMi/?igshid=z3swsvcatt03
I hate asking for help and I’m not a damsel-in-distress type of chic. I do not need or want to be taken care of or to be saved. (It does feel nice to think about it, perhaps my stubborn pride gets in the way.) When he does offer suggestions or the “right” way of doing things; he is met with a straight up tirade of obscenities from me. Therefore, deep down, I really do not want help.
Or…I would rather do it myself than deal with this:👇🏻
My old man is the most tired man in America; he works three jobs; so it’s understandable why he is exhausted. However, it was kinda weird that he was able to stay up through rain delays until 1:45am when the Cubs won the World Series. Miraculously, he was still able to get up for work at 5am the next day. But…that’s another story…😂
Anyways, I get that he’s tired; which is why I cannot expect much from him. They say having no expectations leaves you pleasantly surprised right? My expectations are so low it’s kinda like when someone goes out for a pack of cigarettes and doesn’t come back. 😜 When show back up, you are pleasantly surprised.
So I live my life expecting him not to come back, but he keeps showing back up to sleep, eat and watch sports here so now what? 😜
I work full time as well and handle everything at home with kids such as an being an Unpaid Uber driver, bank teller, chef, grocery shopper , scheduler, drama processor… I’m TIRED!….
I know that he knows it’s difficult at home and more difficult than what he does because my situation is unpredictable. He will never admit it. Raising kids/teens is not black and white how he prefers. I hate things that are black and white except movies. Being at home with kids plus working is all mutha-effin gray. You never know what you’re going to get.
Anyways, back to our most recent endeavor. About a month ago, our washing machine stopped working. It’s a LG High Efficiency washer, equipped with smart diagnosis. This means that I can connect my IPhone to the washer and it can diagnose what’s wrong. My washer continued to display “IE”. He has an Android, I have an iPhone which probably contributed to his feelings of inadequacy. 😂
No one ever wins. 😉
In the manual, “IE” means that you have to clean out the water inlet valve, the Manual says to clean inlet valve monthly. I know we have NEVER done this. So I asked my old man to do it. He didn’t feel like fixing it right now which led to the “tennis match”.
While sitting on the couch, he told me to call the repairman we used for the dishwasher. The woman who answered the phone asked me what was wrong and I told her.
She replied, “Yea, that Washing machine brand isn’t the greatest. That code means you need to clean out the water inlet valve”. I said “Like I know what that is or how to do that, thats why I’m calling you.” (Whorebag, in my head)
So she calls me back and said she can get me in on Saturday between 12pm-4pm.
Me: “Ummm that’s four days from now, you have nothing sooner?” Whorebag: “Nope. Mmm-mmm. No. We will call you the day before AND the morning of to confirm.”
Me: “Ok, thanks” (In head: “Dont you condescend me, man. I’ll fuckin kill you man.)👇🏻
I confirmed the service call from the know-it-all, condescending lady on Friday night and Saturday morning. We go out to breakfast to do something together since he is going to work and I have to be home by noon for repair man.
I overeat carbs to feed my resentment.
So on my day off, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, I have to wait. Me sitting on the couch, after a large, carby meal and doing nothing but waiting is not a normal situation and unfortunately, I fall asleep.
Three unanswered calls later from the fix it guy, I missed my repair window. His voicemail:
“Yea, since you aren’t answering the phone, I am not wasting a 20-minute trip since you are my only call out there today.” Me: Ew. Wasting his time? Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Me: (Furiously calling him back-but I get the awful lady 😫) Me: “I thought after I confirmed three times, he would just show up. I left a note on the front door for him to just come in. I missed his call but I have been here waiting.”
Know-It-All-Lady: “Yea, no, he’s too busy. If you missed his calls, then we have to reschedule. Where were you anyway?”
Me: (wtf-now who does SHE think she is?) “Where was I? I was home, sitting here waiting, doing nothing. I never do that so I fell asleep.”
Know-It-All-Lady: “You fell Asleep???”
Now if my husband dozed off on the couch, this would completely accepted and understandable. For a woman to fall asleep-Unheard of. This woman should know how tired women are in general as a species; this is a complete betrayal.
Me: “Well, I think it’s ridiculous that you guys make me wait four days for this appointment. Despite my confirming both calls and wait on my day off on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. His time is too valuable to drive here? I’m sorry my shitty machine isn’t worth his time. I’ll call another company.” She began to talk and hung up on her. (Damn that felt good)
So… I have had a hell of a time finding someone to fix this thing; but I REFUSE to call that company back. I really do not enjoy cleaning my cleaning appliances. 😂
So, I swallowed my pride, watched some you tube how-to’s DIY fix it videos and did it.
Yea, I fixed it. It cost NOTHING. I’m a bad ass. I’m muthafuckin Charlie Bronson👇🏻.
In the end, I know how to fix the washing machine. I know what a water inlet valve is and what a pair of pliers is. I don’t need him to admit that I’m a bad ass. I’m not even mad anymore. The irrational thoughts have left and I’m left with realizing this was about a stupid, replaceable washing machine. As much as I hate his guts in the moment, I realize now I’m doing the same thing he is doing. Everything I say about him, he could say about me. He handles stuff that I don’t think about. I don’t give a shit either. 😂
However,👇🏻Admitting it is sexy, I hope men don’t wait until they are this old to see the truth.
Off topic: See the best of Floyd: I still laugh 18 years later
District 2020
We had a 13th birthday party for my daughter last week; decided to make it an 8th grade kick off as well. This means we invited the whole class, all genders, hoping the class would possibly get along…together. (This class has not worked since day one.) We also rented a dunk tank assuming this should be a hit; and perhaps they would forget they can’t stand each other😂.
My daughter kept warning me about the boys, she said “Mom, they have no consideration for anyone but themselves.” (Probably repeating what she had heard year after year from the teachers.)
I was getting the yard (arena) ready the night before. I ripped a piece of shipping tape off the side of the pool (kids tried to ghetto-ly hang some rope lights next to the filter. 😂) Suddenly, I feel a sharp, shooting, burning pain on side of my head. I thought for a second I electrocuted myself. Then I see a wasp flying around. I look under pool edge and there is a giant a yellow jacket nest.
I considered spraying it and removing it myself. However, when I googled what to use, it strongly advised not to do this alone. Then found some websites for bee removal services and “Swarm removal.” 😬 (Usually, I would ignorantly underestimate the situation and fearlessly proceed. Then I had a momentary flashback of THE HUNGER GAMES’ tracker jacker scene and….it is 2020.
The hive has probably been there all summer. Adults & kids have been here swimming almost daily; no one saw it or got stung. I email some of these services, receive some prices and then they explain this is a 3 step process that needs to start at dusk .
The party begins in 14 hours, there won’t be time for someone to do all these steps. I hope, pray and assume no one will see the hive. I am then distracted by a past winner, “Haymitch” who graciously drops off a cooler of Gatorade and cookies.
12pm: I notice on my phone the temperature outside is a perfect 84 degrees; I look out the window, not a cloud in the sky. The most perfect day. Despite the temperature on my smart phone, stepping outside is a different story. As I slowly slide the door open, I am hit with a humidity blast that feels like 110 blazing degrees.
I am pouring with sweat setting up the bean bag boxes and volleyball net. I stop to wipe the sweat from my brow that is stinging my eyes. As a stand still, I feel the sun searing through my sun-screened, pale af, freckled, perimenopausal skin.
12:30pm: Most of the “tributes” have arrived. The girls remain on the deck, staring wide-eyed at the boys who are violently shoving each other into the pool and holding each other underwater. The floats are mangled and destroyed within seconds. The girls remain shocked & terrified; unsure if they should enter the pool or get blistered in the sun.
1pm: The dunk tank has been delivered. As I am pulling our hoses to fill the tank, I hear “It’s a Yellowjacket!” “Omg there’s a yellow jacket nest!” “Awesome!!!”
To my horror, all the boys are now surrounding the backside of the pool armed with bean bags, a ball, whiffle bats, and a broom (where the hell did he even find that?) Immediately, I demand they drop their weapons and step away from the hive.
“You guys are going to get stung!“ I exclaim. The boys playfully reply, “No we won’t!” Or “We don’t care!” I try another tactic: “Would you care if I record you and send to your parents?” Most freeze and give that you-wouldn’t-dare-look. I glare back at them👇🏻.
All except one take the bait and retreat. The last is still laughing maniacally as he is shoving the broomstick into the heart of the tracker jackers lair. I remove the broom from the boy, he mopes away with his head down, temporarily defeated.
1:30pm: I witness the girls still standing on the deck with their mouths hanging open. I gently encourage the girls to go in the pool while boys are out. Thankfully, “Peeta” shows up with lunch!
While kids are eating, I hide the “weapons” in the basement. Then I hear a loud, thumping sound. I run outside and see a heckling boy sitting on the dunk tank seat. The boys have already begun throwing balls at the dunk tank target. The Problem is there is only one inch of water in it. I envision a Tom & Jerry episode (pic below).
Before I plummet into debt from a kid requiring extensive dental work or sustaining an injury in the empty tank; I completely over-react with a loud, shrilling, scream. Everyone looks at me, stunned. *Side note: My reaction is amplified due to the dunk tank manual boldly stating SEVERE injury should occur if dunk tank is not full or “damage to the tank will result in responsible parties assuming cost of repair.”😱🙈
2pm: I regained composure and tell the kids how high the water needs to be in the tank before they can use it. I assured them I have three hoses going and it should be full in 20 minutes. This answer pacified them and the boys retreat back into the pool, while sporadically antagonizing the bees. I notice The grass around the pool is flooded (Tick Tock Tidal Wave).
2:14pm “Someone’s been stung!” I hear repeatedly by numerous girls. (Tick Tock Tracker Jackers)
As I am searching for a sting antidote in my closet, I remember something important from my kids toddler years.. At every playdate, it was chaos the first two hours; then magically the kids started to get along. The kids had to get used to and adjust to having another kid around. Epiphany: That is what is happening now! The two hour mark is in 15 minutes!
I walk down the stairs and find the entire floor from the back door to the front is soping wet. I am blindsided with a smell of stove gas & wet dog combined with sewage. My daughter is shaking her head at me. I ask her, “For the love of God, what is that smell?” (Tick Tock: Poisonous gas) My daughters glares at me with contempt, that “mom-you’re-so-dumb” look.
“Mom! I told you this would happen! All the boys smashed into the bathroom and locked the door so we couldn’t use it! They don’t wear deodorant! Then one of them took a big dump!” My daughter exclaims.
For once, the Covid mask comes in handy as I cover my nose & mouth. I locked the front & garage door to prevent numerous, wet entries and dried the floor. I tell my daughter, “They are boys, they never hung out with you guys yet. They just need boundaries and limits; it will be okay. If not, they are leaving in 2 hours and we won’t have to do this again.”
“Two more hours of this!? UGH!” She exclaims and stomps away.
2:30pm Some of other boys have now realized that there are girls present. “Effie” shows up to help me (hallefuckinglujah!). We gather them all together to take a group picture. Immediately following the flash, the boys simultaneously charge at the girls, pushing them into the pool. The girls nervously laugh and Effie and I shrug in unison; “At least they are all in the pool together.”
The dunk tank is full. The girls huddle and watch the boys heckle, whips balls at the bullseye and dunk each other. This contained, organized activity has seemed to spark the interest of all parties. The boys surprisingly organize themselves into a line and take turns throwing and being dunked. I overhear one of the more advanced thinkers of the group (who has sisters 😂), “Aren’t we going to let the girls have a turn?”
With two other moms present to supervise, I take this opportunity to escape. I had some lunch, cooled down in the AC and changed my clothes. The fear-induced “hallucinations” begin to subside and I have an epiphany.
My yard is the “arena” and the arena in a CLOCK! Just like in Catching Fire! It’s just a GAME! Stop giving a fuck and just play the game!!!
3pm: I look outside at the “arena”. I see “Effie” & “Peeta” sitting on lounge chairs with their feet up. To my surprise, some of the kids are either playing bean bags together or making a whirlpool. What…the…
That’s just the way it is.
Haymitch shows up holding a 6-pack and provides some useful advice. We enjoy some cold, adult beverages as a team. We effin did it! It WORKED! We won!
I have a sip of the “adult elixir” and experience another revelation… “They are just kids! They are supposed to be assholes! It’s our job to teach them to not be! They do not know how to play the game yet! We have to teach them how to play!”
Peeta organized the bean bag tournament. The kids all sat TOGETHER and watched each other play. I couldn’t believe it. Haymitch periodically would make the kids stop and take cleaning breaks. They listened. It was an effin miracle! (A 2020 miracle …pssshhh. No way.)
The four of us are sitting around talking and laughing. Parents are starting to show up to pick up their kids; grateful for the long break from their kids after a five month quarantine.
My daughter whispers in my ear, “Can you text all the parents now before anyone else comes so everyone can stay later?”
“What!? I thought you couldn’t wait until this was over? Remember you were frustrated there was two hours left?” Stay later?!? She’s hallucinating; musta been stung by a tracker jacker. I still almost fall out of my seat.
Daughter: “Well that was before. It’s been SO fun. I never want it to end. Everyone wants to stay.”
“They do?”
“Yep. And…You. were. right. Mom.”
👆🏻HO.LEE.SHIT. Was not expecting that👆🏻Me, Mom…was…right?. Tears of joy welled in my eyes.
I really did win!
😂 #winningmommoment
That Was Way Harsh, Tai
As my 14 loyal fans are aware😜, I am a huge fan of the REAL & RAW AF @markmanson
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He posts a free newsletter every Monday. I highly recommend it. How to sign up: https://markmanson.net/newsletter
It’s called MINDFUCK MONDAY. Which I usually read on Tuesday because I’m too tired on Monday to be mindfucked.😂
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Sometimes Mark is way harsh… and I want to crawl back in bed and hide under the covers. 😂 I eventually process and see where I’m wrong…or think more about what he means in ways that make sense in my brain…then move forward.
My kids are at this stage of where explaining to them how to make decisions based on their personal values needs to happen…
Schools should be helping them figure that out… but apparently it’s up to us. #homeschoolingREALshit
https://markmanson.net/values/personal-values-guide
Perhaps you don’t even know what your own personal values are. It’s okay, just figure it out now by using above guide. It helps you understand why certain situations piss you off more than others.
By teaching yourself, then you can assist the kids; and your spouse😜.
We are all teaching our kids the COST of their decisions even while toddlers; without even realizing it. Teaching them the consequences of their actions. They will still have to make bad choices to learn, but maybe they will be less harsh.
However, I think with teenagers, we want to teach them the consequences BEFORE they actually make the decision. Then they won’t ponder “what would happen if I did this?” Example: “Will my mom lose her shit if I say this? Let’s try it….”
Thinking of my shenanigans as a 13 and 14 year old has resulted in my having some minor panic stricken moments…
Now I am no expert, and yes, I think Mark Manson is brilliant.
However, one source of knowledge that I possess that @markmanson doesn’t have is…offspring.
I have experience with my kids. The vulnerability of loving someone so much that you created and you are 100% responsible for; that is some real, hardcore shit. Parenting ain’t no joke.
Before I had kids, I believed “KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.”
Post kids belief, “APPLIED KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.”
You can know everything, but if you don’t use it, what’s the point?
I hate when people expect me to read their mind. I’m not a fan of those work emails that are vague, and sent as a blanket to the whole department addressing someone’s mistake (usually mine) or George Costanza.
Example: “Please remember to not have sexual intercourse on your desk.” (That was wrong? Should I not have done that?)😜
Then everyone becomes paranoid, “Did I do that? I didn’t know we couldn’t have sex on our desk?!”
I would prefer my boss to address my screw up personally in 10 words or less; then give me the consequences.
It sucks at first but I won’t ever make that mistake again. Then move on. The rules are in the handbook. No need to involve everyone. Sheesh.
I see this a lot with my kids. When I am not being clear or specifically asking them what I want them to do; this results in big arguments and they find loopholes. Their eyes glaze after about 10 words. So I attempt to count the words prior to addressing them.
1.) If 2.) You. 3.) Want 4.) Money 5.) You 6.) Have. 7. ) To 8.) Do 9.) These 10.) Chores
Clear concise consequences stated before the decision. There is no “I didn’t know.”
Now I am aware of the other loopholes that I would have also used with my parents, “You said no alcohol! You didn’t say anything about weed or his moms prescription Xanax.”
That is where going with your gut and personal values comes in. Does it feel wrong? Then it probably is. Haven’t we all ignored that signal?
Last summer, we both told our kids that if they are in a situation that feels wrong; call us and we will pick them up…no questions asked. If they want to talk about it, they can, when they are ready. Also, they also won’t be in trouble for telling the truth.
This year, my kids have been in situations that seemed like they were not a big deal to me (their friend said or did something they didn’t like or it felt wrong) and they came home early or asked us to pick them up. I realized, to them, it is ALL a big deal.
Dealing with peer pressure is difficult, even as an adult. When you do stand up for what you believe or stick with your decision; it stings like a mfer when your “friends” provide you with their backlash for your smart decision. Misery loves company.
Teaching your kids/teens the crabs in a bucket metaphor helps them have a visual. The metaphor of someone pulling you back down “stay here and be miserable with me.” It tough time find a video of crabs in action so I edited one I found from you tube. https://youtu.be/UJdtaaDOkEo
Bad habits as adults=Anything After 2am is usually a bad decision. This is where those last two dranks throw you over the edge; leading to a massive hangover, bad choice or blackout. Past 2am is where you may have beer goggles and hook up with someone that’s a “full-on Monet”..👇🏻
Quarantine-ING
DO-Ing
typing, writing, blogging, documenting, lifting, texting, Editing, painting, cleaning, spraying, wiping, exercising, scrubbing, folding, washing, bringing, dropping, returning, buying, framing, ordering, shopping, selecting, carrying, drinking, posting, networking, punching, pushing, pulling, decorating, eating, spending, clicking, entering, hanging, filling, loading, unloading, tapping, cutting, pasting, organizing, sorting, driving, downloading, uploading, swiping, scrolling, teaching, knowing, competing, disciplining, tweeting, taming, fearing, sorting, worrying, numbing, controlling, binging, guessing, confusing, dying, producing, moving, locking, journaling, questioning, debating, arguing, avoiding, fixing, finding, searching, planning, resisting, wishing, looking, filling, running, circling, drowning, refusing, fighting…
BE-ing
Sitting, sleeping, watching, hydrating, laughing, smelling, crying, listening, hearing, seeing, dancing, playing, talking, touching, baking, prepping, praying, snuggling, creating, bathing, planting, soaking, replenishing, strengthening, zooming, holding, learning, riding, napping, enlightening, dreaming, calling, connecting, hugging, stopping, quieting, soothing, reflecting, enjoying, smiling, loving, empowering, grieving, pausing, living, giving, feeling, staying, appreciating, facing, unplugging, growing, resting, helping, healing, shining, hoping, fasting, unlocking, braving, allowing, permitting, surrendering
Which “ING” have you been doing?
Yea, me too…
I recognized this morning that “I’m doing it wrong.”
Weekend Goals
BE-ing
Quillan Kelly-Dunn 