Moving

No, not me, I’ve done that once this year and that’s enough.

My lovely friend Kelly, who blogs at Deluca’s World, spent many days holding my hand and answering my idiotic questions and set up a shiny new blog for me. On my own domain. She’s a clever, clever girl.

So go visit me over at the brand new Major Bedhead and please don’t forget to change your bookmarks!!

There Is Such A Thing As Too Connected

I noticed something while I was at BlogHer last weekend. Bloggers are addicted to their technology. I realize this is not a revelation. Hell, I’m addicted to technology, too, even though I don’t have a smart phone. I do have an iTouch and a laptop and a fairly decent camera. I’m on Twitter and Facebook and Flickr and Linked In.

But what I’m not is connected to the internet when I’m hanging out with people, be it 5 friends around a backyard bonfire or at a conference with 2399 other people. I want to talk to people. I like the interaction, even though it’s sometimes really difficult. I don’t like feeling that I’m playing second fiddle to a Blackberry or iPhone. It reminds me of high school friends who would only firm up plans with me when they were sure their boyfriends or cooler friends (which usually meant friends with cars) weren’t busy.  It drove me crazy then and it drives me crazy now.

This phenomenon isn’t exclusive to BlogHer. I have friends who are compulsive about checking their emails and texts and Twitter feed and Facebook page when they’re out and about with me. If they get a text, they answer it, even if they’re in the middle of a conversation with me. If someone pings their phone, they have to check it, no matter what they’re doing. Out to dinner, at a party, even at the movies; it doesn’t matter. The little electronic beep takes precedence over real, live people.

While I was walking around New York City last weekend, I noticed several bloggers riding in one of those pedi cabs. Each of them was face down into their mobile devices, not paying any attention to this vibrant city surrounding them, more concerned with what was going on online than what was going on in front of their faces. It reminded me of the movie Wall-E. People on their hover-chairs, screens in front of their faces, never seeing the people beside them.

I’m all for social media. I gobble it up with the best of them. But sometimes you just need to put the fucking phone away and live in the moment. Don’t tweet about it, don’t post it to Facebook, just look up. Breathe it in. Wallow around in it. Disconnect for a bit and see what’s going on around you.

The Night I Danced With Barack Obama

I went to BlogHer’10. I know, I know, you’re all sick of hearing about BlogHer, but dammit, I had fun and it’s my blog, so I’m going to talk about it.

First, the party to end all parties. Sparklecorn. I briefly danced with this fine fellow. He’s very thin – the office must be wearing him out.

I let a few other women have their turns….

I danced. A lot. My feet had blisters. My blisters had blisters. Me and Velma and Rachel and ChickyChickyBaby and FairlyOddMother and a bunch of other ladies whose names are escaping me (I had still had 5 drink tickets when I got to this party and they gave me another one at the door).  I watched Poppy and Blackbird do some fancy footwork.

I laughed and danced and danced and laughed and admired the sparkly, shiny cake.

I talked to people I only know from Twitter. I met new people. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t hide in the corner, clutching a drink. I didn’t flee in terror. I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I just had pure, unadulterated fun.  I was complimented on my outfit many times, was told my hair was lovely and people squee’d at me when I introduced myself. Squee’d. At me. And I finally, FINALLY got to meet Jessica, from Oh The Joys. She hugged me. A lot. It was awesome.

I snagged one of the sweet Sparklecorn t-shirts, which garnered me more comments the next day than I think I’ve ever had on a blog post. It says “Judy Blume did not prepare me for this.” I’d show you a picture, but, well, I wore it. I may have worn it to bed and then out the next day (I showered, I showered!) because I had no clean shirts left.

Thank you, MamaPop and Sweetney, for throwing such a fantastic, fun party.  And to BlogHer, for once again, running a great conference. I’ll have something on the sessions soon – the ones I attended were (I’m running out of synonyms for fantastic here….) fabulous.

The Obligatory, Ubiquitious, Pre-BlogHer Freak Out Post

*Insert picture of a woman flailing around, flapping her hands, flinging garments hither and yon.*

*Insert a picture of a jumbled pile of shoes.*

*Insert a picture of a make up bag, gaping open, blush brush frayed, a disc of purple eye shadow in a container.*

*Insert a picture of a power strip, iTouch charger, camera charger and lap top cord.*

*Insert a picture of flat iron, curling iron and hair dryer*

*Insert a picture of body wash, shampoo, conditioner, wash cloth, toothbrush and toothpaste.*

Had I actually done any of these things yet, I could post pictures. Alas, I have not and I leave in four days.

*wibble. wobble. freakthefuckout* Also? NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!  I keep doing this happy little shimmy every time I think about it, which is roughly 8,947 times a day. I’m doing a lot of shimmying.

A Matter Of Trust

I’ve been pondering trust lately, seeing as my trust was pretty well ripped up and thrown back in my face not that long ago. This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. Let’s enumerate:

High school boyfriend – verbally abusive and cheated on me many times.

Dad – cheated on my mother many times, I found out later, but the one I knew about was the one he tried to get me to be friends with, the one who took me clothes shopping and bought me tickets to the J. Geils concert. And then fucked my dad in the car while her son and I attended the concert. Because that won’t mess with your head at all. No.

College boyfriend – didn’t cheat on me. Pretty decent guy, actually, things just didn’t work out.

First husband – drank like a fish, lied like a rug (any more cliches I want to pull out of my ass?) and tried to pick up my newly out-of-the-closet sister. A week before we got married. Which I didn’t find out until after we’d split up. Controlling, manipulative douchebag.  Abandoned our daughter and has had no contact with her in over four years.

Second husband – cheated on me emotionally a couple of times that I found out about, one when I was about 8 months pregnant with our first child. Carried on several online “things” with various women after that, culminating in him leaving this past April for someone he met online. After telling me there wasn’t anyone else for months and swearing to me that if he did ever meet anyone, that he’d let me know.

This is leaving out a few other men I went out with, not all of whom were cheating scum bags but who otherwise messed with my head by dating me for six months and then suddenly never returning phone calls. I was never that invested in those guys and even though I’m sure the not returning phone calls thing was their way of saying they’d met someone else, it didn’t hurt like those listed above. Especially the last one. That one has left me feeling like a fool, like everything we did for the last ten years was a lie. I feel like I can’t trust that anything he told me was true now. Logically, some of it has to be but it makes me obsess over what was true, what wasn’t and why I didn’t run for the hills the first time I caught him in one of his online dalliances. I excused it because a.) I was pregnant and b.) it was only online, they’d never met (as far as I could tell, since one was in Detroit, the other in another country). But the intent was there, the predilection was there. Why did I allow myself to be made a fool of for so long? These are the things that swarm around in my brain when I’m trying to fall asleep at night.

So yeah. I have trust issues. Lots of them. And I’m not sure how to get past them or over them or if I should even bother trying any more. I feel like every time I let someone in romantically, they turn around and kick me in the teeth. Hard.

I know I am not an easy person to live with. I get depressed. I get moody. I’m very, very impatient.  But if the person I chose to give my heart to can’t handle those things, then why do they stay with me? I don’t make any bones about my issues, I put them out there from the get go. Why is that what got thrown in my face, especially with M? He knew. He knew what I was like, knew how I worked and he took advantage of that to tell me I was paranoid and crazy for doubting him when all along, he was playing me.

So here I am, ten years older, even more fucked up than before, not wanting to even think about dating (and as a total aside, how the fuck do you walk out of a ten year marriage into another relationship? How do you not need a little time to figure out who you are? I don’t get that. The last thing in the world I want to do right now is get involved with anyone). What’s the point? Why should I risk it? It’s not worth it, it’s never been worth it. Wait, I take that back. I have four great kids, even if they do drive me slightly mad at times, but other than them, no. Not worth the risk, not worth the heartache.

Do I want to live like this for the rest of my life? On one hand, it certainly would be easier not trying to mold my life and all my fuckedupedness into someone else’s fuckedupedness. But on the other hand, do I really want to be alone forever  and ever? Pluses – I can watch/eat/read/do what I want without clearing it with anyone else. Minuses – I’m alone.

Honestly? I don’t know why that second option sounds so bad right now.

And sorry if I put that Billy Joel song in your head…..trust me.

Random Randomness

  • I keep thinking of blog posts at inopportune times, like in the shower (which makes writing it down difficult) or while I’m driving (also not a good place to be hunting for paper and a pen) and of course, I forget them by the time I have more than 10 seconds to myself.
  • I’m very excited about all the writing labs they’re offering at  BlogHer ’10 this year. I feel like my blog has suffered, both from changing blogging platforms and a serious lack of anything resembling decent writing.  Hopefully these labs will help me get back into writing better, with making this place a bit more polished. Just a bit, though. Swine’s ears and silk purses and all.
  • O is going to camp tomorrow, for ten days. I will miss her – for a 15 year old, she’s a pretty awesome kid, with few of the pouts and moodiness that plague that age (not that I was ever like that, no, not me). My father is taking my kids on Monday night and keeping them until Thursday evening, which means for the first time in I can’t remember when, I will be childless for FOUR WHOLE DAYS. And then my mother’s doing the same thing the week after. I’m not sure I even know what to do with myself sans fils. Sleep, probably. And not cook any meals.
  • The bad behaviour around here is epic. Boo cut off most of her hair the other night, when she was supposed to be in her bed, sleeping. She has tantrums all the time and it’s wearing me out. And if my sister tells me one more time to just be calm with them, I’m going to lose it. I’d love to see her handle this shit all day long and be all fucking Zen after 12+ hours of it. Gah. Whatever.
  • The not-yet-an-ex-husband is still in Indiana, with vague plans of coming back here to find his own apartment and be closer to the kids. I’m not holding my breath. He has been able to come back to see them twice since moving away in April and they miss him. He keeps telling me that he misses them until I finally had to tell him that if he hadn’t run off with another woman and then gotten himself fired, he could still be in the area, seeing them. I’m tired of him acting like he’s made this huge sacrifice by moving out there – it was his choice and he chose to be with her. I’m having a hard time working up any sympathy for him.
  • I found out that the Y near me has financial aid for those who qualify so I’m stopping by there this week to see what information they need for the application. Hopefully I’ll qualify so I can start swimming again. I miss it. It was the only exercise I really enjoyed and looked forward to and I want to start again. Maybe it will help me work off some of this anger I have simmering on a low boil all the time.
  • I’ve been sleeping in the living room since we moved into this apartment and I am sick of it. My back hurts all the time and I don’t sleep very well, as I’m sleeping on a futon that won’t unfold, so I can’t roll over or stretch out at all. I was hoping this would work out but I think I’m just going to have to suck it up and set up my bed in O’s room. She’s not going to like it much, nor will I, but I don’t think I can do this for a year.
  • I am SO looking for another apartment when my lease is up here. This place is horrible. There are roaches *shudder* that I can’t get rid of, even after they sent in an exterminator and I’ve sprayed. I have not been able to find the Combat stuff that a couple of people recommended – I may have to check at the dreaded WalMart.  Raid isn’t doing the job. And the bugs? Totally gross me out.
  • Wow, this was more than a litte whingy.
  • Three weeks until New York City. So. Freakin’. Excited.

Wanted: Roommate

I’m rooming with Rachel (@talesofrachel) for BlogHer ’1o (Squeeeeeee!) but we’d really like a 3rd person, to help cut the cost down a bit as well as, well, just to have another person along for the fun.  So if any of you are going and are looking for a roommate, let me know.  We don’t bite.

In related news, someone, for the love of god, room with us. My 5 year old just cut off ALL of her hair when she was supposed to be in bed. I need a weekend off. Desperately.

Squeeeeeee!

After much saving of pennies and generally scrimping, I have managed to procure a ticket to BlogHer ’10.

I’m so excited.  So. Fucking. Excited.

The (Wo)Man In The Mirror

Have you ever had one of those nights? Your kids drive you batshit crazy and you wonder why you thought it had ever been a good idea to have them in the first place and you entertain vague thoughts of selling them for science experiments or seeing if there’s a passing circus who needs small, loud, shrieky people?

But then finally, finally, they are asleep and the house is quiet, so you sit down and you get a glass of wine and you start to watch Top Chef or some other sort of pseudo-intellectual, you’re-only-fooling-yourself-because-it’s-on-Bravo-and-ohmygodEricRipertEricRiperEricRipert *ahem* and you zone out for a while. And maybe you have another glass of wine because, damn, Eric Ripert is doing his sexy French smirk thing right there on your screen and who cares what they’re cooking as long as he keeps smirking and talking? And you’re content. Not happy, not wildly excited, just…content.

And then you realize that you have to pee, so you go upstairs, to the bathroom that needs cleaning, and after doing your thing, you wash your hand (as you always should) and you look at yourself in the mirror and wonder “Who the fuck is that?” This woman, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail and her skin, not wrinkled, not yet, but definitely not young and dewy and fresh. Who the hell is that? And why is she looking back at me with those eyes? Sad, worried, haunted, scared eyes?

I never look at myself in the mirror if I can at all help it, but sometimes I stop, while washing my hands, and look. And I don’t like what I see. I don’t want to have a frinkle between my eyebrows (*frinkle – frown wrinkle – it is so a word). I don’t want to look unhappy and scared and burdened. I want to look happy. Content with my life.

When is that going to happen? Will it ever happen? Will I be able to do this alone, be the parent all. the. fucking. time? And be content with that? Or will I always have this lost, haunted, scared thing going on? Because I don’t like it. But I also don’t know how to stop it. Can I hold on to the good things?  Boo diving in the pool today, so proud of herself for getting the diving ring, The Bug running to me and giving me a hug every time I walk in the door, even if I’ve only gone out to the car to retrieve something? Why are those things not enough to make up for the shit times? The times Boo gets into my hair colour and  pours some of it on her head, the times The Bug has a meltdown because I won’t let her have a popsicle at 7:30 in the morning?  Am I ever going to be mostly happy? I don’t expect to be happy all the time, that thought is ridiculous, but I would like to think that things get better, that I won’t always be this stressed out and annoyed all the time.  It has to happen sooner or later, right? Because this shit? It’s killing me.

Their New Obsession….

It used to be The Killers, which was cool. But now, Boo & the Bug love this:

I can’t imagine where they got it from….

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