insomniatic

i'll be 32 in a few days. i'm not quite sure why this is so important. maybe it's because for the first time i really feel like ME. i'm speaking my mind more, i'm being creative, i'm kind of a grown up all settled into my house now and working and making healthy decisions. i'm starting to worry less about other people and worry more about myself and my family. i'm trying to learn to like myself in a true and honest way. it's a LOT going on all at once, but i'm not too overwhelmed by it or intimidated by it. welcome to growing up i guess.

i'm not going to sit here and shit cotton candy. it's still fucking hard. i'm in the middle of yet another new change- i'll no longer be in the coffee world. this week will be my last week delivering and stocking around town. i hate to leave, but back to that grown up healthy choice thing, it wasn't what was best for the kids and me right now, so i'll be heading back to more secretarial work that will be steadier and better for us. NO. i'm not giving up. i'm just saying something else is better for now. and that's ok. there's still plenty of opportunities to go back to it, keep up with it on the side, dabble here and there. but my main focus needs to be doing what's best for the spawns, and so i'm doing that.

i'm still dealing with a teenager that scares the shit out of me more days than not. and the scariest part is i have no idea what to do or  how to fix it. i'm just treading water the best i can. he keeps pushing, i keep pushing back. i'm sure as fuck not going to let him push over and walk over me. i do slip. i do let things go that i shouldn't. thankfully as of late i have a good circle of people that are catching this and filling in the blanks when i'm not. when he's disrespectful to me and i'm too tired to fight it they've been coming along side and pointing it out to him and calling him on it for me. it's always a challenge i guess. being a parent isn't for sissies. especially when you're trying to do it right. he's pushing boundaries and trying to become his own person. i'm trying to let him do that but still keep him inside the invisible fence. the newest trick is trying to TELL me where and when he's going places. "i'm going to the store to get a soda mom." umm...i don't hear any permission asked in there...that's odd. another day, another challenge. back to school- we'll see how it goes in his circle of friends.

the little one is on the level for now but balancing on the brink. i know back to school has him rattled. it will be a fight for a few weeks- the new friends, getting into the schedule again, all the nerves and changes. i've caught pieces of it here and there the last few days. abnormally clingy, small behaviour changes that other people think i'm crazy for noticing. add in the crazy chubby face of impending growth spurt- the next month should be an interesting ride.

in the middle of all this i've been- well. i've been battling. the two year marker of losing my dad was rough. i made it through, but it's been rough. i find myself talking about him and my baby brother more the last few weeks than i have in months. maybe it's because everything i do is in twos. i decided a few days ago to clean off the table in the dining room. i had a small side table with both their ashes, the flag, letters, commendations from my fathers service. my brother's art work and other memorabilia. i took my time cleaning it all and tucking it away. not all of it. but enough of it to make a small shift and start moving on a little bit. it was hard. i cried. the strange thing is that the objects i put away- the flag, the letters, the plaques- they weren't my dad. they were all things that came along after he passed. they weren't the pieces that held him to me. that made it easier to put them away. the pieces of him- his badge, his ashes- those are still out. those won't ever be tucked away completely. maybe in a shadow box in the office sometime in the future, but never away. same with steve. his art work and ashes are still out. i still think of him.

the topic of suicide has come up quite a bit lately (not me, don't get your panties in a twist. i'm good on that front). i've heard more and more people talking about it. quite frankly, it pisses me off. i love steve. i still do. and i completely and totally understand why he made the decision he did. IT DOES NOT MAKE IT THE RIGHT ONE. the kid had a hard hand though. ptsd, severe brain trauma, physical rehab, bankruptcy, shattered personal relationships, crazy family stress, just a whole stack against him. was it anything he couldn't over come? no. there's always another answer. but i get it.

so then i see people bandy about the suicide word for tivial shit- "oh, i had problems with a boy", "oh, not enough people are paying attention to me" i'm sure their problems are just as tragic to them, but no where near the MOUNTAIN of shit steve was facing. and it still wasn't the right answer for him. and it makes me so angry. and YES, i've been in that corner. i've been open about all that before. i've had my back against the wall. i've had the mountain of shit staring me down. i'm the lucky one that's too crazy to make the wrong choice- the dishes needed finished first, i couldn't go out with a dirty bathroom for someone else to clean up, there was a stack of papers at work i hadn't finished- the BIG one- who the fuck could i ever trust to raise my kids MY way? no way in fuck could i ever go through with something, but yes, i've been in that corner staring down that demon. i know how hard it is. i guess there's just a difference to me between REAL shit happening all around you, physical, tangible things happening and emotional shit. one isn't any worse than the other i suppose. i just don't understand the other one. then again, i've never been good at the emotional crap and understanding other people. i'm too logical i guess. or perhaps just too much of a cold hearted bitch.

and i guess it just makes me irrationally angry that when people bandy the word about for trivial things it cheapens what steve did. and i know that probably doesn't make any sense to anyone but me. and the real bare bones truth of it is- when i hear people bandy that fucking word about it makes me remember that he made that choice. that i lost him to that dark corner and i can never have him back. and i know what that feels like. and it makes me so angry to think of other people doing that to the ones they'd leave behind. my birthday is in a few days. his would have been another week or so after that. he would have been 30 this year. and i miss him. and i miss my dad. and it's fucking hell sitting here in the middle of the night typing this shit.

i miss having a family. i'm still angry that- well, more things than i can cram into a stupid blog.

huh. well that took a turn for the interesting. no wonder i couldn't sleep with all that rattling around up in the old noodle.

hold please while i calm the fuck down.

anyway. there's a lot of changes in the next few weeks. ages, schedules, work paths, school. the official launch of the magazine is right around the corner- i'm officially the editor now instead of simply an occasional contributing writer. still in a whirlwind about how that happened. i'm actually excited to see how things go, not terrified for the first time in a long time. i'm ready to see what's next. i'm feeling like a real, grown up together person. probably won't last long, but it's a curious experience none the less. i'm ok with who i am and the choices that have brought me here. i'm confident being a touchstone for other people, i'm confident being an example for the first time in a long time. i'm working on being confident as a parent- damn teenagers have a way of rocking that boat. can't even pretend to be a duck with that one either- calm on the surface, paddling like hell underneath- not around here. it's just a whole flurry of crazy when that boat rocks too far. we're learning together i guess.  i'm learning to be a confident (body, mind, self image) woman. that one is taking time. i'm confident as a writer. i'm confident as a worker.

best of all, i'm pretty damn confident i can finally get some sleep now. emptied out the rattle trap. welcome to insomniac writing.

becoming...?

i’ve been in this strange transition type thing lately. i’m not sure what it is or how to describe it really. it's not really a re-invention since i'm not starting from scratch, but it is more than simply changing the favorite ice cream flavor. maybe it’s simply growing up and i’m just now catching on.

i know we all go through a continuous cycle of change and becoming who we are and all the cliche things that we see on plaques and pinterest posts all over the place. they’re cliche for a reason. i don’t mind the process, i welcome it. i don’t want to stay the same person forever. that would mean i’ve closed my mind, stopped learning, stopped seeking, stopped growing. i never want to stop any of those things.

i guess my struggle, if you could call it that, is learning to balance the process out. writing for the magazine has been AMAZING. i’m writing, #1. actually writing. getting my voice out there. a voice that was picked because of what it is. i can’t even begin to say how exciting that is. i was asked to be on this magazine because of who i am. not because i’m a writer and they wanted to twist my words. i AM what they were looking for, as i am now. mouthy, sassy, brash, vocal, raw honesty, all of it. i love the things i’m learning. i love doing photo shoots, interviewing artists, coming up with new ideas, watching it each issue grow and take on a life all its own. my creativity has jumped back to the forefront, there’s a million ideas chasing around in my head all the time, new things to try, ideas for articles, everything. i’m stepping into a world i’ve never been in and learning to still love myself even though i don’t always feel comfortable or in place. i’m not used to art shows, models, photographers, being in pictures and on camera. it’s totally different and new and fucking SCARY.

here’s the strange thing- the more i step into this new world, the more old pieces of me have been surfacing. and i’m not quite sure what to do with that yet.

back in the day (a wednesday, of course). i used to be an entirely different person. perhaps i shouldn’t say ENTIRELY- there’s still pieces of that girl floating around. in high shool i went through a few incarnations- mostly a nerd, there was also an “i dont care” phase where in there was some terrifically bad hair and ill fitting mens tee shirts (remember big dog brand? oh yeah...i had those). there was the country phase in which i tried like hell to be pretty, do my hair, wore wranglers and boots most days and had a few shirts like this: that i LOVED (oh the days when i wasn’t embarrassed if my midriff showed). i slowly morphed into a cheerleader and tried even harder to be pretty (when your mum doesn’t believe in any hair products/tools, make up, anything even remotely feminine, it’s harder than you’d imagine). during this whole time i was a nice, quiet book nerd, kept to myself- partly out of my natural self, partly out of all sorts of trouble that i’d been in my first few years of high school. better to be invisible as much as possible. i went to church every sunday and wednesday, had taken a purity pledge- no sex til marriage, did what my parents said, did my school work as well as i could, had very few friends, just kind of...there.

i got knocked up and became a mom before really having a chance to know who i wanted to be when i grew up- almost overnight i was “up”. went to college and got a LITTLE bit of self, got married and lost that, and have spent the last 9 years figuring out what and who i want to be now. even that’s changed- 6 years ago i SWORE i would never leave my small little town. 3 years ago i could have never imagined NOT being a corporate stooge. now i have no idea what tomorrow holds.

my homes have shifted over the years- from hand me down personality and furniture to “country” comfortable (oh, so, much, blue) and now i guess it could be called eclectic at best. i’ve always had pictures of family, art other people thought i would like, art i actually DO like, slowly, it’s grown into MY house. everything here is something i picked and brought in. i appreciate the help from people over the years, but it’s finally me. dark wood furniture, comfortable seating, fancy flashes here and there, strange pieces that shouldn’t fit but do, things i looked for FOREVER, things i found and instantly fell in love with. even that is shifting though- i think it’s time to put away the memorial for my dad, keep a few things out and tuck the rest away. time to have a family WALL instead of shotgunned through the house and let the rest be art that i love and want to show to people. my voice is changing again. i love it. i’m just not sure where it’s going.

back to the original point, the more i change the more flashes of past selves are emerging. i’m comfortable again in jeans and teeshirts, gone are the office clothes and slacks and fitted shirts of not so long ago. my music (much to the horror of those around me) has shifted back to country. as much as i want to dress up in a ball gown for the magazine launch party, i just as badly want to put on some jeans and boots and go line dancing at a back-woods bar. i’ve LOVED having people over for bbqs and dinners and random things. that’s something i wanted to do years ago but lost somewhere along the way.

there’s also the newer me- the one more willing to stand up for herself and speak her mind. i’m realizing (slowly but surely) that i’m worth a damn lot more than i give myself credit for. i’m creating art, meeting people, taking chances, pushing myself (with help). i’m comfortable giving my opinions, being my whole self, walking away from poisonous things without worrying about the other person instead of myself. i’ve had the chance to step away from what i HAD to do and have been able to try what i wanted to do. i’ve also learned to recognize and admit that it isn’t working and have gown enough to know there’s a balance there. i can seek the stability i need and still keep the things i love- at least some of them. now i need to learn to do that with myself, not just my circumstances. there’s room for a tattooed, country, unconventional, mouthy, conservative, artistic, honest, down home, glamorous rebel in the world, isn’t there?

raising the warning flag

 

if you don’t let people know there’s a problem, they can’t help you find the solution.

there isn’t a problem.

yet.

i’m filling the sandbags and preparing the emergency packs just in case.

i’m being honest, i’m being truthful, i’m trying like hell to head the stampede off at the ravine.

i’m terrified of the month of august. hell. i’m terrified of july thru october. there’s so much that just- i can’t really prepare for it, i just have to be aware and recognize and say when i need help.

it’s been three years since we lost tyra and baby roman. if you’re not familiar, tyra was my oldest sons step mother. she was a BEAUTIFUL young lady. the best thing to happen to my sons father. she was a pure, sweet soul that impacted everyone she knew in only the best and most positive ways. she passed away due to complications during childbirth and baby roman was only here long enough to be baptized before he went to be with his sweet mother.

as that was happening my brother steve was in a severe accident that left him in a medical coma for several days and started the path to his life ending a few months later in october 2009. august was the month we watched him struggle in the hospital. september we watched him go through rehab and thought he was getting better. that year was the first time he had ever called me on my birthday (ours were just a few days (and years) apart). october we lost him to suicide.

two years ago this august i lost my dad.

my kids will be leaving this sunday for a MUCH NEEDED mommy vacation. i love my children. i can’t imagine ever not being with them. but i need a break. there is no tag team parenting here. there is no wednesdays/every other weekend off. this will be the longest time EVER that i will be without my kids. EVER. in the last 14 years. i’ve had a week off here and there. i’ve even had two weeks off-ish (with a day in between transfers). this will be three full weeks without kids. it’s great. i need time to refresh and rebuild.

BUT.

that’s also a LOT of alone time. during the hard months. i know i haven’t deal with 80% of the grief. i’ve been busy, distracted, head in the sand over the last two years. i’ve avoided and held it together because i’ve HAD to hold it together. i’m more than a little worried that there will be too much “thinky thoughts” time during the next three weeks. i’m worried that known triggers will get to me. the autism cruise scares me because it was the next day i woke up to the news about my dad. the cruise didn’t cause it, it’s an illogical association, but it’s associated.  when i got the news about tyra, steves accident, my dad- my kids were gone staying with someone for the week. now they’re going to be gone staying with someone and i’m already on edge worried about what news will come this time. my kids being gone didn’t cause anything to happen. same as the boat cruise didn’t start my dad’s fire. but it’s there. it’s a reminder, a trigger.

so. here i am. asking for help. i’m getting pretty good at watching myself and recognizing things for what they are. doesn’t mean I won’t slip or that someone else won’t catch it faster than  I will. We all know how it’s easier to see things in others than ourselves.

behind the names

so ones of you have asked what's with the names when it comes to the stories. there's a few parts of this:

#1- I never use real names. ever. it helps protect the not-so-innocent. I don't want names popping up in google search, having people use them to stalk or find info, contact, on and on. additionally, it protects me. if someone doesn't like a story, it's up to them to out themselves and claim their second identity. finally- friends and friends of friends know some of these people outside the little blogosphere. im ok airing MY dirty laundry but I don't want to air theirs per say.

#2 how the names are selected: it seems most nicknames explain themselves. cities/countries: where the boy is from. sadly, not places I've been to. *sigh* I wish I travelled that much. military branches pretty much are what they are. jobs, holidays, it's sadly basic and unimaginative. shoulder blades is the only "odd" one that comes to mind and when I get around to that story (I may have already posted it once) youll understand that.

#3 YES, these are real stories. YES, all these boys exist. YES, I could write a full (and then some) 50 shades. I realize this may label me a whore, tramp, hussy, WHATEVER to some people. it is what it is. I have several reasons, explanations, theories, excuses...it is what it is. some of it was young/stupid. some of it was proving something to myself. the last several years have been plain and simple because I like sex and I'm not ashamed of it. if a partner isn't particularly satisfying I have no problem (most of the time) cutting loose and moving on. I also have a serious aversion to relationships so there's no "black out" times with the exception of my 23 month marriage. there's been years I've elected not to have sex. there's been years sex has elected to not have me. there's been times I would have made for one hell of a jerry springer show.

end of the day: it is what it is. I'm not ashamed of any of it. each experience had its own lesson. and each experience was just that: an experience. I've been able to pass on wisdom, help others, recognize problems early in, define what I am looking for, know when it's time to get out (ok...still working on that one.)

so. there's the behind the scenes. now. back to the stories.

let the search begin!

so. if you follow my twitter or Facebook, I posted the other day about wanting a REAL date during the much anticipated mommy vacation. three weeks of "grown up" time all to myself deserves a real date.

then I thought. yes, thought usually follows AFTER most post.

I have several events coming up that it would be nice to not have to attend alone. there's a fundraising cruise in August, my birthday and the magazine launch party in September, and I know there's something else I'm forgetting...

so: I see my real date and I raises myself a boyfriend.

not sure how exactly this will happen short of a pretty woman arrangement, and since I'm poor ass broke that isn't even really an option...

so here's the details:

August-October. possible early release. just need it long enough to look legit. bonus: he gets out before the holiday season AND gets to attend some fucking amazing events.

must be able to be on a boat and handle his alcohol, dress up in a tux (owned or rented), and must lavish the appropriate amount of attention on the actual birthday (strict no gifts policy). must be able to blend with several different groups of people and have an appropriate sense of humor to cover up for my often not appropriate jokes.

the first three weeks will be kid free so plenty of time will be available. after that its a crap shoot with back to school, work, and everything leading up to the launch party.

skills of dancing, cooking are a bonus, appreciation of good coffee and wine requested.

basic life skills (job, transportation, hygiene) are non-negotiable. between 30-45 requested, exceptions considered but must bring something outstanding to the table.

in return he gets to spend time with me. so. I mean...what more does he need?

if this succeeds, it would be my third longest relationship EVER. he may get a trophy at the end.

SO. now accepting applications.

new york

chapter 3: new york

i think new york is the closest i will ever come to a real life fairy tale. not the whole of it, but a damn good portion.

new york. i still miss new york. i met him back in the day (probably a wednesday). had to have been 2004ish. summer/fall. newly divorced, baby, kiddo- life was a little crazy back then. i met new york online- back when match.com was all the rage and there were actually people on there not just all assholes looking for a booty call. well, that's a lie. there were plenty of those too (more stories for a later time). 

new york caught my eye pretty quickly online for three things: air force, wranglers, and a big ass truck. YES, i liked all those things back then (hell, no sense lying to ya'll- all three still catch my attention...well, carharts over wranglers these days).

new york was stationed locallyish at the air force base in spokane (i was still living in podunk at the time). when we "met" he was actually on deployment in the middle of no where, sandbox, left of and two degrees hotter than hell. we chatted every day for HOURS online. it made my work days a little more tolerable (what are they going to do? retroactively fire me? SUCK IT CORPORATE WORLD. MISUSE OF CORPORATE TOOLS AT IT'S FINEST). we talked about everything- growing up in small towns, cereal (his favorites were coco puffs and lucky charms if i remember correctly), family vacations, future plans- all of it. we actually played 50 questions over the months- every day we had to have a few new questions for each other.

we talked about meeting when he got home from deployment, going to the drive in movies, having home cooked meals, all the things that he missed being stuck in BFE sandbox.

time finally came when he was being brought back state side. holy crap excitement. he couldn't tell me exactly when until he was back on state soil but i had a rough idea. we got closer to fall and he was able to hint a little more about coming home- finally one day he was back in boston and able to tell me to be at the airport on my birthday.

so. in a made for the movies moment, on my birthday, i was waiting at the end of the terminal, waiting for my soldier to come home from war. he walked straight down the ramp, picked me up and gave me the biggest hug ever.

yes. it really happened.  doesn't get much sappier than that. i'll honestly never forget that moment as long as i have a working piece of my brain left.

somehow we managed to NOT rip each others clothes off in the parking garage, or in the car, or on the short drive back to his base. once we were in the barracks though it was no holds barred. MONTHS of foreplay, a soldier stuck in the sandbox for almost a year, we were both much younger then...needless to say we surfaced at one point for food and a trip to get a dvd player (he HAD to get one.) and then disappeared back inside until a few hours past when i was supposed to leave. i honestly can't remember the sex. i have a vague recollection of it being good- energetic, quick recovery time, he was attentive and took care of things.  can't say it was the best ever, but it definitely beats out the majority.

the next chance he had leave new york drove up to my little podunk apartment and spent a few days with me. i remember watching him sit on the couch with my oldest watching cartoons and eating cereal. simple memories with him. good memories.

deployments, schedules, life prevented anything from getting too serious. we kept in touch over the years. he swore i was his perfect woman and he would marry me one day. he just had too many things to do before he settled down (including a red head, twins, an oriental and a midget. good to have goals).

new york was eventually deployed to england where he still is today. he's made a life out of the air force and is kicking ass. sadly, some british tart plucked him up and he was married recently.

new york. the one that could have been. the one that i still wish had worked out some how. i miss the days of chatting and getting to know him. i still remember more things about him than i ever even knew about any of the *cough*several*cough* that followed.

i'm still a sucker for air force boys. i'm still a sucker for a new york accent. i'm still a sucker for a boy that can two step me around the dance floor and just as quickly whip me into the pretzel and back out again. trucks, bonfires, shotgunning beers, cussing up a storm- 

it will take a damn lot to replace that moment in the airport as one of my top memories.

new york was one of the good ones.

brazil

chapter two: brazil

this is NOT a shining moment in my history of men. it may in fact be one of the most embarrassing stories i have to tell. it, of course, like all embarrassing stories, starts in vegas...

vegas for thirty. four girls. an AMAZING two room hotel suite. itty bitty dresses. and ALCOHOL. so. much. alcohol.

i don't remember which day of the trip it was. i don't remember which club it was. i DO remember table service. and a bottle of vokda for the four of us.

one of our girls managed to wander off for a bit and when we caught up with her she had met brazil. i'm pretty sure he had a real name. i think it started with a J.

braSil (they spell it with an s. we're ignorant americans) was pretty. a trained boxer with a body to match. apparently his rough english skills didn't matter when it came to tonsil hockey on the back patio of a vagas bar. or the back skylit section of a casino club. or the pretend it's outdoors because it's decorated with green stuff and you've had so much alcohol it doesn't really matter section of the bar.

brazil and our girl were getting friendly. there was even a warning about appropriate club behavior at one point i believe.

the night goes along, our girl and brazil are inseparable. two of our four head back to the suite in a cab. i stick behind with our girl and brazil- no girl left behind. especially with a non-english speaking stranger in a club.

are you confused as to how this is MY story yet?

the night ends with brazil giving my girl and me a ride back to the suite. we invite him up (she invites him up) to the suite for a night cap. only polite thing to do, right?

the way the suite was set up is entry way, room to the left, room to the right. the two gals that had headed back in the cab earlier were sharing the room to the left. future mrs. brazil and i were sharing the room to the right. being a good wingman i took the couch in the entry way (actually a large living room area, couches, tv, table, you get the idea) while my girl and brazil took to the room.

an unknown amount of time later i was awakened by brazil. it seems that my girl was a bit trigger shy when it came to closing the deal. combine a dead sleep (or being passed out, po-tay-to/po-tah-to), a large quantity of alcohol still in my system, and the fact that a gorgeous man was (sadly and second-handedly) hitting on me, suddenly of COURSE sex sounded like a good idea. after all, it wouldnt be polite to send the poor boy home with blue balls after a whole night of build up. what can i say, i'm thoughtful like that.

i honestly don't remember much of what went on. there was sex. bad sex. jackhammer sex. there was an orgasm. singular. his. and then he was gone.

oh how i wish the story ended there.

in the morning i was horrified about what had happened. my girl had brought the guy back with her. had i technically poached her catch? SO against code. you never poach. ever. then i got to thinking about it...how horrifying that only after he had been soundly turned away did he wander out into the living room and see if maybe there was still a chance with that other chick. holy fuck embarrassing. i was really conflicted. i didn't want to tell any of the girls what had happened. i didn't want them to know ANY of it.

i made it about half way through the day before i cracked under pressure. while out to lunch i talked to one of the other gals about what had happened. she had come home in a cab and had no idea about any of it- brazil coming back with us, his rejection and second attempt...or so i thought.

TURNS OUT.

holy fuck embarrassing.

brazil. rejected and kicked out of the bedroom on the right wandered all the way across to the bedroom on the left. woke up BOTH of the girls in there consecutively to see if he had a chance. after being rejected by girl 1, girl 2, AND girl 3, he wandered back into the living room for his last ditch effort.

that's right. i was not the second choice. i was not the third choice. i was the last ditch effort on the way out the door.

nothing romantic. nothing special. not even the slightest attempt. a last ditch effort.

so embarrassing. talk about a severe ego kick. granted- vegas, that much alcohol, and a true pure blood asshole, it's a rare combination. generally there's a little more thought and consideration put into things. a little less being a trashed non-cognitive mess. but there it is. in all it's vegas shame: brazil, the last ditch king.