leave it to beaver

what do you do when you have a traditionalist mindset with non-traditionalist circumstances?

for a kid who didn't watch tv much growing up, i have a very firmly implanted idealistic trope of what a "typical family home" is supposed to be.

i never watched leave it to beaver but i'm oh so familiar with the cookie cutter: mom, dad, boys, charming rancher on a quiet street, general shenannigans and tom-foolery ensue.

when i watch those types of shows one thing always stands out: how DONE everything is. the yard is landscaped. the living room furniture is a matching set. the house is all set up and DONE.

WHILE THEY'RE STILL RAISING YOUNG KIDS.

HOW?

i remember my dad telling me, YEARS ago, that setting up a house takes time. no one moves into their first apartment all ready to go. you start out with milk crates and assemble-it-yourself-furniture. over time you slowly replace the milk crates with a kitchen table and chairs. the press board furniture slowly becomes pieces that arrived in once piece- REAL furniture. you slowly hand down the hand me downs and get your own BRAND NEW couch (or several if you have furniture a.d.d. like me). 

THAT part i expected. but for some reason with my house it's different- i expect it to be finished. NOW. and i get endlessly frustrated at waiting to be able to afford different things.

what do you mean i have to PLAN to put in carpet? HOW MUCH is redoing the upstairs bathroom going to be? why can't i just PUT IN sprinklers? how much longer before the front deck actually falls apart before just threatening?

i feel embarrassed to have people over and i'm endlessly apologizing for the half finished state of things.

watch out for the back deck, it needs redone so there's not such big gaps.

sorry about the living room floor- best to keep your shoes on so you don't get a sliver.

oh, when you take a shower downstairs the hot is cold and the cold is hot.

when you lock the garage door you have to close it then push it back a little because it's leaning and not lined up right.

i know people say that when you're done with ALL your house projects it's time to move. and i know that as soon as you get the sink fixed the dishwasher goes on the fritz. OH, and the washing machine is leaking. OH, and the outlet upstairs quit working. OH, and the roof is at the end of life. OH, and the hot water heater needs replaced...

I GET IT.

i was up on the south hill this weekend, the "rich" section of town. there's BEAUTIFUL homes all owned by people my parents age. AND THEY WERE OUTSIDE WORKING ON PROJECTS.

so, what's my issue? why do i put so much pressure on myself to have everything done, barely 5 years after moving in, when people who have been in their home for 20+ years still have projects they're working on?

when am i going to learn to cut myself a little slack?

even growing up- it wasn't constant, but there were always projects being budgeted and waited on. the crappy sidewalk took several years to get around to replacing. at one point my mum ripped out all the flower beds and put in white rock. we built a storage shed in the back yard. re-tiled the bathroom shower. built a coat closet in the living room. added cabinets to the kitchen and cut in a dishwasher. redid some carpet/removed some carpet. switched from a pellet stove to a gas fire place. replaced washers and dryers. my own home growing up was never "finished."

in leave it to beaver or the brady bunch the kids are young and everything is already done. my mom bought her house when i was 9.

hell, even "newer" shows (showing my age now) like tool time or family matters or full house- the kids were all young but the house was already DONE. they already had the grown up furniture. they already had the fully equipped garage. all the pictures on the wall. the big back yard with a swing set and beautiful green grass.

and for some reason i think mine has to be.

i know i'm not a double parent household. i KNOW i'm not a double income household. i know that things take time and planning and budgeting. i now a complete bathroom remodel takes time. i know that installing carpet isn't cheap. i know that landscaping takes YEARS for the plants and the grass to fill in the way you want it to. i know that. I KNOW ALL THAT.

but i still struggle.

i often wonder when i'm going to be the gown up that i grew up with. 

when am i going to be able to take everyone out to a big family dinner? (uh, duh, your kids don't even have spouses yet, calm your tits.) when am i going to be the nice house on the block? when am i going to be the destination house with the big summer bbq's and people stopping by all the time?

and then i take a moment and LOOK at ward and june cleaver. look at mike and carol brady. tim and jill taylor.

they are not 35 with an 18 year old.

i started EARLY. i didn't have my 20's in college figuring things out and getting my shit together. i had my 20's with kids and making it up as i went.

maybe if i had waited until 27 or 30 to start having kid i would already have a house lined out and sorted. i would already have bought the furniture instead of diapers. i could have spent time landscaping instead of driving to practices and friends houses and school events.

don't get me wrong. NEITHER WAY IS WRONG.

i personally think waiting til you're older and more established to have kids is much, much smarter, but then i look at it and i woudn't have the energy now to keep up with them...maybe that's because they sucked out all my 20's energy. ha. six one way, half a dozen the other.

end of the day, second verse, same as the first: i just need to quit judging myself so harshly. give my self room to breathe and BE. i'm not *supposed* to be anything. i'm not supposed to have the perfect house. i'm not supposed to have the perfect decorating. i'm not supposed to have the perfect lawn. i can work towards those things. i can allow myself space and time and not feel like a failure for being perfectly normal. body, house, kids, whatever, i really need to learn to chill the fuck out and let myself just BE.

the mother's curse

i hope you have a child JUST. LIKE. YOU.

how many times do i remember my mom saying that?

guess what? i think they're both like me. but in very different ways.

last week the oldest spawn turned 18.

i'm officially the parent of an adult.

WHAT???

i still struggle with him. well, a one sided struggle anyway. he's still shutting me out.

i was talking to a good friend about how the kid and i have struggled over the years, where we're at now, and she laughed and said "are you sure it isn't because he's just like you?" or some version there-of.

she pointed out that he's wicked smart and very artistically gifted. later that same week, one of his grandparents echoed the same vein of thinking.

i'm some version of both those.

the oldest spawn also happens to be very opinionated, very outspoken, very passionate, and VERY stubborn.

well.

huh.

something about apples and trees.

then there's the "little" spawn.

"little" as in he looks me square in the eye now and long ago passed me in shoe size.

oy.

he's been on a campaign to get his ears pierced this summer.

after getting over my horribly sexist knee-jerk response of "...but that's for girls!" i asked WHY he's so hell bent on getting them pierced.

"because i'm tired of looking boring. i want to try something new and feel more like myself."

again with the apples and trees.

the small spawn and i had a discussion at the end of his counseling session a few weeks ago about why i push him so much to do certain things- meet new people, try new things even if you don't think you'll like it, go places even when you think you won't have fun.

spawn to counselor: why does she make me do things she won't even do?

me: BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE LIKE ME!

i see so much of myself in him- the not great parts. he already makes up other peoples minds for them. he already convinces himself of things before they've even happened. he talks himself out of things because he knows he won't have a good time or he won't like it.

HOLY CRAP GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

i could never ask that person out, i already know i'm not their type.

i shouldn't go to that concert, i won't have a good time.

i shouldn't hang out with that group of people, i won't fit in.



neither one of them may look like me, but holy crap are those my spawns.

so now the trick is: how do i teach them to cultivate and enhance the GOOD parts of me and recognize and mitigate the not so great parts?

who the fuck am i?

i'm having a medium to large identy crisis as of late.

i have these certain ideas in my head of what things are in relation to what they look like-

you know,

stereotypes.

you know what i mean? the hollywood casting sheet versions of people?

moms of teenager: middle aged, frumpy and tired with a boring neglected haircut and personal care routine.

moms of sports kid: sweater sets, khaki capris, mini-van full of sports gear and snack packs.

single mom: frazzled hot messes in yoga pants or painted up baby-daddy hunter.

country music fan: sleeveless tee shirt (or flannel shirts), home make jean shorts, dirty lifted 1980's rust bucket truck with rebel flag proudly displayed.

office manager: lumpy, middle aged, permed bowl cut, bargain discount suit, sad cat lady.

people with visible tattoos: bad ass artistic types or a member of a biker gang.

writer: obscure reference quoting, deeply intellectual, jacket with elbow patches, sipping camomile tea, glasses.

i am all of these, but i am none of these.

i don't know who or what the fuck i am.

how the fuck would hollywood cast me in a lifetime original movie?

i'm not a path forger. i'm not a trend setter. i'm not cutting edge ANYTHING.

maybe it's not so much an identity crisis it's more of a perception and acceptance crisis.

while sitting around the house this weekend like a slob, binge watching netflix parked on the couch after the kiddo headed to summer camp i started to wonder about what some of the other youth group kids have been saying to him, about how they perceive me and our home life.

he's been told a few times that he's living in an "unsafe and unhealthy household" because, from their religious standpoint, i'm not what a good mom "should" (fucking hate that word) be.

to some of the youth staff and youth group, a "good mom" is completely straight, married to a man, no tattoos, no cursing, no drinking, no piercings, "natural" colored hair, sunday morning, wednesday evening prayer group attending mom.

when they look at me, hell, when anyone looks at me, first appearance is anything BUT that.

i'm guessing (purely theoretical as no one has actually ever said anything to my face) when people look at me i can be a bit...intimidating? off putting?

i am not petite. at all. throw in a few visible tattoos, piercings, half shaved head, blue/purple hair...i joke that i'm totally fine walking around downtown any time because no one wants to mess with the plus sized tattooed chick. street kids don't ask me for cigarettes, people don't bump into me on busy streets, there's generally a pretty comfortable bubble that surrounds me wherever i go. 

my brother asked me after the last tattoo: who i was rebelling against and when i would stop?

i'm not a rebel. never have been.

i got my cartilage pierced in college 17 years ago because there was a girl that graduated with my brother (gennessee, super cool name) that was gorgeous and cool and she had one, so of course i needed one. i got my nose pierced after my divorce because it was something _i_ wanted to do and my divorce was all about getting away from someone that told me what i could and couldn't do.

ok. maybe a *bit* rebellious. more reclaiming identity than rebellion.

my tattoos are a version of story telling, not rebellion. they're pieces of me and what i believe and what i've been through. my hair- who the fuck knows. why not cut it and change it? i LOATHE looking in the mirror and seeing boring and frumpy. i work VERY hard to maintain my shallow, superficial appearance. always have. i suppose when you have a mother that only points out flaws you think that's all ANYONE can see and you desperately want to fix it. i don't want to be a lazy, people of walmart joke. i don't want to be known as the girl with the perpetual ponytail. i don't want to be the mom living in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. i want to look nice. i want to look well kept and polished. to me, in my super shallow vanity smurf mind set, having colored hair or a non-standard hair cut shows that i put time and attention into it. it's not the same ignored/neglected haircut from the last 100 years. it shows i'm trying. i keep up the color. i try stupidly hard to do a style every day. i make it a point to get a haircut or change when i find myself using alligator clips more than a few times a week.

BACK TO THE POINT. if i ever pretended to have one.

I LIKE ME. for the first time in a VERY long time, when i look in the mirror I LIKE ME. funny how shaving off 3/4 of your hair can change your self perspective so much. I LIKE MY FACE. like, REALLY like my face. for the first time i don't qualify what i see: oh, you look nice with your hair pulled up this way. oh, you look nice with your make up done. oh, you look nice...WHATEVER.

i keep waiting to look in the mirror and have my usual range of "yuk" to "well, this is as good as it gets" reaction, but it hasn't happened. I LIKE WHAT I SEE. i feel like myself for the first time in a LONG, LONG time. not to sound trite or cliche, but maybe for the first time ever. i like my face. i don't feel like a drag version of my brother. or a passable version of myself. I LIKE MY FACE.

but.

there always has to be a but.

i can't figure out how liking my face blends with the rest of me. and it's the dumbest fucking thing EVER.

can a person with this haircut wear western boots?

WHAT THE FUCK DOES HAIR HAVE TO DO WITH SHOES?

but do you know what i mean? can "edgy" and "hick" co-exist? bullshit like that?

how can i be all the things that i am but not BE any of the things i am?

the amazing women of my book club were very quick to call bullshit when i brought this up- they reminded me that punk rock got it start in bluegrass. i am woefully under-educated when it comes to things like the history of CBGB which stands for COUNTRY, BLUEGRASS, BLUES (*headdesk* moment). OF COURSE PUNK AND COUNTRY CAN GO TOGETHER.

i know, in my head, that for every stereotype there's a thousand people that break that stereotype. i know writers that don't live in a secluded cabin in the woods. i know other moms (even ones of teenagers, gasp) that aren't stuck in frumpyville. i know people with tattoos that aren't societal degenerates. i know stereotypes are as wrong as often as they're right.

i think i just need to get the fuck over myself. tell that little (huge) virgo voice that needs a crisp, clean, precise label on everything to just shut the fuck up already. quit fucking worrying about what other people see or think. THEY AREN'T THE ONES LISTENING TO MY THOUGHT SHIT STORM AT 3AM. and if i like myself and quit fighting myself, that shit storm gets so much quieter.

funny thing that, IF I LIKE MYSELF AND QUIT FIGHTING MYSELF MY SHIT STORM OF SELF HATE GETS QUIETER.

whoda thunk?

so, to wrap up, today's lesson? just fucking love yourself already.

i'll accept my award for captain obvious statement of the day now.

quit worrying about stereo types and what i think things *should* be. quit worrying about what people i've never even met think of me. quit trying to be what some article or google image search has tried to convince me i *should* be. stop analyzing myself to the millionth degree. stop with the lists and reasons other people should hate me. stop with the lists and reasons why _I_ should hate me. i don't have to be happy. i threw that in at first then realized that's putting a lot of pressure on myself. i can be healthy and not "happy," i can have off days and still self care. i can change my look and still like myself. i can gain/lose weight and still be ok. if i am or if i'm not someones expected idea THAT'S OK.

i just need to be healthy. i just need to keep liking me. just as i am (thanks bridgette jones).

i just want a hair cut...

i have stupidly thick hair. we've always had a hate-hate relationship.

there is ZERO risk of me going bald outside medical reasons or radioactive spider bites (was spiderman bald, or was it just his outfit? i know deadpool was bald...).

my hair has always been...something. let's take a trip back in time:

back when it was manageable

so long. so blonde. even a bit of curl

second grade. LOVED this haircut. mum HATED it.

5th grade: year of the glasses AND the bad perm

8th grade: the era of hot rollers.

senior pictures.

i can say i tried it at least?

YOU'RE WELCOME.

oh man. so many train wreck pictures. so hard to just choose a few.

but HAIR. i grew up in the era of apple pectin shampoo and conditioner by the gallon from shopko and mom would add water to the conditioner when it ran low to make sure to get all of it. we had ONE curling iron in the house...the kind with teeth that feathers as it curls (or snarls up so you're scared you're going to have to cut it out). i DID have a crimper. super 80's. but growing up my hair was...there. i guess. i tried to do things with it, but if i washed it, it was wet and frizzy ALL DAY. if i didn't wash it, it was greasy and limp. if i hot rolled it, i looked like a brunette version of annie. if i slept on pink sponge rollers...i can't even go back to that dark place.

hair has been hair.

i tried the 90's flip out style which did NOT work well with my OCD and need for perfection (that was a brutal drivers license). i've tried short, long, hilighted, permed, colored, natural...PURPLE even. i've tried layering, thinning, asymetrical cuts, the reverse mullet (long in the front, short in the back). i have blow driers, flat irons, curling irons, curling wands, curlers, hair brushes, bobby pins, banana clips, hair combs. i have studied every "how to" when it comes to beach waves and simple manageable styles, all to no avail. i couldn't rat my hair if you handed me a costco size white rain and the best ratting comb.

currently i'm stuck in this not long, but not short, but not straight, but won't hold a curl, always dry and flaky but still oily and gross with split ends purgatory.

so now i'm venturing into the unknown: pixie.

maybe.

if i can get over hating myself.

the sound track in my head sounds something like this right now:

listen fat ass, your face is approximately the size and shape of a water balloon that's about to burst. not to mention all the acne scaring. and, let's not forget, current acne. you KNOW that if you get a pixie, it will show ALL of that. you can't hide your family jowels behind hair when there is no hair.

you know fat girls look terrible in pixie cuts. ok. maybe not all fat girls, but YOU will.

you think you'll be able to manage it more when it's short? that's what you thought when it was long. it will be super easy to braid or twist or style and go! how did that work captain alligator clip? YEAH. QUEEN OF FRUMPYVILLE. that's right. you think short will be any easier? sure, it may dry faster, but you still don't know how to DO hair. it will still look like a hot train wreck mess. AND your fat face will stick out and look like a DOUBLE train wreck.

you can't pull off a pixie. that's for people with CUTE faces. not people that look like a twin to their older brother.

you can't pull off a pixie. that's for young girls.

you can't pull off a pixie. YOU JUST CAN'T.

and what about when you want to grow it out? WHAT THEN? DO YOU KNOW HOW AWKWARD IT WILL BE?

there's SO. MUCH. HATE in my brain hole right now that it makes tina fey scripts look cuddly and loving.

and the pictures. OH. MY. GOD. THE. PICTURES. i can't imagine anything to draw. i can't imagine pieces of art to create. i can't imagine what remodeling or rearranging my living room would look like, but HOLY SHIT CAN I PICTURE HOW BAD A PIXIE CUT WOULD LOOK.

i'm fully, 100% convinced that i will look like a gremlin and a light socket had a fat adult baby. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT.

the pictures in my head are TERRIFYING. it's like every bad selfie vacationed in Chernobyl then mistook deadpool's oxygen deprivation chamber for a tanning bed.

BUT I'M GOING TO DO IT ANYWAY.

life is too short. so what if i look terrible? it's happened before, it will happen again. and i'll have plenty of pictures to show grandkids in the future when they're living on mars in their space suits and don't have to worry about doing their hair.

i'm sure the self hate will be raging away all weekend and through the actual haircut on tuesday. but, you know what?

there's always hats.

what if it's true?

know how some weeks it just seems like the universe is bound and determined to get your attention about something but you don't know WHY?

that's this week for me.

the what? domestic violence.

the why? fuck if i know.

i am a survivor of domestic violence. i left 12/13/2003 and never went back.

i have been away for a LONG time. and my...i don't know what to call it...scars? doesn't seem right because a scar indicates something that is completely healed and can't be opened back up again. but these wounds have sure as fuck been opened back up again.

i have a child support hearing next week. the case hasn't been touched since it was initially finalized as part of the divorce in 7/2004. there's a change in amounts around age 13, so i figured, why not, see if maybe there's a chance at getting some extra support to cover sports, clothes, school, all the things. especially since the teenager outgrows everything the minute the tag is off.

i'm terrified of the support hearing. i know that there's a VERY slim chance he'll fly up from whatever state he's in for the hearing. but i HATE going to court. it's like going to the principals office- even if I did nothing wrong it's still nerve wracking as fuck. and what if he does fly in? and what if he brings the wife with him? she's a hard core mean girl. i'm sure she's pissed as fuck that i filed. i'm sure she's shared it all over her social network what a money hungry bitch i am- she had ENDLESS things to say after the divorce about me. hell, she even SCREAMED at me once over the phone for talking to him every day and trying to get him back and spending all sorts of time with him. her screaming quieted down a bit i told her i didn't know who he was talking to on the phone or seeing, but i hadn't seen or hear from him in months.

i'm terrified of having to face either of them again. it's been 13 years and i'm still sick when i think about having to face his lies and truth twisting- ESPECIALLY in court where judges really don't care what's true (or at least they didn't in stevens county) and just want to get through all the cases for the day.

earlier this week on twitter there was a hashtag #MaybeHeDoesntHitYou about non-violent domestic violence. reading through all the different responses was HARD. so hard. it brought back way too much baggage and way too much pain that i thought i was over.

maybe he doesn't hit you but he isolates you from all your friends and family.
maybe he doesn't hit you but he destroys your credit
maybe he doesn't hit you but he shames every part of who you are
maybe he doesn't hit you but he tells you every day that he hates you and wants you gone
maybe he doesn't hit you but you wish he would because bruises heal faster than words
maybe he doesn't hit you but he constantly criticizes your clothes and make up
maybe he doesn't hit you but he reduces you to tears every change he gets
maybe he doesn't hit you but even the kids know to be quiet to not set him off
maybe he doesn't hit you when you try to talk about your feelings you end up crying and apologizing for being wrong
maybe he doesn't hit you...

the list goes on and on.

i remember being SCREAMED at for hours because i put green beans in the tater tot casserole.

i asked him to go play cards with friends one thanksgiving and he threatened to have the sheriff arrest me for kidnapping if i made him go.

i remember him calling me every. single. day. at work to make sure i was where i said i was.

i remember him checking the caller ID every night when he got home to see who i'd been talking to.

i remember him intentionally draining the bank account so i couldn't buy groceries.

i remember him opening credit cards in my name without my permission and racking up THOUSANDS of dollars.

i remember forcing myself to write in my journal on the bad days so that on the good days i wouldn't trick myself into thinking i'd made it all up.

i remember sleeping on the couch for 6 months because breastfeeding was disgusting and he didn't want it anywhere near him.

i wasn't allowed to ever have pineapple in the house because it was disgusting.


one little hashtag and i was right back in the house we lived in, back in the emotions, back in the fear.

the same day i was at my kiddos baseball game, minding my own business, and one of the other parents started to talk to me. i'm not social by nature, but she started a conversation and i won't be rude, so i chatted with her while the game drug on.

she told me about her abusive ex. and becoming a domestic violence lawyer. and i talked about my history. and again, i was right back there.

and for the last few days i've been stuck there. because that sound track is hard as fuck to turn off once it starts.

especially.

especially when it's true.

all those things he said to me? he wasn't wrong.

he told me no one else would want me.

13 years later i can't even get a date.

and he's still married to the second mistress.

he told me i was worthless.

13 years later he's making $140K a year without even a high school diploma and i'm having to ask the court (him) for more money to help make ends meet.

he told me no one would want to be around me.

i'm completely and totally alone. all the time.

how do you turn off the sound track? how do you convince yourself he's wrong when he wasn't?

and i don't know why this is all coming up. i don't know why this is the theme of the week. i don't know what i'm missing. i don't know what lesson i haven't learned yet. i don't know why i have to think about all this all over again.

there's something i need to see. there's something i need to figure out. but fuck if it isn't hard not to just wallow and be in pain. again. and i know i'm better than that. and i want to believe he was wrong, but i'm having a hard time convincing myself otherwise.

i'll keep looking. i'll keep sorting. i'll keep working through it. but what if at the end, it's just true?

a change will do you good?

you know those people that do something, every. single. day. for their whole adult life?

the guy that orders a pepperoni pizza every day at 5 (and then the pizza place employee saves the customers life after he notices the order didn't come in. true story).

the old man that has coffee at the same cafe every morning for 30 years.

the person that takes a picture every day for a full year.

the parents that plan ahead and have teachers write letters for their kids starting at kindergarten all the way through high school.

the people that have routine and structure and foresight.


FUCK THOSE PEOPLE.

no. seriously. how do you remember to call your sister every. single. day. at 8 pm? how do you have the money to stop at the same cafe every morning for years? how do you have the endurance to eat the same exact pizza every single day?

outside of the basics of hygeine, there is NOTHING that i can claim to do every day. and let's be really honest, there's some weekends even showering is optional. DON'T JUDGE. but things like exercise? ha ha ha ha ha. meditation. nope. reading the news? when i remember. visiting the same coffee shop? my budget is too...ahem...temperamental for that.

i do like routine, i do like familiar places, but i think i'm still pretty far from what would be deemed predictable or regular.

as inconsistent as i am though, i expect the rest of the world to pause and wait for me to pick up where i left off. AND THAT'S TOTALLY NOT UNREASONABLE. SHUT UP.

one of my favorite bar tenders packed up and moved out of town. BUT HE DIDN'T ASK ME FIRST. sure, i only manage to go out for a drink *maybe* once a month, BUT HE NEEDS TO ALWAYS BE THERE. how dare he have a life and goals and things outside being there for my comfort and familiarity? and now what do _I_ do (insert appropriate whining cry baby noises here). now i have to get used to a new bar tender, or, *gasp* find a new bar?? OH THE HUMANITY!

i don't deal well with things like this. i'm a creature of habit, as infrequent and scattered as those habits are. i'm the asshole that laments a store closed YEARS ago because i liked it and went to it a few times and always meant to go back. WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY ONE STOP THREE YEARS AGO WASN'T ENOUGH TO SUSTAIN THE BUSINESS??

one of the things i admire most in other people is their willingness to change and their ability to step out into new things. good friends packing up and selling their house in idaho to move to seattle with nothing more than an idea that there has to be something better. a bartender packing up his whole family to start a new business in a new town. people moving across states or countries for relationships. WHAT?? how is that even a thing? do you KNOW the risks involved?

i keep going back and forth about whether or not it's time for me to make some changes. maybe pack up everything and head to a new town? it's way too easy to talk myself out of it and into staying where i'm at in the comfortable and familiar, even if it is feeling like a favorite shirt i outgrew a few sizes ago (aka: my entire wardrobe). change jobs? but i have my order of things down here and i'm good at it and it's fluid and familiar.

just when i have myself convinced there's a whole wide world out there, a few things come together at home and i realize i like my little corner of the world and can't imagine leaving it behind. spring time is an especially persuasive sneaky bitch about this. why would you want to leave?? look how pretty and green the yard is! look how lovely the fruit trees are when they're in bloom! look how the house lights up when you open the curtains! why would you ever want to leave?? change jobs? but look how well those three things all worked out and how smoothly all that paperwork went through. and the stupid was at a moderate to low level this week. i can tolerate moderate to low.

one of the worst areas for me when it comes to change is people. i tend to have a nasty habit of dealing with change by disconnecting. one of my worst traits is not reaching out to people. i have forever wanted to be a better person about calling or sending cards or visiting. i buy stacks of cards that collect dust in bins. i intend to call but what do you SAY? i was not a chat-on-the-phone-for-hours teenager. traveling/visiting takes planning and budgeting and vacation time and i'm so worn out from all the excuse making that the actual traveling is just too much.

the last few weeks have been a lot of small changes happening and the idea of a few big ones lingering in the background. it's been stressful. one look at my face will tell you just how stressful. the teenager has been growing up and learning how to stand up for himself. he's been venturing a little further from the house at longer intervals. baseball at the school is now a standard instead of an occasional. "home by dark" shifts by a few minutes each day. he's not letting bullies push him around anymore, he talking back (and occasionally even fighting back). it's been cool to watch. i'm excited to see him grow and become. i don't remember the older one necessarily going through this...at least this pronounced. he started taking the city bus to school and started wanting to spend time "out" with friends but never quite showed the...growing up part of that. maybe i just missed it in the middle of all the fighting and anger and chaos that was happening.

today i had a job interview. i think it went well. but HOLY FUCK that would be a HUGE change. and i don't know if i'm ready for that. i mean...i like my job. i like my work. i'm good at what i do. i like my boss. i like the owner. not a fan of a chunk of my coworkers. but is that chunk enough to leave the comfortable, familiar that i'm GOOD at? it's hard! the ability to make the change is without question. talking to them today i know i could step in blindfolded and do the work they need done. but is that what i want?
how do you make that choice? how do you know when it's right to shake up the status quo and do something new or when you're just running away from problems?

change is good. a chance for a different perspective, growth, all that bullshit. but FUCK is it hard. i don't know what point i'm trying to make besides just plain old fashioned bitching and whining.  i don't have the answers. i don't have any answers. do smurfs have toes? I DON'T KNOW. is the communist party congress in north korea going to start world war 3? it's possible?? what's for dinner? STOP INTERROGATING ME.

i think the only good change is the kind i keep in my car for parking meters. and even that sucks when you forget to lock your doors and random people decide they need it more than you do. or when all the silver bits are gone and you're left with nothing but stupid pennies that don't work in parking meters.

nope. change of all kinds sucks. it is decided.

stand-bi

i'm awkward as fuck.

not in the adorable pretty woman, kind hearted hooker that doesn't know which fork to use with the salad kind of way.

i'm awkward in the bring a whole room to an awkward silence with an inappropriate comment or story kind of way.

i've never figured out the difference between polite conversation and when someone is actually hitting on me. probably because the second one has never happened.

i'm a bartenders favorite person. a little extra attention and they get an above average tip and probably a phone number that they'll never even glance at.

because when a bartender carries on a 20 minute conversation, through several interruptions, on the theory that geographic location/place of birth directly affects temperament and health of the population (think: people living closer to the equator are statistically happier due to their naturally higher vitamin d levels from getting more liquid sunshine than northerners) and the etymology/prevalence of genetic disorders or neurological anomalies based on geography...that MUST be flirting or at least some level of interest...right??

for the record: nope.

just a bartender getting a degree in geography.

i'm socially awkward of the ZERO GAME club when it comes to dating. i can wingman like a mutherfucker. if YOU need a date, i can help make that happen. but for ME? nope.

i have never struggled (per say) with my sexuality. growing up i liked boys because i was raised in a small religious town where girls liked boys and boys liked girls and that was that. there were a few outliers- one PE coach that was a lesbian...she lived with the lady that refereed the volleyball games. that was the extent of my "exposure" to anything other than the status quo according to the baptist church. vague half knowledge of two ladies that lived together. oh the scandal.

years after leaving the small town scene, after a divorce, after some growing up and exploring and coming into my own and realizing sex and masturbation are ok and not shameful, one-way-ticket-to-hell things, i started to notice small shifts in myself. porn preferences tended more and more towards girls. i started noticing women more in general. started thinking i would really like to try dating girls as well as guys. there was no real debate, no real struggle, just a slow recognition of a whole other side of myself and a whole different section of the dating pool.

huh. i think i'm bi. MAYBE I SHOULD EXPLORE THAT.

and so i went on a date with a girl. (that ended in a threesome somehow. some men have magical powers that i will NEVER understand).

and i LIKED going on a date with a girl. and i like girls in general. and i still like boys.

BUT. that was my one and only date with a girl. and my track record with boys isn't much better. out of the last 10 scheduled dates, 9 of them have stood me up.

because i just...i'm missing that part. i'm missing that social filter of polite vs. flirting. i'm missing that confidence to not care about rejection. i'm missing that ability to connect.

i can carry on a conversation with a stranger next to me in a bar. i can chat with them and have general bar debate and banter. but that's it. i don't know if the bartender is flirting. i can't tell if the waitress paid extra attention to my table. i don't know if the checker at the grocery store is just trying to make their shift interesting or actually is interested. is that smile from the stranger at the gas pump just a nice person? or someone checking me out?
 

i like boys. i like girls. but i'm on perpetual stand-bi.

how do you get past that? how do you learn to differentiate? it's easier/safer to just assume NO ONE is flirting and walk away at the end of an interaction, but i can't help but feel like maybe i'm being a little too closed off ice bitch when i do that.

people like to talk about the bi community as double dipping...oh, you're just bi so you have twice the chances at last call. YOU MEAN TWICE THE CHANCE AT REJECTION? cause i'm pretty sure that's all it means. also...do bi people not have taste? are we that cartoon wolf howling at EVERYTHING? in the same way homophobic men are afraid of gay men because being gay must mean you like EVERY. PENIS. ON. EARTH. apparently being bi means that i have no opinion or personal preference, i'm just trying to bang anything with a heartbeat.

guess what: NOPE. being bi just means i'm TWICE as awkward. it means i'm TWICE as inept at trying to get a date. it means i'm TWICE as likely to stick my foot in my mouth and embarrass myself in front of someone. i'm too straight for a good portion of lesbians, and dear god, whatever you do, never tell a man you're bi because all you'll hear after that is "do you know anyone for a threesome?" DUDE. I CAN'T EVEN GET ONE DATE AND YOU WANT ME TO ARRANGE A THREESOME?

and so here i am. twice as single. double the awkward.

remember that horrible tom hanks movie where he was stuck in the airport forever because he didn't have a homeland?

that's me. in the dating world. stand-bi forever because i don't really belong anywhere. and i don't speak the language.

now i just need a catherine zeda-jones stewardess to take pity on me.