Out of Doors

"...you're such a fucking pussy. you're too busy sucking your boyfriends dick to fight like a man."


is that sentence a bit shocking? it was to me, and i don't shock easily.

that sentences wasn't hurled at or by me. that sentence, in all it's ignorant, homophobic glory, was an insult hurled at my 12 year old son last night after he walked away from a group of kids that had surrounded him and sprayed him all over with silly string.

this all happened at a youth group meeting.

mere feet away from the "adults in charge" (most barely legal adults).

NO ONE DID A DAMN THING.

i got a call at work from a child in TEARS. he had left the church and walked home and called me.

this isn't the first time.

this isn't the second time.

this is TWO YEARS of bullying from the same kid.

i'm out of doors to knock on. i don't know what cage to rattle any more.

TWO YEARS of escalating bullying and not a damn thing has worked.

you may remember a rant a while ago about the school teaching my son "safe words" to use to get help when the bullying happened.

you may remember rants about me calling the school staff, the superintendent, the city police.

TWO YEARS. multiple school district complaint forms filed with the school superintendent. it spread from school to campus kids- a local college mentoring program my son participates in on thursdays on the college campus. it spread to the city park and involved SCRAPS (the local animal control) and a harassment report with the city police. it spread to a church youth group and ANOTHER harassment report with the city police.

my son doesn't want to go to school. i've told him to stay away from the park near our house. fortunately, the college mentor program realized what was happening and dis-invited the student doing the bullying so my son still has ONE safe place to go. but for fucks sake, even a church isn't sanctuary for him at this point.

the school principal is "working on it." the key phrase he kept saying this morning in his office as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

i *just* found out there's a city police officer assigned to the school as a safety/resource officer. why wasn't i informed of that two years ago?

i've had to teach my son to just take it. all the insults, the pushing, losing friends, being the narc because he did the right thing and told me. remember "...snitches get stitches..." from last school year?

he can't fight back or he gets in trouble. he can't verbally defend himself or they consider that bullying as well.

so he just has to listen to it and tell me about it in tears later.

he has to listen to "you're such a fag," "go suck your boyfriends dick," "no wonder your dad left," and a myriad of other juvenile insults. i don't know if he's gay. he doesn't know if he's gay. we've talked about it. he's questioning.

IT DOESN'T MATTER. 

the officer last night was the first one to get that. the first question from the reports has always been "...does the bullying bother him because he's gay?"

NO YOU FUCKING IMBECILES.

THE BULLYING BOTHERS HIM BECAUSE HE DOESN'T LIKE BEING BULLIED.

the officer last night was actually thrown off my me answering the question before he asked it.

me: "...and no, i don't know if he's gay or not. He's 12."
officer: "I wasn't going to even ask that. Why would that be an issue?"
me: "Well, it's the first thing everyone else has asked."
officer: "Doesn't matter if he is or isn't This shouldn't be happening."

FINALLY. someone gets it.

but now what? i have two case report numbers. i have multiple harassment complaints. i've talked to everyone i can think of. i've started down the path to see if there's any legal help i can get.

BUT MY KID IS STILL SCARED TO GO TO SCHOOL.

so what? what door do i knock on? what cage do i rattle? how can i get more than one police officer to take this serious? 

i'm at a loss. i'm frustrated. i'm sad. i'm angry. i'm insulted. i'm so incredibly hurt for my kid. i'm having flash backs to when i was in school. i know EXACTLY what he's feeling. i know EXACTLY what it's like to be the target and have no one listen or help. i know what it's like to be standing right next to an adult and have them walk away when something happens.

I DON'T WANT THAT FOR MY KID.

i'm going to keep fighting. i don't know what i'm fighting for or against or which direction i'm pointed, but i'm not giving up.

HOW?

i don’t love myself.

i know that’s odd to see in real words these days with the THOUSANDS of self love, body positive, acceptance articles floating all over.

i have good days when i don’t loathe myself as much. but for the most part all i hear in my head is a negative soundtrack that is a BITCH to turn off/drown out/ignore/get over.

i’ve tried for YEARS. i have people that love me the way i am. i have a partner that accepts my body as it is and has never once said anything bad about the way i look- quite the opposite actually.

but it’s still there. all those voices drilled in early on. all the years of school kids making fun of my glasses (when you have coke bottle glasses even with the “ultra thin” lenses it’s an issue). i had more than a few bad hair days due to my moms insistence of buying the cheapest by-the-gallon shampoo/conditioner (anyone else remember apple pectin shampoo?) and only the cheapest beauty products in our home (looking at you L.A. Style and aquanet). We had ONE curling iron, if you can call it that- an ancient curl/brush/feather all in one combo. My mom owned exactly one tube of mascara and one basic beige eye shadow and used jergens lotion for EVERYTHING (my acne prone skin cringes at the thought).

when i was young i was fortunately unaware of the bulk of people making fun of me. i lived in a world of books and didn’t particularly get along with 3D characters. i didn’t know until years later that my brother had to beg my mom to teach me to shave my legs because the kids on swim team were making fun of me. i didn’t realize until well after high school that the guy who asked me to tutor him did so because he thought that maybe being seen with him would get other people to leave me alone.

i know it’s been an absurd amount of years ago, but i still hear my moms voice in my head every time i try on a red shirt telling me how much it makes my blotchy skin and acne stand out. Guess how many red shirts I own? even though i have NO IDEA what it means, i still hear her voice in my head telling me i have a “shelf butt” and have to be careful what i wear. i hear her, after my second kiddo, telling me how nice i look and how well i take care of myself for “someone my size.” there was a lady at my mom’s church that i adored. she was GORGEOUS and always looked amazingly put together (plus she would sing occasionally and had the most beautiful voice i had ever heard). i remember my mom saying how lovely she looked and how impressive it was she looked that way for being a dairy farmer’s wife. WHAT? the kicker is, i think my mom honestly thought she was saying something nice. it never occurred to her that quantifying things by saying “for your size” or “for a farmer’s wife” were HUGELY insulting.

i still hear the girls in high school making fun of me for wearing too much blue eyeshadow (before i even owned ANY make up. pale/translucent skin is a bitch). i remember the horror of leaving foundation marks on people i hugged before learning about blending/setting your makeup. i remember my dads second wife not very politely pointing out that i was wearing the wrong color foundation and hadn’t learned how to avoid “make up mask” yet.

as a bonus, i have an older brother who was horrified by everything i did in high school (and still doesn’t get me now). he HATED that i was in drama, thought i only had weird friends, didn’t like that i wasn’t athletic or in sports (even though i did try volleyball and softball in jr high to very, very little success). now he still laments every tattoo on my skin and makes all sorts of off comments about my hair color. he’s glad that i’m finally “back to a natural color of hair” even though i’ve reminded him anything that comes with a formula and has to be mixed/applied every 8 weeks isn’t quite “natural”.

for a VERY short time i had a husband that HATED me. all my clothes were trashy and not fit to be seen out in public. i was a mortifying embarrassment to him if i left the house without make up. i was destroying his public image when we went grocery shopping because i carried my purse on my shoulder versus putting it in the cart.

I know ALL the things i just lamented about are total bullshit. they’re other peoples issues projected on me. it’s my mom’s own body issues and lack of knowledge. it’s my brother’s own security and image issues. it’s my ex-husbands way of controlling and abusing. NONE OF IT WAS ME.

i did the best i could with what i had. i still do. i still make sure my clothes are the right size and i’m not trying to fit 10 pounds of butter in a 5 pound tub. i can *occasionally* leave the house without make-up but it’s a conscious effort. i spend ungodly amounts of money getting my hair cut and colored. i LOATHE myself for not spending MORE time getting ready in the morning. i *should* (worst word in the english language) get up every morning and curl/style my hair. i *should* spend more time and effort trying to get rid of the acne that still plagues me. i *should* spend more time shopping and finding clothes that aren’t tee-shirts and jeans. i *should* shave my legs and wear dresses more often. i *should* a million things. those *should* statements are why i only own one hooded sweatshirt now (they look sloppy. you *should* have more pride in yourself).

all i see in the mirror is a vain but still hideous monster. i hate how much i look like my brother without make up on. i hate that my hair does this half frizz half curl half straight all a mess if i don’t spend hours on it with products and potions and power tools. i HATE the way my body looks, but i hate even more the thought of people seeing me sweating and with frizzy hair and without make up more. no, seriously, who has the time to work out when it takes 20 minutes before hand to remove your makeup, make sure you’re properly fitted into clothes that aren’t too offensive, revealing, and properly lock down all the wobbly bits, WORK OUT (complete with boob sweat and frizzy hair horror) and then repair all the damage done so you’re presentable to the world again? i will never, EVER understand how people work out on their lunch hour.

i guess this is all the really long, pathetic way of saying HOW DO YOU QUIT BEING SO VAIN? how do you not worry about your blotchy/acne skin when you’re wearing a red shirt (or just in general)? how do you work out without worrying about looking like the creature from the black lagoon? how do you go to the grocery store in the morning without being in full war paint? how do you turn off the negative track in your head? how do you *REALLY* believe the positive things people say about you? how do you love yourself? like, really, truly, honestly, not afraid to stand in front of the mirror naked, love yourself? i really, 100% don’t get it. i read the self love articles. i talk to friends that have a great body image. and all i can think is “...yeah, but…”

i’m confident in other things; that bolsters the “fake it til you make it” portion of the vanity. i know i can hold a decent conversation. i have a passable sense of humor (even if not always entirely appropriate). i can sling sentences together fairly well. i’m damn good at my job. i have a fucking amazing house (finally). i have good kids and an adorable bastard dog that distract people fairly well. i love the people around me exactly the way they are, but HOW DO I DO THAT FOR MYSELF?

loosen your grip

the google machine has failed me. i can see the image in my head but can't find it to share (and me drawing would be just plain terrible).

but you know that moment in a cartoon where the character falls and is CLINGING to the end of the rope and there is perilous danger and a certain plummet to the death if they let go? then it pans down three inches and there's solid ground RIGHT THERE and the character lets go and sheepishly walks off like they really weren't just completely terrified for their life three seconds ago?

or when someone is flailing in the pool certain they're going to drown and then they stand up and it's barely knee deep?

THAT.

THAT is the feeling i have right now.

i feel like i've been in crisis mode for so many years, clinging to the end of my rope, so terrified of the fall that i didn't even bother to look below me and notice the completely stable landing pad RIGHT THERE.

2015 is odd.  a great odd. but odd. my budget has loosened up across the board without any specific conscious effort- like my comfort level electric billing being adjusted lower without me making any specific effort to conserve energy. or like my cellphone bill being cut almost in half after removing one line (even with adding a tablet). the raise at work helped too.

speaking of work, i love where i'm at. even with the occasional stupid comment (one of the guys comparing a lesbian couple being able to have a baby to the woman marrying her biological father because they're both gross. *headdesk*). with the raise, my boss asked me to take on additional responsibilities in regard to the company financials but was also willing to put me through classes to learn how to do it right. AWESOME.

home has been boring lately for the most part which is GOOD. i miss my teenager like crazy. it's been a year since i've seen him and he still barely texts or talks to me, BUT, i don't miss all the drama and chaos and anger we were stuck in. it's NICE not having to constantly referee and defend and be prepared for battle. there are still battles with the the almost teenager. we're slogging through sorting out negative and positive behaviors. it's exhausting as well but not nearly the continuous fight to the death i'd grown accustomed to.

and then there's the random AWESOME that's been happening- getting an article published on a well known web site. being asked to come on as a writer/interviewer for an entertainment magazine. realizing that i have been seriously putting myself down for YEARS and not believing my friends when they encouraged me (sorry everyone).

being published via submission is a big shift- it's people that aren't required/obligated to like my writing accepting it and publishing it and wanting more. it's such a...fuck...words...it's a MOMENT. an epicenter. an axis shifter..it's fucking HUGE that a magazine wants me on staff to represent them to their readership base. that a popular web site trusts that my article would resonate with their readers.

i've also been working on home again- getting things fixed, updated, decorated. tax return season has shifted over the years from TATTOO TIME! to electrical repairs, paint, art OH MY! i've been collecting pieces that make me happy and doing projects that make things feel more completed than falling apart. home is becoming HOME. after stripping it down during the attempts to sell, it's been blank and depressing for a while. now it's becoming HOME again. i like pulling up and seeing a freshly painted front door and new exterior chandelier (orb). i like sitting in my livingroom looking at art pieces that i've been waiting to adopt for a while. i like a dining room full of plants and terrariums (i can't even begin to describe how excited i am to make a trailer park terrarium, flamingos and all) . i'm stupidly excited to have ALL the lights in my bathroom finally working.

the biggest shift is that i'm HAPPY. the last several years have been rough. the end of last year took a few really harsh shots. but i finally took the time to look below the end of the rope and find that there's been a place to land just waiting.

i made it through and i didn't just survive, i'm thriving. i've finally broken the shell on the depression that's been lingering and i feel my creativity and energy and happiness coming back. i know this isn't forever. i'm well aware that it will take work and self care to maintain this spot. i know to watch for being overloaded or negative drains. i need to make sure i'm eating properly, sleeping, exercise...you know all those things a million and twelve people say that...well, work. i'm cautiously optimistic. i find myself looking at all the good happening and being majority excited and minority worried about the other shoe dropping. yes, the worry is still there, i'm still ME. but it's shifting. i've landed and gained footing. so far standing up is much better than hanging on.

music machine

so. over the weekend i had an interview and have been invited to write for an LGTB publication as an entertainment contributor on a trial basis.

the bulk of the writing for now will be music centered, possibly expanding at a later time.

i am SUPER excited for this opportunity. i learned from the last magazine gig that i ADORE interviews. i love getting to sit down with people and get a peek into their life. i love asking questions, seeing people light up with excitement to tell you about a project or a memory. making a personal connection or finding common ground is always exhilarating and then being able to take that and share it to a group of readers is even better.

HOWEVER.

i'm a musical fake.

don't get me wrong- i LOVE music. i always have music playing at home or in the car. i have pandora on my phone, tv, and bluray so it's available wherever i am. i put on some bad. ass. concerts in my kitchen while i cook. i do not sing in the shower (never could figure that one out) but i will do a whole show with encores in my car.

but i don't KNOW about music. i can't tell you which drummer left which band in what year between which albums and joined the OTHER band and released the next album which had a sophomoric urban feel opposed to the angsty grunge feel he had before.

I AM NOT LANE KIM.

i have this idea stuck in my head that to be a true music journalist i need an encyclopedic knowledge of all music across all genres from ALL TIME.

i thought about this on the way home from the interview. will i be able to ask the "right" questions? will they know i'm a fake?

let's take a trip down musical memory lane:

i don't remember when my fascination with music began. i remember having a plastic record player that plinked out songs when you turned it on.

i remember a sesame street cassette with such classics like "If I Knew You Were Coming I'd Have Baked a Cake" and "C is for Cookie" (which a google search just told me was the name of the album).

other childhood albums included evie, the bill gaither trio, and agapeland music machine:

for better or worse my ability to do the alphabet backwards to this day is thanks to the bill gaither trio a-b-c- song: a-b-c-d-e-f-g jesus died for you and me OR z-y-x-w-v god is watching over me.

if i ever have to do a field sobriety test that officer is in for a real treat.

i can still tell you the sound the music machine makes- it goes whir, whir, chicka, chicka, bomp, bomp, psssst. even more humiliating? i SEARCHED for this album and bought it on CD less than a year ago because i loved it so much as a kid.

things were a little edgier at my dad's house- he bought me an ann murray cassette (a gift i'm sure he deeply regretted later that same summer after hearing teady bears picnic for the millionth time). oooo. a canadian singer. can you handle all my edge?

i remember my dad whistling/singing john denver songs on road trips and his deep baritone singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" on occasion.

i learned on my last trip to his house ever that he loved musicals which i'm 100% sure is where i get it from.

as a teenager i somehow managed to own a copy of  Hearts of Gold, The Pop Collection which i completely wore out listening to over and over and over again. OH MY GOD WILSON PHILLIPS. and janet jackson! sinead o'conner! she shaved her head. CAN YOU FEEL THE REBELLION?

good thing that album didn't have madonna- i would have never been allowed to have in the house. madonna was complete scandalous trash, don't you know (she was the whole reason i wasn't allowed to watch A League of Their Own, yes, the baseball movie).

i remember my brother having a beach boys tape that i was SO jealous of. somwhere there is a GLORIOUS picture of him in his chubby phase wearing spandex bike shorts, some horrible tank top, with a flat top hair cut listening to that tape on his walkman.

the beach boys- they sang about girls and cars and surfing. so hip. he even had the soundtrack to cocktail on cassette. lucky bastard.

i went to a DC Talk concert with my youth group in high school but i spent the whole concert being worried about people seeing how much i was sweating through my super awesome but hot as fuck silk shirt (seriously, why didn't any tell me what a bad choice silk was for a jam packed high school auditorium?). my only other concert of my youth was a vince gill concert also in high school. again with the edge.

outside my pathetic collection of cassette and concerts my personal experience in creating music was also sadly limited. i played clarinet in middle school and jr. high. i always managed to snag second or third chair, but never really enjoyed playing (i figured out how to tear the pads off my clarinet in 8th grade so mine always needed repair and i wouldn't have to play). i did a few years of piano as well. my mum figured out early on that i could play by ear and immediately signed me up for lessons (that managed to train that out of me). i played piano until my teacher started shoving me in competitions all over the place. it takes the fun out of music when all you're doing is learning a piece to play for a judge that is going to tell you all the ways you did it wrong. there's a small collection of WSMTA (washington state music teachers association) pins around my house somewhere along with all my participation certificates and judging sheets.

i always wanted to keep playing piano. i still really miss it around the holidays. just couldn't figure out a way to make them let me play music just to play music. there was a lady that tuned our piano twice way back in the day- Ruby Bartel (or something close to that). she was...i don't even know the words. she was what i wanted to be when i grew up. she had this beautiful long black and silver braid and the coolest red cat eye glasses. she was a reporter for the local newspaper at a time when computers were just starting to be used and i remember hearing about how she typed so fast that she would finish a piece, walk away to get a cup of coffee and the computer would still be putting words up on the screen.

and she played piano.

holy. fuck. do i remember her playing the piano. i remember her showing up at our house and tuning the piano with a simple tuning fork. after it was tuned she played old school honky tonk/ragtime that cartoons are based on- she played with so much energy and passion that you swore the piano was jumping. i remember staring in complete awe as she just railed the piano and didn't miss a single note and created this...music. this color, this sound that was bigger than life.

dude- to be her. this cool, single, independent journalist that could play music like that. that would have been the most awesome thing ever.

but that's it. the extent of my music experience. as a child of the 80's when MTV first aired and the 90's when Nirvana was just over the mountains and music was everywhere on walkmans on cassette or cd's (oh my god cd's!). i missed new kids on the block. i missed jenny when she was from the block. I MISSED ALL THE GOOD BLOCKS. i can't tell you any of the hanson brother's names. i can't readily name off any greenday albums or one song the red hot chili peppers were famous for. 
i never figured out what meatloaf wouldn't do for love. i have ZERO information on any of that devil noise music like AC/DC or Motley Cru or Alice in Chains. i DID learn to play bryan adams everything i do on the piano.

i'm not an audiophile. i don't know what new cutting edge bands are on the verge of making it big. i don't know what the next big sound will be. i don't know the music underground. i'm not the one to compare music catalogs with. i've never even listened to the dark side of the moon.

so. i'm not sure how i'll be as a music journalist. but i do love talking to people. i do love asking questions. and when it comes to if i like something or not, i'm pretty good at being able to dial in why or why not and at least having an appreciation for the effort and feeling behind it.

and so it begins.

excuse vs reality

2015 is all of 16 days old and it's already started with a bang.

i'm working on arranging an interview to get back into published magazine writing for a local brand which is VERY exciting.

i've written and had a piece accepted for OffBeat Homes. Publication is loosely scheduled in a few weeks online (and more to possibly come!).

i've worked on organizing the house and have actually been keeping up on things and making myself JUST DO IT instead of sitting on the couch hating myself for not doing it (ie: fixing the bathtub and sink in the main bathroom that weren't draining. i'm like a super hot bob villa (i've been told i'm actually not. whatever.)).

AND: one of the things i'm proud of: i've been getting my ass OFF THE COUCH. it started with doing the rowing machine while watching tv at night (only after finishing other chores). i just made myself do it. no particular reason or trick- just. did.

i also am contemplating roller derby.

and that's where my main battle is right now.

what's the difference between an excuse and a reality?

i want to do roller derby.

not because i'm all WOO HOO! GO SPORTS TEAM! i'm not. i didn't do sports in high school. well, i was a cheerleader, but if you knew our squads you'd know it was more of a whoever showed up for try outs and not one of those competitions you seen on ESPN 8, The Ocho.

i want to do it because i know it's a great way to get in shape and be active and biggest part: because i know it's an amazing group of supportive, strong, confident women that help each other and accept each other and that sounds DAMN AMAZING.

BUT.

practices start at 7:30 on tuesdays and thursdays. shouldn't seem like a big deal, but for the kiddo, that half hour before bedtime of me not being home is pretty much on par with abandonment. not to mention the 3 hours saturday morning practice. i went on tueday night (yay! survived an actual practice!) and wednesday morning the kiddo was a nasty grouch and wendesday night he was a bundle of LOOK AT ME while i was trying to get photos taken for the OffBeat Homes article. In the space of an hour while editing pictures i had to ask him three different times, "Can we do this later?" because he kept interrupting with school papers, permission slips, etc.

if that's the way it's going to be three times a week? oh. my. pending. insanity.

he always has been a high maintenance kid and i have been trying to figure out the balance between telling him to just deal with it and not ignoring him FOREVER. he's the type of kid that you can spend ALL DAY WITH and the next morning he's insulted you don't want to do it all over again and insisting you NEVER do anything with him. it's been like that as long as i can remember.

i already feel guilty enough for him being home alone before and after school while i'm at work. and i have this HUGE ball of parental fuck up in my gut at all times for my down time while dealing with depression. what toll would it be emotionally and mentally to me to add more away time (even just a half hour) to the fire? how much would his behavior shift and would it be a constant battle?

is this an excuse or a reality?

additionally, there's the fact of WHEN, not if i get injured. it seems like everyone in derby has a story of when they messed up their ankle or knee or arm or miscellaneous body part. i have ZERO wiggle room or cushion for missing work. i have no one to watch the kiddo if i'm in the hospital for any length of time. i have no savings account or fall back if there's medical bills or missed pay. one injury would wipe me out across the board. YES, i fully realize i could get injured walking down the street or driving to and from work with the same consequences. that, to me, is drastically different from signing up for something that has an inevitability versus a possibility.

again though, excuse or reality?

there's the thought that since i'm considering spending money on dues and gear i could put that towards personal trainer sessions/gym fees and be able to work out after the kiddo is in bed and get the same health benefits. but that misses out on the interaction and belonging to something or being a part of a group.

there's the thought that i can't let the kiddo dictate my life forever, i need to just GO. but i know my brain and i know it would be a constant nagging/distracting thought.

so. here i am, waffling. if it's just excuses i can kick myself in the ass and say SUCK IT UP.

if it's a reality then i need to find a work around or alternate solution.

 and i really just don't know.

dull hooks

well, it's officially 2015 and that means only one thing: 

#bfhunt2014 has been retired and #bfhunt2015 has begun (boyfriend hunt 2015 for the non-twitter hashtag addicted crowd).

yes. this is a continuation of #bfhunt2013 as well. shut it.

with the new year comes the same old question: WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU MEET PEOPLE?

i decided a few weeks ago that i'm actually going to *TRY* to find someone to date. this is an actual conscious decision vs the previous "meh, i'll throw an online profile up and see if anything happens" which has obviously gone so well in years past. well, it DID net plenty of interesting blogs and horror stories but no real results.

SO. i sat down yesterday and started writing about WHERE do you actually go out and meet people?

"out"

WHERE THE FUCK IS "OUT"????? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE NAME A BAR "OUT" SO I KNOW WHERE TO GO?

fuck a duck sideways. i go to the theater, i go to concerts, bars, restaurants, stores, art exhibits, sporting events, OUT. most of the time i'm alone, some of the time i'm with people. ALL OF THE TIME i go home alone.

also, have you tried to go "out" as a single person? especially as a single 30+ not hollywood leading lady sized with *maybe* a bit of a...non-conventional attitude and appearance? i've tamed down over the years (no more blue hair) but there's no hiding all my tattoos. there's also no hiding my no bullshit attitude. i'm never flat rude (without provocation at least) but i'm also not a legally blonde bend-and-snap girl.

in case anyone wandering across/reading this doesn't know me, here's my nutshell: 34, 5'8", size 20, red head (from a salon, not genetics). i hold a BA in English, a steady job, own my home and car. i have 2 kids, a dog and a plant that i've kept alive for several years now. i'm not bad to look at on a good day and on a great day i can even be called pretty. i have a wealth of useless information stuffed in my head that allows me to be able to carry on a conversation with just about anyone and a sense of humor that only makes fun of you if you're not fast enough to say something right back. it's a cozy little nutshell. i've modified it and adjusted it over the years and i'm quite pleased with it.

so. i do it. i go OUT. me and my little nutshell take on the infamous OUT.

here's what happens: business men in town for a convention think i'd LOVE to be their free hooker for the night. "pretty people" pretend like i don't exist (literally leaning over me to order drinks when the rest of the bar/space is empty). if i decide to dance i'm the sad/weird girl dancing alone. if i try to initiate conversation with anyone sitting around me i'm creepy/desperate (and probably eavesdropping to boot.)

today, Bustle.com posted THIS ARTICLE about going out to bars alone in new york. i commiserate with the author on several points but the entire article holds absolutely NO water because, if you happened to miss it, the writer is NOT SINGLE. how the fuck can you honestly/accurately write about going out to a bar to get picked up when you're NOT SINGLE? at the end of the night you have a significant other to remind you that you're not invisible, that people can see you and have conversations with you. those sad looks from the bartenders? try getting those ALL THE TIME, not just the one night of the experiment. writing an article about ONE NIGHT is bullshit. get back to me when the one night out alone is the rule, not the exception.

i spent TWO YEARS going to the same bar, every wednesday to listen to a band that i adored (until they all grew up and went to colleges on the other side of the country or pursued other careers. assholes. WHAT ABOUT ME??). after two years i managed to make friends with all the bartenders and cocktail waitresses but had yet to figure out how to get along with the other people in the bar. TWO YEARS. you can't say it was for lack of trying.

so. the infamous "out" isn't a place to meet people. what else is there?

friends! have your friends hook you up!

fuck. that. shit. all my friends are either gay and/or married. not sure if you know this, the gay dating pool isn't exactly the place for a single FEMALE to fish. don't get me wrong, i LOVE visiting the gay dating pool. some of the prettiest, most in shape, most gentlemanly fish you'll ever see. they just have ZERO interest in any kind of bait i could even imagine tossing in. the fun thing is we usually have the same taste in gentlemen. the not fun part is they always win the fishing derby.

married friends tend to know other married friends. little inside tip: not many married friends are kosher with you dating their other married friends.

i may or may not have dipped into the married pool once or twice (i know, i know) and the only thing there is heartbreak and drama. even under the best of circumstances (permission on all sides: yes it exists; no, none of mine were) it's still complicated. when you have a less than above board arrangement it's just a trainwreck in perpetual slow motion. all the emotions, all the attachments, all the potential jerry springer moments waiting to happen, none of the movie watching nights.

so friends aren't a great way to meet people.
 
what about the age old grocery store or coffee shop or post office?

honestly, married, single, visiting alien from planet xenob: when is the last time you randomly talked to someone out and about? can you remember the last conversation you had in the check out line at the grocery store? or the last time you tried to joke with someone about why the price of bacon is so high? I DO AND IT WAS SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE AND THEY LOOKED AT ME LIKE I HAD JUST ADMITTED TO LIKING M NIGHT SHYAMALAN MOVIES.

what about online? or a smart phone app?

*sniff*eyeroll*sarcastic cough*

moving on.


what about being spontaneously asked out by a complete stranger? LIKE IN A ROMCOM MOVIE??

that totally happens, right?

yeah. it does.

have i ever told you the story about how i accidentally dated a pimp? it started with me walking down the street in a super cute dress on the way to get lunch and ended with a hooker telling me "if she had to share her man with anyone, she was glad it was me."

don't remember that part of the last meg ryan movie i watched.

so. as the great #bfhunt2015 kicks off (for the third consecutive year), WHERE DO I START?

no, really. where do i start?

happy new year?

well. it's a new year and all that.

as with the last...too many...years, there's really not a great spin I can put on 2014.

january my kiddo moved out, june there was a slight melt down of mental status, november was perhaps the shittiest month on the books of all time, and here we are starting over again. i honestly can't remember any big hi-lights for the year- no major accomplishments, no major life changes, no major decisions or turning points. i dreadfully neglected reading and writing- my two core touchstones. i've been unusually snappy and grumpy (some is normal, more days than not is a bit much). i'm stuck in this angry cloud of depression and desire to change but inability to kick my own ass into gear which leads to more depression- you get the cycle.

and, perhaps, in true 2014 bland bullshit fashion, the final blow was reading my 2015 horoscope (you know those are NEVER wrong, ever) which said i'll be stuck in this funk and my "new year" won't start til august. blah blah blah healing and releasing a grudge bullshit mixed in, but my new year won't start until august 11.

THANKS 2014.

an extended 8 months of bland bullshit.

AWESOME.

what a great fucking start to the year.

SO.

this is where my rebel side starts to kick in.

FUCK YOU 2014. and FUCK YOU 2015 HOROSCOPE.

i don't want to be stuck this way for another 8 months. the last 12 almost did me in. more than once.

more than that: I REFUSE to be stuck this way another day.

i'm not one for resolutions. if i were, this list would be where i'd start.

i AM a person of lists though. and plans of action. i work best with an end goal and a map.

SO. here's my list and my end goal and my map:

list:
1. STOP HATING LIFE
2. start finding things to love about life.
3. be the obnoxious person that loves live SO MUCH it makes other people want to do that too.

plan of action:
1. stop hating myself: when i think of something negative write it down. dissect it. if it's valid find a fix. if it's invalid toss it.
2. list positive things DAILY: maybe even the trite writing on my mirror or post it notes where i can see them- whatever it takes to start infusing POSITIVE things.
3. get back to the core: reading, writing, creating.
4. to steal from nike: JUST DO IT. i've gotten incredibly lazy. i would rather sit and watch reruns on netflix than do...anything. dishes, laundry, exercise. i say i'll start being positive but never actually do it. i say i'll start writing again...after one more episode of scrubs. time to stop the bullshit, be an adult, and just DO THINGS. don't plan on taking the dog for a walk when the weather gets warmer. put on a fucking hat and gloves and go NOW. don't say i'll cook healthy meals after all the dishes are caught up: do the fucking dishes and cook the fucking healthy meal already. stop waiting for the "perfect writing environment" (like the first time i finished the office, or the second time i rearranged it, or the most recent time i bought a brand new writing desk that has yet to be used for writing). JUST FUCKING WRITE. 

map:
1. get a daily journal WITH WRITING PROMPTS since i use that as my main excuse to not write ("i can't think of anything to write about" BULLSHIT. excuse gone.).
2. look in the mirror every morning (you're there putting on make up anyway) and say things i like about me AND BELIEVE ME. that last part is the bitch of the process. how can i argue with myself and call myself a liar or think of all the exemptions to the statement? i do it all the time. own worst enemy and all that.
3. SELF CARE. vitamins. water. real food. friends. activities. shenannigans (there were far too few of those this year).

this isn't a new years resolution. it just happens to be starting now because i'm- i guess i'm finally fucking tired of waiting for the magic button to appear or the magic day on the calendar to pass or the magic whatever to finally happen.

it isn't magic: it's work.