98% of the time if you hear me talking about dating, romance, marriage, relationships, sex, ANYTHING to do with settling down and finding a life partner you would be listening to tales of horror, regret, mind boggling oddities and general, overall, resounding pessimism and bitterness stronger than the darkest, cream filled, dark chocolate valentines day treat.
if you want to know about a date that went wrong? i've got a veritable catalogue of options for you.
want to hear about a romantic trip around the world to reunite with the one that got away? well, i have something that started out that way.
want to hear about sex that even the most seasoned of provocateurs says WHAT THE FUCK to? i got you covered.
there have been countless train wrecks over the years. remember the time i ended up dating a pimp? remember all the times i didn't actually date anyone because i got stood up 7 times in a row by different guys?
but here, after all this time, is my darkest, dirtiest, most shameful secret:
i am a totally hopeless romantic.
it's out.
the darkness has found the light.
now ya'll know.
i adore romantic movies. i've watched one fine day HUNDREDS of times thinking, you know, maybe that could happen. i mean, I HAVE KIDS, and they get sick, and things happen, and maybe i could meet an adorable george clooney with his own kid and it would be a hot mess that turn out to be wonderful.
IT COULD HAPPEN.
it really could happen to (me) you...if i was ever a waitress, a guy would totally split his lottery ticket winnings with me and leave his hot latina wife to be with a boring white girl. IT COULD TOTALLY HAPPEN TO ME.
i have rows of rom-com movies that i've watched over and over. i have had thousands of imaginary relationships in 5 minutes or less after making eye contact with a stranger in the grocery store. i keep making dating profiles and trying to date in the hopes that MAYBE this time it will work.
i, the person who has never had a relationship longer than 23 months (let's be honest, that ONE was an outlier. the REAL duration is 3 months or less), I STILL BELIEVE.
like the 14 year old that still truly believe in santa clause, i still believe in love.
i've seen it.
i know it's out there.
and there's this stubborn, determined, completely delusional part of myself that still thinks i'll find it.
eventually.
maybe.
i mean, probably not, but, you know, weirder things have happened.
and what is 2017 if not the year of weirder things?
and so, against reasonable consideration, against any possible logic, against my own deep gut instinct, i'm going to speed dating tonight.
on valentines day.
in a bar.
because...maybe?
i mean, I KNOW. it's not probable. it's not realistic. it's not logical. who actually finds someone to date at a speed dating event?
but...you know...maybe?
and I KNOW. just go. have fun. meet new people. it's out of the house. it's away from real estate stress. it's something new and different. just enjoy the moment for what it is.
but the back of my brain just keeps saying...maybe?
and so i shaved my legs. YES, the post-winter clearcut came early this year.
and i painted my nails.
and i did a face mask.
and i have a gorgeous red dress picked out.
and...maybe?
but i mean, probably not. actually, scratch that. NOT. not likely at all.
but...maybe?
but probably not.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Friday, January 27, 2017
third time's the charm
well, here it is almost february and i'm still trying to recover from the holidays.
i've been in hiding since november-ish and after recently peeking my head out a bit i'm starting to think long term hiding has some serious perks.
the election, of course, was...well...a shit show. i made the choice to step away from several of my core groups as a result. i'm not a political person. i am not nearly educated enough to know the nitty gritty of the actual policies and practices, and i'm not nearly hard line enough one side or the other to be completely unsettled by the results. as the election and the results have continued (and will for some time) to be the primary focus for the world at large, from both directions, i will be hiding in my corner trying to understand the best i can and rewatching old seasons of friends and roseanne and trying to sort out the inner workings of my personal bubble.
but one event alone was not enough to derail the trainwreck of the holiday season. good old fashioned family shit decided to add to the merriment, as is usual for the holidays.
it's been a hard few months. a really hard few months. there's been a hard learning curve, some pretty heavy introspection, and, as a result, some major life changes are happening.
a brief overview: 13 year olds are very impressionable and not equipped with the best communication tools, 18 year olds are angry and use every tool at their disposal to wreak as much havoc and pain as possible, and 60+ year olds are delusional, destructive, and need to just disappear already.
BUT, even in the worst of times, there's an opportunity to learn and grow. and i'm trying. i know it sounds cliche, but damn, weed makes you have some deep thoughts.
i've been attending meditation classes since...i think around september, working through a book learning how to have better compassion for myself and others. between some great strains of 420, some good meditation/teaching, and actually allowing myself (forcing myself) to look at things instead of just stuffing them down inside to stay in survivor mode there's been some really key things that have opened up for me:
teen parenting SUCKS. i did it. i survived. but DAAAAAMN. all the things they prepare you for: being broke, being a statistic, higher probability of minimum wage jobs, higher probability of being on government assistance, higher probability of...fill in the blank. they give you all the statistics. they tell you how hard it will be. they prepare you for dealing with a crying baby and a toddler.
what they DON'T tell you is how to learn how to make mistakes with someone ALWAYS watching. i didn't get my 20's to screw up financially and figure out how to bail myself out without it affecting anyone. if i screwed up financially (which i did, repeatedly) it affected 2 other people. if i miscalculated my checkbook ledger i had to worry about feeding 2 other people until it could get straightened out. if i wanted a night out, i had to budget how it would affect daycare and buying shoes. my kids have had to hear "we can't afford..." more times than any kid should. they've been with me in grocery stores and restaurants when my card didn't go through. they've learned to check your balance before you grocery shop. granted, not all BAD lessons, but not something that kids need to be worrying about.
i didn't get the crappy roommate time in college to learn how to live with someone. i didn't get the wandering from job to job time. i didn't get the crappy relationships, watching friends settle down, wedding season chaos, ANY of the crap you've seen a million times in a million different sitcoms. i had to consider the repercussions of everything. I had to watch for the ripple effect. i made PLENTY of 20-something mistakes. PLENTY of them. but, for me, they weren't just mistakes. they were memories for my kids. they were moments emblazoned into little minds and cemented as mistakes and flaws. my oldest son has a devastatingly low opinion of me, i think partly because he remembers it ALL. he remembers my marriage and divorce. he remembers moving all the time. he remembers all my mistakes and hates me for them. and i know part of that will assuage with time as he grows and makes his own mistakes, but for right now they're weapons. sharp, heavy, devastating weapons.
the hardest part for me is that i'm still making mistakes. i'm still learning. i'm still trying like fuck to figure out this parenting thing. but i don't have anyone to look to for how they did it. i don't have anyone to ask how they handled situations. i don't have parents or grandparents or friends with older kids. the friends i have with similar aged kids are in the same boat trying to figure things out too. and i know there aren't "ANSWERS" to parenting. but there's people that have been through it before. there's people that remember better what it was like for them (i've blocked out probably 75% of my childhood).
and in my learning, and in my mistakes, i'm doing what i can to correct what's happened and prevent what i can going forward.
one of the biggest things that came out of the disaster that was this holiday season was some GREAT (hard) conversations with my 13 year old. we've come up with several things that need worked on. we're learning better ways to talk to each other and be heard. we're working on sorting through actual memories vs things people have told him/are telling him.
one of the biggest things that came out of this is that he doesn't feel safe in our home. there was a litany of reasons, some reasonable, some irrational, but at the end of the day, he doesn't feel safe and that is a HUGE concern. part of it is basic neurosis (which he gets 100% from me): worrying about if there's a fire- there's only one way out: down the stairs. it's like he crawled inside my mind (or maybe i said something once that he heard and hung onto). one of the few things i DO remember from my childhood is laying in bed at night counting the time between the blinks on the smoke detectors. i used to count the flashes and plan over and over and over what i would do if there were a fire, what i would grab, how i would get out. this is, to this day, the reason i will never, ever, no matter what, sleep naked. i am 100% convinced that the ONE TIME i sleep naked the house will burn and i'll be in the streets naked AND homeless. i still lay awake at night and think of how much time i would have to wake up the teenager, how many things i could grab, what's important enough or not to risk grabbing, and how to get outside.
let's not even go into how much of a living nightmare it was to have my dad die in a house fire.
so, i get it. i worry about if someone breaks into the house how would we get away, how would i stop them and protect the kiddo. i worry about...fuck...you name it, i've worried about it.
so, I GET IT. and i thought it was just me. and i can deal with things when it's just me. but when it's my kid? game changer.
so, he finally tells me he feels unsafe in out house.
game changer.
so. time to find a solution: we're selling the house and finding a better, safer feeling place to live.
we've picked out a VERY nice apartment in the valley- closer to work for me, better high school for the kid, all the amenities that you could want, and SAFER. one floor, better exits, better security, newer construction...the list goes on.
we list the house in a week, the last month has been a process of cleaning/purging/repairing/getting ready.
third time's the charm, right?
and, for those playing along at home, yes, i've attempted this before and failed MISERABLY. i've taken that into heavy consideration, and, with the great help of some good 420 and a few quiet evening, have figured out a few things: last time we weren't ready. we didn't have a reason. we didn't have a plan. i didn't get the idea that i don't need to be friends with the realtor, it's a professional relationship. i wanted an ally, someone that was on my side. sure, that would be GREAT, but this is their JOB. this isn't coffee time with a BFF, this is a business transaction. also, they don't need to like my house AS IT IS. sure, it's hard when people look around and criticize paint colors, when they tell me my taste is too eclectic (weird) to sell the house, when they nitpick all the flaws that trust, i'm WELL aware of. they're job is to make it as appealing to as many people as possible. whomever buys it isn't going to live with me. they're not going to keep the same decor. they're not going to get why i think a shower curtain works in a livingroom. and it doesn't matter.
i don't know if the realtor didn't explain it well to me before or if i just didn't listen, but I GET IT NOW. i'm not showing MY house to people, i'm showing A house to people. yeah, a few things up on the walls to make it feel like a HOME are nice, all my knick-knacks and clutter? not so much.
also? this is probably the first time i've really had the time to fully consider a move. we're not moving because we HAVE to. any deadlines are completely mine. i don't have a landlord going into default kicking me out. i don't have a lease expiring, i don't have any of the reasons that we've moved before.
this time WE CHOOSE. we were able to take time, decide what we want in a new place, research, and really, really be picky. i didn't have to take the first thing i found in our price range and make it work. i didn't have to find the only thing affordable in a college town on a single budget. i didn't have to settle in any way. and i'll tell you what, really getting to pick, with no limits on it? WHOLE DIFFERENT EXPERIENCE. also? apartments now are WAY nicer than the last time we looked. the new concept of "communities" is actually really amazing. common spaces, shared gardens, places you can have guests over, allowing painting and decorating and making it your own home...things have really changed. it's pretty amazing.
this is also the first time we haven't been just shoving things in boxes. i'm taking my time really thinning out, deciding what goes and what goes away. i know the floor plan of the new place, the measurements, so i'm able to decorate in my brain and know what will fit and what will make clutter. i'm able to go through cabinets, get rid of things we haven't touched since we moved into this house. i'm able to catalog (dude, there's some AMAZING smart phone apps for cataloging movies and books- do it, even if you're not moving!).
we have been in control of this move from the very first minute. that's a whole new experience for me. deciding IF we wanted to move, picking out where, picking out when...it's been really healthy and therapeutic in so many ways.
i realized the other night that i never really took buying the house and moving seriously before. to me, buying a house was exactly the same as renting an apartment. i looked around, found one that would work that we could afford, signed a few papers, and moved in. i didn't have to do the mortgage, the inspections, the closing issues. i just handed over a check and they handed me keys. that was literally it. and as i've said before, i didn't go into buying a house for the right reasons. i bought it because i was "supposed" to. this time i'm doing the process because we WANT to. that's a whole different ball of wax.
i feel prepared this time. i know this is for sure. this is happening. this is intentional, thought out, planned.
it's a big change. something good is coming out of a LOT of bad. i'm kind of getting to hit the reset button on losing my dad. and i am eternally grateful for the opportunity. i'm getting the chance to make better decisions with what his death entrusted to me. i have better tools for processing all the emotions and experiences. i have a little more distance from the initial ground zero, better perspective.
so.
here we go.
third time's the charm.
i've been in hiding since november-ish and after recently peeking my head out a bit i'm starting to think long term hiding has some serious perks.
the election, of course, was...well...a shit show. i made the choice to step away from several of my core groups as a result. i'm not a political person. i am not nearly educated enough to know the nitty gritty of the actual policies and practices, and i'm not nearly hard line enough one side or the other to be completely unsettled by the results. as the election and the results have continued (and will for some time) to be the primary focus for the world at large, from both directions, i will be hiding in my corner trying to understand the best i can and rewatching old seasons of friends and roseanne and trying to sort out the inner workings of my personal bubble.
but one event alone was not enough to derail the trainwreck of the holiday season. good old fashioned family shit decided to add to the merriment, as is usual for the holidays.
it's been a hard few months. a really hard few months. there's been a hard learning curve, some pretty heavy introspection, and, as a result, some major life changes are happening.
a brief overview: 13 year olds are very impressionable and not equipped with the best communication tools, 18 year olds are angry and use every tool at their disposal to wreak as much havoc and pain as possible, and 60+ year olds are delusional, destructive, and need to just disappear already.
BUT, even in the worst of times, there's an opportunity to learn and grow. and i'm trying. i know it sounds cliche, but damn, weed makes you have some deep thoughts.
i've been attending meditation classes since...i think around september, working through a book learning how to have better compassion for myself and others. between some great strains of 420, some good meditation/teaching, and actually allowing myself (forcing myself) to look at things instead of just stuffing them down inside to stay in survivor mode there's been some really key things that have opened up for me:
teen parenting SUCKS. i did it. i survived. but DAAAAAMN. all the things they prepare you for: being broke, being a statistic, higher probability of minimum wage jobs, higher probability of being on government assistance, higher probability of...fill in the blank. they give you all the statistics. they tell you how hard it will be. they prepare you for dealing with a crying baby and a toddler.
what they DON'T tell you is how to learn how to make mistakes with someone ALWAYS watching. i didn't get my 20's to screw up financially and figure out how to bail myself out without it affecting anyone. if i screwed up financially (which i did, repeatedly) it affected 2 other people. if i miscalculated my checkbook ledger i had to worry about feeding 2 other people until it could get straightened out. if i wanted a night out, i had to budget how it would affect daycare and buying shoes. my kids have had to hear "we can't afford..." more times than any kid should. they've been with me in grocery stores and restaurants when my card didn't go through. they've learned to check your balance before you grocery shop. granted, not all BAD lessons, but not something that kids need to be worrying about.
i didn't get the crappy roommate time in college to learn how to live with someone. i didn't get the wandering from job to job time. i didn't get the crappy relationships, watching friends settle down, wedding season chaos, ANY of the crap you've seen a million times in a million different sitcoms. i had to consider the repercussions of everything. I had to watch for the ripple effect. i made PLENTY of 20-something mistakes. PLENTY of them. but, for me, they weren't just mistakes. they were memories for my kids. they were moments emblazoned into little minds and cemented as mistakes and flaws. my oldest son has a devastatingly low opinion of me, i think partly because he remembers it ALL. he remembers my marriage and divorce. he remembers moving all the time. he remembers all my mistakes and hates me for them. and i know part of that will assuage with time as he grows and makes his own mistakes, but for right now they're weapons. sharp, heavy, devastating weapons.
the hardest part for me is that i'm still making mistakes. i'm still learning. i'm still trying like fuck to figure out this parenting thing. but i don't have anyone to look to for how they did it. i don't have anyone to ask how they handled situations. i don't have parents or grandparents or friends with older kids. the friends i have with similar aged kids are in the same boat trying to figure things out too. and i know there aren't "ANSWERS" to parenting. but there's people that have been through it before. there's people that remember better what it was like for them (i've blocked out probably 75% of my childhood).
and in my learning, and in my mistakes, i'm doing what i can to correct what's happened and prevent what i can going forward.
one of the biggest things that came out of the disaster that was this holiday season was some GREAT (hard) conversations with my 13 year old. we've come up with several things that need worked on. we're learning better ways to talk to each other and be heard. we're working on sorting through actual memories vs things people have told him/are telling him.
one of the biggest things that came out of this is that he doesn't feel safe in our home. there was a litany of reasons, some reasonable, some irrational, but at the end of the day, he doesn't feel safe and that is a HUGE concern. part of it is basic neurosis (which he gets 100% from me): worrying about if there's a fire- there's only one way out: down the stairs. it's like he crawled inside my mind (or maybe i said something once that he heard and hung onto). one of the few things i DO remember from my childhood is laying in bed at night counting the time between the blinks on the smoke detectors. i used to count the flashes and plan over and over and over what i would do if there were a fire, what i would grab, how i would get out. this is, to this day, the reason i will never, ever, no matter what, sleep naked. i am 100% convinced that the ONE TIME i sleep naked the house will burn and i'll be in the streets naked AND homeless. i still lay awake at night and think of how much time i would have to wake up the teenager, how many things i could grab, what's important enough or not to risk grabbing, and how to get outside.
let's not even go into how much of a living nightmare it was to have my dad die in a house fire.
so, i get it. i worry about if someone breaks into the house how would we get away, how would i stop them and protect the kiddo. i worry about...fuck...you name it, i've worried about it.
so, I GET IT. and i thought it was just me. and i can deal with things when it's just me. but when it's my kid? game changer.
so, he finally tells me he feels unsafe in out house.
game changer.
so. time to find a solution: we're selling the house and finding a better, safer feeling place to live.
we've picked out a VERY nice apartment in the valley- closer to work for me, better high school for the kid, all the amenities that you could want, and SAFER. one floor, better exits, better security, newer construction...the list goes on.
we list the house in a week, the last month has been a process of cleaning/purging/repairing/getting ready.
third time's the charm, right?
and, for those playing along at home, yes, i've attempted this before and failed MISERABLY. i've taken that into heavy consideration, and, with the great help of some good 420 and a few quiet evening, have figured out a few things: last time we weren't ready. we didn't have a reason. we didn't have a plan. i didn't get the idea that i don't need to be friends with the realtor, it's a professional relationship. i wanted an ally, someone that was on my side. sure, that would be GREAT, but this is their JOB. this isn't coffee time with a BFF, this is a business transaction. also, they don't need to like my house AS IT IS. sure, it's hard when people look around and criticize paint colors, when they tell me my taste is too eclectic (weird) to sell the house, when they nitpick all the flaws that trust, i'm WELL aware of. they're job is to make it as appealing to as many people as possible. whomever buys it isn't going to live with me. they're not going to keep the same decor. they're not going to get why i think a shower curtain works in a livingroom. and it doesn't matter.
i don't know if the realtor didn't explain it well to me before or if i just didn't listen, but I GET IT NOW. i'm not showing MY house to people, i'm showing A house to people. yeah, a few things up on the walls to make it feel like a HOME are nice, all my knick-knacks and clutter? not so much.
also? this is probably the first time i've really had the time to fully consider a move. we're not moving because we HAVE to. any deadlines are completely mine. i don't have a landlord going into default kicking me out. i don't have a lease expiring, i don't have any of the reasons that we've moved before.
this time WE CHOOSE. we were able to take time, decide what we want in a new place, research, and really, really be picky. i didn't have to take the first thing i found in our price range and make it work. i didn't have to find the only thing affordable in a college town on a single budget. i didn't have to settle in any way. and i'll tell you what, really getting to pick, with no limits on it? WHOLE DIFFERENT EXPERIENCE. also? apartments now are WAY nicer than the last time we looked. the new concept of "communities" is actually really amazing. common spaces, shared gardens, places you can have guests over, allowing painting and decorating and making it your own home...things have really changed. it's pretty amazing.
this is also the first time we haven't been just shoving things in boxes. i'm taking my time really thinning out, deciding what goes and what goes away. i know the floor plan of the new place, the measurements, so i'm able to decorate in my brain and know what will fit and what will make clutter. i'm able to go through cabinets, get rid of things we haven't touched since we moved into this house. i'm able to catalog (dude, there's some AMAZING smart phone apps for cataloging movies and books- do it, even if you're not moving!).
we have been in control of this move from the very first minute. that's a whole new experience for me. deciding IF we wanted to move, picking out where, picking out when...it's been really healthy and therapeutic in so many ways.
i realized the other night that i never really took buying the house and moving seriously before. to me, buying a house was exactly the same as renting an apartment. i looked around, found one that would work that we could afford, signed a few papers, and moved in. i didn't have to do the mortgage, the inspections, the closing issues. i just handed over a check and they handed me keys. that was literally it. and as i've said before, i didn't go into buying a house for the right reasons. i bought it because i was "supposed" to. this time i'm doing the process because we WANT to. that's a whole different ball of wax.
i feel prepared this time. i know this is for sure. this is happening. this is intentional, thought out, planned.
it's a big change. something good is coming out of a LOT of bad. i'm kind of getting to hit the reset button on losing my dad. and i am eternally grateful for the opportunity. i'm getting the chance to make better decisions with what his death entrusted to me. i have better tools for processing all the emotions and experiences. i have a little more distance from the initial ground zero, better perspective.
so.
here we go.
third time's the charm.
 |
| *pushing button* |
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
the morning after
make america great again!
that's what we keep hearing.
you know what?
COOL.
LET'S DO IT.
america's favorite pass-time is pinterest and upcycling, so let's do it! take the old ideas, our new abilities and knowledge, and let's do this shit.
put wood shop and mechanics back in schools with all the CAD tools and drafting tools. encourage kids to create, build, expand.
make art and band and choir required elements again: help them see the beauty in everything around them with new cameras and drawing pads and use communities as their art canvases. help them find their voices in poetry and sound and share that with the WORLD online and in app stores and viral videos.
teach kids home ec- how to make a nutritious meal, help around the house, be independent. let them search pinterest recipes and craft ideas. let them grow local ingredients together, build their own community garden and learn how to use it.
teach kids to THINK and work instead of how to take tests. make the process and the effort the goal instead of the final score. encourage ALL types of learning. implement all the tools and resources available in the classrooms.
make it so kids who want to can go to affordable college and the ones who don't can still make a good living.
make a living wage so one parent can afford to stay home again.
make block parties and community gatherings regular events. teach people to help their neighbors.
AND HEAR ME:
i didn't say teach the white kids. i didn't say help your straight neighbors. i didn't say teach the kids who we think have a shot at making it further.
I DIDN'T QUALIFY ANYTHING.
there's a reason for that.
HELP. ALL. YOUR. NEIGHBORS.
TEACH. ALL. OUR. CHILDREN.
HELP. EVERYONE. SUCCEED.
we have better tools now. we have better knowledge now. we have experience and things that we know work.
i'm stitting here listening to coworkers gloat over how "that woman" lost and all the bullshit that goes with it.
DON'T LET THAT BE THE VOICE.
band together. help each other. make THAT the voice.
what was the main saying in the election? don't be complacent, go out and VOTE!
there's a reason for that- people get used to it being good. they forget how hard thousands of people worked to make things happen. obama didn't just show up to office with all these ideas in his head that he made happen. people had fought, bled, cried for years to get representatives in the house and senate. they had worked at the lower levels to get ideas and referendums and laws in place to pave the way. obama didn't have a magic wand: he had YEARS of people building a platform for him to stand on.
so let's start building another platform.
when kids have only ever know marriage equality, they are going to forget how hard people worked to make it happen and not be prepared to defend it like we will need to now.
when people are always fed and full they forget the fire that an empty belly can stir.
it. sucks.
we're all tired. we've been working FOREVER. many will want to give up.
but we can't.
make it great again. teach kids. build communities. make families thrive again.
BUT DO IT WITH THE NEW TOOLS AND NEW KNOWLEDGE WE HAVE.
DO IT FOR EVERYONE.
now is the time to band together. now is the time to build a new platform.
start today.
the vanessa behan crisis nursery always needs help.
crosswalk for homeless teens always needs volunteers.
odessey support center for LGBTQ kids will never stop needing allies and love and support.
go out and meet your neighbors.
go out and help someone.
go build a link. a link will be come a section. a section will be come a new platform.
it's 4 years. it's high school again. it's a bad john hughes movies that didn't end the way we wanted it to.
we all survived it before, as much as it sucked.
we can survive it again.
that's what we keep hearing.
you know what?
COOL.
LET'S DO IT.
america's favorite pass-time is pinterest and upcycling, so let's do it! take the old ideas, our new abilities and knowledge, and let's do this shit.
put wood shop and mechanics back in schools with all the CAD tools and drafting tools. encourage kids to create, build, expand.
make art and band and choir required elements again: help them see the beauty in everything around them with new cameras and drawing pads and use communities as their art canvases. help them find their voices in poetry and sound and share that with the WORLD online and in app stores and viral videos.
teach kids home ec- how to make a nutritious meal, help around the house, be independent. let them search pinterest recipes and craft ideas. let them grow local ingredients together, build their own community garden and learn how to use it.
teach kids to THINK and work instead of how to take tests. make the process and the effort the goal instead of the final score. encourage ALL types of learning. implement all the tools and resources available in the classrooms.
make it so kids who want to can go to affordable college and the ones who don't can still make a good living.
make a living wage so one parent can afford to stay home again.
make block parties and community gatherings regular events. teach people to help their neighbors.
AND HEAR ME:
i didn't say teach the white kids. i didn't say help your straight neighbors. i didn't say teach the kids who we think have a shot at making it further.
I DIDN'T QUALIFY ANYTHING.
there's a reason for that.
HELP. ALL. YOUR. NEIGHBORS.
TEACH. ALL. OUR. CHILDREN.
HELP. EVERYONE. SUCCEED.
we have better tools now. we have better knowledge now. we have experience and things that we know work.
i'm stitting here listening to coworkers gloat over how "that woman" lost and all the bullshit that goes with it.
DON'T LET THAT BE THE VOICE.
band together. help each other. make THAT the voice.
what was the main saying in the election? don't be complacent, go out and VOTE!
there's a reason for that- people get used to it being good. they forget how hard thousands of people worked to make things happen. obama didn't just show up to office with all these ideas in his head that he made happen. people had fought, bled, cried for years to get representatives in the house and senate. they had worked at the lower levels to get ideas and referendums and laws in place to pave the way. obama didn't have a magic wand: he had YEARS of people building a platform for him to stand on.
so let's start building another platform.
when kids have only ever know marriage equality, they are going to forget how hard people worked to make it happen and not be prepared to defend it like we will need to now.
when people are always fed and full they forget the fire that an empty belly can stir.
it. sucks.
we're all tired. we've been working FOREVER. many will want to give up.
but we can't.
make it great again. teach kids. build communities. make families thrive again.
BUT DO IT WITH THE NEW TOOLS AND NEW KNOWLEDGE WE HAVE.
DO IT FOR EVERYONE.
now is the time to band together. now is the time to build a new platform.
start today.
the vanessa behan crisis nursery always needs help.
crosswalk for homeless teens always needs volunteers.
odessey support center for LGBTQ kids will never stop needing allies and love and support.
go out and meet your neighbors.
go out and help someone.
go build a link. a link will be come a section. a section will be come a new platform.
it's 4 years. it's high school again. it's a bad john hughes movies that didn't end the way we wanted it to.
we all survived it before, as much as it sucked.
we can survive it again.
Sunday, October 23, 2016
did i do it rite?
life is full of firsts- first roll over, first tooth, first steps, first words, first haircut, first day of school, first heartbreak, first school dance...all small rites of passage in their own way.
each is a passage way onto becoming something-
when you have your first period you're on your way to becoming a young lady.
when you have sex for the first time, you've transitioned out of childhood.
when you get your first job you're on your way to financial independence.
when you move out of your parents home you're on your way to establishing yourself as a member of society.
all these things. the basis of a thousand cliches, rom-com movies, how to survive raise a teenager self help books.
we need to know the right way to do things, the right way to commemorate, the right way to mark the passage of another milestone on the grand journey of life.
and there are people that are amazing at that. ALWAYS the right card for the occasion. the fully planned celebration. the poignant thing to say to commemorate the perfect photo finish memory.
and then there's the rest of us.
those of us hanging on by the skin of our teeth, no fucking clue what we're doing or how to make the correct scrap book about it.
you know the mom that remembers every school picture day and then makes an 18 year photo album with all the pictures neatly tagged and chronicled?
I'M NOT THAT MOM.
there's a box upstairs in my bedroom- it's full of albums of school pictures, important school papers, report cards, certificates, award. my mum saved them all those years and put them into an album for both my brother and i.
i have a box somewhere with i think a *few* of my kids school papers and classroom pictures. maybe a few classroom certificates or awards. i have one of their impossibly tiny baby boy blue "i was born at mount carmel hospital" shirts and socks somewhere.
honestly not sure which of the two it belongs to.
i've never planned the big, themed birthday party. i think i remembered to put their names in their baby books. i make it to almost all their school events but i'll be damned if i can produce a picture of even half of them.
you know the saying: "no one is totally worthless, you can always be held up as the bad example."
THAT'S ME. as many cliches as there are for the perfect moments, there's also the cliches of the train wreck moments.
THOSE ARE MY MOMENTS.
losing your virginity: it's supposed to be sweet and tender and that moment with the boy you really like that you've been dating forever. It's supposed to be cutely awkward and that moment you're going to remember forever.
oh shit, i remember mine alright.
16, sophmore year, a guy i had a HUGE crush on that intentionally put effort into forgetting i existed. i found out he was moving and thought i'd try one last time to catch his attention.
the whole thing start to finish was maybe 2 minutes and went something like this:
me: so i heard you were moving.
him: yup.
me: well, if you want to have sex before you leave...
him: ok. take your pants off.
*awkward fumbling and removal of just enough clothes*
him: ready?
me: ow, that really hurts.
and i haven't seen him again since.
no cute awkwardness. just awkwardness. no romance. no sweet tender build up. just enough to technically not be a virgin any more.
then there's the first time i *ACTUALLY* had sex.
followed 9 months later by giving birth.
i graduated college twice and didn't walk in either procession.
i got married at a place called "The Hitching Post" by a minister that had ironed on pictures of his grandkids inside his suit jacket.
my divorce was a fairly simple affair (ha ha ha...he had two mistresses. IT'S FUNNY PEOPLE).
i moved out and took everything that was either mine at the beginning or that i was currently paying for on credit, filed the papers, and 3 months later a judge officially declared me divorced. no war of the roses. no screaming arguments that ended with, "...AND YOU CAN TALK TO MY LAWYER."
i've been through some terrible rites of passage- attending the funeral of your parent before you're 30 is not a moment i would wish on anyone.
i'm still not sure i did that right.
is making jokes during the hour and a half long procession about stopping for road trip snacks the right way?
DON'T GET YOUR KNICKERS IN A TWIST. we didn't actually stop. too many logistics in stopping a 2 mile long procession for snacks, even if the store was having a 2 for 1 sale on doritos.
besides. we kind of all decided giving a ulogy with dorito dust on our black clothes may be a little uncouth.
we weren't monsters.
well, maybe i'm not a total monster, but i am the person that joked about once and twice baked ashes from the same family being different colors as we spread them in the ocean.
i don't do things the right way. i never have.
i don't have the cute stories wrapped up in a bow.
i'll be the mom at graduation *just* remembering i forgot to send out senior pictures and announcements.
i'll be the mother-in-law that forgets an heirloom gift for the bride.
i'll probably get my first letter from the AARP and get a paper cut that lands me in the hospital some how ending in a hip replacement.
maybe there is no RIGHT of passage. maybe that's why the spelling is wrong.
each is a passage way onto becoming something-
when you have your first period you're on your way to becoming a young lady.
when you have sex for the first time, you've transitioned out of childhood.
when you get your first job you're on your way to financial independence.
when you move out of your parents home you're on your way to establishing yourself as a member of society.
all these things. the basis of a thousand cliches, rom-com movies, how to survive raise a teenager self help books.
we need to know the right way to do things, the right way to commemorate, the right way to mark the passage of another milestone on the grand journey of life.
and there are people that are amazing at that. ALWAYS the right card for the occasion. the fully planned celebration. the poignant thing to say to commemorate the perfect photo finish memory.
and then there's the rest of us.
those of us hanging on by the skin of our teeth, no fucking clue what we're doing or how to make the correct scrap book about it.
you know the mom that remembers every school picture day and then makes an 18 year photo album with all the pictures neatly tagged and chronicled?
I'M NOT THAT MOM.
there's a box upstairs in my bedroom- it's full of albums of school pictures, important school papers, report cards, certificates, award. my mum saved them all those years and put them into an album for both my brother and i.
 | |
| swim certificates, school papers, pictures, trophies...it's all there |
i have a box somewhere with i think a *few* of my kids school papers and classroom pictures. maybe a few classroom certificates or awards. i have one of their impossibly tiny baby boy blue "i was born at mount carmel hospital" shirts and socks somewhere.
honestly not sure which of the two it belongs to.
i've never planned the big, themed birthday party. i think i remembered to put their names in their baby books. i make it to almost all their school events but i'll be damned if i can produce a picture of even half of them.
you know the saying: "no one is totally worthless, you can always be held up as the bad example."
THAT'S ME. as many cliches as there are for the perfect moments, there's also the cliches of the train wreck moments.
THOSE ARE MY MOMENTS.
losing your virginity: it's supposed to be sweet and tender and that moment with the boy you really like that you've been dating forever. It's supposed to be cutely awkward and that moment you're going to remember forever.
oh shit, i remember mine alright.
16, sophmore year, a guy i had a HUGE crush on that intentionally put effort into forgetting i existed. i found out he was moving and thought i'd try one last time to catch his attention.
the whole thing start to finish was maybe 2 minutes and went something like this:
me: so i heard you were moving.
him: yup.
me: well, if you want to have sex before you leave...
him: ok. take your pants off.
*awkward fumbling and removal of just enough clothes*
him: ready?
me: ow, that really hurts.
and i haven't seen him again since.
no cute awkwardness. just awkwardness. no romance. no sweet tender build up. just enough to technically not be a virgin any more.
then there's the first time i *ACTUALLY* had sex.
followed 9 months later by giving birth.
i graduated college twice and didn't walk in either procession.
i got married at a place called "The Hitching Post" by a minister that had ironed on pictures of his grandkids inside his suit jacket.
my divorce was a fairly simple affair (ha ha ha...he had two mistresses. IT'S FUNNY PEOPLE).
i moved out and took everything that was either mine at the beginning or that i was currently paying for on credit, filed the papers, and 3 months later a judge officially declared me divorced. no war of the roses. no screaming arguments that ended with, "...AND YOU CAN TALK TO MY LAWYER."
i've been through some terrible rites of passage- attending the funeral of your parent before you're 30 is not a moment i would wish on anyone.
i'm still not sure i did that right.
is making jokes during the hour and a half long procession about stopping for road trip snacks the right way?
DON'T GET YOUR KNICKERS IN A TWIST. we didn't actually stop. too many logistics in stopping a 2 mile long procession for snacks, even if the store was having a 2 for 1 sale on doritos.
besides. we kind of all decided giving a ulogy with dorito dust on our black clothes may be a little uncouth.
we weren't monsters.
well, maybe i'm not a total monster, but i am the person that joked about once and twice baked ashes from the same family being different colors as we spread them in the ocean.
 | |
| same family, different colored ashes. you can look if you don't believe me. |
i don't do things the right way. i never have.
i don't have the cute stories wrapped up in a bow.
i'll be the mom at graduation *just* remembering i forgot to send out senior pictures and announcements.
i'll be the mother-in-law that forgets an heirloom gift for the bride.
i'll probably get my first letter from the AARP and get a paper cut that lands me in the hospital some how ending in a hip replacement.
maybe there is no RIGHT of passage. maybe that's why the spelling is wrong.
back to basics
a few weeks ago the ladies of my book club encouraged me to sign up for a weekly writing prompt.
and so i did (i promise, i'm working on this weeks prompt).
THEN, like the true assholes they are, these amazing women bonded together and signed me up for a winter writing intensive course (be ready for a deluge of posts in december!).
jerks.
WOULD YOU JUST STOP BELIEVING IN ME AND ENCOURAGING ME ALREADY??
they presented me with THE PERFECT CARD:
it is filled with the. most. supportive and AMAZING notes that made me cry and snot all over my self, and they were of course right, it would have been better at the restaurant across the street instead of at the book fandango surrounded by strangers. BUT THERE WERE FREE BOOKS AND A HANDSOME AUTHOR SPEAKING.
SO.
to my ladies: (huh, that sounds creepier than expected)
to the ladies of "read me" (less creepy. better)
i present to you, my first short story. written, illustrated, and bound by yours truly circa 1986.
note the staple marks on the CORRECT side of the pages...well, correct when you're 6 and left handed anyway...
without further ado, The Little Bear, by Sherry Miller
i will have my actual writing assignment up later today.
thank you to all of you who read this weird little corner of the internet. thank you to those who believe in me and encourage me to write. i'm getting there.
and so i did (i promise, i'm working on this weeks prompt).
THEN, like the true assholes they are, these amazing women bonded together and signed me up for a winter writing intensive course (be ready for a deluge of posts in december!).
jerks.
WOULD YOU JUST STOP BELIEVING IN ME AND ENCOURAGING ME ALREADY??
they presented me with THE PERFECT CARD:
SO.
to my ladies: (huh, that sounds creepier than expected)
to the ladies of "read me" (less creepy. better)
i present to you, my first short story. written, illustrated, and bound by yours truly circa 1986.
note the staple marks on the CORRECT side of the pages...well, correct when you're 6 and left handed anyway...
without further ado, The Little Bear, by Sherry Miller
i will have my actual writing assignment up later today.
thank you to all of you who read this weird little corner of the internet. thank you to those who believe in me and encourage me to write. i'm getting there.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
it's a mystery
in a strange moment of bravado, i signed up for a weekly writing prompt email.
yesterday the first assignment arrived, early in the morning giving me plenty of time to get started and write something amazing and poignant and creative.
but i just stared at it.
i'll just take some time to think about it.
which i did. honestly. all day. i even bought new journals. and a new pen.
SEE HOW PERFECT THEY ARE FOR ALL SORTS OF CREATIVE THINGS??
i even went to a nice, quiet bar for a drinking and writing session. write drunk, edit sober, publish posthumously, isn't that how it goes?
and i did. i wrote. i wrote some starts, some ideas, different directions i could go.
but i keep coming back to the same one. the same idea. BUT I DON'T WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IT. it's the hardest. it's the most real. it's the most painful.
it's also the most dark, the most depressing, the heaviest one.
I DON'T WANT TO START OUT A NEW WRITING TRACK ALL SAD AND MOPEY!
but i keep coming back to the same idea and there's something to that trust your gut thing. so. here it goes.
this weeks writing prompt:
"write about a personal riddle- fact or fiction- something you will never know the true meaning of."
i don't know how or why my dad died.
i'll never know.
i could ask a LOT of questions.
i could rattle some pretty high up cages.
i could get into some DEEP, DEEP conspiracy theories.
but i'll never know the truth. i'll never know how. i'll never know why.
for anyone playing a little catch up, in August 2010 my dad died in a house fire. total loss. 3 people killed. house was gone. everything was gone.
BUT WAIT- DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR DAD DIED? YOU JUST SAID HOUSE FIRE.
yeah. technically a house fire.
3 people: my dad, his wife, another young state trooper staying with them while he build a house.
1:15ish am: a phone call to 911 that the house was on fire and they were trying to get out.
none of them made it out.
of a 2 story house. with plenty of windows to crawl out of.
with stairs that literally led straight out the front door.
with a large basement slider for the officer staying down there.
an officer who had just graduated first in his academy class for physical fitness.
not only did they not make it out, they had to use cadaver dogs to find the remains and then dental records and bone marrow to identify the bodies.
how could they make a call but not get out? not even one of them?
how could a fire burn so hot and so fast that in the short time it took agencies to respond they had to use dogs to find the remains?
how could the complete and total house be GONE. not a cross beam, not a joist, NOTHING left, but the garage 5' away is still standing and the grass in the front and back lawn didn't even singe?
they investigated.
by they i mean a bunch of acronyms.
people with a few tricks up their sleeve.
like one of the guys that investigated the oklahoma city bombing.
and no one knows.
no. one. knows.
no gangs took credit for it. no accelerates were discovered on scene. no household appliances were under recall.
i waited a year. i waited until the gag order was released off the case.
i waited until the investigation had been completed and released.
official report said: "NO KNOWN CAUSE."
i'm sure someone knows. i'm sure an investigator somewhere has an idea. i imagine somewhere there's a file with more than a cover sheet that says "NO KNOWN CAUSE" with a stack of black papers behind it.
maybe i haven't asked the right person.
maybe i haven't asked the right questions.
a mystery is only a mystery because we haven't asked the right question yet.
and i could ask questions. i could call my brother over and over asking if he knows something i don't. i could ask the people that were there in town while they investigated. i could dig around and find old coworkers, old commanding officers. i could demand to see files. i could...the list goes on and on.
but it won't change the ending of the story, will it?
even if i get the answer it isn't like the prize would be my dad coming back to life. if i ask the right person the right thing and get the key in the lock and get nicholas cage to follow the trail to the secret underground cave in mount rushmore my dad isn't going to be waiting at the end of the chase for me.
and what would i do with the information?
what if it was a gang hit? am i going to vigilante and take on the mexican drug cartel?
what if it was the illegal immigrant drunk driver that came back after being deported and threatened my dad and threatened me and my dad took out a restraining order againt? am i going to find random guy and ask for him to be deported, again, since it worked so well the first time?
what if it was some conspiracy theory game plan tied to the younger officer just getting off service as security at the governors mansion? am i going to wade into whatever cover up already got three people killed and go all olivia pope scandal on them?
whatever happened, why-ever it happened.
i don't need to know. it's my mystery. it's a part of me. it's a part of my story. not all stories have a happy neat tied up ending. this one didn't.
what i DO need is to go forward from where that story ended.
i'm working on loving my house that my dad provided for me.
i'm working on being ok with knowing there won't be new memories. there won't be my dad walking me down the aisle. there won't be any more christmases. there won't be my dad at my kids graduations. there won't be four generation pictures with great grandkids. there won't be family reunions. there won't be the scary "meet the parents" moments.
but there will be moments of knowing my dad is never gone.
there's moments of chewing on my knuckles while i'm driving when i'll suddenly start laughing remembering my dad doing the same weird thing.
there will be calling my teenager "son" when i'm particularly frustrated with him the way my dad used to do to my brothers.
there will be the reminder every time i get my hair cut that my dad was just starting to grey at 55 and there was no sign of thinning on the horizon.
there will be times i look in the mirror and see an expression that is all too familiar.
there will be endless, obnoxious crying at john denver songs from now to the end of time.
there will be me saying "yup, my legs go all the way up to my hips" like my dad once said when he noticed my gangly stork legs as a teenager.
i will call my boys both fuzz nuts until they're grown adults with children of their own.
i don't know. i won't know.
maybe some day i'll take my giant dog that looks shockingly like scooby doo, get a mystery van and go investigating.
or maybe i'll just have some scooby snacks and sit on the couch staring at my dog imagining we're going investingating.
i think the second option is more likely. it has snacks.
yesterday the first assignment arrived, early in the morning giving me plenty of time to get started and write something amazing and poignant and creative.
but i just stared at it.
i'll just take some time to think about it.
which i did. honestly. all day. i even bought new journals. and a new pen.
SEE HOW PERFECT THEY ARE FOR ALL SORTS OF CREATIVE THINGS??
i even went to a nice, quiet bar for a drinking and writing session. write drunk, edit sober, publish posthumously, isn't that how it goes?
and i did. i wrote. i wrote some starts, some ideas, different directions i could go.
but i keep coming back to the same one. the same idea. BUT I DON'T WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IT. it's the hardest. it's the most real. it's the most painful.
it's also the most dark, the most depressing, the heaviest one.
I DON'T WANT TO START OUT A NEW WRITING TRACK ALL SAD AND MOPEY!
but i keep coming back to the same idea and there's something to that trust your gut thing. so. here it goes.
this weeks writing prompt:
"write about a personal riddle- fact or fiction- something you will never know the true meaning of."
i don't know how or why my dad died.
i'll never know.
i could ask a LOT of questions.
i could rattle some pretty high up cages.
i could get into some DEEP, DEEP conspiracy theories.
but i'll never know the truth. i'll never know how. i'll never know why.
for anyone playing a little catch up, in August 2010 my dad died in a house fire. total loss. 3 people killed. house was gone. everything was gone.
BUT WAIT- DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOUR DAD DIED? YOU JUST SAID HOUSE FIRE.
yeah. technically a house fire.
3 people: my dad, his wife, another young state trooper staying with them while he build a house.
1:15ish am: a phone call to 911 that the house was on fire and they were trying to get out.
none of them made it out.
of a 2 story house. with plenty of windows to crawl out of.
with stairs that literally led straight out the front door.
with a large basement slider for the officer staying down there.
an officer who had just graduated first in his academy class for physical fitness.
not only did they not make it out, they had to use cadaver dogs to find the remains and then dental records and bone marrow to identify the bodies.
how could they make a call but not get out? not even one of them?
how could a fire burn so hot and so fast that in the short time it took agencies to respond they had to use dogs to find the remains?
how could the complete and total house be GONE. not a cross beam, not a joist, NOTHING left, but the garage 5' away is still standing and the grass in the front and back lawn didn't even singe?
they investigated.
by they i mean a bunch of acronyms.
people with a few tricks up their sleeve.
like one of the guys that investigated the oklahoma city bombing.
and no one knows.
no. one. knows.
no gangs took credit for it. no accelerates were discovered on scene. no household appliances were under recall.
i waited a year. i waited until the gag order was released off the case.
i waited until the investigation had been completed and released.
official report said: "NO KNOWN CAUSE."
i'm sure someone knows. i'm sure an investigator somewhere has an idea. i imagine somewhere there's a file with more than a cover sheet that says "NO KNOWN CAUSE" with a stack of black papers behind it.
maybe i haven't asked the right person.
maybe i haven't asked the right questions.
a mystery is only a mystery because we haven't asked the right question yet.
and i could ask questions. i could call my brother over and over asking if he knows something i don't. i could ask the people that were there in town while they investigated. i could dig around and find old coworkers, old commanding officers. i could demand to see files. i could...the list goes on and on.
but it won't change the ending of the story, will it?
even if i get the answer it isn't like the prize would be my dad coming back to life. if i ask the right person the right thing and get the key in the lock and get nicholas cage to follow the trail to the secret underground cave in mount rushmore my dad isn't going to be waiting at the end of the chase for me.
and what would i do with the information?
what if it was a gang hit? am i going to vigilante and take on the mexican drug cartel?
what if it was the illegal immigrant drunk driver that came back after being deported and threatened my dad and threatened me and my dad took out a restraining order againt? am i going to find random guy and ask for him to be deported, again, since it worked so well the first time?
what if it was some conspiracy theory game plan tied to the younger officer just getting off service as security at the governors mansion? am i going to wade into whatever cover up already got three people killed and go all olivia pope scandal on them?
whatever happened, why-ever it happened.
i don't need to know. it's my mystery. it's a part of me. it's a part of my story. not all stories have a happy neat tied up ending. this one didn't.
what i DO need is to go forward from where that story ended.
i'm working on loving my house that my dad provided for me.
i'm working on being ok with knowing there won't be new memories. there won't be my dad walking me down the aisle. there won't be any more christmases. there won't be my dad at my kids graduations. there won't be four generation pictures with great grandkids. there won't be family reunions. there won't be the scary "meet the parents" moments.
but there will be moments of knowing my dad is never gone.
there's moments of chewing on my knuckles while i'm driving when i'll suddenly start laughing remembering my dad doing the same weird thing.
there will be calling my teenager "son" when i'm particularly frustrated with him the way my dad used to do to my brothers.
there will be the reminder every time i get my hair cut that my dad was just starting to grey at 55 and there was no sign of thinning on the horizon.
there will be times i look in the mirror and see an expression that is all too familiar.
there will be endless, obnoxious crying at john denver songs from now to the end of time.
there will be me saying "yup, my legs go all the way up to my hips" like my dad once said when he noticed my gangly stork legs as a teenager.
i will call my boys both fuzz nuts until they're grown adults with children of their own.
i don't know. i won't know.
maybe some day i'll take my giant dog that looks shockingly like scooby doo, get a mystery van and go investigating.
or maybe i'll just have some scooby snacks and sit on the couch staring at my dog imagining we're going investingating.
i think the second option is more likely. it has snacks.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
uniforms
this is going to be a rant.
i'll just get that out of the way now.
this is going to be a one sided, opinion heavy, curse word filled, angry, mean, probably offensive to some, rant.
now that that's out of the way...
listen up fake ass bitches:
WHEN YOU SAY YOU LOVE A MAN IN UNIFORM, DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?
i am SICKENED. absolutely sick. hateful, mean, angry sick when i hear about women who think it's "so hot" to date a soldier, cop, firefighter, EMT because they "love a man in uniform" only to break up because they don't like the job, it's too stressful, the hours are shitty, deployments are too hard, whatever.
LISTEN YOU FUCKWITS: "loving a uniform" is a fucking fetish. go to a god damn costume shop and cream your panties all you like.
if you date a man in uniform, KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
do you want to know what that means?
it means the job is stressful, the hours are shitty and deployments are hard.
you want to date a cop? guess what, that means missed dinners because a shift went long when they had to scrape a human being off a highway after a drunk driving accident.
you want to date a firefighter? that means worrying each call that a backdraft doesn't happen, a structure doesn't cave in, a tree doesn't shoot off like a bottle rocket, the fucking wind doesn't shift directions.
want to date a soldier? that means months alone while they're on deployment. that means regulations, rules, codes. that means being at the fucking whim of the US government.
it ALL means dealing with some form of PTSD at some point. it means shitty, and i mean SHITTY days of coworkers dying, dealing with the worst of humanity, things that can't ever, ever be unseen.
even on the BEST POSSIBLE DAY it means going to the aid of people who are having a shitty, shitty day. the cops and firefighters don't respond when everything is going right. soldiers very, VERY rarely are deployed to places where things are peachy keen jelly bean.
i am SO SICK of hearing:
"we got divorced because she doesn't like me going on deployment."
"we split up because she didn't realize how stressful the job is."
"i can't be with him because he misses all the important events because he's on shift."
AS IF ALL THAT ISN'T ENOUGH, they get to deal with public opinion, lack of resources across the board from pay to supplies/necessary personnel, stigma, macho-ism (the thin blue line is a thing) AND, the cherry on the fucking top: increased risk of suicide.
it's shifting, it's starting to change. there's a huge push to let soldiers know they can ask for help dealing with what happens in the field, but there's still a lot of stigma. it's still a hard thing for cops and firefighters.
i mean, for fucks sake, even fucking trump decided to open his shit hole and vomit out that "...military suicides happen to troops who 'can't handle it'."
you know what? THEY CAN'T.
THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.
NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO. THIS IS SOME GRADE A FUCKED UP SHIT THAT NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO DEAL WITH.
ESPECIALLY not alone. we need to help them, have help available to them.
no one should have to deal with scraping another human being off a roadway. telling a child their parent overdosed. pulling a charred body out of a burned building. watching a fellow soldier be blown apart inches away.
BUT THESE PEOPLE CHOOSE TO TAKE THAT RISK.
and the very, VERY last fucking thing they need is to be dumped on. by politicians, by partners, by ANYONE. they don't need someone with a fucking megaphone mouth calling them weak or bashing them on the 5:00 news. they don't need a dear john letter in the middle of combat. they don't need to return home from deployment to a voice mail from a divorce attorney. they don't need someone who walks away because they miss dinner or have been working long shifts.
they need support systems. stigma free help. partners that don't run away when the "hot uniform" feeling wears off.
i'm the great-granddaughter of a constable. i'm the granddaughter of a cop. i'm the daughter of a state trooper. i'm the sister of a sheriff's deputy. i was married to a volunteer firefighter. my mom ran dispatch for fire crews for several years.
i have blue blood back 4 generations.
guess what that means?
it means divorce (or several). it means being glued to the tv dreading a phone call when you hear "officer involved shooting" on your brother's shift and beat. it means getting a few precious hours with your dad during your one week a year because he's working. it means stopping and sending up a prayer during the hot beautiful summer weather because you know fire season is happening. it means knowing mom will be gone another 4 weeks because they don't have enough crews to get a line around the fire. it means waking up at 4 am when the pager goes off and making sure boots and gear and coffee are ready to go out the door. it means making 100 sandwiches when the red cross hasn't been able to respond. it means bawling your eyes out whenever and where ever your hear amazing grace on bagpipes because you've been to too many funerals where that's played.
you want to love a fucking uniform? good. great. go to fucking spirit halloween store and love them all you want until store employees ask you to leave.
you want to love the person IN the uniform? that's a whole different story.
i'll just get that out of the way now.
this is going to be a one sided, opinion heavy, curse word filled, angry, mean, probably offensive to some, rant.
now that that's out of the way...
listen up fake ass bitches:
WHEN YOU SAY YOU LOVE A MAN IN UNIFORM, DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?
i am SICKENED. absolutely sick. hateful, mean, angry sick when i hear about women who think it's "so hot" to date a soldier, cop, firefighter, EMT because they "love a man in uniform" only to break up because they don't like the job, it's too stressful, the hours are shitty, deployments are too hard, whatever.
LISTEN YOU FUCKWITS: "loving a uniform" is a fucking fetish. go to a god damn costume shop and cream your panties all you like.
if you date a man in uniform, KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
do you want to know what that means?
it means the job is stressful, the hours are shitty and deployments are hard.
you want to date a cop? guess what, that means missed dinners because a shift went long when they had to scrape a human being off a highway after a drunk driving accident.
you want to date a firefighter? that means worrying each call that a backdraft doesn't happen, a structure doesn't cave in, a tree doesn't shoot off like a bottle rocket, the fucking wind doesn't shift directions.
want to date a soldier? that means months alone while they're on deployment. that means regulations, rules, codes. that means being at the fucking whim of the US government.
it ALL means dealing with some form of PTSD at some point. it means shitty, and i mean SHITTY days of coworkers dying, dealing with the worst of humanity, things that can't ever, ever be unseen.
even on the BEST POSSIBLE DAY it means going to the aid of people who are having a shitty, shitty day. the cops and firefighters don't respond when everything is going right. soldiers very, VERY rarely are deployed to places where things are peachy keen jelly bean.
i am SO SICK of hearing:
"we got divorced because she doesn't like me going on deployment."
"we split up because she didn't realize how stressful the job is."
"i can't be with him because he misses all the important events because he's on shift."
AS IF ALL THAT ISN'T ENOUGH, they get to deal with public opinion, lack of resources across the board from pay to supplies/necessary personnel, stigma, macho-ism (the thin blue line is a thing) AND, the cherry on the fucking top: increased risk of suicide.
it's shifting, it's starting to change. there's a huge push to let soldiers know they can ask for help dealing with what happens in the field, but there's still a lot of stigma. it's still a hard thing for cops and firefighters.
i mean, for fucks sake, even fucking trump decided to open his shit hole and vomit out that "...military suicides happen to troops who 'can't handle it'."
you know what? THEY CAN'T.
THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.
NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO. THIS IS SOME GRADE A FUCKED UP SHIT THAT NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO DEAL WITH.
ESPECIALLY not alone. we need to help them, have help available to them.
no one should have to deal with scraping another human being off a roadway. telling a child their parent overdosed. pulling a charred body out of a burned building. watching a fellow soldier be blown apart inches away.
BUT THESE PEOPLE CHOOSE TO TAKE THAT RISK.
and the very, VERY last fucking thing they need is to be dumped on. by politicians, by partners, by ANYONE. they don't need someone with a fucking megaphone mouth calling them weak or bashing them on the 5:00 news. they don't need a dear john letter in the middle of combat. they don't need to return home from deployment to a voice mail from a divorce attorney. they don't need someone who walks away because they miss dinner or have been working long shifts.
they need support systems. stigma free help. partners that don't run away when the "hot uniform" feeling wears off.
i'm the great-granddaughter of a constable. i'm the granddaughter of a cop. i'm the daughter of a state trooper. i'm the sister of a sheriff's deputy. i was married to a volunteer firefighter. my mom ran dispatch for fire crews for several years.
i have blue blood back 4 generations.
guess what that means?
it means divorce (or several). it means being glued to the tv dreading a phone call when you hear "officer involved shooting" on your brother's shift and beat. it means getting a few precious hours with your dad during your one week a year because he's working. it means stopping and sending up a prayer during the hot beautiful summer weather because you know fire season is happening. it means knowing mom will be gone another 4 weeks because they don't have enough crews to get a line around the fire. it means waking up at 4 am when the pager goes off and making sure boots and gear and coffee are ready to go out the door. it means making 100 sandwiches when the red cross hasn't been able to respond. it means bawling your eyes out whenever and where ever your hear amazing grace on bagpipes because you've been to too many funerals where that's played.
you want to love a fucking uniform? good. great. go to fucking spirit halloween store and love them all you want until store employees ask you to leave.
you want to love the person IN the uniform? that's a whole different story.
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