I'm a guest blogger!

Back in January, Sassy Scorp posted she was looking for people to write guest posts for her blog.

I’m a self proclaimed attention whore, and relish the opportunity to meet new people so I jumped all over that.

Today? I’m over at Sassy’s Place, Single Mama in LA.  She’s a single mom like me.  We’re not ‘mommy bloggers’, and we both wish there was more of a single mom blogger niche out there for us.

In the meantime?  We’ll create our own.

So go read about my insecurities about getting naked with someone new.  Nothing like going to ‘visit’ a new bloggers place and getting naked all over their blog.

I’m klassy like that.

Questions of my heart

It’s very hard, when you put so much of your relationship on-line, when it all goes bad, to deal with the break up in the public eye.

I know that I don’t have to put anything on line about the break up.  Except that right after he broke up with me (via text, no less) he changed his relationship status on FB, therefore forcing my hand, and I had to acknowledge it.

And because I love(d) him, I asked that the bashing of him stop.  He (along with his son, our friends, his family) would see all that you wrote to me on my FB wall, in the comments.  And yes, I understand and appreciate your sentiments; I knew it would be better for everyone involved, in real life at least, if the bashing of him didn’t happen in public.

Keeping true to that has, at times, been difficult.

There have been days that I have sat down to write a scathing blog post reciting chapter and verse everything he did that pissed me off.  Maybe not at the time, but now, looking back pissed me off.  Just because being pissed off is much easier.  All those feelings, all that passion I felt for him, doesn’t just go away, doesn’t just turn itself off.  So, instead of channeling that passion into love, it’s easier, safer, and less painful to channel it into anger.

But it’s not fair to him.

Or his son.

Or our friends.

Or his family.

They did nothing wrong, and they don’t deserve to be caught in the cross fire, and don’t need to see this battle waged on the pages of the internet.

Brian wouldn’t wage it online anyway.

He would call me, or text me, or just turn his back and turn off my phone, and go quietly away in the middle of the night.

It’s hard to find other things to write about when your heart wants to pour itself out all over the place all the time.  It’s hard to sit down and write about something, anything else, besides the break up.

There are more than a few people I know, based on our history, think that this is just a phase for him.  That in a few weeks, he’ll miss me, he’ll come around, he’ll want to reconcile.

I’m not so sure.  Some days, I would agree with them. Other days? Not on your life.

Today?

One of those days without hope.

No, that’s not true.  Every day is full of hope.  Just today, there is no hope of any sort of reconciliation.

I’m ok with that.

And see, that’s where I am.

Taking this time (however long, or short) away from him, to figure out where I am, where I want to be, how to get there.

And most importantly, what being “there” (where ever there is) looks and feels like.

Do I want him along for the journey?

Do I want to take him on that journey with me?

Do I dig down deep inside me, in a place I have never found, but I’m sure is there, and find the strength and courage to say “I love you, more than you know, but it’s time we stop hurting each other.”

Or is that taking the easy way out?  Walking away without talking about our problems and trying to find a solution?

Or is this the solution?

Because I just can't keep my opinions to myself. And I found some new drama to write about.

The one thing I did *not* want this blog to become is a political blog.  There are three things ‘proper’ people don’t discuss; money, sex, and politics.  Since I’ve talked about two of the three on here (much to my mother’s embarrassment) I might as well go for the trifecta.

The problem is, when it comes to politics, I don’t claim one true party.  I usually just pick an issue (or one comes to the forefront) and I start shooting off my mouth, spouting opinions, without much thought behind it all. Politics isn’t my strong suit. Never has been.  And usually when I open my mouth, I prove that point time and time again. And I get in trouble.

But not Juan Williams trouble.

When something this big comes across the air waves (and by this big I mean it’s being covered by MSN, CNN, FOX, NPR, The View, Oprah, and God.. you know the regulars) I itch to jump in with both feet and spout off an opinion.  But first… I always go look up words, get definitions just so I make sure there is some validity to my ranting.

For those of you who don’t know (and maybe don’t care?) Juan Williams was just fired from NPR for something he said on The O’Reilly Factor. O’Reilly got himself into a bit of hot water with Barbara Walters and her gang over at The View last week, over something he said regarding Muslims and 9/11 and was looking for validation and support from Juan when Juan said this:

“I mean, look, Bill, I’m not a bigot. You know the kind of books I’ve written about the civil rights movement in this country. But when I get on the plane, I got to tell you, if I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous.”

I am not going to get into the right or wrong of NPR to fire Mr. Williams.  That’s a whole legal issue regarding contracts and termination and breach of contracts and I don’t have time to find and dust off my law degree from Cracker Jack school of law and marketing.  Besides, what’s done is done, and it’s not going to be undone, and Fox News jumped in and offered Mr. Williams a three year multimillion dollar contract for doing what he was already doing by being on Fox News Sunday and voicing his opinion.

Here’s my two cents worth on this whole topic.   First of all, Bigot is defined by Merriam-Webster Dictionary as

a person obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance

and just for good measure, Dictionary.com defines Stereotype as

a set of inaccurate, simplistic generalizations about a group that allows others to categorize them and treat them accordingly

Let me say this.  We all stereotype people.  We profile people.  We all have preconceived notions about groups of people based on characteristics they share, be it color of their skin, color of their hair, size of their boobs, or penis, the clothes they wear, the books they read, the car they drive, the music they listen to.  If we didn’t the advertising world would so be out of business.

He admitted on national television a truth that many of us hold.  And that is, he admitted to feeling nervous when he sees a group of ‘Muslims’ in the airport/on an airplane.  It’s nothing against those people personally.  It’s nothing against Muslims as a whole.  It’s a normal visceral reaction to a group of people who changed our world forever.  When you think of Michael Jackson, (before he died) somewhere in that thought process was ‘child molester’.   When you think of Michael Jackson and young boys… well let’s not go there.

Mr Williams was honest.  In this world of Political Correctness, we are so damned afraid of everything.  Afraid of saying the wrong thing, writing the wrong thing, wearing the wrong thing, because we might, *gasp* offend someone.

Fuck that bullshit.

What would have made Mr. Williams a bigot would be if he had acted on those feelings.  He didn’t run screaming from the airport. He didn’t deplane.  He didn’t cause a scene. He didn’t point at them screaming “TERRORISTS!!!”.  He acknowledged to himself that yes, he has those feelings, he was aware of his surroundings and went on with his day/life business as usual.

Just like most everyone else does.

Would this have been such a big deal if he had said   “I mean, look, Bill, I’m not a bigot. You know the kind of books I’ve written about the civil rights movement in this country. But when I go to a strip bar, I got to tell you, if I see women who are very skinny, and have big boobs and skimpy clothes, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as strippers , I get horny. I get excited.”?

I thought we were beyond witch hunts.

Last night I was reading some blogs from my Read-It-Later. I love that I can click on a website/blog post in my reader and it downloads and I can read it at home that night off line.  The problem then becomes when I want to leave a comment I can’t.

I read this blog post yesterday and I didn’t think too much about it. I mean, everyone is entitled to their opinion.  But this?

It’s kind of funny to me how these holier than thou ultra conservative Christian racists Tea Baggers rush to embrace anything or anyone that fits their idea of what people representing the real America should be.

is a bit much.

But still I let it go.  Last night.  This morning, on my way to work, I was thinking about it and the more I thought about it the more it got under my skin.  I was going to just quietly leave a comment there, but as I composed that comment in my mind, it grew longer and longer and turned itself into a damn blog post.  So, here we are.

I don’t claim to be a Tea Partier. I have never been to a tea party event.  I don’t claim either political party.  I see both sides of a lot of issues.  I’m a little bit left of right and right of left.  I fall somewhere in the vast 80% middle ground.  And just where I fall on that spectrum varies by the issue.

I don’t believe in calling a whole group of people out to be racist when it hasn’t been proven one way or the other.  That’s just name calling and mud slinging.  But that’s not what I started to write about.  I wanted to comment on the people who have their panties all in a bunch because Christine O’Donnell said that she ‘dabbled in witchcraft in high school.”

OMFG! Seriously?  Have you been out of high school so long that you have forgotten all the stupid shit you did at that age?  All the stupid weird strange people you hung out and the stupid crazy shit you did?  We ALL did stupid shit in high school and college.  I’d be willing to bet that damn near every small town in America has some haunted house/barn/farm/field/road whatever and we ALL ‘dabbled’ around there on a weekend night after a few beers.  So. Fucking. What.

Once upon a time I was interested in the Wiccan religion.  And frankly, it’s just another world religion much like Catholicism, Judaism, Buddhism, and Muslim.  I read a bunch of books about Wicca.  I have a spell book from the days I was interested in it.  In all the books I read, there was never mention of alters, blood, human or animal sacrifices.  Now, I’m not saying there isn’t black magic and maybe, just maybe there are sacrifices used with black magic, but what I read?  No sacrifices.  And they sure as shit didn’t build alters out of milk crates.

I honestly thought we had grown beyond witch hunts.  Even if she did more than dabble in witch craft, even if she was a practicing witch and a wiccan, who cares?  Don’t we have freedom of religion in this country?  It doesn’t make her crazy or ‘another nut to add to the mix’.

Changing Landscapes

Do you remember when this blog was fun?  No?  Some of you might.  Trust me when I say there were times when this blog was fun and not all opinionated and political and mouthy.  Wait, that’s what blogs are supposed to be… mouthy.

This place used to be a lot of things. I place to tell my ex-husbands exactly what I thought of them. (They *are* exes for a reason).  It was a place to shed more than a few tears over a broke heart.  It was a place to put the pieces of that broken heart and shattered dreams back together again.  And maybe it still is that place.  If I ever need it to be that place again.  But right now, I don’t need it to be that sort of place.

I am rebuilding my archives, slowly but surely.  And in doing that I am given the opportunity to go back and re-read everything I’ve ever written here.  When I read some of that crap (and oh god, it is crap) I cringe.  I wince.  And I fight the urge to rewrite it, better than it was, or just eliminate it altogether.  But doing that is not being true to myself.  At least not being true to the me back then.  The me then that has become the me now.

It’s also a chance to look back at where I was, where I’ve been and see how far I’ve come.  It’s a chance for me to look at my life and go “Yup, you fucked that one up pretty royally, didn’t ya?”  and then “But look, you came through it.  Now, don’t do that bullshit again”.

Lately this place hasn’t been about me personally.  It’s been about my perception of my place in this world.  My opinion of my world around me.  That’s a huge step for me.  Putting voice to my own opinions and putting it out there for the world at large to see and hear.  I used to just go with the crowd because I was afraid of losing readers, or offending people.  Turns out that’s just giving people the power to determine who and what I am.  Nobody gets to do that but me.

I’m stretching my wings, I’m warming up my voice.  I’m trying to figure out exactly who I am and where I belong in this world.  I honestly hope it will be fun and entertaining in the process.  I hope you’ll join me on this journey I call my life.

Equal rights for all, special privileges for none

Of course it is never my intention to offend anyone, but I somehow manage to do it without even trying.  Especially when I discuss controversial topics.  But I guess that comes with the topic, not everyone will agree.  Please, just don’t take this personally, it’s just me spouting an opinion.

Good, not that I’ve got that disclaimer out of the way….

On the AM talk radio show I listen to on my way to work, they were discussing the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy.  A man called in to voice his opinion on gays in the military.  He said that in the military they are trained to function as a unit.  Every man (person) covering everyone else to protect everyone in the unit to the best of their ability, especially in a combat situation.  He went on to say “I don’t want to be in a combat unit where one guy is going to protect some guys better than others just because he’s attracted to them.”

At that point I decided that person was a total idiot.  Why? (this list is in it’s simplest form.  I understand on many levels the military is different than any other job, but doesn’t there have to be some basic level of rules/regulations that apply to every employer/job?)

• In it’s simplest forms, the military is just like any other job. It’s just that, a job.
• I don’t know of any other job where sexual preference can get you fired.  That sounds a whole lot like discrimination.
• In a combat situation I find it truly hard to believe that with the enemy attacking you your mind will be on who’s got the cutest ass, and who you’d like to bunk with.  I  mean, I can not remember a time ever in my life when I was in a stressful situation and all I could think about was sex.
• What if the roles were reversed?  What if it was a woman in the unit?  Wouldn’t he be just as concerned that she couldn’t do the job as well for the same reason?  She was too busy focusing on which guy she was going to get naked with later?
• Or, would a  man protect her more because he was attracted to her, or less because she had turned him down.

I guess I just kind of want to know, why does sexual orientation, sexual gender, sexual preference have to come into play here.

Equal rights for all; Special privileges for none                ~Thomas Jefferson

That doesn’t just apply to gays in the military. It applies for everyone.  We should all have the same rights, live by the same rules.  The Declaration of Independence says

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

When did we lose sight of that?  When did we forget that?

I had a conversation with my brother who is a member of the military (AIM HIGH) about this. He told me there are many levels about this policy that he is not at liberty to talk about.  I believe that. But at it’s basic core, I think it’s wrong.

Putting them first, not in the middle

I had an interesting conversation with Bat Mom the other night. I looked at her and told her “Loving him is not easy. But it’s worth it, isn’t it?” She agreed it is not easy, she could not tell me if it was worth it.

“One of the biggest problems I have with you is you allow yourself to be drawn in to these constant Jr high stupid fights with Slug. I expect you to understand that it’s not about you or him, or her, or us. It’s about the girls.”

That stuck with me.

I used to be in a really good place. I used to sit in the peaceful garden of complete indifference. What he said didn’t matter. What he thought didn’t matter. What he did was unimportant. He just didn’t matter at all in my life. I felt nothing for him. Nothing at all. Complete indifference.

Lately, I’ve been reacting to stupid shit. Lately I’ve jumped at every single piece of bait he has dangled in front of me. I’ve felt this need to not only prove myself to be right and better and smarter but to prove him wrong and stupid and insignificant. I have felt the need to run him into the ground and put him down all in an effort to raise myself up.

The fights are stupid, over stupid things. When he calls yelling and screaming and accusing me of things I didn’t do I should remember to just ignore it. At that point there is no reasoning with him. It’s not about being right. It’s about yelling and screaming and threatening me.

Later when I talked to Future Mrs. Slug, I allowed my anger at his rage at me to spill over and again I tried to get the upper hand and the last word. I slipped. I gave in to the anger I still felt at him.

The problem with these stupid fights is, I can never win. No one can. OH He thinks he wins, but really what has he won? He’s yelled and screamed and before it’s all said and done, he’s drug the girls into it as well. And they are the biggest losers in all of this.

Even now, I just deleted two paragraphs because I wanted to rehash the argument here, and have my say, and prove that I was right once again. This isn’t about who was right. This is about setting aside stupid resentments and anger over imagined sins and doing what is right for the girls.

What is right for the girls? In a perfect world they would have their intact family, but they don’t. They can’t. Second best to that? Homes where their parents don’t fight. Homes where their parents understand that their differences are unimportant. Homes where their parents understand that I can’t change him, he can’t change me, so in the best interest of the girls, accept that and let it go.

When was the last time the girls came first? When was the last time either of us considered the girls feelings or needs or well being? I can tell you that I have made some serious changes in my life along those lines. I have worked with my boss and worked out a schedule that allows me to be home with the girls every morning until they get on the bus for school, and to be home within the hour after they get home from school. I don’t work any of the weekends I have them and I am off at least one day during the week to be with them. I will be able to participate in school parties and classroom activities and field trips. I am reaching out and talking to other mothers of other students in their classes and getting to know them as well.

I have spent time this summer making friends with several people in the neighborhood who are keeping an eye on the house and the girls. I have made friends with several people in town who will allow the girls to stay with them on days the girls don’t have school or are let out early.

Yes, we spent a lot of time with Batman at his house towards the end of the summer, but we have other friends too. I have told the girls that on weekends they are here, they can have their best girl friends over for the day and maybe even for sleep overs.

I want them to have normal childhoods. I want them to have friendships that last years. I want them to have happy memories of fun and laughter and a mom who knows what it’s like to be a girl. I want them to know that they matter to me. I want them to know that I have gone out of my way to be here with them as much as I can, while still putting a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Sure that means they won’t have 3 pair of Nike shoes, or LEI jeans or whatever. Ask them. I’m sure they will tell you that they would rather have days with me than Nikes in their closet (at least for a couple more years.. I hope).

I’ve decided to put my girls first. I’ve decided “Screw him. Let him rant and rage. Let him think I’m a bitch. Let him try and tell me how to raise my girls. Let him threaten to destroy me because I don’t quiver in fear at the sound of his voice. I don’t care. He can call a gazillion times a day. I can ignore him. I won’t allow him to interfere with my time with my girls.

My girls come first. And if I don’t fight with him, they can’t be put in the middle. And that’s the best thing in the world for them.

Searching

In a comment left here, Solanaceae said

You think mental illness is what is stopping your blog? I don’t get that. Speaking as someone who grew up around more than a few family members who share the same I have to tell you at least I would find it “worth reading” if not valuable to try to understand it all from your perspective. People in my shoes, many of them anyway, are interested in understanding and more often than not never given the opportunity to learn it from the person directly in their lives. You have an immense platform here to tell your story, to share with the world IF you want to & that’s really what it comes down to … personal choice. If you decide not to share it that is fine too but don’t think it is your illness standing in your way … you don’t get off that easy, I’ve read a ton of what you have written!

She was talking about my comment about how I don’t have a whole lot of traffic on my blog.  I meant to imply that yes I have a mental illness but I’m not crazy enough to believe I could ever be one of those bloggers.

But she raises a good point.  I have a story to tell.  I tell parts of it often.  I am grew up the daughter of a preacher.  That is not always easy, living your life ‘on stage’ in the public eye, even if it is only the small town you live in.  I have been abused by several men in my past.  I have survived.  I am a recovering anorexic.  I am a twice divorced mother of three.  I am a sister, a daughter, a cousin, a friend, an aunt, a girlfriend.  I have a story, and I will tell it to you if you want to listen.  Sometimes even if you don’t.

I am bipolar.  I got the official diagnosis just over a year ago.  I am medicated and am in therapy (no matter what The Asshat Brigade wants to believe) and it’s making a huge difference.  I do have an amazing platform here to allow people in to explore mental illness.  I truly believe that information is power.  The more you know the more you understand the more you can do to help.  I will gladly tell my story to anyone who wants to listen and probably to a whole lot who don’t.  I would share the ugly, the scary, the dark, the insanity, all of it here.  Except that the Forces of Evil would use it all against me.

They wouldn’t take anything I offered up and use it as a way to understand my life, they would see it as a weapon to use against me to hurt me to overpower me, to once again bring me to my knees.  They have so little power of their own to destroy me, that they would take this information and pounce.

I have written several posts in the past about bipolar and my struggle with it.  (One of them is password protected, email me for the password.. sorry Forces of Evil and such). I could right so much more, and open doors to people who want to learn and know and understand.

My mental illness isn’t preventing me from blogging.  Well, recently it has, because right now my thoughts are scattered everywhere.  I also know that in censoring what I write here because of the Forces of Evil gives them power in my life.  It means they still have the ability to control my actions or my lack of actions.  But another reason I haven’t blogged every day this week is… I really can’t come up with anything meaningful to write about.

I would love to have the attention adoration worshippers stalkers fans blog traffic people like Britt, Adam, Karl, Hilly, Dave, Dawg all have.  But as Dawg pointed out, blog traffic does not measure success.  I know that I have readers who have followed me through two previous blogs to this one.  I know I have readers who are here daily but don’t comment.

I wasn’t really complaining about the blog traffic or lack thereof.. or the comments or lack thereof either.  I guess I was just voicing my desire to actually write something that isn’t so diary-ish sounding.  And in that desire was the whining of I just don’t know how to come up with a topic and write about it well.

I’m searching for my voice.  I’m searching for me.  I’m 40, and I’d like to think I was a little more than work, kids, and Batman. I would like to think I could write something funny, witty, brilliant or poignant, meaningful, or thought provoking.  I’m searching.  Not just on my blog though, behind my camera too.  I need to get out and shoot and find my voice there too.

A Letter to my body

Dear Body,

This is the year we turn the big 4-0.  I’d say that in those 4 decades you have held up pretty well.  Yes you have battle scars and stretch marks, but show me a 40 year old perfect body with no scars or stretch marks and I’ll show you someone who is altogether too sheltered and spoiled and hasn’t really lived. (or knows a fantastic plastic surgeon)

To be honest, I don’t think I paid much attention to you until I reached high school.  Then I was ashamed.  There was the hair that would not be tamed (oh what I would give to have known about mousse or hair gel at that time in my life.. or hell even a perm)  There were the eyes that required glasses, and contacts were out of the question.  But aside from that, I didn’t pay much attention.

Looking back I can see that I didn’t take very good care of you, but you took care of me.  In college I fed you junk, when I fed you at all.  I drank entirely too much alcohol, and tiptoed around the fringes of other mind altering substances.  I’m sure I took way too many risks with our health, and frankly we got lucky. Very lucky.

It wasn’t until after college that I finally put a name to the abuse I had inflicted on you.  Anorexia.  I starved you to be smaller than you were or at least smaller than I thought you were.  And yet, even after all of that, you were strong enough to support and carry a baby to term three times.  And they were big babies too.

I still fee the need limit what I eat, but not to the extreme I used to. Bad habits are hard to break.  I have reason to eat now, and while I have to adjust my mind to seeing the new healthier you, I know that you look better now than you did at 17.

I’ve baked you in the sun and in the beds.  I’ve stretched you to give birth to three kids. I’ve pierced you, poked you, cut you, and abused you.  But I have also loved you and at times taken care of you.  And at 40, I’m lucky that you are still taking care of me.

I would like to think I’m smarter now than I have been.  I would like to tell you that the next 20 years will not be as difficult as the last 40, but I’m not sure I can promise you that.  I can tell you that I will try to be nicer, to take better care of you.  In thanks for you putting up with me all these years