My 99%s worth

They are making a lot of noise in the media.  They are getting coverage every day.  There are groups taking up the fight in other cities across the country.

And nowhere, anywhere, have I been able to find a mission statement for any of them.

They are occupying Wall Street, and they are camping out, but what do they want? What is their plan to change the status quo? They have people donating food, tons of food, to feed the masses gathered at the parks.  They have built their own tent city, complete with a library.

Why haven’t they put that kind of commitment, creativity, inspiration, and energy into finding a job, or making their own lives better, than sitting around expecting the 1% they are protesting to change?

According to this guy, the 1% are the ones who make more than $350,000 a year. I will never be one of the 1% that influences the politicians.  I will also never been one of the politicians influenced by the 1%.

What I am is a single mom in my 40’s.  A month ago I had a job that was paying the bills, putting a roof  over our heads, food on our table, and afforded us health insurance.  It was not a fancy life, but it was livable. We managed to eat out once a month, and by eat out I mean my daughters got McDonald’s for dinner.

Today I still don’t have a job, and it’s been a month.  I filed for unemployment the day my job ended. And I also started looking for a job.  I knew unemployment could take up to 3 weeks before I saw a dime.  I called the utilities, I called the landlord, I called my parents.  I asked for temporary help with the understanding I would make it right, pay it back, as soon as I got back on my feet.

I spent every day on line applying for every job I could find.  I was on the computer literally 5 hours a day, applying to 7-10 jobs a day.  I sent my resume to every company I could think of that would allow resumes be submitted online.  I could not allow myself to not look for a job, even for a day.

I found food pantries and stood in line at those every week, to get food to supplement what little I could afford to buy in order to feed my kids.  I swallowed my pride, kept looking for a job, and did what I had to do to get by.  I talked to everyone I saw, and listened when people were talking about places that were hiring.

I am not out of the woods yet, as I don’t have a job.  I have a job interview on Monday.  It’s only one out of the many I applied for. Unemployment only required me to apply for 2 jobs a week.  I know there are those out there who will do just that, only apply for those 2 jobs a week.

I am not one of those people.

I will never be one of the 1%, but also don’t expect the world to change because I don’t have the job I want with the paycheck I’d love to grow accustomed to.  I don’t expect to live off of other people, I don’t go looking for handouts so that I can afford to be a stay-at-home-mom.  My job, for the past month, has been to find a job and ways to feed my family.

I am the 99%, and I’m doing the best I can.

Changing my mind set in the dating game

This dating business?

Sucks.

Seriously.  I know why we do this crap when we’re younger.

Because we can.

Because when we’re young, and the guy turns out to be a douchenozzle, or he blows you off, or stands you up, or disappears, or lied on his profile, or the date just sucks we truly believe “Heh, he’s the problem. Not me.”

Now that I’m older, and dating again?

Not so easy to sell myself that same bullshit. Even if it isn’t bullshit.

I haven’t blogged about it, but I’ve made no secret of it on Twitter, that a few weeks (months? really? has it been that long?) I went back to the dating website where I met Brian.  (What? It’s free!)  I’m not looking for my Prince Charming. He won’t be fishing anyway.  But it would be nice to have someone to hang out with so I don’t spend all my weekends at home alone.  Or out on the town alone.  Or drive my friends bat-shit crazy begging them to entertain me.

I made a few quick changes to my profile, added a new picture, and waited without any real expectations.  I didn’t wait long.  Hello?!? New fish in the sea, fresh meat. Everyone’s coming out to check out the new chick.  (Even a couple of girls. WOOt! Everyone wants a piece of me!) A lot of young guys, looking to hook up (ignore), a lot of ain’t-no-way-in-hell guys looking way out of their league (ignore), a few I talked to, but just didn’t feel any real need or want to talk to them on the phone or in person, and a couple I actually talked to on the phone, and a couple I actually met.

One guy in particular had some potential.  His profile had the same sense of humor I have.  I got it. I thought he gets it.  We exchanged a few messages, and then phone numbers.  Our first phone conversation was an hour long.  He’s on Twitter and Facebook (no I never went looking for him).  We exchanged real-life email addresses and emails and a few more phone calls… and then?

Gone.

Radio Silent.

His profile said “I’m taking a break. Good luck to all of you still fishing.”

But nothing to me. No phone call, no email. no text message.

I am not heartbroken over this. I figure this is part of the game.  Maybe he found someone he really connected with.  I wish him the best of luck, truly. But couldn’t he have told me that instead of falling off the face of the earth?

Or maybe he was abducted by aliens.

Or, when he got my real-life email address, he looked at my google profile, which links to my Twitter, Facebook, here, my review blog, and well, from there? It’s just follow the flashing neon lights to find out way more about me than you ever dreamed you wanted to know.

Of course, I figured, *that* had to be it.  That had to be the reason why he fell (or jumped) off the face of the earth.  He read my blog, he found my Facebook page, and my Flickr account, and everything else I have on line…

And ran scared.

Or jumped.

It took a little bit for me to realize how destructive that line of thinking was.  So what if he ran (or jumped) because of what he found?  What he found is a version of me.  Sometimes a cartoon version of me, but still… a version of me.  If he couldn’t handle it, didn’t like it, or was intimidated (yeah, that’s what it was… intimidation) he’s not the right guy.

I was all this on-line with Brian…oh wait, bad example.  That didn’t work out.

Ok, I have a lot of friends who know me in real life, and know the me that is on line and they like both versions of me.  But when push came to shove, when things fizzled, my first thought was “What was wrong with ME?” and it should have been “What the hell is wrong with him?” or “Oh, well, he just doesn’t get me.  Next!”

I had a date this weekend.  With a guy. Saturday night.  And I didn’t drink any alcohol.  (thanks Petron) The date? Almost perfect.  All on my own.  Without my best friend tequila.  And if this one doesn’t work out either?

I’ll be batting about average.

It's a numbers game

In a week I will put another year between me and 40.  My birthdays don’t bother me so much.  Can’t stop them from coming.  It’s just another year I’ve survived.

I was 4 years old when I finally figured out when my mother’s birthday was.  I was proud as punch that I knew that “Today is my mom’s birthday”.  I told everyone in church that day that it was her birthday.  Of course, just because I knew what day it was, I had no idea how old she was.  So, when someone asked me that inevitable question “How old is she?”, instead of admitting I didn’t know, I just sort of guessed.  To me, at 5, everyone lived to be 100.  Nice even round number.  In the scheme of things, and in relation to 100…. well…uh, 40 wasn’t that old or that big of a number.  I proudly told everyone who asked, “She’s 40 years old!”  (sorry Mom)

She was 24.  She wouldn’t be 40 until I was 21.

Oops.

My mom married young and had us kids young.  Growing up I wanted to be just like her.  Until i got closer to the age she was when she married my dad.  As I approached that age, I realized there was no way I was ready to get married and have a child.  I was too young.  I would be 4 years older before I got married, and two years beyond that when I had my son.  Even then, I was pretty sure I was too young.

I remember my 13th birthday, how excited I was to finally be an official teenager.  I couldn’t wait for my birthday that year.  Until my cousin took the wind out of my sails by telling me my birthday that year was no big deal, it was just another day, like any other day.  I would be the same, look the same, feel the same, I would just be one year older.   I was mad at him for taking the shine off my 13th birthday, but he was right.  It was just another day, like any other day. It was only special to me, but I looked the same, sounded the same, felt the same, was the same, except I was another year older.

From that year on, my birthdays never really bothered me.  The number of years celebrated was just that, a number.  My younger brother’s birthday’s didn’t bother me either.  Besides, I don’t care what his number is, he never ages in my mind.  My (baby) sister’s birthdays make me feel older than my own.

I was always convinced no matter how many years had passed from the day I was born, I would never be “too old” to wear blue jeans and tees.  The day I got ‘too old’ for jeans would be the day I was just too old.   So, come next Saturday, as the country gears up to celebrate our nation’s birthday, I will be celebrating yet another year survived, another year put between me and 40.

And I will be celebrating in blue jeans and a tee shirt.