Mis Amigos

I know I'm just setting myself up here, because writing a blog about one's friends (unless it's a wonderfully glowing positive blog), is basically just one terrific way to stir up a shit storm.  That's wonderful if you happen to like fecal matter, not so good if you don't. However, this is the only place I can work out the whirlwind in my head, and figure out exactly where my thoughts lie.

I have a wonderful group of close-knit friends, who are like family to me. I really am blessed by them. But not a one of them truly get me, and I don't know if any of them really care to try.

One has a wonderful, shining image of me that I don't really fit. When he encounters a piece of knowledge about me that he finds unpleasant and doesn't fit the picture in his head, instead of trying to work it in to the puzzle, he simply throws the piece away. Therefore, I remain an untarnished, occasionally perplexing icon.

Another can't get past that our viewpoints on certain issues are radically different and diametrically opposed.  I try to avoid those issues, because I really do value our relationship and I fear the impact of a frank discussion would cause a rift that would be long to heal.

 There are times though that I really get my toes stepped on. Recently I was caught off guard, and had to reduce a topic I feel very passionate about into just one or two key points. The response I got pretty much let me know they hold my very dear beliefs repulsive, repugnant and disgusting.... which I guess that means I am too. They enjoy my company, my personality, but they don't like ME.

It really is a shame, because I love her and enjoy her company, but I can rarely relate anything personal about myself without being dumped upon by the Righteous Bucket O' Judgment, and usually reduced to tears.

One friend is quite similar to me in attitude and beliefs, and appears to enjoy my company. I really think this person could get who I am.  However, this person is very private, and holds little interest in people in general. I could relate any amount of information I want, but receive little information in return. He would be sad if he knew I were upset about something, but in the inner workings of people seem to be rather enigmatic to him, so it wouldn't make a lasting impression.

So basically, when I reveal the real raw me to the people I hold most dear, it is either disregarded, scathingly judged, or has all the impact of a stone skipping upon water.

It rather frustrating, to put it mildly. This past year has revealed to me there is a chasm that runs deep between me and everyone else. And it is filled to the brim with loneliness. I just don't know what to make of it, or why I bother trying.

With that last sentence in mind, it reminds me of two others, whom I know through work. We all relate well to each other and I'd love to consider us all friends. I enjoy their company, and they seem to enjoy mine. But I have these little niggling doubts. I wonder if it's only my perception that we're nearly-friends, or if they're just humoring me.  I never know quite where I stand with either one. 

It would hurt my feelings more to find that someone was just humoring me and tolerating my company, than to be just out-right disliked. Period.

I don't know that my writing this helped me to come to any sort of conclusion regarding anything. But it did serve the purpose of helping me gather all these whirling feelings and thoughts and place them firmly under a mental paperweight. Which at this point, I'll take what I can get.

I nearly bit my tongue in two

I've reached the end of this day in a slightly pissy attitude.  I've been assaulted with some of my pet peeves here recently. Though "pet peeves" is really too light a word.

There are two things that really define me, besides my geekdom.

1.) I root for the underdog.
2. ) I'm allergic to hurting anyone's feelings.

This translates to my being passionate about feminism, civil rights, and LGBT issues. My actions don't always match though, as I'm ultimately lazy.

So anyway, recently a friend confided about being pulled over by the police, and given that there was no real reason, it probably had something to do with his race. Which I was thinking it, even before I was told, and was already angry about it.

Then today at work, a coworker and I were watching a program that featured a gay couple and their children.  He just started raving about how he couldn't watch it, and that it was nasty, he didn't believe in it, etc.

Meanwhile, I'm just sitting there, gritting my teeth. Wondering if I should call him on it, and tell him I find his reaction offensive. To tell him of the many gay and lesbian friends (and some family) I have. Some with children, some without. Some that have been together many years. Some that have been left suicidal because of the uber-religious backgrounds they've come from and feeling there is something fundamentally wrong with themselves but can't change it. And that insensitive louts like him don't help matters.

I ended up doing nothing. I have mixed feelings about it.  On the one hand, I made nice at work. Didn't get into a culture war with a coworker that I rarely have to work with. I didn't hurt his feelings and make him upset by calling attention to his asshat behavior. So I feel a little good about being professional.

On the other hand, most of me is going GAAAAHHHH!!!!  I sat there listening to him trash an issue I'm passionate about!? Maybe he really did need his attitude adjusted, and I could have been the one to do it, but instead I said nothing?  I didn't want to hurt his feelings by calling attention to the fact he was hurting mine? A great deal of me is utterly ashamed at my lack of response.

These are such tricky waters to navigate, and I'm not much of a captain.

So much of me wants to be a balls-out, in-your-face activist. There is a deep vein of fanaticism in me, and I wish I was brave enough to access it. I want to challenge people and stretch boundaries. I want to be a mother that will be a huge embarassment to her children when they are teenagers, but a woman they can be fiercely proud of when they're older.

I want to take outdated attitudes and stand them on their head. To confront other's hang-ups. To be that person that might make you uncomfortable, that might make you angry, but might also make you THINK.

But really? I'm just skeered. People like that are rarely liked and I deeply need to be liked. The families of people like that often experience ostracism. I won't do that to my family. I'm no role-model. I'm just somebody's nearing-middle-age, pasty faced mom.

So I just do what I can do. I ignore things in some settings. Gently correct in other settings. And I love. That is one thing I AM good at. I can find something lovable (or at least sympathetic) in darn near anybody. I leave you with that. Just love.

Waking up with old friends on my mind

Johnny (not his real name) and I met in high school. I don't even recall the exact circumstances anymore, but it had to have been through the hours we whiled away in the computer lab, just hanging out.  At some point, we became fast friends.

We shared a passion for the paranormal, and exchanged our thoughts and emotions with all the fervor of youth.  I felt I had found a brother in him, and he a sister in me.  We rough housed in the hallways during school, and we talked for hours on the phone after.

I can't even begin to explain the fierce, protective love I had for my "little brother". It would take hours for me to tell you of the good times we had, the emotional bonds we shared.

After I graduated, and went off to college, we kept in touch by phone and occasional visits. But little by little, the inevitable happened, and he slipped away.  I didn't hear a word from him at all for a year. Perhaps two.  Then, he just reappeared. Bursts of phone calls and keeping in touch. I had gotten married by this time and he spent many weekends hanging out with the Hubs and I.

Questions about his time away were met with vague answers, and I eventually learned not to ask at all.  Just to appreciate his friendship and company once more, and to let whatever hidden history he had to be just that.  After a while, he disappeared just as suddenly as he appeared. 

So began a cycle he's contined over the years. Disappear, reappear. Lather, rinse, repeat.  At one point, he had moved to a bigger town about an hour away and invited the Hubs and I to come up and visit him at a club his significant other worked at.  I watched with hidden anger as his SO basically treated him like a servant all evening.  He introduced us to his strange new friends.

I watched via MySpace as he posted pics where he grew increasingly glassy-eyed and thinner.  I pored over his new sister-friend's page, where artistic, gothy and fun photos of her sporting black hair and red lipstick, alternated with photos of the end results of her cutting herself.  I wondered what she had over me, and watched him slip away, yet again.

He would make plans to visit, and never show. Sometimes he would call a day or two later with a flimsy excuse. Sometimes, he wouldn't call at all. I tried to quit him, but it would only last until his next reappearance. When you have my friendship, it is fierce, and it is for life.  Sometimes, like this time, it is to my downfall. I love my "little brother" still, but have no faith left in him.  The last time he announced an upcoming visit, I didn't even bother to change my schedule. 

I later found that Johnny kept in contact with a mutual friend of ours during his disappearing spells.  Matt (not his real name, either) filled me in with the sparse details he'd been given.  Adding up what we both know still does not equal the amount of effort Johnny had put into being vague and secretive.  I really don't see what's the point.

It's sort of the life equivilent of someone spending years trying to hide their feet from everyone, only later to find that the person has six toes. Whoop de shit.

I wonder sometimes what I am to him. Someone he used to know? Someone he outgrew? A small town hick who'd never understand the complicated things he's going through?  He'd be surprised. Sometimes I wonder if those years were a lie. Did he mean more to me, than I to him?

I watch and wonder where the future will take him. He may overdose and I will find myself at his funeral in a few years.  He may reappear for good when we're in our 50s or 60s, explain his crazy years, and us remain fast friends as old age doth approacheth.  Both outcomes are equally likely. The truth is somewhere in between.

Big Fat Freakazoid

This evening my daughter and I were playing a game. Given that we’re freaks, we play Zombie. Tonight’s edition of Zombie played out with my daughter announcing, “I’m a zombie!”


“AAAAH!!!” I fake scream. “A zombie! Don’t eat me zombie, don’t eat me!” I lie on the couch, and she’s crouched on my back, making little smacking noises as she burrows her face into me.

“No, no, zombie, don’t eat me!” I scream again. She looks at me and says, “That’s what zombies do.” She nuzzles my arm with her face, her little mouth smack, smack, smacking away.

This is my reward for the many times my friends and I have let my children watch us play Oblivion. It’s an awesome game, but sometimes you have to fight monsters – zombies included. It’s also the reward for a Bad Mommy moment of mine – letting the kids watch the Thriller video.

All I remembered was the cool part of zombies dancing. I had kind of forgotten about the whole Michael turning into a werewolf, zombies climbing out of the ground, and zombies breaking into the house parts. It also gave me fun and interesting questions to answer for a week or two. Like, “What are the zombies doing, Mommy?” “They’re pretending to eat her.” “Why?” “That’s what zombies do.” “Are zombies real?” “No.”

I’m not even going into the whole slave-labor-zombies created by Voodoo using poisons or plants like tetrodotoxin or datura. They can discover that yakkity-smackity on their own.

But, you know, the Zombie game is fun.

Also, I like to think I'm developing new and interesting complexes for my children during my social experiment titled "Child Rearing". Heh.

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A couple of days ago, I took the kids to gymnastics and ran into a classmate I hadn’t seen since high school. Being that we were held captive in a gym for an hour, we caught up a bit.

She must have been on a fitness kick, and kept asking me about exercising with her. Then an acquaintance of hers arrived, who happened to be a Zumba instructor. They began talking about Zumba classes and trying to convince me to take them. They are a godsend. They make you move in ways you’ve never moved before. Your husband will be amazed, yada yada.

I would hem and haw, demur about tight budgets, or lack of child care. They’d throw back arguments about there being child care at the classes, and my class mate said, “The classes are only $5. You can spend $5 on yourself, can’t you?”

I finally told them I’d consider it. Which I did, for two seconds.

My answer is no. No. I don't wanna.

I hate to exercise. In the summer, I take evening walks and the occasional swim or hike. That’s it. I don’t do treadmills. I only run if chased by bears. I might do a few push-ups or crunches sometimes if I feel the old arms and tummy are getting a little jiggly.

I’m pretty much happy the way I am.
And honestly? I already amaze my husband in bed. Don’t need any help there, thank ya.

And if I wanted to spend $5 on myself? I’d buy a pint of Häagen-Dazs®.

My Life List

So... here's some of the things I want to do in my life. They are in random order, and I may add to it at some point. For now, it just has 15 items.

My Life List:

1. Become fluent in Spanish.
2. Learn to play guitar.
3. Visit a family member who lives in California.
4. Go to New Orleans.
5. Take a mechanics class/learn about engines.
6. Take a self-defense class.
7. Learn to swing dance.
8. Master bellydancing.
9. Learn other formal dances.
10. Publish something -- book, short story, or poem.
11. Get a tattoo.
12. Learn massage therapy.
13. Conquer my anxiety and its symptoms.
14. Become competent at sewing.
15. Do something of an activist nature -- participate in a protest or rally.

Going nowhere

This will be a quite random post, I must warn you.

Hubby and I were talking yesterday about different ways we felt we've failed as parents. His failings, he felt, were on an intellectual level. He'd wanted to spend time teaching the kids, and felt that had he been able to spend more time doing so, our 6 year old daughter would be reading and doing math at a third grade level, and our 4 year old son would be about the level of kindergarten.

I felt bad because I'd had good intentions of getting the kids involved in causes and the community. I had envisioned afternoons spent hanging out at old folks homes, creating surrogate great-grandparents. Volunteering at homeless shelters. Getting involved in groups for civil rights, and other assorted causes. I've not even begun, and I wonder if I ever will.

Part of me thinks we should cut ourselves some slack. But on the other hand, wouldn't immersing the children in these things be good learning experiences and perhaps cause them to be better people when they are adults? Where is that line between providing good educational/learning experiences for children, and exhausting ourselves?

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My son has gotten into a bad habit of getting into the refrigerator lately, and leaving the door hanging wide open. It's driving me crazy. I recently had a bout of food poisoning, and I'm terrified of food spoiling and us all getting sick, simply because he's lazy.

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I've been reading a New Age-y type book involving some meditation/visualization. It sort of works. I feel like I'm doing something and having some progress, but then I fall asleep in the middle of it. I wake up in the morning remembering vague things and not being quite sure if I actually accomplished anything.

Those Squirmy Eels

I've been living the pseudo-single-mom life for a while, and came up with a pretty good analogy of how life as a single parent seems to go. At least for me.

Imagine you work at a pet store. The store receives a shipment of eels. Eels? Yes, eels, just bear with me for a minute here. The manager asks you to transfer the eels to another tank, and by the tone of his voice, it sounds like a task that would take maybe 20 minutes.

You plop your hand in the tank and grab an eel, squeezing it firmly enough that you have a good hold on it, but not so hard as to hurt it. You carry it to the other tank. This ain't so hard, you think. Transfer a couple more, then the next trip, to save time, you grab two. One squirms out of your grasp and hits the floor. You transfer the other eel, and try to catch the escapee. Some customers are giving you dirty looks.

You catch the slippery critter, put it in the tank and go grab another. You turn around, and about half the eels have managed to slither out of the tank. So you catch those and put them back. Look at your watch -- it's time to feed the hamsters!

You hurriedly feed the hamsters, and go back to the eel task, when a customer needs your assistance. You help them and go back to the eel task, realizing now it's time to feed the fish. What you thought should have taken 20 minutes will actually be a two day job, there's water on the floor, you've got little accomplished, customers are unhappy, and you feel like you've let your boss, the customers, and all the pets down. You're a big, fat failure.

So how does it relate to real life? The pets and eels are your children. They need to be cared for, correctly, in a timely manner. The customers are people in your life, whether they are friends, family, school acquaintances or people who give you dirty looks in the store when your kids act up. And the manager? That's the voice in your head that tells you that you can never do good enough. Or maybe there's a person who acts like the boss in your life. For me, it's that voice.

Just my opinion.