I Just Need To Let It Out

Sometimes I find my patience wearing thin much easier.  I've been told that sometimes letting out some of the things I hate (or very strongly dislike) might make me feel better.  So here it goes...

• Broken hearts and broken promises 
• People who walk into the elevator before I can walk out.  I'm waiting for the day that some idiot walks into me while I'm carrying something hot.  That will make me happy.
• Ignorant, closed minded people
• Orange cars.  I don't know why, I have just never liked orange cars.  Except the General Lee, because "The Dukes of Hazzard" kicks ass.
• New York Yankees (I'm Red Sox Nation, born and bred).  But I do like some Yankees fans.  Okay, maybe just a couple.
• Being told to calm down/relax/breathe.  Don't you think I would if I could?
• Wal-Mart, with 27 registers and only 2 open.  I don't need to spend 20 minutes in line just to buy more shit than I planned. 
• Feeling alone
• People who stand at the register talking on their cell phones.  Hang the damn thing up.  If it's an emergency then you probably shouldn't be buying things.
• Insomnia
• The smell of burnt popcorn when it carries through the office.  There's a "stop" button.  Use it.
• Memories that come flooding back at the worst possible time
• People who drown themselves in perfume or cologne.  Nobody should smell you coming.
• One word responses, especially when you've poured out your feelings.  Even worse, a one letter response..."K".
• Seafood.  Just because I live on the coast doesn't mean I automatically like fish and lobster.
• The realization that something you want will never happen
• Being every guy's "buddy".  I like drinking, sports, sex...really, I make the perfect girlfriend.  Just waiting for someone to notice.
• Not being able to let go of that one person.  We all have that one person.  Sometimes two. 
• Bad Boston accent imitations.  Not every person from Boston drops their "r"s.  And just because I'm from Boston doesn't mean I want to hear your impersonation.  When actors try to do one on TV or in the movies and fail miserably it is painful to hear (like Julianne Moore on "30 Rock").
• When you get that feeling that something's wrong and there's nothing you can do
• Small talk about the weather.  I'm in the same place, I know what it's like outside.
• Running out of booze
• Opening the mailbox and finding only bills
• Having my Amazon deliveries disappear.  Happened a second time, now I have to go to the UPS center 20 minutes away to pick up packages.  They won't even bring them to see if I'm home to sign for them.  But they'll bring the notification.
• Addiction, and what it does to the addict and those who love them
• Being unsure whether I've written enough
• Trying not to care about numbers/views/likes
• And finally, I hate that Fuckerberg has decided that they know what Facebook users want to see, rather than letting people decide for themselves. 

Hey, I feel a little better.  Anything you feel like getting off your chest?

Things Kids Will Never Know About Phones

I started thinking about all the things future generations will never get to experience.  And a lot of them had to do with phones...

• Kids will never know the fear of calling a crush, or even a friend, and having a parent answer.  "Hello Mrs. Carnes, can Matt come to the phone?"  And that was if you even get through.  There was no call waiting, just a seemingly endless busy signal.
• If they weren't home hopefully they had an answering machine.  Not voicemail.  You had about 30 seconds to stammer out your message onto a little tape.  Which would probably be heard by the entire family IF the tape didn't break.  And if you had to record that outgoing message it haunted you.  You'd call home, hear your voice.  You'd ignore a call, you'd hear your voice.  And you always sounded like shit.  Or you could do this...

• If they were home you probably had one phone in the house, maybe 2.  So chances are you were trying to hold a private call while in the kitchen with pain in the ass siblings making kissy noises around you.  They had cords, so you couldn't go far.  I remember just walking around and around in circles because I couldn't go any farther.  And then it would get tangled. 
• Heavy breathing.  Enough said.
• Crank calls will never been the same.  Sure, you can set your phone to "private" but it's not the same thing.  I remember setting up a 3-way call between 2 friends, while we listened in the 3rd line.  They kept thinking the other called them.
• You could ask the operator for an emergency break through.  If the line you were calling was busy you could call the operator and ask them to cut into their call. 
• Phonebooks!  They served many purposes.  You could find your friend's number, you could locate a local garage, or you could sit on it like a booster seat.  Everyone had one.  You had to remember phone numbers, some I remember to this day.

 

• Pay phones were everywhere.  I used to have to check in with my parents when I was out, and had to call from the public phones (which sometimes were really nasty).  And kids will never know the joy of finding change in the coin slot.       
• Beepers were the stupidest things (I know, pagers).  Someone would send you a message that consisted of a phone number, no name.  Then you had to find a phone to call them back.  Absolutely ridiculous.
• If you wanted to go online you had dial up Internet.  The noise that it made still haunts me.  You had to make sure nobody was using the phone, and hope nobody picked it up while you were online.  Because if that connection was cut you had to start over again

• No caller ID, no problem.  We had *69. 
• Collect calls were used for more than calls from prison.  If you had no change for the pay phone you could make a collect call.  You'd record your name, and it would dial the other party.  Sometimes instead of saying my name I'd say whatever I was calling to say (himomI'matthemoviesI'llcallwhenit'sover).
• Rotary phones were always a pain.  It took longer to call 9-1-1 than 4-1-1, which never made sense to me.
• 1-900 phone numbers.  Not just for psychics, chat lines and sexy women waiting for you to call.  My sister got in trouble for calling this one.

• I taught myself how to play songs on the phone keys.  I did a kick-ass version of "Hey Hey We're The Monkees". 

There are so many things that no longer exist, and I'm sure I'll have others later.  Are there any other phone related things I forgot?

Still The Same No Matter The Size

    

Hello, dear LC readers. It’s BLaM here. I know I don’t write or post much, but I thought sharing this with y’all might help somebody, and it might help me too.

    I’ve been a “big girl” my whole life. We won’t explore the reasons why, but there was a point in my youth where I discovered that food worked well enough to fill the emptiness and loneliness inside, and being fat made a great guy repellent. At one time, I thought that was a good thing. By the time I reached high school, the damage had been done. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t seem to get “thin.” I spent several months binging and purging, and then several more months eating as little as I could and exercising as much as I could. Obviously, these were both grossly unhealthy, but so many of the girls I knew at the time did one or the other, and they all dropped weight like I used to drop donuts. I was angry that nothing I tried worked the way I wanted it to. I was angry that for some people, being thin is like breathing. I wanted to be thin. I deserved it. I worked for it. I didn’t achieve it.

    Let me take just one moment here to describe what growing up fat meant to me, because it plays an important role in what’s happening now: I remember being “teased” by my family members for being “chubby” for as long as I can remember. I have a distinct memory of one of my aunts admonishing me at a family holiday for having seconds. “You don’t need that,” she told me, “You’re already fat enough.” I was completely crushed. I had looked up to this woman my whole life. It was one of the singular most hurtful experiences of my life at that point. For me, that is saying a lot. I was also beaten and bullied badly by classmates and their siblings. When I moved and changed schools, things got better. Teasing for my weight went away, for the most part, but the damage had been done by then. I have been horribly self-conscious about my weight and general appearance since childhood. Growing up fat destroyed my self-confidence and self-worth. 

    Then, my junior year of high school, after another school change, I found some acceptance and some friends. I started feeling better about myself. Not great, but better. People didn’t seem to judge me so much on my weight, and more on who I was. I thought that I was coming to terms with my weight. By then, I knew that being a big girl was just the way I was. I convinced myself I was OK with that. I convinced myself that I was happy being fat. What I really did was become complacent. 

    I didn’t date in high school. I didn’t have an actual boyfriend until I was nearly 20. I made bad choices in men. And I stayed fat. I had kids. I got married. I got fatter. By 2011, I weighed upwards of 420 pounds. Then, the unthinkable happened, and I lost everything. Including, ironically, the weight. As I write this, I have lost over 200 pounds. You would think that this would have improved my self-image, at least, right? Wrong.

    Yes, I have lost a ton of weight. Yes, I’m healthier. Yes, I’m more socially attractive. I’m still awkward. I’m still horribly self-conscious. What’s worse is the way I see myself. I can’t look into a mirror without wincing. You see, being that big, for that long, left it’s toll on my skin. My stretched out, crepe-y, stretch marked skin, that now hangs off my body in sheets. If I even see that much. Most times I look in the mirror, I still see the fatter me. It wasn’t until a few days ago when my roommates, who are both males, told me how thin I was looking lately and I started looking back at old pictures did I realize how much I’ve lost. I still live like the fat girl I was, and not like the much thinner girl I’ve become. I still walk slowly and carefully, so I don’t fall. I still act like walking a block could kill me. At my heaviest, it probably could have. I still look at clothes that are several sizes too big. Yes, I eat better. I make better decisions about the things I put into my body. I continue to lose weight. But the mental toll it’s taking is hard to deal with sometimes. I’m literally a different person from the one who couldn’t go a single flight of stairs without having to use an inhaler, from the person I was less than three years ago. In the course of the journey, I have lost a lot more than weight and I sometimes wonder if it’s some kind of cosmic joke. That to lose the weight that I had tried so hard to accept, I had to lose everything else, too. I know that it’s not the case, but I would trade every ounce lost and then some if it meant I could get that back. In the meantime, I guess I just have to get used to the idea that I’m a thinner me. A healthier me. Hopefully, I’m becoming a better me. Hopefully one day, I can look in a mirror, I can see my body, I can see me, and not feel the disgust and horror I do now. Hopefully, one day I can be whole.

Happy Birthday Baby

You were such a surprise.  Never a mistake, a wonderful surprise.  And I loved you the moment I realized you were coming (and the 6 tests confirmed it).  It wasn't the best of circumstances, but I knew we'd be okay.  People kept asking if I was having twins since you made your presence known quickly.  The ultrasound really just looked like an alien, but for some reason everyone thought you had a penis growing in there.  Except Auntie Skip, who kept insisting you were going be a girl. 

As the day grew closer I was getting restless.  I just wanted you in my arms.  I had all sorts of clothes in greens and yellows, Pooh themed décor, a pack & play set up with bassinet that fit in our one room cottage.  But you weren't budging.  The doctor thought you'd be a little early.  So as I watched the Patriots win their way into Super Bowl XXXI I realized you weren't going anywhere.

I went to the doctor's office the next day and they told me it was time to start getting you out.  It was still a day before your due date, but they thought it was time.  I was sent to the hospital and given an IV of Pictocin to start inducing labor.  Then I was sent home.  On the way I stopped to get a haircut.  Because I knew I wouldn't have time once you were here.  The hairdresser asked when I was due...I told them they had already started inducing me.  The fastest damn haircut I've ever gotten!  I think they were afraid my water would break there in the salon.

The doctor said that the labor would progress, but that if I didn't start having contractions we had to be back at the hospital the next morning.  Needless to say I didn't sleep so much.  Apparently you did, because you made no effort to get that labor going.  So back to the hospital we went, no contractions and no water broken.  I was starting to wonder if you were just too comfortable in there.

When we got there, all the technical stuff started.  They had to break my water, hooked us both up to monitors, and gave me the drugs.  Ah, the drugs.  I'm sure all of this would have been worse without the wonders of pharmacology.  And then it was again time to wait.  You still weren't budging.  So I watched soaps and talk shows and just tried to keep myself calm.  Until your heart rate started to drop.  All of a sudden people were moving quickly.  The doctor checked me out and thought we could give it a shot, even though I wasn't dilated enough.  Meanwhile, they were prepping an OR for us to be taken to.

It was time to push.  And the only chance I'd have, before they wheeled me into surgery.  So I pushed.  And pushed.  For a stubborn one you came out pretty quickly.  Had to make a dramatic entrance, I think.   Or maybe you were drawn to Oprah's voice.  As they were checking your stats the doctor said "it's a girl".  My response..."Are you sure?"  I guess all those people who were convinced you were a boy must have gotten into my head. 

When they finally brought you to me I looked into your dark blue eyes and knew exactly who you were.  You were my baby.  Whether we're together or not, whether you like it or not, you will always be my baby.  And as of 4:42pm Tuesday January 14 1997 I am your mom.  And nobody will ever love you like I do.  I just hope that someday you will realize that.

The Announcer Said What?

I was watching the Bruins and heard "it's gotten good and nasty".  In case you haven't noticed I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy so I giggled.  And started thinking about all those other dirty sounding terms in sports... 

Hockey

• Five hole
• Pull the goalie
• Poke check
• 2 on 1
• Reach around
• Rode him in the corner

Football

• Tight end
• Sack
• Muffed punt
• Illegal touching
• Backfield

Baseball

• Squeeze play
• Touch the bag
• Backdoor slider
• Stole the base
• High hard one
• Switch hitter

Golf

• In the rough
• Looks like he bent his shaft
• He has a real nice stroke
• Ball washer
• Threesome

Basketball

• Stuff it in the hole
• Rim shot
• Double team
• Penetrate the defense
• Ball hog

NASCAR

• Bump and run
• Pole position
• Overshooting the pit
• Wheel banging
• Drafting in his slipstream

Others

• Hooker (rugby)
• Clean and jerk (weightlifting)
• Sticky wicket (cricket)
• Rear naked choke (MMA)
• Shuttlecock (badminton)
• Shagging fly balls (softball)
• Gutter ball (bowling)
• Penetrate the box (pole vaulting)

And, of course, in the hole.

So remember, you just can't nail a guy from behind like that and not expect repercussions. 

The Elf On The Shelf, Watching Your Every Move



I have never had The Elf on the Shelf.  Frankly, it's creepy as hell.  I decided to find out exactly what it's about, so I checked elfontheshelf.com...

"The Elf on the Shelf® is a special scout elf sent from the North Pole to help Santa Claus manage his naughty and nice lists. When a family adopts an elf and gives it a name, the elf receives its Christmas magic and can fly to the North Pole each night to tell Santa Claus about all of the day's adventures. Each morning, the elf returns to its family and perches in a different place to watch the fun. Children love to wake up and race around the house looking for their elf each morning. There are two simple rules that every child knows when it comes to having an elf. First, an elf cannot be touched; Christmas magic is very fragile and if an elf is touched it may lose that magic and be unable to fly back to the North Pole. Second, an elf cannot speak or move while anyone in the house is awake! An elf's job is to watch and listen."

 

So basically your kid is being told that this creepy ass doll is there to stare at them.  Then it reports what you do to the guy who makes the naughty or nice list.  It's a spy and a rat.  It was bad enough when your parents said "if you're not good Santa will know".  Now we have "if you're not good the damn elf will go running to the North Pole to tell Santa because he's too lazy to watch you himself".     

 

Kids are encouraged to talk to their elves, especially to share secrets. The more the kids share, the more the elf can learn more about them. Telling the elf secrets seems to secure a space on the nice list.  And, it gives parents a place to put a voice-activated tape recorder to find out who really broke Mom's lamp.

 

And have you ever looked closely at the Elf on the Shelf?  His eyes seem to watch you.  Or hers.  Sorry, didn't mean to be sexist.  They are available as either boy elves or girl elves.  I don't even want to know if they're anatomically correct.  Kids remember everything you do wrong.  So if you don't move the damn elf during the night there will be hell to pay.  Because the elf would never go back to the same spot after running to the North Pole to be a tattle tale.  They'll also remember that the elf was 2 inches to the right of the candle, and will know if someone touched it during the day.

 

I remember when my daughter came home from kindergarten and said that leprechauns leave candy in kid's shoes on St. Patrick's Day.  Really.  I guess it's a good thing she told me.  I wanted her to believe in the wonderment so I kept putting candy in her smelly sneakers.  One Christmas Eve she started crying while she looked at the refrigerator.  "We have no carrots!" she sobbed.  I had to convince her that reindeer get carrots at every other house and that too many make them gassy.  So we should leave a salad instead so Santa wouldn't get farted on the whole trip (I know, I know, you don't have to say it).  That worked for her.  It also worked a few years later when we didn't have any milk and that Santa would like her best because she left him a beer (again, I know).      

 

The first Christmas my daughter really understood Santa she asked for a Barbie horse.  But it hadn't been on her list.  Oh no, that would have been too easy.  Instead she just told Santa.  I asked her what she'd told him and fortunately she told me about the damn horse.  She'd never mentioned this horse before, but that's what she wanted.  And nobody had it.  A stupid Barbie horse and nobody had it.  I called every single store I could think of within an hour of my house.  Found one 45 minutes away.  So I drove there as fast as I could and when I got there it was the wrong color.  But I got it anyway, hoping she'd forgotten which color she asked for.  She had forgotten which color, along with the fact that she even wanted one.  I think it was played with maybe twice.                

 

As parents you'll do anything to keep the magic alive.  Making footprints in the snow, leaving glitter behind, crumbs on the cookie plate, an empty beer bottle with a special note.  The Easter Bunny was always a messy eater so there were carrot pieces all over the floor.  But we want them to believe, to stay innocent for as long as they can.  So why do we need some commercial product to take the place of the magic we can make ourselves?     

 

Oh, and in case that's not enough there's now "The Elf on the Shelf: A Birthday Tradition".  Consider yourself warned. 

What Retail Employees Wish You Knew

With Black Friday and the holiday rush right around the corner I thought I'd take a moment to give you some things to keep in mind while you're shopping.  They're pretty basic things that a lot of people either never learned or have forgotten...

Retail employees on the front lines (cashiers, salespeople, customer assistance) are not in it to get rich.   Typically we get paid shit.  For some it's a second job, for others it's a way to make ends meet.  Remember that when you're dealing with us.  Yes, we get a discount.  Which we use to buy more stuff in the store.  

We have to ask you about credit cards.  We have to ask you a second time about credit cards.  Sometimes we have to ask a third time about credit cards.  We don't want to.  So be nice when we do.  "No, thank you" works well.  "I'm sure, thank you" also works well the second time we ask.  Complaining about the interest rates really doesn't work so well.  When in doubt, lie.  Yes you have the card.  Or both.  Or all.  We'll never make you prove it.   

Hang up your damn phone.  If you come up to the counter on the phone we understand.  As long as you put the phone down.  But if you come up to the counter and keep chatting away it really pisses us off.  We don't want to know that Becky told Steve that she likes Nick but she really likes Bobby.  And that Becky is a slut.  Ask the person on the other end to hold on for a moment while you spend 60 seconds at the register.  Unless it's a life threatening emergency.  Because if it's a life threatening emergency you probably don't need those skinny jeans.

Don't yell at us.  You have no idea how many times I've been yelled at in different customer service jobs.  We know we make mistakes (okay, maybe not me but others) so give us the chance to correct them.  We're not robots.  It's not our fault that we don't have bathing suits left in October.  Or that we don't carry the brand you're looking for.     

We are selling the products.  I do not go back into the warehouse and make it myself.  So don't bitch at me because something didn't work, or the quality was not what you expected.  Tell us the problem and we'll offer a solution or 2.  Yelling and screaming will get you nowhere.

Hand me the money.  Don't put it on the counter and slide it over.  And don't lick your fingers then count your money.  It's kinda gross to get your spit on the money right before you hand it to us.  And money has enough gross shit on it.   

The customer is not always right.  Sorry.  And if a customer says that it just makes it worse.  Yes, we're not perfect.  But neither are you.  So if you're an asshole we may find ourselves moving a little slower.  Petty, yes, but makes us feel a little better in a warped sort of way.

Don't walk up to a counter and say "I want to talk to a manager" and then refuse to say anything else.  Sometimes it's something we can help with and that will save you time.  If you really needs to talk to a manager it will only help you to have us explain it to them first.

The flip side is that sometimes we are limited in what we can do so we have to call a manager.  Understand that we are not doing it because we're trying to inconvenience you. 

Watch your kids.  Here's my "favorite" kid story.  Mom is in the store with her son, who was about 6 or 7.  He wanted candy and she said no.  So he spent the next 5 minutes screaming and telling her that she couldn't be his best friend anymore while he pulled clothes off the hangers.  Then Mom's phone rang.  She answered it and kept talking while browsing the racks.  After a couple of minutes I realized it was quiet.  And I didn't see the boy.  So I got concerned and walked around the racks.  There, behind the jeans, was the kid eating a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.  When he finished he walked back to his mom, who smelled the candy.  She scolded him and they walked out, leaving candy wrappers on the floor.

Don't come in and trash the store.  We are the ones who have to clean it up.  The shelves and displays are not trashcans.  Don't draw penises on price tags (yes, that's happened).  If you pick a shirt up off the table don't drop it in a ball.  We appreciate it if you make an effort to put it back the way the rest of them are.  Even if you do it wrong.  Don't leave crap on the dressing room floor.  Like your old bra when you steal a new one (yes, that's happened too).  And if you knock something over just pick it up.  Not that difficult.

Treat us the way you want to be treated.  It's that simple.  Acknowledge us when we say hello.  Please and thank you are magical words.  Or names are not "hey you, in the black shirt", "missy", or "honey".  Don't think I can't tell you where the spark plugs are because I have tits.  We have bad days.  People tell me how good I am with customers, how happy and friendly I am.  No, I act like I am.  I really don't like people.  We know when "it's such a beautiful day outside", you don't have to tell us.  Most of the time we'd much rather be out there ourselves.  Don't drop your stuff on the counter and walk away, especially when there's a line.  You'd be pissed if someone did it in front of you, so don't be that asshole. 

If you're nice to us we'll be nice to you.  It's that simple.  And you never know, there might be a coupon or something you didn't know about.  We really do like to help.  Although when we say "have a good day" we really don't give a shit what kind of day you have.       

What Makes A Family

This may sound silly, but I have no family.  No biological family, anyway.  I mean, those people are out there but they took their sides.  Guess who's side they didn't take?  Believe it or not, I'm okay with it.  Took awhile, and losing some people was much harder than others, but it is what it is.  I'm sure that in time I'll get into more of the back story.  But it's just hard to do right now.

Don't feel sorry for me.  I would truly hate that.  Because I have family.  The family I have made for myself.  I have my best friend, who's kids have always been my nephews.  Boy, they were so disappointed to find out we're not blood related.  I have my "other mom", as I've always called her.  She has taken over as my only mom, and she'll never know what that means to me.  I have my sisters, her 2 daughters who have my nieces.  One has been one of my oldest friends, and they know that I am always there when they need me.  Her husband is like that brother you fight with, but you know he has your back every time (just ask the guy who's tooth he knocked out defending me).  I shed a tear or 10 when my niece graduated high school, Ms. class president.  And my other nieces are just as amazing.  And I'll spare you from the past I had with one of her sons...but he wasn't my "brother" then so it's okay.

Then there are the people who have really had my back over the past 3 years of pure hell.  They wrote letters of support, letters that brought me to tears.  Even though I closed myself off, they still checked on me and wouldn't let me push them away.  My "work mom" has done things for me, even when I said I didn't need the help.  I have found people online who have listened to me cry about the same shit over & over, and have offered help that I never accept.

And then there's my Laptop Confessional whorez.  Yes, that's our term of endearment.  We have taken over the mindset of the honey badger, we just don't give a shit.  But someday we will have our commune and will all be sister wives.  BLaM is my same sex sole mate.  She gets me in a way nobody ever has.  She knows when something is wrong without me saying a word.  A prime example...I stood at my sink trying to decide how much of a particular pill to take.  Shortly after I got a text telling me to step away from the sink and the bottles.  Some freaky shit.  Vicks is my little hedgeho.  We laugh at her typicals (typos) and sometimes we shake our heads wondering ethnic (WTF) she is talking about.  The queen of auto correct.  Kat gave us our first badger baby.  And has shown me love even when I don't deserve it.  AC sent me a secret Santa gift that still lives in the same box.  She gets me, and is always the one who truly tells it how it is.  Ridgewalker is my favorite nerd, and sometimes I really miss her.  Confessor Cin I miss so much.  She is truly an amazing woman, who has given so much of herself.  J has become my sister Bruins fan, but that's only the tip of the iceberg.  She really just kicks ass.  And Spanks.  She leaves me with not enough words in the English language.  She is one crazy ass bitch who means so much to me, more than she probably realizes.  Then there's Zeno.  I wish he was around.  I miss him more than he knows.  Because I love what he has to say, and I blame him whether he did it or not.  And I know we all feel the same. 

Life gets crazy, but I hope you get to know them.  You'll probably see them pop in when they can.  They have truly saved my life on more than one occasion.  They are my family, whether they like it or not.                

The Strong Hold Of Addiction

When I was a kid there was a bar downtown called "The Colonial", and my mother would cross the street with us so we didn't walk by.  When I got older I learned that my father used to have to "remove" my grandfather from there quite often.  When we visited my uncle on the Cape, there was always the same smell in the house.  When I got older I went to a Rolling Stones concert, and learned what that smell was.  My mother used to say how careful we had to be, that addiction runs right through my family.  So I was a good girl, didn't drink or get high.  But everything was always a secret.  As an adult I realize that's probably how it was when she was growing up, you just don't talk about it.

Addiction is an awful thing.  Some people just think the addict is weak, that they bring it on themselves, that they should just stop.  Addicts are often seen as less of a person.  But addiction knows no age, no gender, no economic status.  Addiction doesn't care if you're a celebrity like Cory Monteith or Robert Downey Jr.  And addiction doesn't care if it takes away someone you love.   

"He said you'd be the one to save him", his friend told me one night.  And I think part of me has spent 20 years trying to do that, whether I realize it or not.  Nothing is an addict.  I can't tell you how many times I've dropped him at the VA for detox or rehab, how many times he's relapsed, how many times I hear that things would be different.  I was still the good girl, and he kept all this hidden from me.  Being as sheltered as I was I didn't know the signs.  I knew he drank and smoked pot, but I had no idea about the crack.  And probably other things I still don't know about.  I didn't recognize the dilated pupils or the jaw grinding.  I believed him when he said he used the crushed beer cans and nip bottles with the holes for smoking pot.  I never saw him do it.  He later told me that he wanted to "protect" me from it.  Unfortunately he didn't protect my heart.

"Why wouldn't you leave?"  I heard that over and over.  And I did, over and over.  But he'd draw me back in with promises.  I never used, so I had no idea what it was doing.  When he'd pick a fight with me and disappear for a few days I thought it was because of something I did.  It wore me down, made me feel like I wasn't enough.  Probably explains part of why I kept taking him back.  He's still the only man I've ever loved.  So I put up with it.  One day he smashed my car window.  So I tried to run him over.  Really.  He jumped on the hood of the car and wasn't hurt.  He got rough with me.  Just once.  I took out a restraining order, pressed charges.  Then refused to testify so the charges were dropped.

It wasn't always bad.  He stayed clean for long periods of time (as far as I know), spent time in long term rehab and in sober houses.  He always had a job of some kind.  Never laid a hand on me again, although he still had a real temper.  During one of those times we weren't together I found myself pregnant.  The father was "rebound man".  By this time Nothing and I were just friends.  But the feelings were always there.  And when things inevitably ended with the "sperm donor" and he'd stopped being part of my daughter's life, Nothing stepped up as a father to her.  He always said that blood didn't matter, that he was her daddy.  I think being "daddy" helped keep him clean for longer than he had been since we'd met. 

There would be times when he was doing great.  He was fun, sweet, and pretty much everything I wanted.  Then there would be other times when he'd be short tempered, angry, quick to fly off the handle.  I used to tell him "bring back nice ****".  After countless trips to rehab a doctor finally got to the bottom of some of his issues...he was bipolar.  The drinking in particular was his part of his way of self medicating. 

I knew I had to work on things myself.  In case you haven't guessed I was pretty co-dependent.  I tried going to Al-Anon meetings, but they just weren't for me.  Then I started to realize that my daughter was getting old enough to really notice what was going on.  And I didn't want her to think this was normal.  So I made the decision to end things. 

But I still checked obituaries to make sure I didn't find him.  I never stopped worrying, never stopped caring.  I had no idea where he was.  And after about 7 years I found him again.  Damn Google.  We've been off and on since then, although I never let him back into my daughter's life.  I still had to protect her from the uncertainty.  I do believe he's always loved me, at least as much as he could.  He still has his demons, and they still get in the way (although I don't think crack is one of them).  But I'm trying to let go.  I don't know what they future will bring but I do know I have to stand on my own two feet.  I have to not let my happiness be affected by what he does or doesn't do.  I'm trying.  But sadly he's almost my addiction.

***People have asked why I call him Nothing.  He's been my boyfriend, my fiancé, my friend, my ex, my daughter's daddy, my "one that got away", my booty call, my enemy...everything but my husband.  He knows that's how I refer to him, although he really doesn't like it.  Plus he'd be really pissed if he read this. 

Do You Know Where Your Kids Are?

Or more importantly, what they are doing?  With the internet available on so many devices you may have no idea.  You know Facebook, Twitter, MySpace (yes, I guess people still use it), Google +, and Instagram.  I'm guessing most of you have been drawn to the lure of Pinterest.  You may know Tumblr and Reddit.  How about Kik, Voxer, Snapchat, Wanelo or Pheed? 

This week in Florida 2 teenaged girls were charged as juveniles with aggravated stalking after allegedly taunting and bullying a 12 year old girl until she committed suicide.  Over the weekend the 14 year old posted  "Yes ik I bullied REBECCA nd she killed her self but IDGAF".  How many parents would be happy to see their kid post that?  (For the record the girl claims her page was hacked.  I'll bite my tongue...) 



But the one that scares me the most is ask.fm.  Ask.fm is a wildly popular social networking site where teens can post anonymously without the prying eyes of parents...and has been linked to an unknown number of suicides. These are directly from the page of a 16 year old girl, none have been made up.  And her grandparents, who she lives with, know nothing about the page.  Some are the questions are nice...

When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When you imagine yourself as really, really relaxed and happy, what are you doing?

 If dogs never existed, which animal would take its place as Man's Best Friend?


Even some that are sweet, even if the subject is not

don't hurt your self you beautiful

don't listen to people sending hate and don't even think about take that blade to your skin your beautiful and don't ever forget that before you cut think of how your gunna have to cover all the scars it's just one big mess stay beautiful<3

If your ever down, put your hand on your heart, what do u feel? That is a reason to keep going and don't listen to anyone, and if you alone u have me :)

You're life isn't perfect. No ones is. I get it. I used to cut. I know what it feels like to be surrounded by support it feel so lonely and rejected. But, its not worth it. You're going to have to explain them to your kids and then they are going to think it okay. I beg you to save them from that.<3

But things can change quick...

Bra size?
 
why you so ugly
 
go cut yourself
 
I can't wait for you to die
 
Have you ever had sex
 
I want you to die you are so fucking ugly
 
last time you cut?
 
I want you to die

STOP CUTTING. IT'S GROSS AND IMMATURE . HOW ARE U SUPPOSED TO EXPLAIN THE DREADED SCARS. IT'S JUST GROSS. OUT OF ALL OF THE PEOPLE THAT GOD COULD HAVE PUT INTO THE WORLD, HE COHOSE YOU. AND IF U CAN'T REALIZE THAT U HAVE THE GIFT OF LIFE THEN U R JUST ABOUT THE DUMBEST PERSON EVER. STOPP CUTTING!
 
Do you send nudes or ass pics

You got some tig ol' bitties and your sexy af'


It was a hell of a lot harder to find the nice ones than the brutal ones.  I'm crying too hard to look at more.  Especially when an innocent question gets a terrifying answer...

What is your favorite thing to drink?

Bleach

Chances are, the teens in your life are (or have been) on ask.fm.  And you probably wouldn't even know it.  When we were kids, you were bullied face to face.  Or sometimes face to fist.  Sometimes it was a passed in a note, written on a desk, or even a phone call.  But nothing like it is today (damn, typing that made me feel old).  Now it's on websites, Facebook, texts, IMs, etc. 

Sites and apps pop up all the time.  Sites you may never hear about.  Pages can be set to private, or to let certain people see only what they want them to see.  Accounts can be made that never show the person's real name.  Texts and messages can be deleted.  With apps like Snapchat, once the photo is open it disappears.  And I have just found a new one...that's how quickly they pop up.  Skim, which does the same things with chats.  Wow, I found this in an article posted yesterday.  Like I said, they pop up all the time.         

So what can you do to keep the kids in your life safe?  I honestly have no idea.  Be aware, know about the different social media sites & apps, watch your kids closely.  Don't be afraid of watching too much, because it's so much better than finding out your child has been cyberbullied to the point of no return.  Google your kid's name, along with a key word like your town.  Whole names, nicknames...that's how I found a Tumblr page for the same kid (see my previous post about cutting).  Once they're caught with one page they can always set up another.  Have others on your side...just because you're blocked doesn't mean everyone else is.  And keep your eyes open.  Because your child might be the cyberbully or the victim and you may never know.