And Then I Puked on the Floor at Chevron

I located this graphic online while searching for just the right 30 day Instagram photo challenge, and felt it would make for a great 30 day BLOG challenge - and since I am clearly a blog failure these days, a bit of competitive motivation may just be the ticket to get my wheels turning again.

So with that, here we go...

Day one of thirty: Someone You Love 

It is hard to narrow this down to just one person I love for whom I am grateful...which is of course, not a bad problem to have. At this point in my life, I am simply surrounded by love - one decision I feel that came instinctively the moment Grant was born, was the decision to only surround him with love. The fact that this means I too am only surrounded with love, is a happy result of the decision I made on Grant's behalf.

I am, of course, especially grateful for Matt, with whom I now share my home, my life, my before-bed ice cream, and my baby boy. He has definitely demonstrated to me that at the moment in your life that you are ready for someone or something, life has a way of delivering. I wasn't looking for Matt. I wasn't looking for anything or anyone; I was existing happily in my world, working my ass off, starting fresh with a new job and a new apartment, in a new city...technically even a new state. And what was intended to be a casual, friendly plus one to a wedding, has turned into 14 months of complete transformation, and what I can literally only describe as bliss.

I think that part of the experience of real love is someone providing for you what you didn't know you needed. I have always been fiercely independent, and I would never have been consciously aware that I would be in need of something that I couldn't get for myself. I never would have thought that by escorting me to a wedding as a family friend, Matt would change everything about my life, and all for the better.

I am still the same fiercely independent person, with a pretty strong desire to do what I want, how I want, where I want - but the past year has taught me that being with someone who loves you, doesn't actually take away from that. Matt helps me make decisions, but he never tells me what to do. He weighs in, but supports my choices. He is considerate, thoughtful, engaging, and ultimately helps calm my brain as it spins off its top.

Most importantly, though, Matt is right by my side - always - as we successfully raise our tiny human. And so today because it is my blog topic (but every other day because he's awesome), my heart is thankful for Matt.

I Can't Help It, I'm a Leo

Day Three: Your Zodiac Sign...Does it Fit Your Personality? 

I read this today: A Leo woman is like a kitten, and kittens are always very playful. She'll tease you with innocuous comments or actions, and laugh with all her might whenever she wants to. Little things will make her laugh out loud. She has a great sense of humor, and she is really funny and outgoing. She has a great ability to completely shift moods. She will always try to bring a smile to your face, and most of the time she will succeed. 

I mean, I definitely think I'm funny, yes. And I will always try to change someone's mood by making them laugh, yes. I am not great in a crisis, but I can certainly make you laugh when you're ready to do so!

Leo women are fiery characters and there is always a lot of enthusiasm linked to their personality. There are no half measures for them. Their loyalty knows no bounds. They will stick with you as long as they can, and love you with endless devotion. They are cheery and optimistic and highly determined to tackle the different phases of life. They do not show signs of vulnerability to people around them, and no matter what they harbor inside - whether it is pain or sorrow - they will always be determined to not only fight the world but also nullify the sadness within. Leo women have a thick exterior but are fragile on the inside. Little things do hurt her. On the flip side, she will always notice your small gestures.

Definitely true. Little things often hurt more than big things, in fact. And on the opposite end of the spectrum, I always notice the little things someone does - like make my bed, cuddle with Juno, loan me a sweatshirt when I'm cold, or text me some kissy-face emojis. Little things are absolutely the most important to me, and are absolutely what ends up hurting the most.

Leo women also have a lot of expectations in a relationship. If they are providing you with prolific amounts of love and affection and loyalty, hey will expect the same from you. Leo women love men who are hopeless romantics. If you write what you feel for her - or even text it to her - her heart will melt and she'll get butterflies in her stomach. She will save these messages or texts and read them when she is alone or wants to feel good, and it will always remind her of someone who loves her and cares for her.

I mean, I save basically every single message anyone ever sends me that isn't about work. I have a million saved little Blake voice mails in my inbox, and I screen shot texts that make my heart melt so I don't accidentally delete them. Soo...true.

My sign absolutely fits my personality - I mean, I think in general most people's signs line up with their personalities. You can't argue with the signs, right?

In my experience, the general perception of a Leo is a lot of bold behavior - strong personality, aggression, fierce emotion, loud reactions to things. Leos are also rumored to be overly confident, pushy, cocky, and overzealous. We are labeled as unforgiving, bossy, controlling, and maybe a little to forward. What tends to get left off the table with Leos, is that a lot of that overly confident, bold demeanor, is a facade that hides a lot of insecurity that we don't like to admit (or even acknowledge).

Leos are inherently insecure. We can't help it. I read something a few days ago that said a Leo's biggest fear is loving someone more than they are loved in return. This is 100% one of the most accurate things I've ever read about myself in a horoscope. And I believe it to be true for most Leos I know as well, actually. This is true for me of all relationships...whether it be with my family, my friendships, or my romantic relationships, I want to feel as important to someone, as they are to me. And where that gets me into trouble, is that because I am a Leo, I do feel my emotions very strongly - I love hard, and I want to be loved hard in return. And because I am a Leo and I naturally feel all of my emotions fiercely, I do sometimes struggle with feeling loved back - because not everyone feels their emotions as loudly as Leos do.

I have always thought that my personality lined up with my Zodiac sign because I do tend to be all of the things a Leo is known to be - bold, fierce, confident, and the center of attention. But the more I read about it lately, the more I think it's deeper than that. I think it's fascinating to read about, and interesting to read things about myself based only on my birthday...especially when they're so spot on.

Is That a New Blog, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me??

Somehow I have managed to not write a blog in 10 months.
I blame Donald Trump, obviously.

In reality, 2017 has simply flown by, and I'm really not sure how it's even possible that we've already gotten to October. It's been a big year with a lot of change - some expected, some unexpected, but definitely all for the better.

It has also been one in which I've experienced a lot of stress. And anyone who has followed my blog in the past several years, is well aware of how much of a stress relief writing is for me. So following a conversation with my mom last week about stress, chaos, and craziness, it occurred to me I should probably get my shit together.

So here I am.
30 Day October Blog Challenge.
Technically a combination of three different writing challenges, because I can't decide or commit to just one. And some of the prompts - like, what did you eat today - are stupid.

Starting six days late, so there's that.

Day One: List Ten Things That Make You Really Happy. 

1. An organized refrigerator. Sometimes it's about the small things. I love when my fridge is clean and organized, when labels are faced front, and when all my veggies are chopped and portioned into matching tupperware containers. I realize that this is insane, but I don't care. Happiness is a clean, OCD-type fridge. With that lunch meat drawer stocked full of Tillamook black pepper cheese sticks, obviously.

2. Drinking wine on Rachel's front porch. I think this goes without saying that I love my friends, and I love wine. I also love porches. A big, wrap-around front porch with a lawn to mow is literally my only motivation in life to purchase a home, and Rachel's porch in Battle Ground is pretty close to perfection for me.

3. Starting a new book. Any book. Especially one that is so good I do literally nothing for 3 days but lay under a blanket reading obsessively.

4. Getting voice mails from Blake. This week, he called and left me a message that said, "Hi Auntie. I want to take my Corona fridge to school for show and tell, but my mom won't let me because she says it is inappropriate." I have listened to it ten times, and I wish I could make it my ring tone.

5. The beach. Duh. This one goes without saying, but the beach is my happy place. Whether I am there for a day, a week, just an overnight, it's never enough time but also always the perfect amount of time. Whether it's winter, spring, summer, or fall, stormy or windy, sunny or blistering hot, it's perfection every time. I wish I could live there. And not work, just read books in my jammies drinking wine in front of a fireplace with all the windows open. Nothing better.

6. Being the little spoon. I. Love. To. Snuggle. Snuggling is my absolute favorite, and it's even better when the person snuggling you also loves to snuggle. And when they don't snore. I like to feel someone's hot breath in my ear, and I like it when my neck just fits in the space between someone's neck and shoulders. I especially love to snuggle when it's cold in the morning, and when Juno is laying at the foot of the bed on my feet, or between us in the pit of my knees. And for some reason, it's best when it's Sunday morning.

7. Grown up time with my friends. I am definitely in the minority now with no kids of my own. And don't get me wrong, I like to hang out with my friends and their little ones. But I'm also not a bull shitter, and I like even more to hang out with my friends while their little ones stay home with their dads. I like to drink wine and use cuss words. I like to drink champagne and talk about sex, or watch scary movies, or just have a conversation without being interrupted by small children asking questions or needing to pee. And again, I love your kids. I just don't like them as much as you do. So leave them home every once in a while so I can get you drunk like you deserve. After all, parenting is hard (or so I hear).

8. My birthday. Birthdays are a reason to celebrate, regardless of age. Just because you're not a little kid, doesn't mean you no longer have reason to enjoy yourself and eat cake! Bad shit happens in life, and the simple fact that you are alive another 365 days, honestly, is means to have a party. I will never let my birthday pass by without doing something outside of my daily routine. And the same goes for other people - YOUR birthday is equally as important as mine is, and I'll surely celebrate it. Even if you don't want to.

9. Receiving unexpected flowers. Duh. I'm such a girl on this one. Being thought of makes me happy. Being unexpectedly thought of a little extra makes me a little extra happy. And something about flowers being dropped off, makes me feel even more thought of.

10. Loud music. In the car especially, or while cleaning my apartment. Most any genre of music will satisfy the bug, but loud is definitely necessary.

Just Like Dolly Parton!!

I have this week off work, and it seemed like a great opportunity to really recharge for the upcoming new year - I have spent the past few days organizing my new apartment, getting settled, purging unnecessary drama from Facebook & Instagram, and doing a lot of thinking. 2016 was a difficult year in, like, literally every way possible, but here we are with just a few days left. I am looking forward to 2017 for many reasons - some big, some small, some I'll share here, and some I'll keep to myself. But in any case, I always appreciate a good blog challenge, and this one struck my fancy as a fun way to ring in the new year! 

Day One: A song from your childhood

When I was little, I was obsessed with Dolly Parton.

Literally fascinated. 

And my mom bought me these amazing glittery, bedazzled, fring-ey cowboy boots that I don't think I probably took off until my feet wouldn't fit in them anymore. When I opened the box, I gasped and said, "oh my gosh, they're just like Dolly Parton's!!!" 

Like I said. Obsessed. 

Yesterday was Christmas, and this year was probably the quietest my holiday has ever been. I got up in the morning and took Grandma to church, which was as pleasant as always. Everyone who came through the door was so happy to see her, complimenting her holiday broach, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and giving her hugs & kisses. As much disdain as I have for the Catholic church, I do actually enjoy taking her - I even sometimes pay attention instead of scanning the room for cute boys. 

After church, Grandma and I went to my parents' house for breakfast and presents. I did't get any new Dolly Parton boots (dammit), but I was just about that excited about the Costco shopping trips gifted to me by Santa...being an adult is so lame. 

My mom and I drank mimosas, and I headed home mid-afternoon, where I spent the evening drinking more mimosas, watching Netflix, and organizing closets in my new apartment. It was quiet and mellow, and a bit of a reminder as to why Christmas isn't my favorite day of the year anymore. It felt mostly just like any other Sunday, which isn't a bad thing by any means - just didn't feel like much of an extra celebration.

I think next year I'll ask Santa for some Dolly Parton boots! 

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

You don't know me, but I feel like I know you. How is that possible, you ask, since we've never met?

Well, dear upstairs neighbor, it's because you are so mother fucking loud, I feel like we actually sort of live together!! So hear me when I ask you to please, seriously, for the love, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I, of course, realize that I live in an apartment. I have neighbors on all sides. I chose to live on the ground floor, because it was cheaper, and because Juno likes to chase the squirrels back and forth across the patio door in the spring, and let's be honest - that is her only cardio all year long. Also because I have neighbors on all sides, I follow the rules set forth in my lease. For example, I don't run my dishwasher late at night. I don't do laundry early in the morning. I don't blast my music or run the vacuum late, nor do I listen to the TV too loud or throw raging parties. I also pull my headboard a respectful 4 inches from the wall so that the neighbor next door doesn't have to hear me bang.

I know I live in an apartment.

Which leads to me to wonder, how in the fuck you do not realize you live in one too!?!?

You. Are. So. Loud,

Literally so mother fucking loud, I think we may actually share an apartment, and I just haven't realized yet that you live with me.

Things you should know before choosing to live in a top floor apartment:

1. People live below you. That's right, underneath you. And despite the fact that they choose to have neighbors in the ceiling, they would appreciate if you did not choose to get up and play fetch from one end of your apartment to the other with your giant-ass dog in the middle of the night.

It's a fucking dog. And a fucking ball. Take that shit outside.

2. Your heels are not the part of your foot that should be hitting the floor first when you take a step. Please consult with a podiatrist to confirm there is no actual lead in your foot. I'm worried about you.

3. Also please don't chase your fucking dog around the apartment while it jumps, barks, chases, wags, and threatens to fall through the ceiling onto my couch. And stop bouncing it's fucking ball on the kitchen floor before I walk my ass up there and make you eat it.

Let's just be real, upstairs neighbor: living in apartments sucks, in general. And living in one with a dog has got to suck even more. It's probably the same as how living in an apartment with an infant who screams all the time, or a toddler learning to walk, probably sucks. Or a door-slamming teenager, I suppose. And so of course, dear neighbor, I do not have high expectations. I have a high threshold for noise. I expect to hear laundry and music and cleaning and lead-foot walking.

That said, shut your god damn dog up, dude.

Because sadly, your dog is not the ass hole. Your dog is just a dog. Dogs are dumb; they can't help it. They don't know they live in an apartment. They just see your stupid happy ass bouncing a ball on the floor or throwing a frisbee down the hallway like a dumb ass instead of putting a coat on and going to the dog park. Your dog is not at fault for your idiocy. That's on you.

And so, dear upstairs neighbor, as I sit here, typing this blog and listening to you stupidly play a long, loud, annoying game of fetch, I ask that you consider being a little bit less of a fuck stick in the future.

After all, it is after 10:00. And I know your lease like the back of my hand.

Goodnight.

#500wordsaday: Liar, Liar...Pants on Fire (if I even ever wore pants, which I don't)

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: A Time You Lied

I am feeling the true struggle of writer's block as I try to make sense of what to write about a time I lied...because I am clearly just so pure of heart.

No?

Okay that's not true. I can certainly think of times I've lied about things - especially as a rebellious, headstrong teenager self-medicating in Boones Farm and Apple Pucker (fucking, YUCK) while I ran around with boys who were older than me and looking for ways to feel me up while parked at the North Clackamas Aquatic Park (you know who you are).

But who writes a blog about the shit they lied to their parents about in high school? That seems like a bit of a cop out, since literally all teenagers are dirty rotten liars who cannot be trusted. I'd never get 500 words out of, I lied to my mom about drinking in high school.

Uh. So what.

I think there have been a few points in the last year where I've lot more to myself than to anyone else in particular, and I suppose that counts. It's often easier to convince yourself you feel a certain way, than to admit that you feel betrayed, bullied, belittled, or back stabbed (that alliteration was accidental, just to clarify). It can be easier to say I'm fine, and convince yourself to believe it, than to stop and consider your true feelings about dating someone who had another girlfriend the whole time he was with you, or to embrace the reality that someone who was your very best friend, who you then came to love, treated you like crap and then secretly got married after vowing to be single for eternity.

We lie to ourselves probably more frequently - and honestly, probably on a larger scale - than we lie to anyone else. I'm sure I am guilty of that self-preserving dishonesty. I think the biggest lie I ever tell myself, is that I don't care. Whenever I say, I don't give a fuck - okay, 95% of the time - I actually give at least one fuck. Probably a lot of fucks, in reality.

Several months ago, I abandoned the fucks I gave about one of my very best friends; let's call him Goose, so in the instance he stumbles on this post, he'll know it's intended for him. Because that's how I roll. Goose and I became fast and furious friends as soon as we met, talking for hours on end, all day every day, to the point of crazy-town. Like, looking back I wonder how we ever accomplished anything outside of a Facebook chat window for approximately 60 total days. As most male-female friendships do, this one took a romantic turn at some point, and progressed from friendly to physical, then physical to mushy-gushy, and then from there, came to an obliterating end.

For some reason, I convinced myself (liar, liar, pants on fire) that I could stay friends with him after he broke up with me. But not just that; I convinced myself that I didn't care (there is is again) that he broke up with me without reason, with no explanation, in a Facebook chat window, as though we were in 8th grade and he was uninviting me to a school dance. My inner dialogue did an awful lot of justifying his crappy behavior, a lot of defending his honor, which - looking back - was certainly unwarranted. Truth is, he acted callously, and even after facing reality in a more sober light over the next year, never apologized to me...his supposed "friend." Even when I straight up told him why I was upset, why I was hurt, he offered no apology. Instead he stopped speaking to me.

In my stubbornness, I said, well fine, I give no fucks. If you don't need me, I don't need you. If you can't open your mind to why I might still be hurting, fuck you then. I don't need to wait around for you to understand why it wasn't okay to abandon our relationship in a moment's notice, without ever sitting me down and explaining it. #nope.

I gave (and still give) almost every single fuck.

He was someone who truly got me, and genuinely embraced me; he understood why I was stubborn and hard-headed, sensed when I was exceptionally needy, and passionately connected the dots that put me together; for my great days and shitty ones, he was the first person I reached out to vulnerably, every damn time. As my friend, we talked about books and writing and people and life and goals and problems and booze and sex. And then as my boyfriend we talked about love and passion and life and running away and change and growth. And then as exes-who-were-trying-unsuccessfully-to-be-friends-while-still-sometimes-fucking we talked about sobriety and work and hopes and romance and relationships and sharing space. He understood every nook and cranny of who I am, and until I had to convince myself to stop giving a fuck, I was certain I would forever give all of the fucks.

The lie I tell myself: I give no fucks.
The truth: I still care a lot. About him, and about what he did.

I no longer care about him romantically, so don't get it twisted; we were clearly not cut out for each other, and that's fine. I'm glad he's happy, and I'm happily moving on, boyfriend-wise. But this person is someone I truly did love, on several levels, and it is a challenge to continue to try not to care, when I in fact care very much. I care how he's doing, what he's got going on, whether or not he's drinking, how his family is. I care about him, period. However, I also know we're never going to be friends if he cannot accept, understand, and apologize for the way he treated me when we broke up. Because it was childish and mean, and it bothered me a lot, and he knows on what levels.

We lie to ourselves in an effort for self-preservation, and in an attempt to move forward faster than we're really ready to. All of the I'm fine convincing allows us to put onto the back burner, what we should really be addressing full attack mode. But instead of allowing time to be upset, to be sad-mad-transparent-vulnerable, we push it all down as far as we can and claim to not care.

I don't care.

I don't care is how baggage is picked up.

I don't care is a lie.

I don't care will do nothing to help you, and will only weigh heavy on you later, when you least expect it. When you're starting to build something with someone new, and you find yourself doubting them, doubting yourself. When that someone else says to you, I think we have the same baggage.

It requires honesty. It requires internal honesty, more than anything. It requires that you admit, Goose, you hurt my feelings, and you made me feel irrelevant and unimportant and invisible, and when you didn't apologize for breaking my heart so ruthlessly, it made me feel like the dirt under your shoe. What someone else chooses to do with your honesty, is not relevant. It matters only what you do, how you process your own honesty.

Admitting that you give at least, like one half of a fuck, is probably the first step.

I'm done saying I'm fine.

I give 75% of one fuck today, actually.

#500wordsaday: I'm Not Afraid Anymore (spoken like Kevin McAllister)

1) A time you lied
2) A time you were hurt
3) The last time you were happy for a week straight
4) Family
5) How you wish you started your day (and then why you aren’t doing that already)
6) Your most authentic moment
7) When you really loved yourself
8) When you were scared
9) Why you long for love
10) Something about you that you’re hoping people don’t notice   / Something about you that you’re hoping people do notice

500 Words a Day: When You Were Scared

A time I was scared?? I don't know...I can't think...

**fast forward 3 hours**

According to one of my girlfriends, I have writer's block on this subject because I don't scare easily. Which is true; aside from monkeys and outhouses, of which I have real fears, I just don't find myself all that afraid, all that often. Plus, I have written several blogs about facing my fears, overcoming fears, and the likes...so I felt that to make this a different post, I really needed to think of a specific moment of being afraid, not a general fear.

But I still can't think of one. Because I have writer's block, hence why I needed this blog challenge to get my wheels turning.

**fast forward another hour**

It's no secret that several years ago, I found myself smack dab in the middle of an abusive relationship. After he smacked me in the face with a Tupperware plate only a few weeks into dating, somehow I was moving into this guy's apartment, then buying a house with him, cooking all of his meals, raising his daughter, and living in a shadow of what I used to think was my life. It was weird.

It's still weird, after a lot of time and a lot of therapy. I'm the opposite of the "type" of woman who gets abused by a guy. I'm tough. I'm strong, confident, and stubborn. And at that time in my life, I was also controlled, manipulated, and bullied. I made decisions out of fear, constantly on edge and trying to avoid starting a fight. I was certainly not myself.

There was a summer when we were together, that two of my cousins were getting married, just a couple weeks apart. Of course, being the typical abuser, my boyfriend hated my family and didn't want to attend either event. We compromised though, and he agreed to attend the first as my date, and that the second - in which I was the Maid of Honor - he'd skip.

Clearly, I actually think not attending a wedding with your girlfriend makes you an absolute douche bag, BUT at the time, and in my state of mind, this seemed fair enough.

So the day of Wedding #1 arrives, and I am really excited; I borrowed this sexy vintage wrap dress of my mom's that I worked out tirelessly to fit into, and I am so excited that he's finally coming to something with me. I spend an embarrassing amount of time getting ready, curling every one of my individual ringlets so they're perfect - even though I have natural, bouncy curls - and perfect my makeup. I come bouncing out of the bedroom, ready to go, expecting that he's ready and waiting for me - as any decent man would be.

He's in basketball shorts on the couch, watching basketball.

"Are you going to get ready? We need to get going in a few."
"Nah, I'm not going...there's a Lakers game on."
"But...you said you'd go with me to this wedding."
"I don't want to."

My obvious disappointment is showing on my face, and I get upset; I find myself practically begging him to take me - my family was waiting, I was really excited for him to come (who the fuck knows why). And now 10 minutes from go-time, he literally is like, nah.

Angrily, he throws on slacks and a shirt and walks to the car, as if I have somehow done something wrong. I blindly follow and get in the car, and am already pulling up the directions to the church in my GPS before he's even out of the driveway.

We've not quite made our way from the house to the freeway, when my gut signals my brain in a way that I can't quite explain. You know the feeling you get when someone is following you in a dark alley? It's like that. A sort of light-headed, uneasy feeling, like all I want to do is dive head first out of the car. I don't say a word, just sit patiently and still, letting the GPS in my phone direct us from the southbound freeway, over the Fremont Bridge into downtown Portland. He's been yelling since the freeway on-ramp. I'm ruining his life by expecting him to miss this basketball game. I clearly hate him and want him to be miserable. He hates me, his daughter hates me. I'm fat and ugly, and I disgust him, and maybe if I didn't have these horrible tattoos he wouldn't be so embarrassed to take me out on a date or to a wedding.

And while he's yelling at me, I'm just sitting in the car, listening to the GPS, trying to keep myself composed. No reason to cry, no reason to yell back - that will only make it worse.

"You need to turn right at the end of the bridge."

And in a second, he went from yelling at me, to a white-knuckled, brow-furrowed silence. Because you know, repeating GPS directions is a clear no-no. As he aggressively flipped his blinker, I flinched, and with that, he snatched my phone out of my hand, and from less than a foot away, threw it - full steam - at the side of my head.

From the second the hard plastic hit my temple, I didn't move an inch. He didn't say anything else, nor did I. I picked my phone up from the floorboard, and we sat in dead silence, with the exception of Siri's voice, directing him to the church. My heart was racing, my lower lip trembling, my eyes staring straight ahead; I don't think I even blinked. My throat was dry, and my thighs were trembling, until finally he pulled up at the curb about a block from the wedding venue.

I don't know exactly what came over me, but I practically leaped from the car. The second his foot laid on the brake, I had my purse and cell phone in my hand, and slammed the passenger door in his face, and was halfway up the block before I exhaled the breath I'd been holding for what felt like an hour. I didn't turn around, didn't look back, just walked as quickly as my inappropriately high heels would carry me towards the church, as he drove towards Vancouver, probably seething.

This was a turning point in our relationship, as I could no longer deny what was happening. I was being abused. I had just had a cell phone thrown in my face, and had then been left on the side of the road in downtown Portland, by my boyfriend, who I had been scared to get into a car with. This was a moment of true domestic violence, of which I was an obvious victim. I knew, walking into the church, that my family knew something was wrong. But I still didn't say a word. And I still had a great time at the wedding, danced all night with the groomsmen at the wedding (and considered going home with any one of them, if just to prove a point), and got incredibly drunk before getting a ride home at the very end of the party, in the wee hours of the night.

While the fight we had when I got home was far more heated, far louder, an far more physical, it was nothing like the part of the evening where I was stuck in the car being verbally assaulted by someone who was supposed to love me. I wasn't scared at home, fighting, being slammed against the front door. I wasn't scared of that, because that was routine in our house. It was far scarier being stuck in a vehicle with him, while part of me wondered if he was considering driving it off the side of the Fremont, just to avoid me getting to spend time with my family.

This would sadly not be the defining moment in our relationship, where I would realize I could never make it better and needed to leave; that moment was still more than a year in the future; but this was a defining moment in which I realized I lived with someone I was afraid of, and whom I deeply hated. I would never ask him again to attend an event or party with me; we lived essentially separate lives from that night forward, two people in the same house, who rarely even made eye contact unless we were fighting.

Ideally, I would never have met this guy, and would never have fallen victim to a manipulative narcissist, but several years later I can at least look back confidently. I know I suffered a lot, tolerated a lot, and was bullied a lot - but I did learn to always stand up to what I'm scared of. It's easy to think of things that scare you, or moments you were afraid of something - but what really matters, is that you are able to overcome it all.

And that you don't allow your fear to keep you from forging ahead. #nofear

Do You Love to Hate, or Do You Hate to Love?

Maybe this is why I'm single.

Maybe this is why I don't have very many long term relationships under my belt.

Maybe this is why I've never been married. 

Maybe this is why I'm not bitter, why I don't have a laundry list of "must-have" qualities in someone.

Maybe this is why I can still see the good in people, why I can take someone at face value.

Or maybe I'm just completely, one hundred percent right, and the rest of the world is wrong.

Whatever the reason, I just really, truly think that relationships should not be this difficult. 

Period. If you're working too hard to be happy, you're not with the right person. Your lobster would never require this much effort. And I think you should be able to be with your lobster.

Day One of my 30 Day Blog Challenge: Thoughts on Your Current Relationship, or of Your Current Single Status.

Nobody should be putting so much work into their relationship that it doesn't bring them any happiness. I know so many people who work harder on their relationship than they do on anything else; they put in so much effort, it's exhausting even to watch from the outside. They are constantly fighting an uphill battle, trying to force things, trying to find middle ground or compromise, just struggling to get it together with the person they're with. 

Why? Why are you doing that?! What is the payoff for putting in such a dramatic effort on a relationship that probably just isn't the right one for you? What kind of sadist are you? What is it about this person that makes you think you have to make it happen. that you have to force it to be successful?

Am I the only one in the world who would rather be single and wait for the right guy, than be in a forced, unhappy relationship just to be sure I always have someone around?

I know relationships take work; don't get my message twisted. I know that all relationships (and friendships, and family relationships for that matter) take compromise. And sincere effort. And selflessness. I get it. That's not what I'm arguing. I do know, accept, and understand that it's not always sunshine and butterflies in a relationship, and that there are moments and times that are hard. And that for the right person, you'll fight hard through those tougher moments and come out better on the other side. That happens in the duration of life with someone. 

I'm talking, though, about the people who are ALWAYS fighting to make it happen. I'm sorry, but if your relationship is more work than fun, more bad times than good, more stress than satisfaction...you are not in the right relationship. Just let it go and move on; you're annoying everyone else on Earth who already sees this going down the shitter.

At what point, when you're looking at your partner thinking of ways to destroy them so you can be happy, do you stop and think that perhaps you could do everyone (the two of you included) by just ending it? When does one arrive to the conclusion that a relationship should bring you at least some slight spark of joy, and that you haven't felt joy in so long you forget what it's like? I mean, people do get to that point, right? So why does it take so long? Why does it take so much fighting and energy? I just don't get it. It's like, before you can end you miserable, destructive anything-but-a-healthy-relationship, why do you have to destroy yourself from the inside first?

Hang on, we'll break up once we've both lost all hope for anything successful in the future.

It appears that it may just be me, but I would rather be single than date someone who hates me. I'm not sure at what point any of us were convinced (or who it was that convinced us) that a relationship need not bring joy or genuine happiness, but that as long as someone is waiting for us when we get home, that'll be good enough.

Good enough is absolutely not good enough!

Good enough should never be good enough. Not with a meal, not with an apartment or a place to live, not with a vacation, and certainly not with a relationship! Why do people think that's okay? Why do you think you have to settle? Why can't you let go of what's good enough in pursuit of something incredible?

You can.

I can.

In fact, I have.

Gone are my days of settling for something good enough, when I know there are men out there who do actually know how to make a woman swoon; how to really make someone tick. That's who I'm after. I feel like that's what we all should be after.

If you're with someone who doesn't make your heart beat faster, or who doesn't make your breath catch when they touch you, then what are you wasting your time for? If your partner can't understand you, appreciate and value you, or give you one hundred percent of themselves, then why are you wasting your energy? I remember one time my mom said to me, a relationship is not 50/50, a good one is 100/100. And that's so true. Do you give yourself a hundred percent to someone who gives you back the same hundred percent? If not, you're wasting your time. If not, you're selling yourself short. You're cheating yourself out of greatness with someone who will.

Relationships are hard.
They take work and energy and time and commitment.
They take communication. They take openness and honesty. They certainly take effort.
But, if a relationship feels like work and doesn't leave you happy at the end of the day, you're not in the right one.

Keep it moving.

Crazy Like a Girl With Two #Wifeys

11 Day Photo Blog Challenge

Day 3: A Picture of the Person Who Has Helped You Through the Most
Day 4: A Photo of the Person You Do the Craziest Things With 

I think once you're out of high school, it becomes harder to say who you "best friend" is. In middle and high school, it's easy - you have lots of friends, and then you have your very best friend. But as we grow up, we tend to develop stronger friendships with several people, and they may or may not also be friends with each other. We start to migrate towards other people who lift us up, encourage and support us, and we learn the lesson that friendship is 100% quality, 0% quantity. And in my case, while there are a lot of people I enjoy spending time with, drinking with, chatting with...there are a select few with whom I share it all.

Today's blog is a combination of day three and day four in the photo-a-day blog challenge, because there are two women in my life who have helped me immensely in their own ways, and have watched me (and helped me) do my fair share of crazy shit in the few years we've been friends. My #bestfriend and my #wifey, with whom I have the strongest friendships, and with whom I would be a puddle of disaster without: Kattie and Rachel.

Maybe it's because I'm not in school anymore, and because I work all the time, but I happened upon both of these women through work, and both in the last three years. Kattie was hired into a position I had just been promoted from, and ironically I became friends with Rachel because I helped her pack to leave her husband, after meeting her at a staff meeting. And yes, I know that's a weird thing to do with someone you don't know, help them leave their husband. But we were pretty fast friends from there.

At work, we call Rachel "Mom," because the girl's got a legit mom voice. A nice, firm lecture. And also because she's a caretaker. Rachel let me live with her for several weeks while I was homeless following a flood in my apartment. She also let my cat live with her when I wasn't even there. And you all know my cat is fucking needy. Rachel and I have spent a lot of hour drinking wine, eating food, laughing, crying, and bitching about other people. We've celebrated birthdays in Vegas, we've watched fireworks and had bonfires at the beach, and we've spent holidays together. I've gone to her son's baseball games, and we've met each other's parents. It's no wonder I call her my #wifey, with the way she takes me in and the way I listen to her vent. She's taken care of me better than anyone else, and I know that no matter what bad day, headache, or broken heart I am suffering, I can count on her for some mommy wisdom to make it hurt a little less.

Kattie, as my closest single, childless friend, has been along for every random road trip, last minute vacation, and latest late nights at the bar on the fly; she's seen it all. Kattie and I have traveled to Las Vegas, the beach, Eugene, Tri-Cities, and Bend - and we're going to Boise tomorrow for a long weekend, and back to Vegas & into Phoenix in April. If I want to spend money, I call Kattie - and especially if I want to spend money on something I've never done before. Something new and adventurous? Kattie is my go-to. She's watched me tackle new things, has forced me to taste new foods (all to my benefit), and encourages me every time I say, I think I might want to try...because she probably wants to try it too. We've been drunk together, have stayed out all night together, and have made new friends and seen new places together. No matter what lunacy I come up with, I know Kattie will be there to tell me it's a great idea. Because why the fuck not?!

I think it's great to have a lot of friends - lots of people you can call to grab drinks or dinner with. But I think it's a far better thing to have people in your life who will drop whatever they are doing, do anything they can, to make a bad day better. Kattie and Rachel are two people who have changed my life for the better; they have been there for every good day and every shitty one, and they've never been further than a phone call away. I've grown immensely and my life has changed dramatically in the past three years, and possibly the only consistency has been that these two have been there every step of the way. Every crazy day, every promotion, every move, every vacation. I am lucky to have stumbled upon them, and I am grateful for them daily.

And I mean, we're close enough friends that a guy I like to make out with sometimes just asked me, are you like, lovers, or what? Well...no. All three of us like dick way too much for all that! #bestfriends!

#RideOrDie With FMW

11 Day Photo Blog Challenge

Day 2: A Photo of You and the Person You've Been Closest to the Longest

Yesterday, one of my friends posted on Facebook, "everyone seems to be looking for that 'ride or die' chick." Clearly he was intending his post towards the romantic relationships people are pursuing, but I found it relevant to my challenge post for today. Because while I have a lot of good friends, great friends, and several best friends, I only have one #rideordie chick, who has been by my side from the day I was born. 

I was lucky enough to have been born into a family full of loud, encouraging, supportive L-O-V-E, love. My mom is close with her siblings, and somewhat naturally I then became close with my cousins. I've written before the way I feel so deeply blessed to have these relationships with my cousins, because I know it's not a normal thing we've got going here in this family.

But no matter what we're doing, no matter when we agree or disagree, no matter how crazy life gets, my cousin Stacey has been my very best friend. We joke about the fact that we hated each other in middle school, but really, don't all middle school girls hate all other middle school girls?

Stacey and I were roommates in college for a year, and when we transferred from Western Oregon to Portland State the following year, we took a lot of the same schedule and several classes together; I'd like to think that the only reason either of us actually graduated, was because the other one of us bitched about homework and going to class. More important than making each other go to school though, while we were in college, I was there through her incredibly hard breakup, and she was there when my dad was sick. We got through our college years together, not just the parties and classes, but the shit life starts to throw your way when you start to grow up.

Probably the time of my life that cemented Stacey as my real #rideordie, were the years I was in just the shittiest relationship with the biggest douche bag ever. At this time in our lives, Stacey was living with her now-husband, we were planning their wedding, and I was planning all of the other parties and events that lead up to a wedding - showers, bachelorette parties, dress fittings, etc. My boyfriend at the time, couldn't stand her. And though the feeling was more than mutual on her part, she was very careful to not talk shit about him, and to listen to my sob stories every time I called or came over to sleep on her couch. She knew I was being controlled, manipulated, and mistreated, but she didn't tell me what to do or come down on me; she just always listened. Because of this, I was able to maintain open and honest communication with her over anyone else, and when the moment finally came that I had had enough from this ass hole, she was there for me with nothing but support and encouragement, never anything about how it was about time or what had I been thinking.

Our lives have continued to take us different directions - Stacey is married, owns a home with her husband, and they've started a family. I, on the other hand, am single and renting, baby-free and moving all the time. And yet, despite these differences, I am as close as ever to my best friend. We text regularly, we spend time together, and I still feel like no matter where life takes us, she will always be my closest friend.

I mean. if nothing, else, I have to be nice to her, because she knows all of my dirtiest secrets. As most #rideordie bitches do.

Must Be Time For a #BlogChallenge

Nothing makes me feel as centered as a good blog; writing makes me feel better, it relaxes my soul and calms my crazy. And in the last several weeks, as I tackle a new monster at work, I have had less and less time to myself to write - and in the rare moments where I do get the moment, I am too frazzled to come up with anything of substance to write.

Cue. Rachel.

Last year, Rachel and I partook in a 30 day Blog Challenge, where topics were handed to us on a silver platter, to twist as we saw fit. Rachel started this new Would You Rather Blog Challenge today, and I have committed to start with her - because I feel like I need a push to stay on my writing even when I am busy and overwhelmed. As a kickoff to the next ten days, here we go with a ten to one countdown...

10 Facts about Yourself

1. I love to read. One of my favorite pass times is snuggling up in my jammies with a good book for hours on end.

2. My favorite food is raspberries. Preferably fresh off the vine, warm from the sun.

3. Speaking of off the vine, I find picking berries to be extremely therapeutic.

4. And speaking of therapy, I go twice a month, and it's two of the most enjoyable hours of every month.

5. I think men who dance are sexy.

6. I enjoy listening to music, but I am unable to ever recall song titles or artists, so I have a really hard time downloading new tunes and generally just beg people to make me playlists.

7. My favorite movie ever, is My Girl.

8. Having this blog about Juno published in an Amazon e-book is one of my proudest accomplishments to date. 

9. I only wash my hair once a week on average, and it's never been healthier.

10. I like to buy heels but hate to wear them.

9 Favorite Songs (well crap, this one is hard for me...)

1. Taylor Swift "We Are Never Getting Back Together" - this one will always be a fave for my mom and me

2. Ace of Base "The Sign"

3. The Temptations "My Girl"

4. Ed Sheeran "Thinking Out Loud"

5. Matt Nathanson "Wedding Dress"

6. Eminem "White America" 

7. Ed Sheeran "Nina"

8. Bethany Joy Lenz "Feel This"

9. Rascal Flatts "Melt"

8 Places You’d Love to Go to

1. Greece!!

2. Italy

3. Germany

4. Canada - specifically in the winter

5. Niagra Falls

6. Peru

7. The Galapagos Islands

8. Panama

7 Things You Couldn’t Live Without

1. Sleep

2. The beach

3. Yoga pants (no, but really)

4. Sex

5. Soft kisses

6. Mousse (don't judge, this curly hair is out of control)

7. Love

6 Favorite TV Shows

1. One Tree Hill

2. Gilmore Girls

3. How I Met Your Mother

4. True Blood

5. The Voice

6. Teen Mom

5 Favorite Foods 

1. Fettucine Alfredo with broccoli

2. Tacos

3. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread

4. Tillamook chocolate ice cream

5. Cheese

4 Favorite Drinks

1. Pepsi

2. Corona with Lime

3. Champagne with berries

4. Blue Moon

3 Things You Like About Yourself

1. Physically? My wild curly hair. 

2. My brains.

3. The fact that I can write well.

2 Things You’re Looking Forward To

1. The END of budget season at work - where I can go back to reality and stop working from my bed every night.

2. Taking the week of Christmas off to spend some quality time with my fella.

1 Quote You Live By 

1. "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do." * Eleanor Roosevelt