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.

Why is Called a Pet Peeve Anyway?

Day Two: Your Top Five Pet Peeves

It seems appropriate to follow up the ten things that make me happiest, with a list of things that annoy the shitout of me, right? I think so, yes.

Pet peeve number one: People who stand too close to me in line. Back the fuck up please, seriously. I have actually written a blog about this before, and it still rings true – get the fuck out of my personal space! If I can feel you breathing on me, you are too close to me. If I can swing my shopping basket and smack you with it, you are too close to me. If I can hear you chewing or exhaling or just existing in general, you are too fucking close to me! Move!! No one is getting out of the store any faster just because you climb up my ass and hang out there. I like my bubble, and I need you to just fucking stay out of it.

Unless I am dating you or you’re my best friend, in which case I literally cannot get physically close enough to you.

Pet peeve number two: People who let their dogs jump all over you and use “he’s friendly” as their excuse. First of all, friendly does not mean jumping on me, slobbering all over the place, or humping my leg. Second, if he’s friendly, why am I staring at so many teeth? And third, I don’t care if your dog is a cartoon character, I still don’t want it jumping on me. I don’t like your dog.

Pet peeve number three: When people stop texting in the middle of a conversation. I mean, I am definitely guilty of falling asleep in the middle of a late night text marathon, and I can’t count the number of times I have forgotten to respond to something I opened at work and then got too busy to immediately respond to, but like, where are these people going when in the middle of talking about something they just stop? And like three days later, I’m still waiting for the punch line. I don’t get it. Would you walk away from someone who was talking to you and just never come back? Finish your thoughts, people. Say goodnight or goodbye like normal human adults.

Pet peeve number four: Poor grammar. I hate it.

Pet peeve number five: People who make excuses for other people’s shitty behavior. Your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/mom/dad/sibling is an ass hole. Don’t make an excuse on their behalf! Let them fall on their face like they deserve! We’re already judging you for associating with a sociopath; don’t make it worse by clarifying that you do see what we see and are actually okay with it. Pretend you don’t even notice their shitty comments, poor social skills, or shitty personality. Don’t make a feeble attempt at getting us to just tolerate the insanity because you can. We can’t. We don’t like people who behave like shitty shitheads in public. And now we don’t like you that much either, because you brought a shitty human to the party and basically acknowledged it while begging our acceptance – or tolerance, at the very least.

No. I don’t want to party with your shitty other half.

It was far too easy to compile this list, by the way. I may have a short fuse, I can’t be sure. What I can say for sure is that little things can be really agitating. I need a beer after spending time considering all of life’s little annoyances… 

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.

Thank You, Times Ten

Day 3: Ten Things I am Thankful For in 2016

2016 has been a bit of a shit storm.
Read: Donald Trump was elected President of the United States, and everyone in the world with a vagina, realized how worried this should make us.

Anyway, when you have a year that is a total zero, it can be really challenging to remember all the things you have in your life to be grateful for. When this blog asked me for ten things I am thankful for in 2016, I was like...ten?!? What the fuck man...haven't you heard the news that Mike Pence is our new Vice President?! How can I possibly find ten things?!

It took less time to think of ten, however, than I initially thought it was going to. Because the reality is, that despite the terrible impending presidential inauguration, and despite all of the chaos, the shootings, the celebrity deaths that have happened in 2016, there is still no shortage of things I should be (and am) incredibly, deeply grateful for.

1. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to live with my best friend, and that we had such an awesome six months of best-friend-roomie time before she moved out (and I moved in another roommate who was awesome). Kattie and I finally bit the bullet and rented a two bedroom apartment together, despite fears that her cats would torment Juno. We spent six months eating Thai take out or Chinese delivery while working on property financials, watched Teen Mom in our jammies, pulled hilarious pranks on one another involving a large, wiggly purple dildo that suction cupped to literally any surface, and used the money we were saving by living together, to take several fun long weekend trips together.

For the record, Juno was the one doing 99% of the tormenting. Because she's a dick.

2. I am grateful for my Thanksgiving weekend trip to Pacific City, both the days I was there alone, and the days I was joined by Stacey & Blake. It was so great to have the alone time, great to have the peace and quiet to read and sleep in and lounge around in my jammies. But it was just as great to have the five-year-old tornado show up, to share my holiday movies with him, take him on a stormy beach walk, and drink wine with his mama. It was a perfect reminder that I can make or break my own holiday traditions.

3. I am grateful for Top Ramen. Because we all need to have comfort food sometimes.

4. I am grateful for my girlfriends, who have - for another year - reminded me what friendship looks like. It's hard to be a girl. It's hard to find girls to befriend who have no hidden agendas, or who aren't total bitches. Men don't really understand that - like, it is really hard to be friends with girls. So the fact that I have a tight-knit group of women who support, love, and encourage me...is something I am truly grateful for.

This year, last year, and surely next year.

5. I am grateful for my family - yes, all of them. The good, the bad, and the ugly of my family dynamic has shaped me. From a side of my family I don't have a strong relationship with currently, I still have plenty of wonderful childhood memories. From the side of my family I do have a relationship with, I have ongoing wonderful memories. I have enjoyed quality time with my grandma this year that I haven't had in the past, and I am grateful for all of it. I am fortunate to have parents who I can have fun with, talk to, and ask for help - not everyone has that, and the more people I talk to, the more rare it seems to have the mom and dad I have, who are really there to pick me up whenever I fall.

6. I am grateful for my strong voice. The voice that was finally able to express my concerns to my family, though they were not well received (unless a total freeze out means something is well received). The voice that has been able to stand up for right and wrong through a horribly exhausting presidential debate, and a voice that has had no fear of standing up for people who are being horribly mistreated. I am grateful that I can speak up.

7. I am grateful for Juno. She's my favorite. And yes, I am aware that she's a cat...that doesn't mean I like anyone else better than her. I don't. I like her better than any of you.

8. I am grateful for my job. Even though there are days I really hate it, I am glad to work in an industry where I am respected (usually). I appreciate that I am not one of the many people out there who wake up every day and dread going to work. I like my property, I love my team, and I enjoy the 40+ hours I spend each week with them.

9. I am grateful for silver tequila.

Obviously.

10. I am grateful for 2016, in general. Despite it being awful in many instances (MIKE. FUCKING. PENCE.), it has still been a year with many positives. I survived a property sale in one piece, got a promotion, earned two raises, stood up for myself in many, many situations, went on vacations, paid off all my bills, and enjoyed a lot of wine with a lot of good company. I had a roof over my head, I spent time with my family, and didn't spend thousands of dollars at the vet. I am happy and healthy, and so is my family. And most importantly, so is the cat.

Because again, I do like her better than any of you.

When I Grow Up and Get Married, I'm Living Alone!

I am already loving this writing challenge...Rachel, you know me so well!! #feelingfestive 

Day Two: Favorite Holiday Traditions

No matter what craziness has ensued with my family in the past 33 years, no matter where I've lived, who I've lived with, who I've been dating, or where I have celebrated the holiday, one tradition is an absolute must: after Thanksgiving dinner, I pour myself a glass of wine, make popcorn, and watch Home Alone.

It's. My. Favorite.

I love coming home from the family madness, where everyone is loud and the festivities are crazy, to my own quiet corner of the world, curling up and starting the movie. If I am setting up a tree, I tend to do it while watching the movie...but I also don't often get a tree.

This year, I boycotted Thanksgiving (for reasons not worth mentioning). Instead, I took 6 days off work, and I went to the beach, where I watched all of my favorite Christmas movies, ate Grandma Stacey's famous teriyaki chicken wings & asparagus for dinner, and drank at least a bottle of wine each day while reading books in front of the fireplace. It was perfect.

Stacey and Blake joined me on Friday afternoon, and after we spent the day adventuring around, "Black Friday" shopping in Cloverdale's antique mall, and eating a spaghetti dinner, we introduced Blake to the awesomeness that is Kevin McAllister in Home Alone.

This kid.

We made popcorn (and Stacey spilled it).
We made margaritas (and virgin ones for Blake, the salted rim addict).
We turned on the fire (mostly for the cat).
We turned off the lights and snuggled up in our jammies.

And we watched Home Alone.

Blake thought the bad guys were a riot, and watching him watch their antics was pretty entertaining. And while it was not the quiet, peaceful viewing of my favorite movie that I traditionally take in, it was probably my favorite ever.

This year, I had initially been feeling pretty gloomy about spending the Thanksgiving holiday alone. I mean, better alone than with the company I would have had, but still...who wants to be all alone on Thanksgiving?? I didn't have any traditional food - like I said, I had chicken and veggies - nor did I talk to anyone in my family, get dressed up for dinner (didn't even get out of my jammies, in fact), and didn't do any real Black Friday shopping. It potentially could have been a real downer, right?

In the end, though, I loved every minute of it, and could definitely make a solo beach weekend a new Thanksgiving tradition - so long as Stacey and Blake join me for part of it!

What it boils down to, after several years of discussing this in therapy, is that I don't have to go along with every holiday tradition my family has, nor do I have to feel bad about missing them. I need to create my own traditions in order to feel festive and to enjoy the holidays, and they don't have to be big huge events either. I can be (and am) happy just snuggling up with my favorite wine and favorite movies, drinking mimosas and eating bacon & eggs with my mom and dad, and wearing Santa socks & a goofy Christmas tee shirt. It's simply about what makes me happy during the holiday madness.

And what made me happy this year, was sharing my Thanksgiving tradition with my cousin and my favorite little guy.

#500wordsaday: The Only Love I Chase, is the Love of the Cat

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: Why you long for love.

Why do I long for love? 

Um. Doesn't everyone? Isn't love a basic human need? 

Am I doing that thing where I look at things in too simple of a light? Like, I probably need to just dig a bit deeper into the prompt...which has been the case every day for the past 8 days? 

You win, blog challenge; you win. 

I long for love from my family, because it's out of reach.

I long for love from my friends, because they feel more like my family.

I long for love from Juno the Cat, because she only gives love when she's in the mood - and I want her to be a snuggly love bug all the time, dammit! 

I long for love romantically, for a lot of reasons, on a lot of different levels.

I feel like the word longing, implies that I am chasing something I can't have - but I don't feel like that's the world I live in. I'm not chasing love from people in my family who don't have love in their hearts for me. And I am not chasing my friends down to love me - they just do. And while I'm not in a romantic relationship, I do also find love from boys - granted, not always the best choices, but still. 

I'll admit I chase the cat.

I had brunch mimosas with a friend from high school recently, who told me the story of a terrible date he'd been on with a girl who had said she wasn't registered to vote (I realize this may not ruin a date for everyone, but for those of us who are in our mid-thirties and single, I think we grow pickier by the minute). As I listened to him talk about how he'd gone total dad-lecture status on her for not being registered to vote against Trump in the upcoming election, it occurred to me that this is the crap people our age deal with in attempt to find the love we're apparently longing for.

Which then made his point make total sense; why bother continuing to date in hopes of finding someone, when all of these people tend to disappoint?

Which then made me feel completely cynical.

Which then led me to wonder...am I actually cynical?

Upon review, let the record show that despite temporary cynicism that comes in waves after every shitty date or every douche bag dude who has a secret girlfriend hidden somewhere...I am not a cynic. Quite the opposite, in fact. When no one is listening or paying attention, I am actually quite the romantic. 

Don't tell anybody; I don't want it to get around.

I'm definitely a girl who loves stories about people who went to junior high or high school together, who then met at random for booze 15 years later, and wound up together (I am actually talking about a girlfriend of mine, I'm not dating the aforementioned bachelor). I love that my best friend and her husband took 20 years to end up married to each other after keeping in touch from when they were neighbors as kids, after each marrying someone else first. I love hearing those gushy stories about people who went through horse shit and came out the other side with the love of their life. Those stories warm my otherwise chilly little heart. 

I can relate, however, to the bachelor noted above, and all of the reasons he's jaded enough to have basically sworn off love forever. I hate the phrase, as we get older, but I also can't think of a better one, so, bear with me here. As we get older, we deal with more and more bull shit. We deal with more and more experiences with people who jade us. People hurt us more often, and for far more ridiculous reasons. It's almost like, the more we get fucked over by people, the more we use that as an excuse to fuck over other people. Like how people who get cheated on, end up cheating on someone else later on. It doesn't really make much sense. When you really think about it, it seems like baggage, or the hurt other people have caused you...should teach you how to treat people better. 

Am I wrong?

I mean, the more boys who dump their epic bull shit on me - their drama, their fear of commitment, their ability to not engage with their emotions, their baggage - the more I should be shutting down. The more it seems I should be swearing off men forever, refusing to date, accepting my fate as a forever bachelorette. 

But I'm not like that. I have this uncanny ability to shake off the shitty treatment I get from the boys I date. Can't be open with me? That's your loss. Can't be faithful to me when I'm ready? Hash tag bye now. Don't want to talk about your feelings? Not my problem. I don't own someone else's baggage. I'm the girl who is patient and understanding and completely open - but not when you can't give me the same vulnerability in return. 

When someone comes at me over mimosas with, I'm never going to date again, my initial response is never to run, but rather to question. I ask, literally millions of questions. Some people aren't into my investigative nature, but those who are, always find a way to be a little more transparent with me than they may be with other people. And maybe that pays off for me in the future. Maybe I date that person because they finally let their guard down and realized that not all women are evil. Maybe that person just has someone else in their corner, or a bit of reassurance for the future.

I don't find myself pining away for the love of my life, upset that Prince Charming hasn't rolled up on my doorstep yet, so I feel like longing for love is completely the wrong phrase. I have immense love in my life, and am in no way, longing. 

Besides, I'm too busy chasing the cat around the house, trying to make her love me. I certainly don't have time for that when it involves humans.

#500wordsaday: Take Me Somewhere & Leave Me There

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: The last time you were happy for a week straight

Anyone who knows me at all, knows I am happiest while vacationing. The times I spend away from work, away from home, are always the best - whether it's a big extended vacation, a long weekend, or even a local overnight trip, I am always happiest when it's jet-setting. 

The last time I felt truly happy, for a duration of time, was the birthday trip I planned to Bend for my best friend earlier this summer. It wasn't a week, but if you count the time I put into planning it, I think it counts. Everything about the trip was fantastic - the drive, the weather, the place we stayed, and everything we did for the long weekend. 

The trip to Bend was a culmination of a travel-themed birthday week, throughout which my gifts to my bestie had all centered around a theme: had she stopped to think about it much, the obvious theme was BEND (Dechutes beer, a tasting at Naked Winery, an overnight bag) - I was banking on the fact that she'd been so busy at work, she wouldn't notice. 

And I was right. 

I think what was so great about this trip, was that it was timed perfectly for the fact that we'd been living together for six months, and she was about to be moving out. We had spent so much girl time in the prior few months, and we both knew that while it was an exciting step for her to be moving in with her boyfriend, that also always changes things between friends. We had spent six months watching Teen Mom in bed together on Monday nights, eating popcorn for dinner, popping bottles of wine with our Chinese takeout while writing our financial reports for work each month; these are things that you tend to stop doing once you don't live under the same roof. So it was really excellent timing to take a girls-only, just-us, nobody-with-a-penis allowed road trip. 

And this is why people tend to think we're lesbians.

Anyway, much like any other trip we've taken together, this one was full of fabulousness - however I'd prearranged most of it in honor of her birthday. We took a brewery tour and did a wine tasting (and by "tasting," I do mean we stayed at the tasting room for like 4 hours and then went shopping while white girl wasted, and I bought a cat headband), went shopping, and wandered through the streets of Bend, one of our absolute favorite places. We stayed in an adorable bed and breakfast type place we found on AirBnB, had our favorite eggs bennedict at our favorite restaurant in Bend, and had so much girl talk - it was fantastic.

Small trips like this one - whether it be to Bend or the coast, or even to Phoenix or Vegas - are such a great reminder for me to step back and relax; life truly isn't all about work, and I shouldn't be so stressed about finances and responsibility all the time. I think it's easy for us to get caught up in our day to day, and taking some time away from a routine, helps find balance. 

As we expected, things have been different since she moved out of the snuggle pad (again, it is clear why people think we're lesbians) and in with her boyfriend. Not bad, but definitely not the same. She lives across town, with him and his son and a puppy, and I live here, with a new roommate who I definitely have to wear pants in front of, and who doesn't come with me to the grocery store only to eat popcorn for dinner three nights a week. I watch crappy reality tv by myself now, and we have to make actual plans to hang out instead of just each flopping onto the couch in our jammies at the end of a long day. But she is by no means, any less my best friend. 

Taking a break from the day in and day out patterns to plan a long weekend or a trip away, always provides those reminders that the only real important things in life, are the people in it. As we're excitedly counting down to our next girlfriends trip out of town, I'm certain it will be equally as fun, and will certainly serve as a reminder to be happy. 

I may not feel over the top happiness every day of my life, but even just writing this blog serves as a reminder that my life is happy, and that's reason to celebrate. 

And so I will.

With another vacation. 

#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