I Drink And I Write Things

So, my 43rd birthday was November 9.

Yep. The big four three.

I wanted to make a big deal out of the fact that not only am I another year older, but that for the first time in a few years, I have a boyfriend.

Boom.

That's right, I'm not single anymore. That means birthday … hugs.

But, my birthday fell on the day Donald Trump swooped the presidency from underneath Hillary Clinton and all hell broke loose in America. I'm over here like, “Yo, it's my birthday, look at this sexy-ass picture of me and my new relationship status;” but the entire population of the United States (my FB friends) couldn't hear me over the sound of everyone getting ready to go Mortal Kombat Annihilation on each other.

I feel like either Trump, Clinton or all of social media owes me a big ass party or a trip to Vegas. Or both. But, I digress.

Two thousand sixteen was a year of transition for me: my daughter graduated high school and started college; I finally gave up apartment living and moved into my parents' old house; got my health back; and started seeing someone. I also gave in and finally bought readers so that I could see; which, for some reason made my mom laugh out loud longer and harder than I thought possible.

Are parents supposed to find that much humor in their children getting older?

Sure, the glasses could be a sexy librarian thing, but at my age they are less librarian, more Sophia from Golden Girls … as an old … er … librarian – just not a sexy one, unless you like that many wrinkles … all over.

Sigh.

My past birthdays left me in varying states of … distress: there was the mild anxiety attack at the loss of a tooth when I turned 40; my unsuccessful Google research into changing my official, legal birthday to put me in a younger demographic at 41; and then by 42, I tried to forget my birthday altogether. But social media likes to announce it to your friends who in turn want to make sure that you know that they know that you know that they haven’t forgotten that you're getting older. Just in case I did forget ... However, if I had to be honest – as I sit here and drink my bottle of wine – my birthday gets less and less traumatic as I get older.

Yes. An entire bottle of wine. By myself. The perks of being an adult – at least in age, if not mentality.

Turning 43 didn't bother me at all. Everyone leaving me birthday wishes joked about this being my 21st birthday or that this is the new 30 but that’s a lie. It's still 43. And most of the time I feel 43. Other times I feel 10. Sometimes I feel like I'm a very awkward 18. Occasionally I feel dead.

What I never feel – at any age though - is grown up.

Even my dad asked me when I was going to grow up during my yearly birthday phone call. I said never. Because why make promises I can't keep or pretend to be someone I’m not?

 I ‘adult’ when I have to because I’m a mom. The rest of the time, I’m busy making things up as I go along.

Sometimes it turns out okay, other times … you read about it in my blog.

I’m not gonna lie: getting to 43 was not uneventful. I’ve been a lot of places, met a lot of people and done a lot of things. Some good, some not so much; others for experience points … and then there are the things that are reasons I can never be a public figure or a celebrity.

Which is a shame because I feel like I have celeb potential.

As I sit here and reflect on things I’ve decided I can no longer do or put up with, what I’ve learned and what I’d tell my younger self … I realized I actually have a lot to be thankful for in my life – besides being alive, because some of the decisions I’ve made could have easily gone a different way.

I’m thankful for … my daughter. I raised a pretty impressive kid, in spite of the fact that I was not an easy kid for my parents to raise. You might say she raised me. My parents are still not sure how I got so lucky. They were sure payback was coming my way after all the ish I put them through. Haha. Ha. Hm.

Yoga pants. If you wear them, you know why. If you don’t, you really should.

Wine & Champagne. Did you know you can mix Champagne with OJ and it’s acceptable to drink with your pancakes if you just call it brunch? – What? I was a late bloomer when it came to alcohol.

My parents for being right all the time. Seriously.

My brothers.

Smartphone and social media app camera filters for helping me look 10 years younger for way too long.

That in a world that’s become increasingly influenced by mainstream and social media, I still know how to think for myself (you know you read that in the movie trailer narrator voice).

Streaming television. Because without it, I would probably still be paying close to $200 for cable and the four shows I like to watch.

Netflix. It allows me to binge watch 1000 hours of a show no one remembers that aired in 2000 but which is also ending in a month.

CrossFit. Besides the obligatory mention of my workout program, it’s seriously kept me in the gym pretty consistently for six years now and has given me an audience for my sarcasm at 5:30am. Everyday. You’re welcome.

Spanx and its ability to be used as a shoehorn to get my phat ass into my jeans – for the days I can’t wear yoga pants.

Or sometimes, I wear spanx with yoga pants. I call those my skinny days.

I still believe in happy endings ... even though I've experienced a lot of unhappy endings.

Menopause – or at least pre-menopause. I’m no longer mortified that my uterus and ovaries are drying up because now I don’t have to deal with hemorrhaging for five days straight, cramps, bloating and having to close the gates to my lady garden until it’s safe to pass.

And also, it will never be my fault when someone stops the toilet at work with flushing any amount of tampons because I don’t need them.

Books. Not e-books, but actual paperback and hardcover ones. Those books – or rather, the stories – fueled my imagination as a kid and now as an adult … which is probably why I will never grow up.

My boyfriend. For all the obvious reasons, but also for being patient with my crazy, eating whatever I cook regardless of its state of edibility and … hugs.

Being a Scorpio and all the people who understand what that means.

That my daughter still likes to cuddle with me even though she’s pretty much an adult.

My adopted dog, Lady. She’s the only one who greets me with such excitement every time I walk into the room like she didn’t just see me five minutes ago.

Bacon.

Facebook and Instagram for giving me an outlet for my creativity as a writer, photographer, model and comedian. Yes, I’m funny.

My job. I’ve been blessed with a great job and awesome co-workers. They bring me food.

The Internet. It satisfies my curiosity about things, people and mysterious illnesses.

Tinder. For the entertainment, blog opps and introducing me to my boyfriend. I might be kidding, I might not ... whichever is funnier.

My friends. I don’t have many, but I’m grateful that my friends and I can be honest with each other. They also make sure I don’t do anything so stupid I can’t blog about it because it would only sound crazy instead of funny and why waste a blog opportunity, right?

Caller ID and call block. For obvious reasons …

FaceTime so I can see my little brothers. And by little, I mean 42 and 32.

Chick Fil A – so I can eat fast food but feel good about it because it’s chicken.

Comic book conventions and cosplay - two things I can enjoy with my daughter and blame it all on her.

When my parents text or call me. Actually, anytime I get to talk to my parents.

Good hair days. They are few and far between, but I appreciate every single one of them.

That time everyone loved my cinnamon roll apple pie.

Hashtags.

Online shopping. I can do it in my pajamas while drinking wine and binge watching 1000 hours of a show on Netflix.

Social media because otherwise I’d never know what’s going on in everyone else’s lives.

Fifty Shades of Grey. Because Jamie Dornan. I would like to personally thank his wife for sharing him with the world.

Karaoke. Without it, people would never know I could sing great songs really badly.

That my mirror doesn’t talk because I’m sure it would not stop laughing at me. Literally.

iTunes. Without it, I would have to buy entire albums just to listen to one or two songs. But it is depressing to see my iTunes library and see just how many songs I spent $1.29 on over the years … I could have bought a boob job with that money …

When the guys that dumped me or didn’t date me when they had the chance come at me thirsty in my DMs asking for a drank and I can tell them I’m in a relationship.

Not ever contracting an STD.

Being myself.

That perfect outfit.

Bras that not only fit, but make my boobs look ah-mazingly perky.

Turning off my phone.

Compliments from random strangers of the, “MMM mmm,” “Daaayum,” and the rubbernecking variety.  They’re not obligated so I feel it’s sincere.

Recently single Gerard Butler.

Holiday Spice Flat White latte from Starbucks. So now I can also join in the basicness that is spending $5 on a cup of fancy coffee like all the other basics in yoga pants, boots, North Face jackets and beanies.

The big booty movement for keeping my body relevant to the times.

Being a smart, nerdy chick that drinks and knows things.

Astrology for helping me cope with people by defining them by their star signs. Yes, I know all your crazy and now you know mine.

Finally, being able to write and have a blog that maybe only a handful of people might read, but it gives me an outlet for my creativity.


I’m thankful for other more practical and traditional things, too; but I’m down to the bottom of this bottle of wine and to be honest, I’m having a difficult time keeping my train of thought. All the things I’m thankful for is about to take a turn for the inappropriate and blunt, non-filtered truths about things best saved for another blog post.

Or better - my as of yet, partly-written scandalous memoirs.

An open letter to the ladies

Dear Ladies (and all the men who are jumping on this bandwagon),

I'm trying desperately to retain some pride in my gender, but you guys are making it super difficult by arguing over something that you help perpetuate every day. And your defense is the Trump tapes of him being a douche. Now you're outraged, like, how can he speak like that about women?

You're telling me that until this point, you were ignorant of the fact that this happens all the time? And that you don't know how you contribute to this issue?

I just can not anymore.

To be sure, what I'm about to say in no way condones the sexist, rapey behavior by men - to include Trump and Bill Clinton; the latter who, in case we've all forgotten, put his penis in another woman's mouth who was not his wife and then tried to LIE ABOUT IT. I mean, that wasn't a loving, respectable act. But people still love and respect him ... and his wife - who let's not forget dismissed and shunned all the women who made allegations of sexual assault/harassment against her husband.

Anyways ...

A couple of photo memes are making their way around the Internet and social media in what is being interpreted as support for Trump's comments regarding how he has talked about and treated women. I'll post them here for you to see. And pay close attention to the Michelle Obama one. I'll get to that later.

Those memes aren't standing up for sexist comments made towards women. They're merely illustrating a very real and valid point.

Women sexually objectify themselves to get attention and then get butthurt when they are judged, attract the wrong kind of attention from what they intended or hear about someone making rapey comments on the internet. Wearing sexy outfits that show a lot of skin, posting half naked photos on your social media pages, dancing provocatively (with the intent to get attention) at a club/bar - that's sending a clear message to men that you want to be noticed for those things and not for the many qualities that make you an exceptional person.

I knew when I posted my Facebook profile photo, no guy was going to look at it and be like, "daaaaaaaayum, she looks smart." And if anyone had bothered to leave a sexist comment, rather than rant on about men being douchebags, I would have just deleted it and moved on.

The comment, not the picture - it's a pretty fantastic image.

Because I know that by putting myself out there in a certain way, I'm going to attract a certain kind of attention. It's really that simple. And there's plenty of other reasons men can be douchebags, why choose to be pissed about the one I'm contributing to?

What's not so simple is how women want to dress this behavior up in a neat little package called "owning your sexuality" as a way to excuse blasting it all over the internet to get attention and hope for an Instagram modeling contract. And also the attention of super hot guys who will validate their vanity with likes, shares and private message invitations.

And then screen shot and complain about how that's not the kind of attention girls like. Our boobs might be out, but those were just a beacon to get your attention, now get to know me. Hey, my eyes are up here ...

It's not owning your sexuality so much as it's flaunting it ...

Oh, and let's not leave out the part where we call each other bitches, whores and hookers like those are terms of endearment. It's not. Those are derogatory terms that men use when they are saying/doing all those rapey, douchebag things we're currently outraged about and which are are staples in pornographic scripts.

Porn, by the way, is not a sexual aid. If anything, it teaches men that women like to be treated like objects to be used and brutalized. There's more, but that's another blog post.

So, when you see the pictures of female celebrities like Beyonce, Miley Cyrus, Madonna, Rihanna and Katy Perry grabbing themselves by the pussy, they aren't owning their sexuality. They're flaunting it - blatantly. Whether it's to make money by selling albums or get enough attention to stay interesting and relevant after their 15 minutes of fame has passed, they are the ones teaching our girls - who look up to them - that this behavior is okay. As a parent, I have to turn around and tell my daughter that, no, this is not okay, you don't act like that or dress like that because it's not becoming of a lady who respects herself.

That's why when Michelle Obama says Beyonce is a good role model for her girls, but is outraged by Trump's sexual objectification of women, I have to point out that Beyonce is teaching her girls how to behave so that men feel they have the right to make those comments. And with the Internet and social media and dating apps, it's that much easier for girls to put themselves in a potentially dangerous situation by showing off their goods the same way these celebrities put on a show - and possibly the same way they are seeing their adult parents acting on social media or out in public.

We can't put all the blame solely on men for these situations if we are advertising our goods and taking Beyonce's advice:

Ooh boy you looking
Like you like what you see
Won't you come over and check up on it?
I'mma let you work up on it

Ladies let him check up on it
Watch it while he check up on it
Dip it pop it twerk it stop
Check on me tonight

Not to pick on Beyonce ... but that's the song that popped into my head when I saw the meme. 

Almost everything in society is sexually charged. From what we watch on TV, in movies and listen to on the radio ... to all the magazines we like to browse at the grocery store check out. It's not just men's magazines promoting sex - it's Glamour, Cosmo and other periodicals aimed at women who are desperate for ways to win the affection of their crush or just find ways to stay marketable. 

It just gets passed off as dating, relationship and marital advice. 

I'm in no way saying women deserve anything less than respect regardless of how they are dressed. I'm also not condoning violence against women who flaunt their goodies in public. But I am saying that, just like men, women also need to take personal responsibility in all this. If it isn't okay when guys do it, then it's not okay when we do it either - even if we're doing it to ourselves.

If you don't respect yourself, no one else will think they have to respect you.

Men should also understand that just because a chick's boobs are popping out the top of her turtleneck, it doesn't mean she wants to be groped. And ladies - turtlenecks aren't supposed to work that way.

No doubt, this has been an issue since women were created (or evolved into being, whichever your belief), and it likely won't go away fully. But, ladies, this kind of behavior begins and ends with us - apparently. When we stop telling guys it's okay to speak to us and treat us as objects put on this earth for their enjoyment, when our actions and how we present ourselves reflect that desire, then it will lessen.

When we stop quoting and idolizing self-sexualizing lyrics
When we stop sending nudes to guys we just met
When we stop meeting men on sites designed for hook ups
When we stop posting sexy pictures on the Internet
When we start covering our goods
When we start respecting ourselves and each other
When we start standing up for ourselves
When we start taking responsibility for our own actions
When we start to teach our girls to value themselves outside of what they see online, on TV and in music videos - and then take our own advice

Change starts with us in all things. Don't expect someone else to change if we aren't also willing to change.

As a realist, I can guarantee that nothing will change. And after this election is over, we will all go back to our regularly scheduled, self-objectified narcissism and resulting disappointed status updates in the form of silly memes, screenshots and misquoted celebrity quotes just to get even more attention in our cry for justice of being objectified by men because of our gender.

We don't have to be apologetic for who we are or what we have or even how we choose to present ourselves. Just know that perception IS reality for people who don't know you. We are all being judged just like we all judge. If you're putting it out there, you can't really be too mad when someone tries to pick it up or take it ... And while it's nice to have attention, ultimately it means nothing if it's not from someone who likes all of you - not just the parts that are fun to play with occasionally.

Let's make taking personal responsibility a thing again.

Sincerely,
A reasonable chick

PS: Disclaimer: I'm in no way saying that it's okay to be treated as an object or that women are asking to be raped by the way they dress or act. I'm merely saying that we encourage those situations by flaunting our sexuality. Rape is never okay in any circumstance.

Obligatory Political Blog Post

So, I’ve tried not to weigh in on the political BS on FB. Not because I don’t have an opinion, but thanks to the mainstream media, I end up arguing semantics which makes me realize that no one is focusing on the real issues.

It’s become a lot of drama – but other people’s drama, not mine, and that’s an issue for me. I really only like to talk about my own drama publicly. That’s why I have a blog, duh.

Social issues like racism and sexism are very important but can and should be solved by you and me – we can’t really look to the president to micromanage our everyday lives making sure no one is being racist or sexist. The government has more important issues to focus on that affect the nation as a whole. However, the media has done a great job making this election about those social issues. Yes, what Trump said 11 years ago (and quite possibly has continued to say over the years) is wrong and not okay. But if there was never a recording, we’d probably never hear about it and then we’d be looking for something else that will disqualify him from the presidency.

But to be clear, I don’t think his words should disqualify him from being the president considering we’ve had more than one president in the White House who has put his penis where it shouldn’t be. But I digress.

The best thing about the Trump tape is the discussion that’s been opened up and how everyone is all of a sudden seeing what’s so wrong about those words (like, before, no guy ever thought about it…). The hard wake-up call is going to be the fact that no one is going to do much about it other than use it to determine who they vote into the White House. And then once the election is over, it gets relocated to the rounds on social media where all important social issue discussions are retired. Just ask the feminists.

Thanks mainstream media.

But I’m getting off topic: It’s not about Trump saying mean things or not (legally) paying taxes; and – to be honest – it’s not about Bill Clinton “not having sexual relations with that woman” and his wife allegedly shutting down sexual harassment accusers. It’s not about a blouse, a fly or being fed information and favored in debates. We’re kind of way past voting for someone based on their moral character at this point because none of us are perfect.

We have to look at the bigger picture. (cue photo of the United States.)

This is about the future of the United States. One of these two people will be president. And at this rate, thanks to the main stream media, our choice is going to be based on who said the meanest things instead of who might be able to help America – even make America great again.

What we should be focused on as it nears November 8 are the real issues that affect all of us – and hear me out - because it took me a long time to put my thoughts into words that made a little bit of sense:

1. National Security

2. A Stable Economy

I mean, there are a few other issues, but these are the two I think are most important and obvs will affect our country’s future as far as safety and ability to sustain itself.

What do I think of Nat’l Security? Well, I don’t want the Mexicans gone. I don’t want to deny anyone access to legally live here. The wall idea is kind of stupid (and will never happen, so calm down). But right now, a lot of our immigrants are coming from places where there are known terrorists who hate our country and are targeting us in planned attacks. We kind of need a president who understands that and puts Americans and our safety first. I’m not saying let’s not let anyone else in, I am saying that a tougher screening process is needed. Because while most immigrants just want to be here and enjoy the freedoms we offer, there are many more who are coming through who can possibly build the Trojan Horse that brings us down. I’m not a doom and gloom person, but that’s a reality, people. And as a military strategy, it’s genius because no one believes that can happen. Even though it’s already happened once. How many times do we need it to happen before it’s too late?

Because I think once is enough.

Our economy is kind of shitty. Politicians are good at politics. Business people are good at business. Can the

two mix? I don’t know. Can Trump bring jobs to the people? I believe that he’s a shrewd business person. Hillary likely could do the same, but she’ll  raise taxes on the rich (her words, not mine) which I'm not even sure how that will create jobs ... And even though that sounds fair, it won't work because the rich kids and business owners (employers) will find ways to get out of paying that high tax.  So, people will have jobs, but businesses will do what they have to in order to get around paying a lot of that higher tax, including not employing more people, or cutting hours and distributing them in a way that's more monetarily advantageous. I really don’t know how to explain that, but as someone who has owned her own business (and failed at that), I can understand how targeting business owners and the wealthy won't help the poor or middle class. Just like raising the minimum wage isn’t helping anyone because it could put people in a higher tax bracket to pay more taxes and then eventually the cost of living goes up so that $15/hr won’t seem like enough.

All the politics give me a headache and anxiety. I try to avoid it as much as possible. But every time I open my Facebook it’s about Trump’s sexist tape or Hillary’s scandals (and how Biden should run or what about Johnson). I’m not going to say that either person doesn’t have the capacity to be a good good person, I can’t even say that one would be a better president than the other.

I do know that we need a real change in America and I think that only one of the two can bring it. Either way, it will be a gamble ... just like every election year. 

You don’t have to vote on November 8 (which is a day before my birthday, btw). It’s not your duty, regardless of what Robert Downey Jr and the Avengers tells you through a social media video. You can sit back and whine about how Biden was a missed opportunity or how it came between two people that no one seems to like and that if one or the other makes it you’re moving to Canada (you won't), or that you’re choosing the lesser of two evils (that's a cop out).

You know what? If that last one is why you’re voting, then stay home. No one needs that vote, it's stupid. Even if you think the problem is the government, it's not going to fix itself. Supposedly we - the American citizens - are here to be able to do something about it by voting for the person we think will do the most for us as a nation. 

Right? Or did I miss something? 

Anyway, you should vote for someone you can believe in, not someone you will vote into office and continue to tear down during his/her presidency like everyone has done since Obama, Bush and Clinton (and others, I’m sure, because it’s our right per freedom of speech and expression) were elected. And then re-elect them four years later because they did such a 'terrible' job. Whether we like who is in office or not, we should believe in and support them, because from the outside, not having people support the government is a sign of weakness. And if our government fails, we all fail. 

I’m voting to ignore the mainstream media focus on all the drama in favor of the real issues facing our nation. 

But first, I need an aspirin.

Disclaimer: I'm so ready for my friend's list to cull itself, so if this offends anyone, just know that I don't give two s***s and good riddance. 

You say crazy, I say quirky

"Behind every crazy chick … is a guy that made her that way," ~ true statement

Before we started dating, my boyfriend asked me what my 'crazy' was … assuming that I would be completely honest and tell him right then and there that I am not as chill as I said in my online dating profile. Bless his heart.

Juuuust kidding.

I never said that in my profile. And for the record, girls do not have the capacity to truly be chill, because hormones. But I digress.

Honestly, crazy is relative to what you're willing to put up with for what you think you're going to get out of being in that relationship. There's a guy who explains it well in a video called the Hot Crazy Matrix. Basically, is that person hot enough to put up with any amount of crazy? How desperate and lonely are you at that moment? Can the crazy be tamed? Maybe there's a happy medium ... although, there's no medium crazy. At all.

And everyone is a little crazy.

Most girls don’t like the word crazy when it’s applied to them and I’m no different. I prefer to call it being 'quirky.' Because crazy makes you think of Lizzie Borden or Britney Spears – two very scary chicks. Quirky is more like Punky Brewster and that's kind of cute. Right? It's also less threatening to people who are always waiting for that crazy shoe to drop.

However, all that said, I gave the boyfriend my answer only after gauging his level of tolerance which I judged by his star sign: Scorpio (more on that later).

 

My 'thing' or my 'quirk' (okay fine, my crazy) is that I over-analyze everything until it drives me insane. In the past, I'd be able to keep it to myself or vent to my brother or best friend, both of whom would talk me down before words were said or actions taken that would tarnish my 'chill' image.

See, in the grand scheme of the Hot/Crazy Matrix scale, I’m not attractive or rich enough to bring crazy to the relationship table. But weird and awkward - I got that shit covered. 

My mind is always working, computing some weird behavioral science equation, trying to figure out what people mean. Sometimes there's no trigger, other times it's a word or situation that reminds me of the past but most times it's a gut feeling. Every word someone speaks, action they take, or silence is either exactly what it is or maybe it's really something else. 

And that's probably why I'm more than a little obsessed with astrology – which is the tool that contributes to my … quirkiness.

I might believe in the general definition of human behavior as outlined by a person's star sign. It's as if knowing to what degree people can be dishonest will help me make better excuses for them. Maybe it's astrologically impossible for some people to be decent – like, they're just celestially predestined for douchebaggery.

It beats thinking that I might be the one inspiring someone to be a total tool. I used to say that someone will be an asshole until they find someone they don't want to be an asshole to; but, every guy I've met and thought I was dating turned out to be an asshole. I can't possibly be batting 100 on the asshole scale ... can I? I mean, what are the odds? 

So, within the first few minutes of meeting someone, I try to gauge their sign, approaching it as if I were a pseudo-scientific detective; because you never know when just asking will be weird. I listen to and analyze words, body language, mannerisms and speech patterns, plugging the 'data' into some made up astro-behavioral, zodiac equation in my head that mostly uses process of elimination by cross-referencing what I think I know about every sign in the zodiac until I find one that matches.

That has about a one in 12 chance of being right and a 100 percent chance of being weird and awkward – which is when I play it up as being quirky. It's kind of a hit or miss with guys and the chances of them not writing me off and walking away depends on how hot they think I am, how drunk they are and what kind of success they feel they might have trying to get into my fancy pants (that would be a big fat zero, btw) by feigning interest and playing along.

But if I had to be completely honest, I don't deal with a person any better knowing their sign as when I was clueless. People are a product of their environment, so even though they may exhibit 'textbook' characteristics of their star sign, those are also influenced by experience.

I used to favor my 'matches' – Cancer, Capricorn and Pisces – because I felt like there was a higher success rate guaranteed by the stars. But even those relationships went to shit when those guys turned into just as much of a toolbag as those who came at me from the other side of the wheel.

Basically, everyone from my astrologically ideal matches to the complete opposite, has the potential to be a dick. Really ... Is the universe trying to tell me that the ideal match for a Scorpio is an asshole? I suppose it isn't out of the realm of possibility. I mean, we can also be assholes.

It's true. We mean what we say, say what we mean and do what we say we are going to do – it's that simple. We also expect everyone else to do the same and we are assholes when that doesn't happen. In a society of flaky people who like being vague so as to leave their options open, we’re not afraid to commit - to a chore, an adventure or even a relationship. 

It also applies to friendships. Just FYI.

I don't know when I became so neurotic about using astrology as a means to understand people. It never worked. Obviously, there's a rotten side to every sign (person). We all have a Jekyll and Hyde personality that manifests according to our experience and how we let it define us. I try to focus on the best- it helps me make excuses for the worst. And we all know how that ends: in a dramatic blog post about the most heart breaking break-ups in the history of my life.

Every single time.

Check it:

Pisces – first everything. He racked up a $2,000 phone bill calling 1-900 numbers because this was before free porn on the internet.

Capricorn – that guy that cheats on his girlfriend and doesn’t see anything wrong with it because he's not married to her.

Cancer – married and cheating because he didn't feel married in his heart – he just wanted to connect fun places because his wife's fun place was too far away.

And those were my compatibles. The non compats were not any better:

Taurus – cheated on me with his wife and another girl, plus he had convinced himself that he was a bad person who didn't deserve good things. Well, no shit.

Leo – they love attention and will get it from anywhere even calling a 'bed-warmer' over to have a 'cuddle'.

Gemini – dumped me for not granting access to my back door and then tried to jump me at a bar some months later. For realz. Like wtf?

Virgo – showered immediately after a heavy make-out session that included some aggressive petting - over the clothes. Never called after, but he was married a few weeks later.

I'm a Scorpio, supposedly the most magnetic, extreme and intimidating sign in the zodiac. We have seven symbols each representing the evolution of different traits. One of those symbols is the phoenix, which is supposedly the ultimate goal as a Scorpio.

Through destruction we are reborn and rise from our own ashes. Like Jean Grey of the X-Men. So, I'm basically just waiting to become a mutant. I'm kidding. All it means is that we hit that point in our lives when we achieve maturity, stability and comfort because we know we can survive anything. 

Including our exes and frenemies.

I've been around the zodiac wheel in friendships and relationships. In all that experience, the common denominator is me. Truth is, when someone meets you, they've already decided how they want you in their life – as a temp or a permanent fixture – and will make the appropriate effort.

Regardless of your sign or your crazy.

Or if your sign is crazy.

  

But,  I'm not totally ready to give up on my obsession. I feel like it helps me see people differently and figure out where it all went wrong - you know, in the end when I'm over-analyzing everything.

Single: The Gig That Keeps On Giving

It’s been one year, two months, 10 days, nine hours and 41 minutes since I last had a boyfriend. But who’s counting, right?

Being single is not a bad gig - it's not only afforded me material for my blog, but I also don’t have to shower, shave my legs or even bother with expensively pretty panty sets and lingerie. And not wearing make-up saves me about 15 minutes of prep time for any activity. 

Mainly because there’s no activity to prep for … but, I digress.

While being single is great, I do want a boyfriend one day; they’re handy to have around for things like moving furniture across town, fixing plumbing/mechanical stuffs and killing dangerous predators like spiders and other bugs with a scary number of legs. Plus, it’s nice to have a guy all to myself that I can make out with whenever I want – because how awkward would it be to occasionally ambush a strange guy’s face with my mouth?

I feel like that could get me arrested, herpes or syphilis.

I don’t have a problem meeting guys. Just having a vagina makes me a man-magnet. My problem is meeting guys who want more than just sex. It used to bother me a lot to think that guys didn’t see me as long-term potential – I took it personal. Especially when a guy is trying to romantically sext me to get in my panties … while courting another girl the old fashioned way. He offers me his penis and the gives the other girl dates and his hand to hold.

What the f*** is that?

That, my friends, is douchebaggery.

Not too long ago, a guy I knew offered me his sincerest compliment by admitting that he thinks about me

when he masturbates. I had to laugh because if he could have only seen me at that moment, laying on my couch after the gym, gross and unshowered, looking about as sexy as a fat man in a bikini – he’d be more likely to punch himself in the eyes than touch his manly bits.

When he said it, he paused like I was supposed to thank him – maybe even gush (no pun intended) about how I’m so flattered. Is that like telling me I’m beautiful, but in a sexy, porny way that makes him feel a certain way? I mean, he basically told me that he only thinks about me when he’s touching his penis.

Which isn't very flattering. 

When I think of all the things I’d like to hear from a guy, having him admit that I’m spank bank material is not anywhere on that list. It’s a pretty short list, too, because I’m low maintenance: 1) You’re pretty; 2) here’s some food; and 3) you’re someone with whom I’d be seen out in public.

That particular compliment didn’t come out of nowhere. It started with a single sext – not a picture, just a very detailed description of something I may or may not have seen in a porn once. I mean, if I watched porn. 

Which I don’t.

When I saw the sext, I paused for a minute.

Image courtesy Someecards.com

Engaging him would go against my better judgment. But my curiosity and a bottle of wine got the better of me, so I maybe, kind of, sorta, probably let it happen because I was bored and curious at the same time.

And wow, did it happen. What a mistake.

Once you ‘go there’ with someone, you can’t come back. And believe me when I say that he went all kinds of places during that sexting session. It was raw, dirty, nasty, wrong and made me feel like I needed to go to church and confess his sins for him.

I needed holy water for my eyes. 

It didn’t last long, which was good, because I’m sure he would eventually notice that I wasn’t actively
participating. The only time I put any effort into sexting is during long-term relationships and then I get creative – like I use Google, illustrations, and flow charts and other detailed stuff.

I figured it was a one-time thing, but apparently, my sextually-interested prowess made an impression because he pursued me through sext for months. I had no intention of letting things happen in real life. Not just because some of what he wanted to do only really happens in porn and they get paid, but also because I wasn’t attracted to him in that way. At all. So, I started to reply to his sexts with appropriately witty one liners -  if I didn’t ignore him completely.

When I mentioned what was going on to a guy friend, he got pretty upset. He said it was shitty of me to lead a guy on like that if I had no intention of letting things manifest in real life. All of a sudden, I’m the bad guy.

Me.

Guys have been leading me on and taking what they can get for years; telling me one thing while thinking/doing another; letting me believe that something will come out of nothing … and all I was doing was letting a guy sext me without ever telling him I’d actually do any of those things. Why is it okay for him to offer me his dirty fantasies, but it’s wrong for me to not tell him he’s never gonna get it, never gonna get it? (Now that song’s in your head, too, you’re welcome.)

What manner of double standard is this?

But my conscience got the better of me and I decided to let the guy know we would never be naked together in the same room and his penis will never be in any close proximity to my vagina. Because as much as I wanted to be reckless, my friend was right: it was pretty shitty. Why do something to someone else that I wouldn’t want done to me?

Don’t get me wrong, I am no angel, but I try to do the right thing. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I get it half right and sometimes I just don’t get it at all. But, again, I digress.

However, before I could make a move, I saw something on social media that gave me pause. He was tagged in a photo with a girl looking very much like a couple - a fact that was confirmed shortly after. I distinctly remember him telling me he wasn’t seeing anyone. Yet, there he was, and he was definitely seeing someone. 

Maybe his definition of seeing someone was different than mine?

Nothing dries me up faster than knowing a guy is married or dating another girl. It’s an instant turn off.

At first, I was relieved because I figured he probably wouldn’t pursue me anymore. Then again, this guy was already sexting me, and who knows how many other girls, while he was dating this chick. Most douchebags don’t stop being a douchebag until they meet someone who makes them not want to be a douchebag (you can quote me on that). The girl he was with was not that girl, because shortly after that photo went online, he sext me one last time.

I took that opportunity to call him out and let him know he was just an experiment for a blog. Surprisingly, he took it well, even owning up to being a douche … then made one last attempt to assert that he had taken care of ‘things’ and was single again … right before he committed to a relationship - publicly on social media.

Incidentally, social media is pretty much where I go to get the truth most of the time.

PRO TIP: Guys might like to be vague about their status, but their women love to overshare and tag the shit out of their men in everything.

They know what’s up.

When it comes to dating and relationships, I haven’t really been that lucky. On a scale of one to girlfriend, I’m measuring a big, fat, single white cat-lady.  The idea of me is probably sexier than the reality of my personality – I mean, c’mon, I’m a sci-fi nerd with a sense of humor that dictates I should have been a stand-up comedian – or, at the least, just an geeky chick living in my parent’s basement, playing World of Warcraft.

Which, now that I’m moving into my parent’s old house, I’m, like, one step from that – can you even play WoW on an Xbox One? Juuuuuuuust kidding … (kind of ).

But, all that said, one day I’m sure I’ll meet someone who will appreciate that I like dates equally as much as I like to Netflix and Chill. And by Netflix and Chill, I mean watch a movie and cuddle while fully clothed.

Because I don’t need a code word for sex, I’m 42 years old.   

And guys: A good rule of thumb is to not sext anyone you haven't had actual, live-action sex with.

I may have just been offended as a Single Mom

Really? Because if I was just single, I wouldn't have to worry about taking

care of anyone but myself ... Ignorant twats ...

I’ve had enough of the Internet and judgmental people trying to redefine the status of everyone on the planet to suit their ideals. For the most part, I don’t respond to it because I remember a time before the Internet and know what it’s like to be an independent thinker.

No one tells me who to vote for, that I can’t respect U.S. history because it offends some people, and who I should like, dislike or condemn based on a majority of the World Wide Web’s biased opinion. I like what I like, I am who I am – and if there is anyone out there who doesn’t like it, they can kiss my big, American-of-Italian-descent’s ass.  (Apparently, it’s no longer okay to say Italian-American and yes this is sarcasm.)

The latest struck a nerve with me as a parent – a single parent. It’s a meme that was re-posted stating that if an unmarried parent receives financial or parental aid raising a child or children, they are not a ‘single parent,’ they are just single. Like, they totally took the parent part out of that equation. How offensive this is to someone like me – a parent who is single – to have their parental status undermined and redefined? And all because someone(s) decided they were more of a single mom or dad because of their situation – like not getting child support or having a co-parent so they get breaks every other weekend.

For the record, I don’t receive child support and I don’t consider the time my daughter is with her dad a ‘break.’ Parents don’t get breaks. We are always moms and dads. Once we have kids, we aren’t just ‘single’ people because our lives are not our own anymore – we live for our kids. Everything we do revolves around them – from our personal to our professional lives.

To the parents who do it all without any help or positive influence from the other parent, kudos for being so strong and independent. All the moms and dads who co-parent like the perfect, divorced (or just not together) sitcom family, that’s equally as amazing – in fact, it’s ideal.  But one situation does not make anyone a better candidate for being able to call themselves a  parent over the other. Even in situations where the co-parenting isn’t amicable or evenly split.

I AM NOT JUST SINGLE. I AM A PARENT. 

Also, calling someone a parent who is single is the same as calling them a single parent. Wanting to differentiate between someone who does it alone and someone who gets ‘help,’ is just a cry for attention and validation by one person for doing the work of two parents. While it is admirable, parenting is not something you do for recognition, you do it because you’re a f***ing parent. Which, coincidentally, is the reason all of us parents do it.

Seriously, how in the actual f*** does anyone decide what another’s parental status is based on things that are none of their business?

To be sure, this wasn’t a personal attack against me. It’s something that came across my newsfeed  – a place I frequent less and less these days as it reminds me how out of touch and impersonal life/lives have become with the Internet.  

It also reminds me how much easier it has become for people to assert (bully) – sometimes violently – their beliefs and ideals on everyone else. How common it is to pass judgment, or call out a cause because it seems more noteworthy over another … how controlling the Internet has become; and by Internet, I mean the people. With the click of a button, anything can go viral, affecting people’s personal lives, jobs, thoughts and emotions, as well as ending lives – literally. Everyone wants to tell everyone else how and what to think … 

It’s not a safe place and I hope that one day, people will get bored with life online and trying to control the planet through Facebook and Tumblr, so I can go back to enjoying funny animal videos and watch food being made without feeling anxious about what superficial, judgy message is going to cross my feed. Until then:

Dear Internet,

I need you to stay out of my life, mind your business and take care of yourself. Don’t tell me, my kid or my family and friends what and how to think with your own narrow-minded, selfishly judgmental views. While you’re busy judging, shaming and accusing, you’re missing out on the chance to better enrich your life with some real world knowledge and compassion. You can’t tell me I’m not a parent because I have an ex-husband who is a positive influence in our daughter’s life any more than I can say you’re an asshole for thinking the only single people with children allowed to call themselves parents are the ones who have deadbeat baby daddies. Learn that redefining someone else’s situation won’t make yours any better; however, it does reflect the kind of person you are on the inside – bitter. Posting memes and quotes to define your own life are welcome. Don’t assume to define my or anyone else’s life in a meme or status to make yours seem more valid.

Sincerely,

A Single Mom 

And here is one calling out the Single Mom. The Internet is full of these things. WTH. 

When Fat Isn't Just Fat: How Candida Stole Two and a Half Years of My Life

So, it’s Transformation ... um ... whatever day I decide to post this … ! I mean, does it really matter what day it is? Especially when I'm this excited about over-sharing?!

Ignore the hair - a size SEVEN!!! No
filter, no photoshop. 

This morning, I was able to fit into an old pair of size 7 jeans – WITHOUT SPANX. This is a huge deal for me because I haven’t been able to pull them up over my thighs in what feels like forever. It wasn’t literally forever, it just felt like it ... figuratively ... 

A little over two years ago, I gained 45 lbs in seven months. Before anyone stalks my social media to point out the cupcakes and donuts I posted on my profile as being the culprit, I have a small confession; I may not have actually consumed as many of those things as I wanted everyone to believe – and certainly not as time went on and I gained more weight. But it all looked awesome on my Instagram!! (hahaha .. haha ..ha .. ahem … ) The food. Not the cupcakes.

Look at dat booty!! That's 150lbs. On IG
that's a model's 9 month prego pic. I
would go on to gain 10 more lbs. 

Honestly, I just thought I was getting fat and acted accordingly: I got on that big booty train, being proud of my curves, posting it on social media as proof of being body positive – when that wasn’t even the case. It’s hard to be body positive when in real life I looked less like Kim K and more like a garden gnome. Don’t get me wrong – my ass looked great and I can work those angles with a phone cam and Photoshop … but I didn’t feel great. 

I tried everything to lose the weight, too: I was already at the gym 4-5 days a week at the time, so I started cutting out most carbs, tried the Whole Life Challenge diet and cut out sugar, and even supplemented with diet pills and natural remedies. While I didn’t gain much more weight, I didn’t lose any either; and it was all concentrated on my belly, back and upper thighs. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, over the next several months the weight gain was compounded by a host of other symptoms:

Chronic severe fatigue
Digestive issues, mainly constipation
Super heavy and painful periods
Hair loss (My brows – haven’t had to shape them for 2 years)
Loss of periods (I didn’t actually mind or miss them, to be honest)
Amplified allergies, dry mouth, dry skin
Thyroid dysfunction (and related effects)
Brain fog, lack of focus, ADHD
Itching all over my body
Sweat that had a weird, sweet smell to it
Depression (over my weight)
Mood swings and irritability
Intense cravings for sugar and carbs (challenging)
Severe bloating and gas (my stomach looked pregnant)
No interest in boys and related “activities”
Pretty much no interest in life (except to still be alive)

I tried everything to feel better. 

My self esteem plummeted along with my ability to be effective in the gym, at work, at home and even in my personal life for over two years. I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror because I didn’t know that person. It was devastating and debilitating at the same time.

Doctors suggested it was everything from my thyroid to depression; and vitamin deficiency to premenopause. I was prescribed different meds including diabetic injections and hormones. When none of that business worked, my PA decided I was just fat; and when I mentioned my fitness and diet regimen, she accused me of doing something wrong and handed me a 1980s diet recommendation handout.

Doc, please. I’m kind of like the Queen of Dieting and Losing Weight with at least 25 years experience in willpower and holding out when it comes to food. Seriously, when I can take up anorexia again and STILL not lose a single pound, that means something is wrong that’s out of my control. Because I can say NO to a cupcake - and every other food group. 

I couldn’t accept that I was just fat anymore. I made one more pass on Google because I was ready to give up and quit the gym. Why work so hard to go backwards and not see results – especially when I could barely function?

Lo and behold, though, Google had an answer; but I wasn’t prepared for how serious my condition was or the treatment that would follow.

So, there I was, on a Tuesday, at the doc’s office, staring in disbelief and mild anxiety at a small sample cup given to me by my PA with the instructions: “Don’t fill it up” and “I’ll be here all week.”

I was to produce a stool sample at home and bring it back for lab testing.

Oh. Yes. I. Did. 

Despite reservations about my ability (logistics/flexibility) to make this happen, I found out that 1) my body can twist and stretch better than a Yogi’s when needed; 2) I have really great control over my  muscles “down there”; 3) cupcake themed gift bags are perfect for dropping off “samples” to your physician – incognito; and 4) I found out, two weeks later, that I had a ridiculous amount of bad bacteria and poor markers for digestion and absorption in my intestines. I had/have a Candida overgrowth.

Candida overgrowth is when a type of yeast called Candida albicans grows out of control and ends up over populating in your body. There’s a deeper medical definition and explanation of this, but, well, here’s a link.

If left unchecked (like mine for over two years), the yeast can perforate the intestines and leak toxins into the blood stream (leaky gut syndrome), which is what was starting to happen. 

And the treatment isn’t just a pill you take for a few weeks and then you’re better. Although I was prescribed an anti fungal to help me along, I will spend several months or longer taking natural anti fungals and being on a low to no sugar, no carbs/starches eating plan.  

As much as that hurt the feelings in my soul to hear, my health is more important than enjoying my food – or my life, because basically food is life. I adopted the FODMAP plan, with modifications to make sure I wasn’t taking in any sugar at all in the beginning – even from fruits and vegetables.

I started cleaning out before I
thought to write this blog, but
this group times 2. 

In the first two weeks of diligently sticking to my treatment, I lost 15lbs. It was fairly easy to let go of sugar and carbs. The hardest thing to give up was coffee – probably because it was mostly cream and sugar in my Folgers cup. It was really the only sugar I would have most days.

Eventually, the bloating and gas disappeared and the brain fog cleared up. After six weeks, most of my other symptoms have started to fade along with shedding more weight, but not as dramatic. It’s been harder to fitness because while I’m not overly fatigued, I am not consuming enough of anything right now to give me energy to last an entire workout.  As I heal, I’ll see a doctor and a dietitian to be sure I'm healing and to figure out if I can ever add cupcakes and doughnuts back into my life. Ever. Or even just eat normal. 

My kitchen looks less like a pharmacy/vitamin shop these days – you will only find a few supplements like Maca, MCT Oil, Black CuminSeed Oil (no jokes please) and Pau D’Arco tea, which are now permanent staples in my diet, along with vitamin D and a Probiotic.

When I started out on this journey, admittedly, it was vanity driven - I was fat. But the longer it went on and the worse I felt, and the more WebMD stressed me out about several possible outcomes – including death – I started worrying for the right reasons. My goal is not to be skinny, even though it was pretty nice to fit back into one pair of my size seven jeans. I just want to be healthy enough to stick around this earth for a while and see my kid do amazing things with her life. And possibly enjoy food without worrying about how it will affect my digestive system. Maybe get a boyfriend. That kind of thing. 

Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor or a dietitian. If you read this and identify, talk to your physician about your concerns and follow their advice. If you’re getting nowhere with your physician, find a new one.I found most doctors are content to treat the symptoms than look for a cause after anything serious is ruled out. Also, I don't endorse any of the products I use for anyone else's use but my own.  

Symptom checker chart.