phatDonna

OOOH! I had the weirdest night tonight.

First, I met this very cute boy who was wearing a Dr. Who scarf and reminded me of Colin Firth in a little way. But I lost track of him.

Then! I met this guy who I could have SWORN was Grant. Grant was one of the two guys I was dating when I met The EX. I was 25, Grant was 36. Grant told me he wanted to have an affair with me. I was a bit confused because I always assumed one person had to be married for it to qualify as an affair but I didn’t care. He was so damn cute. I had to give Grant the talk when I fell hard for The EX and then he moved to Austin. (I’m sure those two things were not related at all.) My mystery guy tonight turned out not to be Grant, but it did bring back some fond memories. Grant is probably married with 12 kids now, but I’d look him up if he didn’t have such a common last name. Hindsight being 20/20, I wouldn’t have given him The Talk back in 1999.

I guess it goes without saying that this was not Grant.

(I’m just tired, not drunk, I promise.)

(Sorry Mom and Dad for the TMI about my former love life.)

(Not sorry I used to have a love life.)

Some days I think I’m a reasonably intelligent person and then there are days like today.

So we all know heat rises, right? If you don’t know that, I can’t help you anymore. So it’s winter. My upstairs is nice and toasty warm, but my downstairs can be a bit chilly because my air vents are in the ceiling. That means that the hot air just hangs around at ceiling level and it’s damn cold down here on the couch.

Except ceiling fans are amazing things! They have this wee switch that changes the direction of the fan blades. And when it’s cold outside, you can switch that and it pulls the warm air down and you no longer have to sit there and freeze your unmentionables off.

Lately I’ve been having this overwhelming feeling of… happiness. I’m not sure when it happened or how it happened, but it has happened.

I really don’t mean to be all unicorns and rainbows on you all. I still get mad sometimes, I still get scared. I have no idea how I’m going to support myself financially in eight months, or what I’m going to do with my life. But I feel confident the answers will come. They always do. I won’t let it keep me up at night right now.

I think maybe this is what is helping me stay so motivated with my goal to run the half marathon and to finally lose this weight I gained when I ate every feeling I had about my divorce. It doesn’t seem like a chore. It doesn’t seem like something I’m trying, hoping it will make me happy. It feels like taking care of myself. It feels like taking responsibility for my future health – I WILL fight my family tree and not end up with Diabetes. I’m able to do it because I’m happy.

I’m also accepting things about myself that I always thought were crazy or just silly. I used to feel silly admitting that I need copious amounts of sleep, especially being around people who brag they function normally on six hours. I used to joke that sleeping is my biggest hobby. Maybe it is, but like a hobby, it makes me feel good.  And if I need a nap to feel better, I won’t give myself hell for being lazy. I will recognize it for what it is – taking care of myself.

Are you all vomiting now? Sorry for that.

No one take away my happy pills, though, ok? They are key.

Today on the way to school, Bridget asked me if I had a boyfriend.

We’re both lucky I didn’t crash the car, such was my shock at this question.

I asked her if she thought I did and she said yes. When I asked her why she thought that, she said that we had dinner with “that man who had the Barbie game on his phone.” She was talking about my friend J, with whom she and I had dinner back in November. I explained to her that, no, he’s just an old friend of mine and that he is married with a little girl at home. Then I died a little because I never thought to explain to her that she wasn’t meeting a possible stepfather that night. But it’s nice to know that she likes him enough to approve of that scenario.

The conversation then turned to the fact that she is going to have a stepmother soon and how she wishes I would get married so she can have a “step-DADA.” I tried to get her to explain to me why she wants one of those, and the best she could come up with was that she liked having other people around. So basically she’s not so much a fan of me and The EX and wants other people around to amuse her.

I explained to her that maybe one day we’d find somebody super special like GF that we would want to be with, but it couldn’t just be anybody. She accepted that and then asked if she could listen to The Lion King soundtrack.  Then I threw up in  my mouth a little.

Again, I don’t want to say never, but I really can’t see the appeal of getting married again. And certainly I’m not going to be pressured into it by a five year old. But wow. I never thought she even gave any of this any thought at all, but this is the second time she’s brought this up. I feel like my answer is sufficient and it’s all I’ll probably ever give her on that topic.

I’m still gobsmacked. Dating pressure from my five year old daughter.

Another topic we covered was that boys could have boyfriends and girls could have girlfriends. She said, “They CAN?” and I said, “Yes of course. Boys can even marry boys and girls can marry girls.” (I didn’t want to go into legality and civil unions. She’s only FIVE.)  And she said, “That’s good.” Hopefully that lesson will stick with her and she’ll always feel that way about it.

Last night, I was moved by an episode of Parenthood to the point of insomnia as I thought about it. In the episode, the patriarch of the family forces everyone to take a lengthy roadtrip to celebrate his mother’s 86th birthday. The mother is a very unlikable person who has judged and belittled everyone in the family their whole lives.

It struck a chord with me because I know so many people who continue in toxic family relationships despite getting nothing out of the relationships at best, and at worst being basically emotionally abused.

Why do we do that? Why do we allow family members to treat us in ways we would never allow a friend to treat us? Does being blood related give someone the right to treat you however they want to?

In my world, the answer is no. But then again, I’m lucky. I’ve had only one family member in my life that I decided to discontinue relations with. Now, it’s not absolute because I do see this person from time to time but only when I can’t avoid it without putting other people I love in uncomfortable positions. But when I lived in Dallas with my family, this person was not allowed in my home, which kind of worked out for me because I never had to host Thanksgiving or Christmas.

I know it’s not so easy for others. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to sever ties with a parent or a sibling, no matter how badly they have used and/or abused you. But isn’t there a line in the sand? Isn’t there one thing that you simply can’t tolerate and would cause you to walk? Or does the cosmic accident of sharing DNA with someone absolve them of all responsibility for their behavior towards you?

To my mind, love and respect are earned. They don’t just get handed over because of shared blood.

I fully recognize that my views are based on the fact that I was raised pretty much solely with my nuclear family. We weren’t physically close with the extended family on either side so we forged our own way together. We didn’t have to put up with a lot of dramatics at family reunions and I never witnessed a relative behaving badly and expecting it to be ok. At least not until I was an adult.

That leads me to another question. When the actions of these toxic people are called into question, you often get the “Oh, it’s just his or her generation.” Or “They can’t help it, you should see how they were raised.” At what point do you stop getting to use that as an excuse? At what point do you have to take responsibility for your own life and actions? I don’t care that you were raised in the south in the 1920s. Racism is wrong and anyone with a single brain cell should know that. I don’t excuse or forgive your racism. I’m horrified for you that you suffered in the Holocaust. But that doesn’t absolve you of guilt for terrorizing your family for the rest of your days on the planet.

What say you? Would you or have you cut ties with a toxic or abusive family member? What did it take to make that happen?

Wow, I really haven’t written in a while. Let’s blow the dust off this sucker.

I am not a resolution maker because I always break them. But earlier in the fall I decided I was going to get back into running after a four year hiatus. I needed it for weight loss and for venting of frustrations. I met some lovely ladies who also run and they have inspired me to do a 5K race in February. Then I decided that a 5K is a good goal for where I am now, but I want to really push myself. I decided to do a half marathon. I found one in Chicago in July which will be perfect because Chicago is a great city, and in July will hopefully not be balls hot like it will be here. It also starts at 6:30 in the morning so that will help. I’m a little scared about this but when I start to freak out I tell myself this:

You have given birth. And you survived your husband walking out on you at a very vulnerable time. Running 13 miles is really cake after those two things.

To make this goal more do-able, I decided to join Weight Watchers. So yes I will lose weight, and I will train for the races. But given that I started this endeavor before the holidays, I am not really counting this as my New Year’s resolution. That’s my goal.

No, my New Year’s resolution is to stop pretending that I cook. Every week, I buy a crap ton of groceries and then throw most of them away. There are a few reasons for this – our weekday schedule is such that by the time I get Bridget home from school, dinner has to pretty much be immediate if we want to have any time together before bath and bedtime. So unless dinner can be cooked before I leave to go get her and then finished up or reheated when we get home, it just takes too long. And the things that can be prepared that way are typically things she doesn’t like and won’t eat. So it’s a waste of time and money. Not to mention how frustrating it is to go to the trouble to prepare a meal that she either has liked before or that I feel sure she will like, only to have her turn her nose up at it. Then it gets thrown away after spending a lot of time AND money on it.

(As an aside, our rule is that I prepare her a meal and she can decide whether to eat it or not, but if not, there is no more food until breakfast. If she’s hungry she’ll eat.)

I can still give Bridget a healthy, balanced meal without preparing a whole big dinner. We don’t eat out that much or do takeout, but even when we do, it’s more cost effective than throwing out the groceries I buy. A restaurant meal for the two of us will almost always result in leftovers for Bridget that I can heat up the next night with some broccoli and she’s good.

So I am done pretending to plan elaborate meals and then throwing away the ingredients. If there were more than just the two of us in the house, it might be different. But that “traditional” family dinner just doesn’t work for us, and I’m tired of trying to make our life fit into that.

A few weeks ago I went to the orthopedist for my ridiculously painful shoulder. Within a few moments of evaluating my range of motion and where it hurt and listening to my symptoms, he came to the conclusion that my problem is frozen shoulder. He sent me home to do some research and gave me some pain pills and an appointment for a follow up appointment.

I did my research. I took a few pain pills. The pain was still ridiculous, especially at night which is a hallmark of frozen shoulder. I don’t question the diagnosis. But I also can’t go months more like this.

Today at my follow up, we talked more and he again explained that the pain part probably would only last me another few months and then it would ease up follow by the temporary loss of motion. Yeah, great news. At night when I’m practically crying from the pain, or when I forget and accidentally reach for something the wrong way with my left arm, that is not comforting at all.

We talked about the nasty cortisone shot. He says that his success rate with the shot for pain relief for this is only 50/50, and it can hurt like a bitch (my words, not his) for a few days afterward. I looked at him and said simply, “I can’t take a vicod!n every day. I just can’t.” He immediately stood up and said, “We’ll do the shot.”

I will not lie. That shot is murder. It’s simply awful. There was deep breathing and tears before it was over. But so far I think it’s working. My shoulder stil hurts, but in an all over kind of way, and not the shooting pain I usually have when I try to do basic tasks. This will end in a day or two, I’m sure, but this is tolerable.

I’m free! Well, mostly free. Free enough for now.

Any guys out there, please avert your eyes. I’m going to talk about my period. Shoo! Shoo!

For the past two years I have had the worst periods. The first one I had like it had me convinced I was having a miscarriage. Then I kept having periods like it, and I realized that it wasn’t that. I thought that eventually it would go back to normal. Needless to say, it has not.

I asked the doctor about it at my last annual, and she did some bloodwork and sent me for an ultrasound to make sure everything was ok, and it was all fine. And I let it go for a few months after that. But today I finally went back and basically begged her to do something for me because I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE.

She was terribly understanding and has presented me with several options. (I was really mad at being kept waiting for 45 minutes past my appointment time but then she spent a really long time with me too, so I had to mentally forgive her.) Now basically it’s my choice. She has agreed to whichever option I pick, and is also willing to try a few things until we find the answer.

I initially wrote this long rambling post going over the pros and cons of each option which likely would have bored you all to tears. But then after re-reading it, the answer was so plainly obvious to me.

A sex change is clearly the only way to go.

Just kidding. I think the IUD is the best first option.

She gave me a surgical option – an endometrial ablation – which I thought I was going to take because it’s absolutely hormone-free. But in the end, I can’t make that leap yet. Doing that would end any possibility of having more children. And while I KNOW that I don’t want any more children, I’m also not ready yet to take a final surgical step to that end. I’m not ready to have it taken out of my hands again. I spent too many years struggling with infertility to just hand it over again. If the IUD doesn’t work out how I want, then I’ll revisit surgical options.

So thanks for playing absolutely no part in my decision. Internet, you are a great sounding board.

Earlier this year I made a promise to myself to try to make a life here in Austin rather than running away out of town to escape my boredom. When I moved here in 2009 I had four really good friends (two couples) and while I ADORE them, they do have lives that don’t revolve around me. And just because I am bored and free on a Saturday doesn’t mean they are. I needed more friends.

I’m proud to say that I have done it. Through the magic of Twitter, I’ve met some really amazing women whom I adore. And the mother of a former classmate of Bridget has become a friend. It’s kind of hard to make friends when the context in which you know each other is school and parenting. Women can be so judgmental of other moms and sometimes just downright fucking mean. So just because Bridget really liked Sally (not her real name), there was no guarantee that the moms would do more than tolerate each other for the sake of the kids. But this friend and I click. She’s awesome. Plus Sally is one of the handful of Bridget’s friends that I actually love. I’m actually wondering if a sleepover might be in their immediate future.

All that sap is just to report that I am actually making a life here and I’m really happy about it.

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This thought occurred to me and then strangely I was just watching the Louis CK show Live at the Beacon Theater (if you are at all a fan and have a sick mind like me, please do go pay the $5 to download or stream this show – you won’t be sorry) and he made mention of the same thing. Weird. Anyway, the thought is this:

Bridget is now at an age that I remember being. I clearly remember being five. In some ways that makes the parenting thing a bit easier, because she’s more relatable now. On the other hand, all I can think now is, “I better not screw this up, because this is the shit she’ll be talking about in therapy in twenty years.”

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I had the BEST time last night. There is a U2 tribute band from Austin and they play pretty regularly at my favorite bar. Last night I went with Sally’s Mom (see above) (also I have no idea if she cares if I use her real name but I won’t for now just to be safe) (how many parentheses is it ok to have in one sentence?) (is this too many?) (yes?) (ok, I’ll stop) for my third time.

Listen, they are tribute band. They are not U2. But they do a great job and put on a fun show and every time I’ve been to see them, I’ve met amazing people. Last night, we shared a table with two really nice guys – there was no flirting or monkey business they were just nice fun guys. One was Australian and he answered a question for me that I’ve had forever about Australia. Then we discovered it was his birthday so we did Irish Car Bombs to celebrate. Although Sally’s Mom was responsible and didn’t drink hers because she was driving. I thank her heartily for that because I was obviously working hard to get my liver in shape for Vegas in two weeks.

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I have bought Bridget a Christmas present that I’m not sure I should give her. I won’t really go into what it is, but it’s kind of expensive and although I know she’ll love it, I wonder if she’ll care for it properly. It’s expensive enough that if she destroys it, I will be mad. I’ll be giving her her presents from me the day before she goes over to The Ex’s for Christmas, and I know she’ll want to take it there, which is fine. I totally trust him to help her take care of it. Plus she has had an iPod Touch for a year now and other than one incident where it was lost for a few days when she shoved it in the pile of giveaway clothes, she has cared for it remarkably well. But the control freak in me wants to wrap it in bubble wrap and make her wash her hands before she touches it. I need to get over this. (See above re: her remembering things and me not fucking up.)

Blah blah blah, it’s Christmas and I am the biggest humbug Scrooge McDuck around this year. I have purchased all of Bridget’s presents and no one else’s. I have no idea in fact what I’m getting anyone else. And I don’t seem to have any motivation to think about it.

Could be the cold I’ve been nursing for a week now, complete with a random vomiting episode and multiple nose bleeds. I am a sexy bitch, I know it. In any case I just don’t give a crap about Christmas this year.

But my living room does not reflect my lack of Christmas spirit.

Here’s the mantle. Stockings hung by the chimney with yada yada yada.

There’s the Christmas tree. All four staggering feet of it. Sitting atop my end table. My condo is simply too small for a regular sized tree. I hate fake Christmas trees but in my world there are some things that are just Man Jobs, and dealing with the set up a real Christmas tree is definitely a Man Job. If I ever move out of here, maybe I’ll decide to learn to use a saw and deal with a live tree. And maybe I’ll learn to hang pictures but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.

So yeah. Merry Christmas. Ho ho ho.