phatDonna

I’m a recovered (not recovering) control freak. I know you are shocked to hear this. I used to have a visceral need to control everything in my life. Thanks to a major life shake-up and many hours of therapy, I can proudly say that this is no longer the case. I’m much more flexible and less anxious when things don’t go as planned. Where I used to say, “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” these days I more often say, “Why the hell not?” Because the worst thing I could imagine happening did happen to me, and I lived through it. Not only that, I have thrived.

All my life, I’ve hated roller coasters. I’m not afraid of them – I don’t fear for my safety or anything. I just have always hated that feeling of losing my stomach on a big hill or drop. I have never been a barrel of laughs to be with at an amusement park.

But now that I’ve conquered my control issues, I have started to wonder if I might enjoy roller coasters now. Now that I can just relax and let things happen to me, would I be able to enjoy the fall?

I plan to find out the next time I have the chance. I may still hate them, but I plan to give the experience another chance. In the wise and learned words of Cee Lo Green, I just want to let something brand new happen to me. What’s the worst that could happen?

It has been high times around here lately, between the Cap 10K, a trip to Dallas and a trip to Vegas, my weekends have been awesome lately.

I just got back today from my last big weekend for a while and it was amazing. I got to see my parents and spend a bunch of time with my dear friend Alicia for her 40th birthday. I love birthdays, as many of you know, and milestone birthdays are the best. After much debate, Alicia decided she wanted a house party with her nearest and dearest, so we made that happen for her.

We had a great lunch, shopped, got our hair and makeup done (complete with false eyelashes, which I have never done before and LOVED) and just had an all-around girly day on Saturday, then we had the party which was a huge success.

Want to hear something awesome? Of course you do. That’s why you read here, isn’t it?

I bought an awesome pair of Lucky Brand jeans a few months ago. I got them on ridiculous sale at a discount store that rhymes with Farshall’s and I didn’t try them on before I bought them. They were too small and I tossed them in the closet and forgot about them. Before my trip to Vegas, I tried them on and THEY FIT. I was so pumped about this because they make my butt look fantastic. After Vegas, I washed them and put them straight into my suitcase for Dallas for Alicia’s party. When I went to put them on last night? They were too big. Also, I had to buy a new top for the party because I left mine at home. I went shopping on Friday afternoon and found a really cute top and tried it on, only to realize that I had to buy the size small. I liked the top, but I think the fact that I had to buy a small might have pushed me to buy it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sleep for about three days.

My doctor has chastised me twice now for wearing flip flops. I get it. I KNOW. They are terrible for you. But in the summer, they are just so easy to slip on and go. No socks, no tying, no sweaty feet. And they show off the cute pedicures.

But if I want to keep running, I have to listen. So I went out today to buy some shoes that aren’t flip flops but are easy on-off shoes that I can basically wear 11 months out of the year because, you know, I live in Texas.

I learned a couple things today:

1. Just the phrase “sensible shoes” makes my asshole pucker.

2. Anything that is remotely what I need and kind of cute is out in my size.

3. EVERY shoe can look cute in a size 6. Not so much on my giant Peggy Hill feet.

4. I will wear shoes that I love even if I know other people think they are ugly. But I can’t think they are ugly, no matter how comfortable. Even if you think they are cute. It’s not that I don’t care about your opinion… wait. Yes, it actually is that precisely.

So really I’m screwed. I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot give up flip flops totally. I will be more careful about where and how much I wear them. For example, when I walk the dog, I’ll take the time to put on “real” shoes. But to just run Bridget to school or to Target or to get the mail, I’m probably going to slip them on.

And just so you don’t think I’m insane, I do realize that they make flip flops with more cushion and even arch support, but arch support is not what I need. I need a shoe that keeps my foot from rolling outward (because that is pulling on the muscle on the inside of my shin), which no sandal or flip flop can do simply because there is nothing on the sides at all. Hopefully some strength training will make all this a moot point very soon. Or a moo point, if you are Joey Tribiani.

I really don’t remember any Leap Day in the past that anyone ever made a big deal of. Why is this Leap Day being feted with such vigor? I don’t get it.

I think my trash collectors are fucking with me on purpose. Every week I put out my recycle bin(s) right where they are supposed to go. And every damn week, they throw them in my neighbor’s yard. My neighbor WHO NEVER FUCKING RECYCLES. It’s not like it’s just confusion over whose is whose. I think they are jacking with me and I have had it. I am filled with righteous indignation and impotent rage.

I’ll get over it.

But while we are on the topic of where I live, I have a new batshit crazy neighbor. That’s super fun. I went out for a run on Monday morning. When I came back, said new neighbor was puttering around her car. I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing because I was trying to cram my lungs back inside my chest cavity. I went inside but soon I heard screaming. Not just raised voices, but full on screaming. I ran outside to make sure no one was dying. This woman was screaming at the top of her lungs and throwing things and pacing in circles. I have no idea what was frustrating her so much, but her eyes landed on me and I high-tailed it inside before I got hit in the head with a wrench. So that’s fun. I hope she got her problem solved, and I feel bad for not being able to help her, but I was absolutely too scared to approach her.

I really really want a big plate of pancakes right now.

Is anyone playing Scramble With Friends? I am totally addicted to it. Let me know if you want to play.

I am 25 days out from running the Capitol 10K. I’m so excited about it. Who knew I’d love this running shit so much?

(I promise only two of them are running related)

When I run, my nose runs like crazy. Like, disgustingly runny. I can never ever run with anyone that I want to get naked with because after seeing my mucus situation, it would be game off. Just call me Snotty McKee.

Tonight at running class, we had to do a drill called Fartlek. Apparently this is a Swedish term. Regardless, it makes me giggle like a twelve year old. Sadly, the funny name does not carry over into the actual performance of said drill. Fartleks are mean. My knees may be out on strike tomorrow.

I seem to have a problem with gummy Sweet Tarts. I can only find them at Valentine’s Day and Easter, so that’s a blessing. But I can’t just eat a few. I have to eat all the gummy Sweet Tarts in sight. I had a weak moment in Target yesterday and bought a bag. They are all gone now. The only good news is that they gave me such heartburn that I truly cannot imagine ever eating another one.

I recycle far more than any of my neighbors. Living in a small condo community, I have the opportunity to see the recycling they put out every week. Now, our waste management company provides each of us one small blue bin for recyclables. I went out and bought a second one. And every week, I put them both out full. Everyone else puts out one half full one, or none at all. This bothers me a lot. Either they don’t know what all is recyclable, or they don’t care. Or maybe it’s something else. Either way, I feel like I should offer a recycling seminar to my neighbors. I’m sure they would all appreciate that very much.

Robbie is getting old. This is not news. But lately he’s been pacing around downstairs a lot and he’s been trying to curl up on Bridget’s bean bag, which he can’t do because he’s too big. So yesterday I went out and bought him an $80 downstairs bed so he could have a place to rest his old arthritis-y joints and still be around me. And the fucker won’t lay on it.

I’ve been watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix and I’m almost at the end of the series. I do not want this to end. I’m going to make t-shirts that say “What Would Tami Taylor Do?” because I want to be Tami Taylor when I grow up.

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?