Never let them see you sweat...or cry...

So let me preface this blog by saying I despise bullying.  I am one of the many who suffered immeasurably at the hands of bullies – one in particular, although I won’t mention names (Donna Richards) OOPS, did I say that with my outside voice?  My life was completely miserable because of the relentless harassment from 8^th grade all the way through high school. Would you believe that even graduation night, the person who made my life utter hell was seated DIRECTLY behind me?  I thought my life sucked.  I thought it would always suck.  Thankfully, I was wrong. Not only does my life not suck, my life is glorious, and filled with so many wonderful people and things that I sometimes pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

So imagine my level of fury when I talked to Bill on the phone yesterday only to find out my daughter came home crying a river of tears because someone was bullying her.  She had just mentioned the day before that there was a kid named – we will call him “Nick” – that had been calling her truly awful names and cursing at her, even punched her once.  I, of course, gave her the “if he even thinks about bothering you, you need to tell me immediately…not tomorrow, not next week, RIGHT FREAKING NOW.  She said she would.  Low and behold, the next day, voilá! The little prick was at it again.  But wait, it gets better.  When he became relentless in his verbal abusive, something in my sweet dear child snapped. Not like Ralphie in a Christmas Story snapped, but it was pretty cool! She grabbed him by the shirt and just stared him down for about a ten seconds, although I’m sure it seemed longer to her.  Of course, then the delinquent pushed her and started to kick her, which was not the optimal outcome, but WOW, just WOW. She stood up to him.  She didn’t back down or break down, at least not until she got home. Where did she get the guts, the moxie?  I told her she was right to tell Bill and me what happened, but she should never have touched him, not that I actually agree with that, but the school has some bullshit “zero tolerance” policy, so for her “lay her hands on him” would cause my flute-playing, straight A, happy, compassionate, sweet child to be suspended along with the juvenile delinquent – not fair in my opinion. Bill called the school principal (who is a personal friend of Bill’s from childhood – bad news for ol’ Nick) and the principal said he would “handle it.”  And today, magically, it was “handled.”  Nick will no longer be bothering my daughter. In fact, he is not allowed to talk to her at all. Looking at her might not be a good idea either. Score one for Tricia.

The whole thing brought back so many memories, and it is amazing how seared those experiences are in my brain.  People say kids “should suck it up” and learn how to deal with teasing and abuse. First of all, bullying was bad when I was a kid, when anyone is a kid.  Imagine it now, in a world of social media, cell phones, and other avenues that didn't exist "back in the day." It is a whole different world out there. I do make Tricia handle some things on her own, and it has helped her develop amazing coping skills.  But some situations really just require more attention, and definitely some action.  No child should have to tolerate bullying.  It is scary, and worse yet, it is humiliating.  Humiliation does not build character. Humiliation tears out a child’s heart, and destroys their self-esteem.  Don’t agree with me? That’s ok, you don’t have to agree with one word of this.  But it will not be my child. I want her to grow up with a strong sense of who she is, and what she is capable of in her life.  I certainly will not allow some snot-nosed brat to take that away from her.  

I’ve said it to her a million times, “you won’t even remember these people when you get out of high school.”  But you know what? She will.  The thing I want her to remember is how she dealt with the situation, and more importantly, that she had the benefit of parents who love her that stood up for her, and protected her when the chips were down.  I think of all the kids over the past few years who ended their lives because they felt it was their only escape.  I never want that to be my child.  I don’t want it to be anyone’s child really. No child should feel that alone.

In a way, I feel sorry for Nick. He must have one hell of a family life to think that hitting or kicking a girl is ok.  I wonder how many times his father raised a hand to his mother, or a sibling, or to him. Bullies are usually crying out for someone, anyone to notice them.  Negative attention is better than no attention at all.  I’ll still have his ass arrested for assault if he lays a hand on my daughter again, but wouldn’t it be nice if every child could come from a home that sets a loving example for “how life is supposed to be”?  I know not every bully comes from a broken home, just as not every kid from a broken home becomes a bully.  Somewhere, somehow, the cycle needs to stop.  If it takes a village, then so be it.  Everyone should step up to the plate and protect those who cannot protect themselves.

I am very proud of my daughter.  She has the intestinal fortitude to not take someone else’s crap, and even though maybe it was not the “best” way to handle it, she was able to walk away knowing she did not let him have the upper hand.  She stood up for herself, and I have to believe she took something valuable away from that experience.  

I hope she always remembers that lesson.  Because as we all know, the bullies are there long after high school.

Hug your child tonight. Thanks.

What "grows" up must come down...

Today, we are losing an old and dear friend at our house.  Our very large, very old oak tree is on the verge of coming down due to an enormous crack in its base. So, after consideration, we have decided to give her a hand down, rather than risk her falling on our next door neighbor’s house, or on the street.  We’ve been mulling it over for quite a while now, but she’s weighted on either side by heavy branches, while the center of the tree is bare.  It’s just too dangerous to leave her standing, so down she comes.

Our best estimate is she is probably over a hundred years old.  We even found an old drawaing of our street from before 1900, and there is a depiction of a tree right about where our old girl stands now.  It’s hard to imagine a tree surviving that many years…all the baby birds it has fostered, all of the families of squirrels it has sheltered.  There must be at least a half dozen squirrel drays in her branches.  Needless to say, it is not going to be a happy day for the squirrels that have set up residence. Thank goodness for the other oak tree in front of my kitchen window.  I’m sure I’ll be seeing three times as many of those fat little tree varmints lolling about on the branches ten feet from my kitchen sink.  Bill feeds them, so they tend to be on the plump side.  And when the weather is warm, they sprawl out with their paws hanging over the edges.  I could be wrong, but I do believe the happiest squirrels on the planet reside at our house.

It’s always a little sad to see something so old, so stately, so timeless meet its demise.  Now when I come out the front door every morning to leave for the office, all that will remain is a double stump.  On the upside, no more bird shit on my car (an annual spring ritual when all the robins build their nests seemingly RIGHT over my poor convertible. 

I’m glad I’m not home to witness the chainsaws whirring, and the bucket truck raised, cutting the limbs that interfere with the power lines. I’m sure there will be limbs all over my yard when I go home for lunch today. I’ll probably cry, and Bill will think I’m being such a girl.

I know it’s inevitable, but I will miss her so.  Funny how even a tree can become part of the family.

Meat...is what's for dinner...

I am becoming increasingly impatient with the large number of people who feel the need to impose their beliefs on my life everywhere I turn -  on the news, on social media, hell, right to my face.  Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m a pretty easy-going person, and the last thing I would ever do is pass judgment or attempt to steer someone to my way of thinking against their own beliefs.  Bottom line? I don’t really care what you think, believe, or subscribe to in your life.  They are choices, YOUR choices. And while we may agree on some things, it is doubtful that anything you say to me will make me run to your side of the fence, so please, climb down off of your royal soapbox.  This goes for any variety of issues – politics, religion, women’s rights, vegan vs. vegetarian vs. knuckle dragging meat eaters (that would be me.)

Let’s chat a bit about vegetarians.  If you get your kicks from killing poor innocent and defenseless plants that have never done a thing to you, then by all means go for it. (I’m joking about the cruelty to plants part, of course.)  But seriously, do I relish the thought of animal slaughter? Nope, absolutely not.  Animal cruelty? That would be a negative as well.  But, unfortunately for the cow, chicken, pig, or sea-related creature, humans are at the top of the food chain,  and I will take my steak medium rare. If I can find cruelty-free, free-ranging, happy chickens, cows or pigs to eat, then that is even better.  I’m all for what is humane when it comes to animal slaughter.  The only thing that doesn’t really thrill me is veal or lamb…not that I don’t love them both, and certainly not that I’ve never eaten it.  I’m just not down with the whole process to get the lamb or veal from farm to store to my plate.  My decision.  If you wish to have your veal marsala, then by all means, please do. That stuff is damn tasty. 

Here are the people I really love…vegetarians who will eat fish ( believe they refer to themselves as pescatarians), as if somehow the fish is less of an animal to them than say, Bessie the Cow.  Don’t tell the fish that, I bet he feels differently.  If you are going to be strong in your convictions, then don’t be selective.  Animal cruelty is your crusade?  Then it should include all animals, not just the ones you deem important enough to care about. It doesn’t quite work like that, just sayin.

Likewise, posting pictures of slaughtered dogs in Asia on your facebook page is not going to bring me around to your way of thinking.  Last time I checked, as a general rule, we do not eat dogs in the United States, so I’m not all that worried about dog consumption in my backyard. As for what happens in Asia, well, I really don’t have any control over that. We keep dogs in our homes as companions.  For some people they are more like decorations, only to be let out of their kennel cage when the mood strikes their owner. I think that pisses me off even more.  If you are going to have pets in your life, then they should be family members, with the ability to have a happy existence, not locked up in a cage for twelve hours out of the day.  That to me is no less cruel than killing a dog to eat. But it is none of my business how you handle your dog no more than it is any of your business what kind of tasty animal I am serving for dinner in my home. 

Opinions are like assholes.  Everyone has one, and most people have the ability to BE one.  I could take issue with some people’s opinions, but that would require me to care, and for the most part, I just don’t.  Some people are important to me –my family, my friends and a few others I hold dear.  People who think they are all-knowing and the only enlightened ones on the planet?  They mean nothing to me.

Keep your crusades to yourself, or go buy a membership to PETA (like those are some sane people.)  No one really cares anyway. And as for my dinner? Yes, I will be serving meat for dinner this evening – steak in fact.  And NO it is NONE of your damn business. 

NOM NOM NOM.

Forty-seven really doesn't seem so bad after all...

Yeah, I know…I didn’t post a blog last week, so shoot me.  I’ve been too traumatized by the fact that I am turning 47 on February 5^th, only to be upstaged by the Superbowl – which, by the way, involves two teams I hate, but I’m going to have to go with the Giants, because I hate New England more.  Take that Tom Brady.  Eli gets to be THE MAN.  By the way Tom, I hope your wife gets fat and all of your hair falls out.

Actually this year I am not dreading my birthday with the same vigor displayed in years past.  Mostly because I have decided that this year, I shall throw myself a birthday extravaganza.  It will be a fabulous soire with all my friends who are more than glad to help me usher in my special day…mostly because they know I don’t care if they trash my house and I always have a fully stocked bar.  My “pawty” even has a theme, bacon.  Why?  Why not?  Is there anything more perfect than a perfectly cooked slice of bacon wrapped around a scallop?  I plan on having a complete line of bacon-festooned dishes sure to send at least half the guests into cholesterol-induced cardiac arrest. There will be bacon cheeseburger sliders, bacon mac and cheese, bacon deviled eggs, and at least a half dozen other nommy bacon infused dishes. I’ve forewarned those attending to double up on their Lipitor.  Let’s hope they listened.

I think there is another reason why I am so hyped up about my birthday party this year, other than the party factor.  I think it could be that I’ve come to a place where I am really quite happy with the way life has turned out, all things considered. I’m also comfortable enough in my own skin to not mind getting older.  I thought it would be horrible, but really, it’s not.  I have a group of friends that operate like a finely tuned emsemble cast.  We know each other, we play off each other. We hound each other endlessly over each other’s soft spots and weaknesses.  We’ve had to weed out a few undesirables who simply couldn’t “run with the big dogs” so we thought it better if they just stayed on the porch. It’s never a dull moment, and I love that about them. I hope they’re around for my 77^th birthday, which I will attending on my pimped-out jazzy scooter with the cupholder for my cocktail and basket on the front to carry around my sweet Bill.  Actually, maybe a sidecar would be better, we’ll have to see what kind of options those things have when it is required.

I have my daughter, who rolls her eyes at me like no other.  She is brilliantly funny, beautiful beyond words (although she doesn’t believe that) and blessed with a brain much bigger than mine.  She makes every day a joy, even when she’s pissing me off ten different ways, and I’m so very proud of her.  She’s my girl, my angel, the very best part of me.

I have a family that I am truly grateful to have in my life.  They ground me, hold me up, and make me feel that no matter what, I am loved.  It’s hard to match that feeling, and I love them back a thousand times more.  

And last but not least, I have my Bill.  My therapist, my soulmate, my friend, and my partner.  He loves me unconditionally, despite my faults, quirks and idiosyncracies, and loves me for exactly who I am.  I can’t remember what it was like in my life before he was beside me, but I’m sure I never want to go through life without him again.

So here’s to 47.  May it be as glorious as the last 46 years.  I have so much to be thankful for, so much to live for, and so much to give back to those who have been so totally awesome to me.  Everyone should be so blessed.

"Hungry" is not an attractive look on a woman...

Someone posted a picture today that really made me stop and think about perceptions and the definition of beauty. 

Now, let me pose a question. Who can really tell me something physically attractive about any one of the women in the top row?  By the way, it should be noted that the “fat one” in the top row, (2^nd from left) is Nicole Richie.  Now how scary is that? Wasn’t she getting torn apart in the press before giving birth to two children for being anorexic? Now, she’s not even the skinniest one “in the room.”   I’m not sure how a lot of you feel about it, but I certainly do not want my daughter emulating any of those four women.  They look sickly, malnourished…they look like they need to eat a damn bacon cheeseburger and a half gallon of Edy’s Double Fudge Brownie ice cream.  I don’t care if the camera puts ten pounds on you.  These women need to gain thirty pounds.

The bottom row of women…wow, now that is what women are supposed to look like – curvy, voluptuous, sensual, feminine.  Not one of them looks like, well, a boy.  They have hips and boobs, and they look HEALTHY.  I don’t know of one man in the world who would pick any of the women on the top row. My Bill calls women like that “bone racks” and would rather hug a tree than some underweight toothpick.  I love that about him, about all men really.  Men don’t set women up for the impossible.  Women do.

Think about it, who do women dress for?  Other women.  How many women live on a diet? I don’t know about you, but practically every woman I know is striving for “skinny” even though they won’t admit it. I’ve been guilty of this myself.  Then I realized what a poor example I was setting for my sweet impressionable daughter.  What exactly was wrong with the way I looked?  Nothing.  All I know is I would often compare myself to the woman on the front of the magazine cover who has been airbrushed to perfection, or I’d walk into a room and think to myself “Is she thinner than me?  Is my ass bigger than hers?”  Mistake.  And inevitably I end up seeing a photo of myself (because who isn’t snapping photo these days) and think to myself, “I look great. What the hell is my problem?”  No matter how perfect you strive to be, chances are there will be someone who seems “more perfect” whatever the hell that is.  Women are their own worst enemy.  Women live in an uber-competitive world where the most perfect woman wins, and the rest are left to feel inadequate. My friend told me about a conversation he had with a woman who stated “whenever I enter a room I have to be the hottest one there.”  What a sad existence.  What happened to being “the nicest” or “the most compassionate” or the woman with a heart so big, everyone is in awe of her? I refuse to do that to myself any more…NEVER AGAIN. My husband, my daughter, my friends, my family – they all love me just the way I am.  If I die tomorrow, what does it matter?  Are people going to walk by my coffin and say, “too bad she’s dead, because it’s the thinnest I’ve ever seen her.”  Not likely.  I HOPE they will think, “wow, she lived a wonderful life, and was an amazingly giving person.”  

Don’t get me wrong, I am no advocate for obesity, in fact I believe it is one of the biggest issues with the overall health of Americans.  What I am is an advocate for “healthy.”  News flash…skinny does not automatically equal healthy.  Ask Karen Carpenter about that one…oh wait, she’s dead thanks to anorexia…never mind.  Healthy means living your life in a way that promotes well being, both physically and mentally.  When you are healthy and happy on the inside, it always shows.  Beauty is rarely about physical appearance.  Beauty shines from within, and that is what makes a person beautiful.

Three cheers for the women bigger than a size two or four.  Say what you want about Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Lopez, or Christina Aguilera, and a few others that are in the public eye.  They make no apologies for their curves, and are, in fact, really quite happy with them.  I applaud them for not being bone thin, for being real about their bodies.  You want to be healthy? Live your life in MODERATION and strive to find your “happy place” within yourself.  I promise that if you can do that, you’ll find that the person looking back at you in the mirror will be one of the gorgeous women in the world, inside and out.

Please, stop being so hard on yourself, and learn to love who you are.

FACT - kitchen appliances are not birthday presents.

This week, our coffeemaker passed away. I’m not sure how it died, but we could not resuscitate it. It was certainly a sad occasion. Once Bill and I got over the untimely demise of our kitchen appliance, we knew it was time to start a heartfelt discussion on a new coffeemaker. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that it would cause so much angst in our otherwise peaceful home. Long story short…I want a Keurig system coffeemaker, and Bill wants a traditional Mr. Coffee, load up the Folger’s, fill it with water and turn the bitch on kind of coffee maker. Therein lies our dilemma. Last night’s particular conversation was interesting – note that it took place while we were lying in bed, lights already out…

Me – “We really need to get a new coffeemaker. I think we should get a Keurig.”

Bill – “Do you want it for your birthday???”

Me – “Uhhhh…NO. Have you lost your mind? Why would I want an appliance for my birthday? You might as well be buying me a new vacuum cleaner.”

Bill – “Ok, no coffeemaker for your birthday…got it. But I think we should just get a regular coffeemaker. We don’t need a fancy coffeemaker.”

Me – “You don’t understand. The coffee is foolproof. You’ll no longer have to deal with my coffee, which is too strong for you. We don’t have to grind coffee beans anymore because I’m too much of an elitist to use pre-ground grocery store coffee. It makes a PERFECT cup of coffee every fucking time.”

Bill – “I just like regular Maxwell House coffee-flavored coffee.” Me – “A Kuerig makes regular coffee, by the cup.” Bill – “Yeah, but if it makes it one cup at a time, it will take too long.”

Me – “Honey, it brews a cup of coffee in less than a minute.”

Bill – “No, it’s not a good idea. We should just get a regular coffeemaker.”

Me – “You’ve never even USED a Kuerig before. You have no idea what you are talking about! Wow, are we REALLY having this conversation now? You must not want to have sex at all.”

Bill – “I’m sorry. Let’s just drop it and have sex.”

Tricia (yelling from her room) - "Would you just stop talking and go to sleep???"

Me – nothing but the sound of me rolling over and going to sleep.

I would have never believed that coffeemaker would be such a point of contention. Even more than that, I cannot believe my sweet and wonderful husband actually contemplated getting me one for my birthday. Buy me candy, buy me wine, buy me jewelry or a day at the spa. DO NOT buy me household appliances. THAT will put a damper on your sex life for sure.

I will not yield on this one. We are getting a Kuerig and that’s that. We don’t even drink enough coffee to finish a pot, and inevitably, we always make too much. So the wonderfully easy and convenient “by the cup” method is perfect for us. And Bill will no longer have to drink coffee that is so strong, you can literally watch the hair on your chest grow while drinking it. (Southerners…they drink some weak-ass coffee in my opinion.) I know he’s not really on board with it right this moment, but when it’s sitting on our counter, surrounded by the glow of convenience and urban chic, I know he’s going to love it.

Maybe, but whatever, if I can’t have a Boo like Pomeranian, then dammit, I am getting a Kuerig, and it won’t be a birthday present.  I win.

Thanks for the memories, Beaches!!!

I’m back from the holidays…I know, you’ve missed me. I almost didn’t get a blog in this week, but I hate to disappoint…grin. By the way, I hope everyone had the best and brightest of holidays.

I have been reflecting on my holiday break which was spent in a beautiful rented house in the Outer Banks in North Carolina with my darling hubs, Bill, my precious daughter, Tricia, and some of the funniest, nuttiest, most caring people I know – a truly great ensemble cast of characters. Some of them were there for a few days, some for the week. There were a few surprise visitors, one brought his guitar along with him. We played pool, ate mountains of food (mostly bacon) and drank enough alcohol that I’m actually considering putting myself on a transplant list now. We spent an afternoon assing around in our 4x4’s on the beach, and spent most evenings just hanging out, since that was more fun than any other venue could provide. Believe me, this bunch is more than entertaining. There was laughter in copious quantities, love was in the air, and some memories were made that I will carry for the rest of my life. I think each one of us can say we saw a side of each other that we wouldn’t normally be privy to, and it was just amazing. No one fought, egos were checked at the door, and everyone got along brilliantly. I can say in all honesty it was one of the best Christmases I can remember in a long time. I cherish each one of you – Sherrel, Brian, Rich, Annessa, Heather, Jeff, John, P.J. and Billy. There were a few who couldn’t make it. I can’t imagine how much even more crazy fun it would have been if they had been there. Georgia, Missy, Stacy, Sherry, Donna…nothing would make me happier than if you could be there next time as well.Of course we'll need a bigger house. Five bedrooms won't cut it.

It’s funny the people that come in and out of your life. Some are there for only a short amount of time while others walk into your life and stay awhile. The good ones are the ones you grow old with, and I certainly hope each of my crazy friends is with me for a lifetime, however long that may be. It’s hard to find quality people whom you care about, and who really think you matter as well. I’ve been plagued with people who are takers, who only think of themselves. Those are the ones that are the most toxic. You never really spot them at the time, but when you step back and really look at their behaviour, how they treat you and others, it becomes painfully obvious that the person they are most concerned about is themselves. Even their own families take a back seat to their wants and their needs, their perception of what they deserve, to hell with everyone else. One should never give away their energy to such people, for to do so is tantamount to beating your against a wall. I don't know about you, but I’m tired of having a headache. Thankfully I can count those individuals on one hand, the others were weeded out long ago. The years have taught me to always be wary of the takers in the world.

My intimate group of friends, that bunch of whack jobs? There isn’t one of them that fits into the “taker” category. They give of themselves without thinking, and they are loyal no matter what. I am certain I could pick up the phone and call them if I needed them, even for bail money. I’d say that would never be the case, but...ya know...

So here is to 2012…out with the old, and in with the new. But I am blessed to have a lot of the “old” in my life to carry over into the new year, and beyond.

I just wanted you to know that you guys are the simply the best, and I am humbled to be a part of your lives. <3

I cherish each one of you more than you know. <3