Tag Archives: dating

The worst part about all this is that I’m *not* a lesbian.

get-angry-and-smash-patriarchy-1

*Dear Reader – I say “fuck’.  A lot.  Especially today.  Just a friendly warning!  Also, I’m ranting.  I don’t usually rant.  Well, sometimes I rant.  Non-ranting posts aplenty can be found in my archives over there on the right side of this page.  Kim”

The original title of this post was a somewhat uninspiring “Status Update.”

And the “update” was that I finally felt like writing enough to sit my ass down and start touching my fingers to the keyboard and making words after, like, 5 months of intense not-writing.

And then I felt a list coming on, and then I started the list, and then I started ranting and lamenting the fact that I am not a lesbian and, well, you can read it for yourself.

Anyway.

It appears that today is the day that I stop not-writing.

Yay?

List of Shit I’ve Been Doing and/or Thinking About Since the Last Time I Blogged:

1.  Becoming a Radical Feminist.

2.  So.  I’m not even really sure what “feminist” or “feminism” means to me, much less what it means to other people, but I think I’m becoming one.  A feminist.  FEMINIST.  Maybe even a Radical Feminist.  And I blame the Republican party for pushing me here.  Fuck them.  And really, fuck men.  Who put them in charge?  When was it ever a good idea to let men be in charge?  Maybe during our early existence on this planet when somehow they got better at fighting off predators?  MAYBE.  But then we should’ve reined them back in.  Because now we have zillions of years of being fucking burned at the stake and controlled and patronized and shamed and used and sidelined and double-standarded and, to top it off,  they’ve destroyed our planet.  Not alone, obviously.  But most major money grubbing asshole corporations are controlled by men and the governments who allow the destruction of their natural resources/our planet are primarily led by MEN.  But I digress…  Mostly they have just completely fucked and enslaved women, literally, for eons and now that we are finally inching out way out of it and into a more equal status quo, Republican men (and Republican women, who shouldn’t even EXIST, honestly) are going batshit crazy with rage at our audacity.  Fuck them.  Seriously.

3.  Yes, Mom, I appreciate the irony.  After years of teasing you about being a man-hater, it appears that I have finally seen what you were struggling with.  Not men, per se.  The entire fucking patriarchal system.   I’m sorry you’re not actually alive to say “I told you so, Kimmy!” in person, but believe me, I can hear you.  And I love you.  And I miss you.

4.  And I’m not a man-hater.  I love my son. (Even though he thinks he is a Republican right now, which, I have to say, is a bitter fucking pill to swallow.)  And a few other select men who haven’t been total assholes over the course of my life so far.  I love the possibility that better men will come out of this period in our cultural growth.

5.  I’m serious, I don’t hate men, generally.  But my level of tolerance for their bullshit is extremely fucking low at this point.

6.  Also, my hormones might be acting up.

7.  But fuck that!  Why do I have to apologize for having hormones?  I hate that I even felt like I had to throw that in.

8.  Exhibit A of how they have criminalized BEING A WOMAN.

9.  The worst part of all this is that I’m not a lesbian.  Yep, I’m annoyed out of my mind at fucking men and their fucking attitudes and total bullshit and yet I’m still attracted to them.  THEORETICALLY, I guess.  It’s been awhile since I’ve actually had that twitterpated feeling.  You know, the feeling which generally results in ill-advised casual sex that I rationalize that I can handle because I’m a modern woman unfettered by cultural bullshit expectations that I don’t really like sex and “shouldn’t” be having it outside of marriage and/or the possibility of a second fucking DATE.

10.  Oh.  And I should mention that part of my own personal Radical Feminism revolves around the fact that women have been complicit in our own doom.  We accept.  We ask for fucking permission.  We ostracize and belittle and shame other women who don’t fit into the entirely unrealistic (it turns out….) vision of the perfect woman that MEN have imposed upon us.  We don’t stand up for ourselves or other women.

11.  And the only way we succeed is by pretending to be men. “It’s a man’s world.”  “Don’t show your feelings!”  “Never let them see you sweat!”  And we do it.  WE DO IT.  And we still don’t get paid the same, treated the same, promoted the same.  And if, somehow, a miracle happens and we do succeed?  “She fucked her way to the top.”  “She’s a ball-breaker.”  “She’s a bitch.”  “Her poor children.”

12.  How am I not a lesbian?  Honestly.  If only it were a choice….. 🙂

13.  Deep breath.

14.  I didn’t know that whole “Radical Feminism” thing was coming when I started writing today, I promise.

15.  Well, I knew it was brewing.

16.  What else?

17.  Oh, in addition to becoming a Radical Feminist, or whatever, I went back to Colorado (Colorado!) for a few weeks.  It was AWESOME!  There’s nothing like being with family and old friends to ground you and remind you of who you are, who you were, unconditional love.  That is the hardest part (for me) about living so far away — no one here has known me for any length of time.  They only know the Kim whose life has totally changed in the last few years and who doesn’t know what the fuck she wants to do.  They don’t know Lawyer Kim who worked her ass off for years.  They don’t know Mommy Kim or Married Kim or Kim who lives in her own house, or Kim who drives her own car, or Kim who loves Prince (a/k/a College Kim!) or Kim with a house full of dogs and a cat named Max, who is the only cat she’s ever loved.  It’s ok.  It’s just weird.

18.  When I’m in Colorado, I want to move back there.  And when I’m here in Mexico, I can’t imagine leaving.  So there’s that.

19.  Which doesn’t make anything any easier.

20.  Thinking about moving back to Colorado made me consider the fact that I have pretty much the perfect situation right now, in many ways.  I have a job that, for the first time in many years, isn’t horrifically depressing and doesn’t take up my entire life.  I can do my job and still have plenty of time to do other things.  Like, for example, WRITE.

21.  So that’s what I’m doing.  And I started today.  Yay!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  guess what else happened when i was in colorado?  new baby.  quinn maxine  who is my second cousin, arrived super-early and scared the crap out of all of us, but she is beautiful and is doing really, unbelievably, well and weighs 4 lbs. now!

p.p.s.  i’m not sure where i’m going with this whole “Radical Feminist” thing, i mean, i’m not saying women are “better” than men or that all men suck, i’m just saying that the centuries of oppression of women have totally sucked and fuck you, men for benefitting from all that and trying to keep us “in our place” even today.

p.p.p.s.  i’m pretty sure i’m going to have to re-think this whole lesbian thing, as i will probably never have another “date”/sex opportunity with a man after writing this…. i really didn’t want to become a bitter man-hating woman but the republicans have pretty much forced me into it.  a waiting period and ultra-sound to get BIRTH CONTROL??????  changing the time-stamp on the texas vote on the abortion bill??????? and those are just the most recent events…  fucking outrageous conduct leads to outrageous consequences.

p.p.p.s.  i haven’t even been able to process how i feel about our government spying on us on account of the republicans, but i’m pretty sure i’m a little upset about that too.  stay tuned.

9 Comments

Filed under My Big Book of Me, Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

So. I’m back in Mexico. Seriously. (And now I can write a bestseller, probably…)

I don’t even know where to start this blog post.

So.

I’m back in Puerto Morelos…. (yay?)

If you’ve been following along, you know that I just left Puerto Morelos in late June and that I was planning to spend a few months in Colorado and then return here to start my NEW JOB (!!!) in the fall.

And you also know that I left my house in the care of someone because everyone knows that you can’t leave a house empty in Mexico.

And you might know, or have guessed, that the someone that I left in the house was a person who I had previously (and erroneously, it turns out) referred to as “a nice man”….

CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING ANOTHER SPECTACULARLY BAD DECISION REGARDING A MAN, KIM.

Turns out this man is not a nice man.

(which I knew or should have known before the leaving-him-in-my-house decision)

He is, in fact a con man.  A drug addict.  A thief.  A pathological liar.  A sociopath.

(and those are the nice words for him)

(motherfucker is one of the bad words for him)

(also pendejo and cabron)

And in the four weeks that I was away from my house, he (a) hot-wired my car and was stopped while driving it and now it is impounded by the Federales and I will probably never see it again and (b) cleaned out the house — stole all the appliances, TVs, electronics, the AIR CONDITIONER, pretty much anything that could be relatively easily removed from the house and sold, including my hot pink yoga-fucking-mat.

(the yoga mat?  that is just mean.)

AND

(c) the dude rented my house to another family.

Yep.

Miraculously (in my opinion) the other family just happened to ask a friend of mine to help them move into my house.  And my friend was all “what the fuck?” and “let’s call Kim!” and “dude, where are all the appliances?”

And that is how I found out.

(and, oh my god, i couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap my head around it, kicked in the stomach feeling, intense shame and humiliation and what-have-i-done? and oh mommy, i’m so sorry, so so sorry and the motherfucker was STILL calling/texting and telling me everything was great and, in fact, he had been working on the house and preparing it for when my family was going to visit in a few days…)

And I fell apart for lots of reasons but mostly because I didn’t know what to do because I had less than $200 to my name, which is not enough to buy a plane ticket to Cancun and especially not enough to stay in Mexico and not enough to replace anything stolen.  And then I realized that once I deposited a check I would have a little bit more — enough for a plane ticket one way — but still not enough to stay/replace anything.

(And if I go to Mexico now how will I get everything taken care of in Colorado and I can’t afford to make two trips and I haven’t spent any time with Austin and his birthday is coming up and all my shit is still in storage and I need to sell some stuff to survive until the job starts and I need to go to the doctor and get prescriptions and I can’t live in the house with no refrigerator and FUCK and I have so much to do in Colorado, how can I go to Mexico now?)

Anyway.

So I bought a one-way ticket to Cancun.

And my amazing friend Mary picked me up and let me stay with her and she came with me to kick him out of the house when no one else wanted to get involved because the dude may or may not be a drug dealer (or worse), etc. etc.

(The point is that I couldn’t find anyone willing to just go talk to the police with me (as I do not speak spanish) so I had to get him out of the house without the help of the police.  I was terrified and Mary was all “fuck it, I’ll back you up, let’s roll” (she’s, ummm, in her 60’s) and so we did.)

So we just walked right in and I was totally going to keep my cool and not escalate the situation (just in case he was psycho) and then he smiled and said “Kim!  What a nice surprise.  What are you doing here?” and tried to hug me.  And that is when things, ummm, escalated on my part.

GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE.

(SCREAMING at the top of my lungs and shaking like a leaf)

“What are you talking about?”

GET THE FUCK OUT!  WHERE ARE THE REFRIGERATORS?  WHERE IS THE AIR CONDITIONER?  GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!

“No no no, just calm down and I tell you what happen.  Someone broke in and robbed the house.”

LIAR!

“Listen to me, can I talk to you right now?”

NO. GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

“Can I call you later?  Can I come over later when you’re calm down?”

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

You get the picture…..

And then he left.

Of course there is more to the story. There always is. 

I’m leaving out the best parts that serve to illustrate WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT I AM to have trusted him in the first place (because they are super embarrassing and I’m ashamed and also because they will probably be the parts that make my book a fucking NYT best seller…)(but mostly because they are embarrassing and just go to show that I am in serious need of continuous therapy to deal with issues like:  Exactly how little do you value yourself if this kind of behavior is acceptable, Kim?”)(Although I could write a better book than 50 Shades of Grey with my eyes closed, so maybe I could turn my extreme shame into a bestseller and thereby finance my lifetime of therapy.)

I’ve filed a police report (thanks to the nice lady at the laundromat next door who speaks pretty good english and agreed to get involved and translate for me) and the nice detective (Sweet Jesus, there is a whole other chapter for the book — in a Hollywood story all of this bad shit would have happened to me to teach me a lesson and so that I could meet and fall in love with the handsome police officer assigned to my case — in real life, the officer/detective is kind of short (but cute…), barely speaks English, is probably married and thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever met…. WHAT. THE. FUCK.???) tells me to be patient (aarrrgghh!) and that they have leads on where this guy is and that he will be arrested soon.

Anyway.

Lots of stuff to think about/write about.

I’m penniless in Puerto Morelos but I have amazing friends here (super special thanks to Mary and Linda for opening their homes to me and having my back!) and I am so lucky that people saw what was happening and got in touch with me.  I’ve learned a lot.  I’m not dead.  My house is standing.  All my mom’s beautiful artwork is intact and exactly where I left it.  It could have been much worse.

But still, it was pretty fucking bad.

I will feel better when the bad guy is behind bars.

(fun fact:  in Mexico you are GUILTY until proven innocent — they jail you first and ask questions later….yikes)

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  it’s hotter than the sun here.  i’m not exaggerating.

p.p.s.  he took my yoga mat.  what kind of scary drug addict/dealer steals a pink yoga mat?

p.p.p.s.  i don’t blame people for not wanting to get involved/translate with the police, this is a small community and things can get weird when the police are involved and there were all sorts of rumors flying around about how big and bad and horrible the guy was and people were worried he would see them as “enemies” and come after them, i guess.

p.p.p.p.s.  the nice detective called me “voluptuous”  (he knows that word in english… suspicious, right?) so it’s good that i can’t really afford food right now.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized

Post-Moratorium-Kim is a lot like Pre-Moratorium-Kim, it turns out.

I wish I hadn’t written that last post on the Thursday of Mysteries.

I suppose I could just delete it and pretend like it never happened, but that seems disingenuous.  Plus some nice people commented on it, so just making it disappear seems rude.

Still.

Ugh.

It’s been bothering me.  A lot.  Especially the part about how it seems like I hate men.  Or penises.  Or both.

The truth is that I don’t hate men or their related equipment.  At all.

I think what I hate right now is me.

(That’s a tough one to say out loud…)

I hate how I came up with this “Moratorium” idea, then substantially complied with it (lawyer words for “I didn’t even do what I agreed to do, but I mostly did it and I think I get credit for that.”) and then it was over and – voila!I’m still the same as pre-Moratorium-Kim, except with another year of sad shit to come to terms with.

Pre-Moratorium-Kim had good intentions for the year of not using love/the search for love to avoid other important shit.  That Kim thought that she would focus on loving herself and loving her life and she would deal with all sorts of nagging issues that she had been avoiding for so long and then she would emerge at the end of the Moratorium as someone much better equipped to find/be in a relationship.  With a man, who has a penis, which she doesn’t and never has, hated.

Ha!

Silly Pre-Moratorium-Kim….

In her defense, Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no clue about what those 12 months of Moratorium were going to bring.  She had no idea that her artistic genius Mom (with great hair) would have the sneaky kind of ovarian cancer that goes to the brain and then fucks things up from there.  She didn’t know about the brain surgery, the paralysis, the Gamma Knife surgery… She didn’t know that she was going to become a for real full-time caregiver.  She didn’t know that the time she had imagined spending doing meaningful things to figure out her own shit was going to be spent trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and/or spent lost in angst over how much she resented the burden of trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and then more angst about the awful shameful resentment.  She didn’t know how her son’s graduation from High School was going to pull the last remnants of the rug that had been her life out from under her.  That it would leave her reeling and unmoored and so, so sad about things she can never change.  She didn’t know about the packing up the house and putting life in storage.  She didn’t know about the homecoming in Mexico, the fall, the broken hip, the midnight flight back to the USA.  She didn’t know about the hip surgery, the horrible rehab center, the night her sweet mommy would ask her if she was dying and she would reply “no” because she was unable to comprehend that “yes” might be the answer.  She didn’t know how it would feel when the not-knowing-something turns into knowing-something and that something is that your sweet mommy is dying in front of your eyes.  Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no idea that instead of spending time figuring her own shit out, she would be getting up in the middle of the night to slip into/onto her mom’s hospital bed and crying on her mostly unconscious mom’s shoulder begging her to stay and telling her it was ok to go.  She didn’t know her Mom was really going to go.

I feel a little bit sad for Pre-Moratorium-Kim, she had such high hopes, such good intentions and then look at all that happened instead.

And now I hate myself a little less for being in pretty much exactly the same situation as Pre-Moratorium-Kim.  We didn’t really have a chance, did we?  It was months upon months of reacting to what was happening with Mom.  Maybe I should give myself a break for not fixing my own life last year.  I just hope that all the not-fixing-my-life made my Mom’s last year a little less awful.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  it’s so weird how i start out writing one thing and end up somewhere completely different.  i don’t know if this post makes sense to anyone but me, but i guess that is ok.  i feel a smidge better than i did when i started writing.

p.p.s.  i do really hate that Thursday of Mysteries post.

p.p.p.s.  i had Easter dinner at cantina habanero’s here in pto. morelos.  cheeseburger and fries.  very strange.  i am really missing my family right now.  on the other hand, i went scuba diving for the first time in 3 years yesterday!  it was amazing.  i love being underwater. (and being able to breathe while underwater)

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Filed under Cancer sucks., grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing and Not-Writing

Oh look, my “friend” started a blog about online dating, sex & relationships for the jaded and snarky.

Here’s something you don’t see every stinkin’ day:  my “friend” started a blog about online dating, sex and relationships for the jaded and snarky. 

 It’s called violetfemme65.

(if you’re wondering what kind of weird name “violet femme65” is, chances are you’ve never had to make up a ridiculous/catchy “username” for an online dating profile.  if you have had occasion to make up a “username”, you’re probably jealous, cuz this one is good y’all.) (unless you’ve never heard of the band “violent femmes”, in which case you’re probably not going to understand anything about the blog.) (you don’t have to appreciate the “violent femmes” music to “get” how good this username is, you just have to be aware that there is/was a band called “violent femmes” and the blog name is a play on that name… get it?)

Anyway.

Just thought I would mention it.

To help her out.

Cuz I’m already pretty famous on the Internet.

Ha.

xoxo

kim

1 Comment

July 18, 2011 · 12:52 pm

Irene Wants Me To Write A Nice Internet Dating Column. But I’m Not Nice.

My friend – let’s call her “Irene” (because that is her name) – is, apparently, trying to find me a job.  Which is sweet, and kind of weird, because I’m not looking for a job.

Yes, it is true. I don’t have a job and am not (really) looking for one.  WTF, you ask?

It’s driving her (and probably other people) crazy, but mostly her.  I don’t think she can even conceive of what it would be like to not be completely busy/frantic 100% of the time.  Irene usually has at least 2 jobs, and sometimes more.  And, no, they aren’t little side jobs.  She is a full-time professional legal assistant in a busy litigation practice and she does some retail-ish management thing on the weekends.  And usually something else.  And, on top of that full use of her time, she is practically raising her two young step-grandchildren.

I can’t believe she isn’t a Virgo.  She’s like my most Virgo non-Virgo friend.

Anyway.

I don’t know how she finds the time, but she is constantly sending me job postings – either from my ex-employer (who will never, ever hire me again + I don’t want to practice law – but, apparently, she doesn’t believe any of  that) or from Craigslist, etc.  Sometimes she sends me legal jobs, sometimes writing jobs, sometimes sign-twirling jobs, a few erotic services postings (kidding…)(but I wouldn’t be surprised….) but yesterday she sent me a job posting that I think is going to change my life.

Thank you, Irene.

Those “Examiner.com” people are looking for a freelance writer to do a column on internet dating in the Denver area.

Word.

I saw the listing and I was like OH. MY. GOD.  I’m totally the right person for that job.  I mean, who else has ten (10) years of online dating experience and a sense of humor about it??  I’ve read all the books, written dozens of profiles, read a zillion profiles, had more awkward-bordering-on-scary first dates than I can count and numerous encounters with men with questionable mental health. All of that loveliness (and my vast internet researching skills…) means I’m pretty darn good at sniffing out weird shit.  Like, for example,  predicting who is going to ask for a nude picture within the first two emails (they always tip their hands….), who is still married (hard lesson) and who is in a cult (I’m not kidding….).   Plus I can think of three (3) men right now who would probably describe me as their worst online dating experience ever.  Meaning I’ve made a few, teensy mistakes.  And I can tell people about them so they won’t have to make those mistakes themselves, or at least it will give them something to laugh about.

Anyway, I got all excited and went to look at Examiner.com.

(heavy sigh)

B-O-R-I-N-G

They want, like G-rated newspaper articles written in the third person about topics of general interest from a local perspective.

Whatever.

I can do that, but why?  Isn’t the interesting stuff always in the back story?  And how much internet dating stuff is G-rated anyway, really.  If you’ve done it for any length of time and you’re not Jesus, I think you will agree with me that not much is G-rated.

And, frankly, sometimes  “what the fuck?” is the only appropriate question/statement/exclamation, particularly when writing about men (and, of course, women…)  I simply cannot be forced to write without it.

So now I’m thinking that maybe I need to start my own “column” about internet dating (and dating, and sex and relationships and marriage – I’ve got above-average experience in all those areas….oh, and divorce….)  or maybe I could just have it be a “category” on this blog.

Either way, there are some men reading this post who might not be thrilled about this development.  Not to worry boys, I won’t give any identifying information away as I’m dissecting whatever it is that happened between us.  My focus is usually on moi, duh.

But would I need an alias?!?

Maybe!!  The Moratorium is in effect right now, but eventually I’m likely to want sex a relationship.  It doesn’t seem like the chick who blogs about internet dating would be the most popular chick on an internet dating site….

“Dear Sugar…” is already taken – that would’ve been a good one.  And if you haven’t read Sugar’s column, you totally should.  It  is about all sorts of stuff and she is both funny and wise. 

I just want to be funny….  and a little bit helpful. 

Oh man, I’ve always been bored with “Kimberly”, maybe this is my opportunity to pick something over-the-top to call myself!  “Elektra?”  “Cindy Loo Who?”  “Eloise?”  “Undersigned?”

Anyway.  Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Warnings?  Threats?

I think it could be fun.  And certainly more fun than getting a “real” job.

Sorry, Irene!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  don’t worry your pretty little heads, people, i will figure out how to make money without a J-O-B soon.  i think.

p.s.s.  and wouldn’t it be kind of awesome to have ten long years of mostly unsuccessful (however that  is defined….) online dating turn out to have been a GOOD THING?  Because it gave me material for entertainment/education?  it would almost be like i planned it all along.  ha.

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Filed under Things My Son Shouldn't Read, Uncategorized

very bad no good under the covers day(s)

I had a very bad no good hide under the covers day on Sunday.  Literally.  I came out from under the covers for about three hours in the middle of the day.  I had been looking forward to meeting a friend to see a movie, so I showered (woo-hoo!), went to get my glasses fixed, got some more bad news re: Mom, went directly to bed and cancelled the movie plans.

Monday wasn’t much better.  Maybe a smidge.  I got to raise my voice at a nice but naive and uninformed new Doctor and then fall apart in a spectacularly public way which resulted in me getting what I wanted, so I can’t say it was all bad.  It was just mostly bad.  The only thing that got me through the day was looking forward to crawling back under my covers as soon as I got home.

Yesterday my fabulous, genius, creative Mom with great hair (even after brain surgery) came home from the Dreaded Hospital which should’ve been cause for super-sparkly-celebration and it kind of was, but I was ready to get back to my hiding spot under the covers around 6:30 p.m. — maybe earlier.

In theory, hiding under the covers is a good idea — safe, alone, protected, warm.  Unless you are me and you have monsters. 

There is a Monster Rumpus under my covers.

It is anything but quiet under my covers.  The little beasts are screaming for attention and feeding off one another and probably eating a LOT of sugar and washing it down with espresso.  Their eyes are huge and panicked and some are actually crying.  They look like they haven’t slept in days, maybe weeks.  And, unfortunately, they are starting to smell.

It sounds a lot like this:

AARRGGHH! Mom can’t come home, how will you take care of her?  You’re all alone!  No one will help, they say they will but then they don’t and it will be just youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.  Why does anyone think you can do this?  Why do they think you are strong and brave?  You’re NOT.  You’ve never been those things, why should it start now?  And what about money??!!  If you take care of Mom you won’t be making money and then she will die and then where will you be?  Homelessssssssssssssss.  Homelessssssss!  Such a failure.  You had such potential….. Disappointment=you!  What if you get super annoyed by Mom and you are mean to her!  She’s dying and you are a horrible, selfish, bitch and everyone will know it.  This is just the beginning of the end and you will have NO LIFE until this dying thing is over and then what?  Then you still have no life because you will be depressed.  How can you even think about your silly life when Mom is going through all this?  Overwhelmed!  Sadness!  Nothing will be good ever again, or at least for such a long time that you will be super old AND probably get ovarian cancer, so it just won’t be good.  And do you think your one child is going to take care of you when you get sick?  He needs to have his life.  You don’t want to be a burden on him, but you will be an orphan and sick and all alone.  You will probably live in one of those homes where sad, sick, old people live and no one will remember you.  And you will still owe money for student loans!  LOSER!  Good thing you got married so many times before because you are never ever going to find anyone to love now.  Who would want to spend time with someone who is going through this nightmare with her mother, much less get involved?  And when this nightmare is over you will be even closer to (or god forbid over) 50, FIFTY!  You think you’re going to find love and companionship when you’re so old? You probably won’t even be able to find casual sex!  Sadness!  Fear!  Overwhelm! And don’t forget you probably have to move out of this house that Mom had to have and you have to do it all alone.  And the house is huge, you will never be able to get it done and where will you live?? Doom!  Doom!

Ya, it sounds like that, but much, much worse.

I’m not sure why it has taken me this long to realize that the monsters have all but ruined my under the covers experiences and, more importantly, that I have the power to reclaim the safety and protection of under the covers anytime I want.

Which is now.

Me:  (with bullhorn – the pink one) “QUIET!  I want to talk to the Loudest Monster right NOW.  Everyone else will be quiet.”

(lots of whispering and squealing and shoving and jockeying for position until an altogether beige and dreary looking, droopy monster with sad eyes makes it’s way to the front of the pack and says….)

Monster:  (heavy sigh) “What do you want?  I’m really very busy right now and would appreciate it if you could refrain from interrupting me when I’m working.”

Me:  (momentarily speechless…)  “Excuse me? You and your band of doom and gloom and all things awful are driving me CRAZY.  What is this all about?”

Monster:  “You are our person.  We are trying to protect you.  As usual…”

Me:  “By depriving me of a safe space and convincing me that I am useless, a disappointment and powerless and nothing ever works out?”

Monster:  “And reminding you that you are alone, you are just one person and this situation with your Mom is too much for you to handle.”

Me:  (chest feels heavy, sadness)  “I can see why, when I was much younger and things were truly out of my control, you believed that you had to protect me this way.  Thank you.  But that was Then and this is Now, I’ve changed and you haven’t.  It makes me sad to think about how long I’ve listened to you and believed you, even in the face of evidence that none of what you say is even true.”

Monster:   (defensive) “What do you mean it isn’t true?  Of course it is.  Look at your history.  I, we, love you, but you have made some bad decisions and you are, in fact, all alone.”

Me:  (again with the sad…)  “You guys really do only live in the Then, don’t you?  You must be really tired dealing with all of the crises that you create.  I think we need to come up with a better strategy.  I would like to just get rid of you altogether, but that would make you sad, plus it is totally unrealistic.  On some level you must be helpful, right?  Or maybe not.  I don’t know, but I do know that I just need you to quiet down.  What will it take to make that happen?

Monster:  “We are tired.  Maybe if you didn’t wait until you were under the covers to acknowledge our existence and we felt “heard” we could relax a bit.  Maybe even take a nap or have some quiet time.”

Me:  (indigant)  “I am pretty fucking good at acknowledging my fears – out loud – so I’m shocked when you say you don’t feel “heard” — do I have to be freaked out and overwhelmed and bawling before you feel heard?  That is bullshit.  Now I’m pissed. You don’t just want me to acknowledge you, you want me to buy into you.

Monster:  “Of course we want you to buy into us, duh.  How else could we control — oops, I mean protect you.”

Me:  “This discussion is not going the way I had imagined.  I thought I needed to embrace you and try to acknowledge you and I was prepared to try to do that, but I don’t think you care about me at all, so why should I even bother with you?  I can handle some fear and sadness, I know they will always be part of my experience, but this whole monster-palooza in my head and taking over my life needs to be over.  The party is over.  Pack up your shit and get out.  This past few days of misery were your last hurrah.”

(monster panic ensues “nooooooo, you neeeeeed us!” and “but, but, but…!” and “you will never survive without us!” and squeaking and whining and crying and stomping of feet…)

Monster:  “Interesting.  You can make us leave, but we will be back.  You don’t even know how to do life without us.”

Me:  “Whatever.  I am totally onto you guys now.  You may be back, but you will never have the same power over me and your visits will be much shorter and less fucking painful.  Maybe you should re-evaluate your process and see if you can, in fact, find a way to be helpful and protective.”

Monster:  “Oh ya?  You’re still all alone.”

Me:  “Except for the fact that I’m not.” and “Fuck you.”

THE END

Wow.  That didn’t go the way I thought it would.  I’m a little riled up and pissed off at those monsters.  And at me for listening to them.  Oh well, live and learn, right?  I think they will be less of a problem from now on.

Mom is home and it isn’t as awful and scary and doom and gloom as I imagined it would be.  She is really happy to be here and is getting around really well, even tho our house is almost entirely stairs.  Thanks for all the support and love and telling me I’m not the worst person ever to walk the face of the earth.

xoxo

kim

 

 

 

 

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me + lesbian porn.

Ha!  I knew the lesbian porn thing would get your attention!

Here’s the deal.

I’ve been trying to write this damn post for hours and hours.  It doesn’t want to come out.  At least not in any form that would be entertaining or even coherent, really.  I’ve written about all sorts of things today, none of which are related or even fucking complete thoughts at this point.  One kind of did involve lesbian porn, so using that phrase in the title was somewhat justified.  Or it was a cheap ploy to get your attention.  You decide.

The problem is that I made this committment to write every day and to “blog” (i.e., write shit that other people might possibly read) at least three times a week, so I am kind of required (by myself) to post something today, even if it isn’t anywhere near close to my usual brilliant prose.

Without further ado, here is what I’m thinking about today.  Comments are oh-so-welcome!

1.  Lesbian Porn —  I got together with my favorite lesbian lawyer friend (MFLLF) last night (woo-hoo!) and, after drinking a massive margarita, decided I should totally tell her about my thing.  After I got all excited and blurted it out I realized immediately that I had made a potentially disastrous mistake.  MFLLF is such a lawyer.  If I didn’t know better I would think she was a Virgo, like most of my other lawyer lady friends.  (you know who you are…..!)  She’s super smart.  Very organized.  Uber-practical.  And, like all lawyers (including, of course, yours truly) she truly believes in the whole concept of needing things to be very defined, rule-bound and clean.  Plus, every [good] lawyer knows that you never, ever undertake anything that you don’t absolutely know you are qualified to do.  And by “qualified” I mean someone has given you written permission to do it, in the form of a degree or a certificate or something tangible.

I know ya’all don’t know what my thing is yet, but let me tell you straight up that it has nothing to do with anything The Man says I’m qualified to do by virtue of having written permission, i.e., it’s not law, it’s not business administration or marketing.  Further, The Man hasn’t even decided if what I want to do is even a real thing.  Questions abound!

Anyway.  MFLLF really really really wanted to be supportive.  And, unfortunately, her lawyer brain really really really hated the idea of me presuming to do something that I didn’t have permission to do.  So, in a very sweet way, she got a teensy bit  judgy.

I panicked.  Why had I revealed my thing in such dangerous waters?  So reckless!  And, now my inner fuck you was DYING to make a scene.  I had to think quickly!

So I deftly steered the conversation away from my thing by raising the topic of lesbian porn.  Whew!  Crisis averted.

Anyway, we had fun.  She didn’t mention my thing again.  In the cold light of day, I feel kind of bad, because this makes me sound uber-manipulative.  I don’t think I consciously thought about what I was doing.  It was a natural instinct.  If there’s one thing I know about my lesbian friends (lawyers or not lawyers) is that they love to hear straight girls talk about sex-related things.  I think they have this theory that there are no real straight girls, just girls who are denying their true sexuality.  Again, I’m totally generalizing.  Plus implying that MFLLF is easily distracted, which she isn’t.  And rambling.  See why I can’t write a good post today?  Anyway, there it is.  Lesbian porn.

2.  The Moratorium – I hate it.  Part of it is a good idea and I know why I did what I did, but really, what a fucking nightmare.  (pun intended)

3.  Homework – I signed up for 2 online classes related to my thing!  One starts tomorrow.  Which means I have homework.  Said homework involves writing.  I don’t wanna do it.  Why?  Excellent question.  I think because it makes my thing a little (a lot) more real and there is always the slight possibility that I could totally suck at it.  Which I will only know if I actually try to do it.  And you know how conflicted I am about trying to do things that I don’t already know I can do really, really well.  I realize this is all circular.  I warned you.

4.  Grace in Small Things – I signed up for a program called “Grace in Small Things“.  So, the goal is to find 5 things that I’m grateful for, blessed with, graced with, whatever, every day for 365 days.  Easy, right?  Not if you’re a negative newt like me!  It is so much easier for me to be snarky and cynical and glass-half-empty-ish than it is for me to be (cringe) cheerful and (god forbid) perky.  Anyway, I’m going to try.  Yay me!

Here are some small things I’m happy/grateful about today:

  • Getting back in touch with an old friend over the weekend!  She is smart AND pretty.  And, one of my all-time favorite memories is sitting in her office practicing using the “c***” word out loud.  I know, right?
  • Seeing MFLLF finally and hearing about some of my old cases/kiddos — things seem to be alright without me.
  • Facebook!  I love finding old friends and keeping up with family, especially my Awesome Son.  Who, by the way, I absolutely do NOT facebook stalk.
  • Free wi-fi.  I’m at a cafe right now and so grateful that I can work just about anywhere these days.
  • Lesbian porn.  Just checking to see if you are still reading… and I would totally understand if you were not.

Well, that’s about it for me. 

xoxo

kim

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