Yoo-hoo! Universe? Are you listening?

I've wondered a lot if a person can be unlucky, or just lacking luck? I don't want to call myself unlucky, tradjedy does not befall me at every step, and I'm thankful every day for the health and safety of me and my family and friends... BUT.

I am most definitely lacking in the luck department.

I still haven't won anything. Remember November 2006? Six months after my daughter was born, and I managed, even through traveling to the Appalachians, to post every single day in that month on this blog. I know you remember, right? You may also recall that I won! I won a prize! And then let's also recall the fact that my prize was never mailed to me. Ever.

And the crappy-est part is that I'm surrounded by people who are receiving massive blessings-in-disguise and money. Money, you hear? That's what I'm wating for. To my pals who burned down thier kitchen and got a complete remodel and the rest of the house painted for $1000? I'm happy for you. And Tere and P who each had/will have 4 month paid severace (aka vacation) plus unemployment to look for a new job, that's awesome. And Mom, I'm sorry your car got totalled, but damn! That was a nice check they gave you for a new one!

So now I ask: what about me? Mr./Ms. Universe, I'm totally waiting here. I would love a new car, or a paid vacation (and no, maternity leave does not count because I'm only paid for half, and it is faaaar from a vacation), or even just a nice chunk of change because.... well, because I'm me. And I think that I deserve something nice once in a while. Something that I didn't buy for myself, or ask P to buy for me.

The last thing I remember winning was Dumbo and Cinderella VHS's at Disneyland. When I was like 7. And it was my mom's winning ticket she gave to me, not even mine. And karma? Dude, I've been totally beng nice to people, letting them merge in front of me, and helping little old ladies cross the street... Okay, not that last one, but I always say hi to the old lady next door and bring her cookies when I bake.

So please? Can I get something for nothing? Or something BIG for verry little?

Sincerely,
Aletta C

My Favorite Commercial Holiday, After Christmas and St. Patrick's Day

By Aletta C

In most situations, I am not one to be seduced by commercialism, but in the case of today, I am all for celebrating a made-up holiday.

Some people have blogged about how dumb it is to spend all this money to show someone you love them, and why do you need a certain day set aside for that anyway? Well, I’m here to tell you that maybe I picked the short straw out of the bunch, but my husband does not send me flowers at work “just because.” I do regularly get awesome gifts from him, but only because our wedding anniversary, my birthday, our first kiss and Christmas are roughly every three months throughout the year.

I’m not jealous of you people who get diamonds every year, and a dozen roses because you weren’t smiling in the morning when you left for work. Really? I’d rather my husband surprise me with a clean house and a home-cooked meal, than to splurge on an over-priced bouquet of roses that smell like tomatoes, or to buy yet another piece of jewelry that I won’t wear because I don’t want to lose it. Better yet, let me sleep in Sunday morning, and go pick some daisies with Boogie for me.

That being said, I sure as shit am not passing up a free meal at the restaurant of my choice. We’re doing our part to slow down the recession, and if that involves eating fresh-caught swordfish and oysters that were scraped off a rock while I was making my coffee that morning (hopefully not from the hideously polluted Richardson Bay though..) how can I shun commercialism for that?

Now, we don’t buy each other $4 cards, or spend $30 on chocolates. We go to dinner, a nice, romantic moment alone, which we rarely have the opportunity to indulge in between work, taking care of Boogie, and our various other social engagements. The next weekend we exchange Valentine goodies, when we can get them for 95% off, and laugh at people who actually paid full-price for them.

But that’s just us.

We can still smile at the new couples who are all stressed out the day before, running to find the flowers and balloons, and the couple the night of whose limbs are entwined throughout dinner. We think it’s cute, but we’ve been together long enough to know 1) this day is an excuse (yay! Free babysitting!) for us to go out alone and 2) there is so much more we’d like to do with the money we would have been spending on all the gifts and flowers.

I did get him a present though. I figure that since he’ll be paying for dinner, I could get away with buying him some “manly essentials” which he always procrastinates buying for himself.

So, Happy Valentine’s Day! Hope you make of it whatever makes you happiest!

Helplessly Individual

I did a home visit with a client yesterday afternoon, and on it, I met an educated, strong Black woman who should have been in her prime, but was instead a disabled single mother, raising two kids on less than $800 per month. She was alone. I couldn't do anything to help her.

Ever day at work I see people like me, my classmates, my peers, who come in downtrodden, beaten up by the world, disheartened, depressed, wasting their lives at low paying jobs, neglecting their children, then escaping it all through drugs and alcohol. And I can't help thinking why not me? Why didn't I turn out like them? We came form the same neighborhood, we both were raised by single mothers, we went to the same schools, we made similar mistakes, and we ended up so differently in such a short time.

One thing I noticed is that I never fit in. Feeling like a part of something has always eluded me. I can't wrap my head around how other people think sometimes, how they spend money frivolously not thinking of the future, or want to spend all their time getting wasted. I'm an outdoors girl, hiking or at a park with Taryn, or taking her someplace to explore something new. I want to do something when I have time, I need to be busy or I feel lost. And those people who had all the friends, not all of them, but many of the ones I see at work were more interested in fitting in than discovering who they really were.

The other thing I noticed is that I've always been surrounded by good, strong people. My mom is the most amazing woman I have ever met, I am so blessed to have her as a guide in my life, and she has struggled to show me that I can succeed at anything I put my mind to. She has shown me other examples of strong women, not Oprah-rich or well-to-do, but those women who have overcome obstacles most people could never imagine living through and they learned to love life at the end of it all.

Right now I am surrounded by mentors, people who I learn from everyday, even when they don't know they are teaching me a lesson. One is helping me to learn how to face conflict in an open and honest way right now, something I never learned to do. She is helping me learn to resolve problems I have while maintaining the relationship, just by not letting me push her away while being bitchy. Another is showing me that no matter what your circumstances, you can always go higher, do better, reach for more. It doesn't matter your educational background, if you fight for something, you're going to achieve it.

And I feel like I need to do something with this knowledge that I have. I feel like I've been given the gift of being an outsider, and by flitting from place to place, never being able to get comfortable enough to stop growing and learning, but I haven't helped anyone. I want to do something. I want to help people. I don't have enough money to feed the hungry people I see, or buy all the kids new sneakers, but I feel like I could help someone do better than where they are now, but I don't know how.

The client that I saw last night told me an inspirational story of her dying on the way to the hospital, and being ripped away from the peace and love of people she loved, back to a world of pain and heartache. I know she's here for a reason, she doesn't know why yet, and I'm not so self-centered to think she was brought back just to inspire me, but she has. I need to do something, to spread my good fortune and faith to other people, but I feel so helpless as an individual.

So there it is. I'm asking the Universe for a sign. I've asked before, and God showed me He was real, more than once to be honest, and call me crazy, I'm pretty sure that one day soon, I'll have an outlet to help people. I don't believe God has given me all these lessons and knowledge to keep all for myself.

I Think Extradition is Still an Option

A few years ago P and I were having a party at our place. The drinks were flowing, and mid-way through the night (maybe 2am?) one of his cousins came up and gave me a big hug and said "What up my NIGGA?"

I didn't want to be confrontational, so I pulled him aside and let him know that although I didn't personally take offense to his statement, he may not want to go around saying that to just anybody, due to how a more racially-sensitive person may react. He was stunned that he could have potentially offended me, and apologized profusely, tears got in the mix and we ended up outside having a long discussion on why, in the US, it's just not appropriate sometimes.

He's not from here, and I knew his intentions were not to be racist, but instead he used the word in an effort to connect with me and I got that, even though it's not a smart idea since he is Latino. But really, I'm all about intention. If you are ignorant, fine. Lesson learned. But if you are shouting out racial epithets to demonstrate how racist you are, burn in hell.

I don't usually delve into the entertainment realm here on my blog for the simple fact that I really don't usually care enought to comment on it, but this Dog the Bounty Hunter thing is starting to piss me off.

Yes, he shouldn't have said Nigger.

Yes, he's an idiot, because from most reports, the girlfriend is Puerto Rican, not Black.

Yes, I agree that all these tear-soaked aplogies are probably his regret at being caught and his show getting yanked.

Maybe he really does feel a connection with Black folks, and thought he was in the clear to use the word.

BUT, I have a strong objection to the context of his slur, not only because of the intent of his rant was to talk shit about the girlfriend, but also under the pretext of his private conversation being taped.

Look, this guy is no Don Imus, and I know if this were a popular blog I'd catch heat for saying this, but give him a break. He didn't say it on his show. He wasn't on the radio shouting out racially-charged statements or in a comedy club yelling it at people. This was supposedly a private conversation between himself and his son, and I wish all the people who are persecuting him would swear on their mothers' graves that they never used a racial slur in private before.

I'm not saying it's okay. I am saying that I've made prejudiced jokes about all kinds of people, and occasionally used slurs. I called Boogie a Beaner the other day, forwarded a (pretty funny) racist email to Teresa yesterday, and said that a movie was "gay." That doesn't mean that I love Boogie, Teresa, Vic and Ally any less, it just means that sometimes I'm not as sensitive or PC as I should be, especially when it comes to humor. I know they make jokes about Black people, I'm sure they've said Nigger before in their lives, but they are not out in public saying these things, and I don't really get why everyone has to charge up this one slur into monumental proportions.

Slavery ended almost a hundred and fifty years ago. I think it's time that we focus on moving forward, instead of dredging up all the pain in the past. I don't believe in punishing children for what their parents did. And I think it's unfair, considering all the people who have been discriminated against that the only word that ever gets this much press is Nigger. I should say that I personally dont' use it in everyday conversation, but I have. And if I'm only half-Black, does that make me racist too? If Boogie said it, being only a quarter Black, is it still okay? Where do we draw the line?

I also think Dog needs to grow some fucking balls, man up and admit that he was pissed and used the word in anger, rather than this blubbery-pussy shit. It's almost more degrading that he can't just admit to screwing up, and has to explain away a pretty human reaction. He's a bounty hunter for christsakes, not a damn priest.

I've never seen his show, and I'm not interested in watching after this hoopla. But I think there are very few uber-PC people in the world who don't slip once in a while. It happens. Can we get on with life now?

How Could I Forget?

The pimply-faced teenage boys sitting on the fence railing. They quickly light up a Marlboro Red to mask the undeniable scent of skunk weed.

Pre-pubescent girls skipping hand in hand down the middle of the street, singing off-key in more of a holler than a wail, the latest Pop songs, infusing a bubbly-innocent but deeply felt emotion into an otherwise bland and uninspiring chart topper. As if they truly knew what love and loss were.

The rowdy black poodle from the building over chained up to his porch at 10:30pm. He barks like the Second Coming of Christ is happening right before his eyes, and he's going to miss his ascendency because of a red nylon collar. But all that is really passing in front of him is a fat orange cat lumbering to his righful side of the street.

And herds of kids barely out of Pampers riding hot pink scooters and baby blue banana seat bikes with the white handle bar tassles and the sparkly, clinking spoke jewels. Their parents meander slowly behind them, holding hands and admiring the beautiful children they spend every waking hour thinking of, worrying about, and protecting. They can't help but to feel like the luckiest people in the world, to be surrounded by so much love and laughter.

I love late summer nights.

Fear of Failure

Damn, you know when you read something, and it's just a bit too close for comfort? Like studying psychology and you get convinced that you have half the diagnosis in the book, except this time you really know for sure that shit, that's something to work on....

I read a blog earlier today, and it hit pretty close to home, a little closer than I'd like to admit, and I mind-blocked it, but instead of going away I started to mind-trip off it and whoa... I'm embarassed to say that I am horribly afraid of failure.

Now some people are like, "Duh Woman," and maybe it's one of those things that is super-evident to an outsider, but not so obvious when you're stuck in the middle of it. I used to pride myself that I was hired at every job I applied to, until today I started thinking that I've only applied to a handful of places, so really, that's no major feat. I mean, yes, I take pride in the fact that I was on Student Government and I was chosen for a NASA internship, and I was hired as one of five out of more than 100 applicants for my current position, but I think in most of those situations, I could have taken it a step further, but I didn't because I was scared to fail.

I could have run for Governemnt after Freshman year, I really enjoyed it, but although I've always been well-know, I haven't really been in the "popular" group at school and I didn't want to embarass myself by making an effort for something I really wanted, and not succeeding. So I chose instead to just not run. To not put myself out there, to not take that risk. I wish now I had, but I can't go back and change that.

When I was at the NASA internship, I can't say I consciously sabotoged myself. I genuinely had issues with some of the people there, but I wonder if those issues were an excuse for me to leave early so that I didn't end up not being the best, the smartest intern there? I was definitely the cutest, but not quite as sharp as some of the other people.

And with this job, I wanted to apply for a different one, but I didn't think I had enough experience and I knew I would have a better chance of getting into this one so I didn't even apply for the other one. I figured that if I was an EW for long enough that maybe I'd have a better chance of doing what I really want to do.

I think this fear of failure has some positives too, though. P and I are still together because I didn't want to disappoint my family and friends by being a divorcee afer a year.

But it's easier to say "I didn't even try," than "I tired and I failed." For me at least. It's easier for me to be dependent on P than to put myself out in public to make new friends and develop new interests. It's just easier to avoid life than to face it head on and have the disappointments that are bound to happen.

But I'm working on it. When I'm feeling depressed, I'm getting better at getting out of the house for a hike instead of sitting in my room alone. And I'm looking for new jobs that I really want to do, not just what I'm qualified to do. I'm trying to push past my limits and develop new hobbies and just experience more that is out of my comfort zone. I'm trying to get past my faer of failure, even before I recognized what it was.

At home with with P, I'm lovey-dovey, mostly accommodating, but also very quick to point out error and proposed solutions.

When I am interacting with Taryn, I am also very loving, but much less critical, and very thoughtful in my praise.

Conversing with some friends, I am more outgoing, sharing my ideas and stream-of-consciousness freely, but with others I am reserved, more apt to listen than offer my own opinions.

In the work environment, I am super-quiet, very hesitant to call attention to myself, reluctant to offer any insight in a situation, and generally stick to myself, my office, and my business.

The more I've thought about it today, I think these are all genuine facets of my personality. I can't say that one is more "me" than another, although I do feel more comfotable in some situations than others and am more likely to be open with some people, as opposed to others, depending on the context of our relationship.

I think I am generally a reserved person. I prefer to observe a situation and get a feel for the ideas and beliefs of those in it before I make myself known, and I feel like I've almost always carried that guardedness with me. But people who know me know I'm a dork, a loud-mouthed goof when I feel comfortable, though I feel like I always try to stay conscious of my affect on others.

Maybe the difference in comfort level has more to do with the extremes in emotion that I am willing to show, which I always feel but possibly hide better from people that I don't want to know me too well. If you've never seen me pissed, that's a huge part of my personality that I haven't.. for whatever reason... shown to you.

I don't know. I almost feel like there is so much to me, it's hard to find anyone who has seen most, or all, of me. Even those people who are closest to me don't know a lot about one part of me or another, and maybe it's normal? I think it's kind of cool to have a special relationship with someone, to share inside jokes and stories, but to have some things that are only between you and someone else. I don't know if I'd be comfortable if someone knew everything about me. What if they decided they weren't impressed after all? Or they got bored with the lack of mystery?

And I don't feel like I normally intentionally withhold parts of myself, but I think in a way it's fun to be able to be that different person sometimes. If I feel like I need to vent, I can slip into the wife-role and have a glass of wine with a girlfriend and bitch about how much it sucks to be married sometimes. Or if I want to escape the wifey-ness I can dress up in a hot little outfit and go clubbing with some of my single girlfriends.

I do wish that some of my friendships could involve more than one facet of my personality, but sometimes it just doesn't work out like that, maybe because I hate using the phone, or because they already have enough people filling that role for them. Anyway, I appreciate my friends for what each brings, and I love them, and shit, my breath hella smells like garlic from lunch.

Yech....

Actors All the Time

I know we all do it, I see it in myself more often than I'd like to admit, but isn't it interesting how differenly people act, depending on who the audience is?

So how do we tell who is the real us, and who is merely a facade?

Nothing Sweeter in the World

My favorite part of the day is right between 4:28 and 4:42. Just before I leave work, I am so excited to go home to see Taryn. My heart starts beating a little faster, jokes are a bit more funny, my steps just that much quicker.

As soon as I open the door and see her face, all the stress of the day melts away. As soon as her eyes and mine meet, and she gets a huge toothy grin on her face, raises her arms up to me and I swoop her up in a soul-soothing hug, I can't imagine anywhere else in the world I'd rather be, or any other person that I could possibly love that much.

I love snuggling in her wrinkly old-man neck, that smells like lavender from her bath the night before, and dried veggies from lunch, sometimes spit-up or dog... but on her it's this magical mix of scents that clear my mind of distractions and focus me on the intense loveliness of the moment.

And holding her cold toes in my hand while she tries to rip out my earrings or nose ring, pulls my baby hairs, or yanks my shirt up to my forehead like, "Mama, hurry up and get this crap off so I can eat!" Really. I can't think of a more pleasant, calming, restorative few minutes than right when I get home.

I see why kids have to break their parents' hearts. If Taryn agreed, I'd probably nurse her until she was married, have her sleep with me at night until she had her own kids, and stop by daily for snuggles and hugs until I was laid in my grave.

The most intense feeling of my life is this right here. The love for my child. This is what I've been searching for my entire life, through drugs, alcohol, partying... Nothing can compare to the pure bliss I feel when I see my T-Boogie.

Ebb and Flow

Sometimes we click, sometimes we don't. More often than not lately, it seems like we're strangers. That the calls and the emails are obligatory. We plan to get together but then something always comes up and we're left exactly where we started.

It's to be expected. We're in different places now. When we first met, we had so much in common. Over the years we've both grown into independent adults. I've gotten married and had a child. You are on your way to the same, but squeezing the last bit of freedom out before it happens. It's to be expected.

We both have new friends. Your friends go out and party, travel, they don't have families to come home to, mortgages to pay. My friends are more home-bound and I know it's boring for you, and I'm sorry for that, but I've partied all my life. Now I'm doing the same in a new way. I have to be near my baby. I won't waste time getting ready to go out, or being so hungover the next day that I can't enjoy my time with her. You don't have the same worries I do. It's to be expected.

People grow apart in life, sometimes they grow back together. As much as I'd love to flow with you, seems we're at a lull. We have different lives, different priorities. You won't let me support you, and so now I don't know what to do. It's not that I feel useless, but you say you need this and that, and you still won't let me help you. There are all the grand plans, but none of them are happening. And I don't want to be the nag. I won't nag you. If you want to see us, we're here, otherwise... I can't take the responsibility for maintaining the friendship all alone. I don't have the energy.

So we'll see. Life events have a way of bringing people back together. My only thought is, is this happening now because you know you are leaving? Is it easier to push me away now, and not have to deal with it when you finally have your bags packed? If it's easier for you, fine. As long as you're conscious of your motivations. It's always easier to leave then to be left anyway.

Credit Revolution

I had a dream last night that I was in a bougie store, the kind of place where a summer dress will cost you $350 and nail polish is $24 per bottle. Before they let me in the store, I got the typical eye rolls, sighs of impatience, and flat out questioning if I could afford anything. "Of course not, I just want to look around while I wait for my friend."

I liked the clothes. They were cute, and the purses were adorable too. But even in my dreams I knew I couldn't afford anything there.

I'm one of those people who is firmly planted in reality. I like to dream, but I also know that its destructive to live beyond your means. My mom taught me fiscal responsibility when I was young. If I wanted to buy a big-ticket item, like a walkman or new rollerskates, she would agree to pay for half, and I had to save the other half from my allowance or earn it doing extra chores around the house, before I could buy anything.

I've carried those values into adulthood. When I want to buy something, I save up for it until I have a good portion of the cost, the entire cost if I'm feeling particularly patient, or I put the rest on a credit card after I've worked out my payment plan with myself. I don't use credit cards to delay the inevitable. I use them when I'm in a bind, and pay them off as quickly as possible. I hate carrying balances.

Unlike P.

This guy has no self-restraint. Delayed gratification is not in his vocabulary. I take that back, he can be responsible, but when he sets his eye on something he wants, he figures its better to buy now and pay later so he can enjoy it more. I admire his fanaticiscm, if not his lack of fiducuary wherewithal.

It's hard being young with very little disposable income. I wracked up bills while I was on maternity leave, and three months after going back to work I'm no where near close to paying them off. It was worth it to me though, to stay home with Taryn longer, but it's hard looking at my budget and seeing that I have $150 to last me two weeks, for gas, groceries, diapers... I don't get to go out to eat, or to buy new clothes. I had to downgrade our cell phone service and cancel the HBO.

But it's a choice. I'm choosing to be responsible. I can't afford a new car, as much as I need one, so I'll drive the Mazda into the ground. I can't afford to take Taryn to the Discovery Museum, so I'll take her on hikes and show her the flowers and deer, or to the beach and let her play in the sand and the ocean. I can't afford new clothes, so I'll mix and match what I have in my closet, maybe buy a couple pairs of new shoes to spice up the wardrobe and wait for the after-season sales to get something cute for next year.

And I hope that I can instil in her a sense of the limits of money, how to make it last and how to appreciate the outdoors and not rely on electrical toys for entertainment. I hope that she doesn't get caught up in the credit revolution, that she learns how to delay her gratification and only buy the things she really, really wants, and to the exclusion of less important things. And maybe she'll be a doctor or lawyer and have massive amounts of extra cash to throw around and put me up in a good home with a reliable car, but even then, I hope she can see the value of a dollar and be responsible with her money. Or her partners money.

People think it's weird P and I have separate accounts. We have joint accounts, but my checking is separate from his, and we have our own savings accounts as well. We used to share a credit card, and we do still have one for mutual large purchases, like plane tickets, but when it came time to pay the bill each month and he couldn't pay his part, it irked me. I didn't want to carry balances, and he's okay with that, so we decided to separate our finances to a degree. I pay more in bills each month, but he just pays one lump-sum majority payment for the mortgage. He couldn't handle the details of paying the same 10 bills on time every month, so I took over those.

When he wants to buy something dumb (I mean, for himself) he puts it on his credit card. And yes, it ends up that I end up paying for everything for the house, and he puts all his money towards paying off his separate debt, but whatever. I'm not going to be petty about it because it's not exactly his fault that he isn't responsible. I'm sure coming from absolutely nothing to the ability to buy whatever he wants is overwhelming, and not having had the early experience in managing income, it's a hard skill to learn as an adult.

All I'm saying is, I'm damn grateful to be as money-saavy as I am. And I'm trying to get some of that to rub off on P and Taryn. I've got more hope for the latter.

Directly Proportionate to Success

For the past few years, P has been in a slump. My thought was maybe there was some depression floating around that he wasn't willing to recognize, and I tried to support him in doing what makes him feel better, like going to the gym, taking up hobbies, or going back to school. But along with the depression was a serious lack of motivation. A few weeks to a few months after starting something, he'd revert back to his work, eat, watch TV, sleep routine.

Eventually he did admit that he might be depressed, and though he was adamant about not seeing a therapist, not taking medication, I think his recognition of a possible cause to the feelings he was having allowed him to open up a bit more to the suggestions that I was making. So we started looking for a new job for him.

P is very loyal to his company, and though he wanted to work in a new capacity, his hope was to stay at that particular company. We tried applying for him at the County, however, due to benefits and commute issues, and he was super-successful in the testing and interviewing for this particular position, but when it came down to a choice between him and a female candidate, they took the female. It made sense to us. The department he was interviewing for did focus on women a lot, but all the same he fell into a slump, got very discouraged about applying for any more jobs, and we decided maybe he should focus on going back to school.

He did a lot of research on colleges, and decided on Cal State East Bay, where he could get his degree in computer something-or-other in 6 years. We looked into different loan options so that he could just work part-time and go to school full time, and though I wasn't stoked about living the next chapter of my life hand-to-mouth, I threw my heart into supporting him and backing him on whatever decision he made, as long as he stayed motivated.

Sound familiar? Yeah, it was a week or so after this decision, and two weeks before I could get an appointment to see my OB, that I got pregnant.

So, fuck. He threw this shit in my face whenever he would get drunk, that he wanted to go back to school but because I got pregnant, he couldn't do that anymore. I had to remind him over and over and over that I hadn't had sex with myself. And that everything happens for a reason.

It was really hard in the beginning, thinking about how we were going to keep being upwardly mobile while having a baby. Thinking how in the hell we would afford being parents, when we barely had enough for ourselves. I think he was secretly pleased he didn't have to go back to school, seeing as he wasn't quite as education-minded as I was, he knew he couldn't work full-time and go to school full-time like I had, especially with a baby on the way.

After the beginning of the new year, we decided he should probably keep applying for jobs. At first, he applied everywhere, but didn't get an interview, probably due to his lack of formal education. As my belly grew, we realized that he couldn't leave his company, due to me and the baby needing to be on his medical benefits while I was off work, and so he focused on a promotion at the same job.

It was a rough time. I was saving every last penny I could for my maternity leave, so we didn't have much extra for eating out or going places. I spent a lot of time shopping for second-hand furniture for Taryn's room, figuring out budgets so I could stay out for a full 6 months, exercising to try to get myself in shape for labor, and of course sleeping. A lot. Our relationship suffered. I was so focused on the baby, I forgot my husband needed nurturing too. He was so focused on providing for his family that he couldn't get excited for the baby. I don't think it was real for him, even when I was so huge we couldn't lay on the couch together and watch a movie anymore, even when he would feel her kick and move around. It wasn't real until a couple weeks before she was born I had a third ultrasound to make sure she was growing okay, and he got to see her little legs kicking around, and her heart beating.

And after Taryn was born, we were so focused on getting her situated in this new foreign world and were so sleep deprived that he didn't look for work like we had planned while he was on his paternity leave. So he had to stumble back to the same job with the same pay and more worries while I was at home taking care of Taryn for months. And months.

And finally! After more than a year of looking for work, he was hired for a new position in the Company. A job that didn't give him a raise, but was closer to home, and something he enjoyed doing. And finally! He started coming out of the slump that had lasted the last few years.

We started talking more. And having sex more. Cooking together, and reading together, and taking Taryn out on the weekends to visit friends and family. He was finally feeling that he had acheived something. And he really had. He was able to find a job that he enjoyed, with some awesome co-workers, and started making comissions on his closings. He even told me he enjoyed the job so much he would take a pay-cut to stay there. Without any education.

And a lot of people knocked him for not going back to school. For not taking a second job when Taryn was born so that I could stay home longer with her. In general for not doing what they expected of him, like he was their little pawn or something. And for a while, I thought him working more might be a good idea too, but when I saw how his eyes light up when he sees his baby girl, and how he gets so excited telling me about his day at work, I know we made the right decision.

And things are still rough, sometimes. We don't have as much extra income as a lot of our friends, so we can't go out as much or buy as much as them. We have a lot more credit card debt than I would like, and we do still argue sometimes about the division of labor around the house now that we're both working, but we've got so much going for us right now, it sometimes amazes me to look back at where we were 5 years ago: newly married, working minimum wage jobs, living with my mom.

And now? We've got 5 years of marriage behind us, we own our home, we both have good jobs (even if they are good for different reasons), we have a beautiful baby girl, a live-in au pair, and we're happy. We fit together and this life fits us.

I'm not really sure where this post came from today. It's Easter, and I'm feeling grateful for our blessings. We've worked our asses off the last 5 years, on our jobs, on our relationship, and our happiness right now is directly proportionate to our success in everything that we've striven for.

Happy Easter!

Entitlement

Where on God's green earth does this evil little booger come from?

Why can I see a client that is dead-broke and appreciative of getting $100 in food stamps, and in the same day have someone making $1500/month curse me out for not getting any food stamps?

How do people develop the mindset that because they have been paying taxes all their lives, they deserve the assistance more than people who have always been poor?

I get so frustrated seeing clients who expect me to bend the rules for them, just because they fell on hard times but promise to get off aid as soon as they find another job. I hate these people who talk down to the mentally ill, and the single mothers, and all the other folks who come in here needing help, genuinely needing help, and all they see are beggars. They don't realize that half the people in here are no different than them, and they treat them like dirt, and me like some cruel vengeful wench, when they don't get what they expected.

I heard once that Fairness is getting what you need, not giving everyone the same thing. SO when people come in and complain that so-and-so gets Food Stamps and owns a house and three cars while they don't qualify for CMSP when owning the same, it frustrates the hell out of me.

How do you explain to someone that there are regulations we have to follow, and these programs are made to supplement someone's life, not pay for their needs entirely? How do I explain to someone that the people who get full benefits have nothing. No job. No home. No work experience. No family to support them. nd they are here with a roof over their head, and money being given to them until they get back on their feet.

Aaaaaarrrgh.

Yeah, I Talk Shit, and What?

Half the posts on here were written in anger. It doesn't mean that I will always be angry at that person, but at the moment, this blog ... my blog ... is the most constructive way of releasing it.

I'm a future-tripper, a mind-tripper, a perpetual worrier. If I didn't get it out, I can't even imagine how much crazier I would be.

Just because P is a jerk-off one day, I'm not going to leave him.

And if Teresa buys me a present for my birthday with my name on it, and a present for Taryn inside, I might be bitter, but I'm not going to hold it against her forever (though I may bring it up every couple weeks just to rag on her).

And if Johana makes dumb-ass comments and pretends to understand when she really has no idea what I'm talking about, it doesn't take away from the fact that she's great with Taryn. I'm not going to send her home for not being exactly what I expected.

So I just wanted to clarify, for myself and my reader(s) that yes, I post in anger. Yes, at the moment those sentiments capture perfectly the rage or hurt I'm feeling, and I may hold a grudge for a little while, but I'm learning forgiveness.

So much easier to forgive others than myself. But that's a whole 'nother blog.

Just a Thought

It seems to me that the thing that brings you together, is rarely what keeps you there.

In contemplating my closest friends, how we met, what we talked about in the beginning, and how our relationships are now, I'm realizing that the thing that we initally bonded over is hardly the basis of our realtionship.

I think a part of me assumed that our similarities are what would mold our friendship, and in a sense they have but only to give us an initial jumping off point; something to discuss while we got to know the real person inside. And though similarities are super-important in maintaining friendships that are in sync with your personal values, and for creating a strong foundation on which to build a relationship, I'm starting to think that it's the differences that keep us interested.

Because really, as smart and beautiful, and creative, and funny, and interesting as I am, I don't think I'd like to be around my twin all day long. Well, maybe I would because I am pretty FN cool....

But anyway, maybe I'm not a good example. I guess I just see how important it is to create a balance with people you hang out with, where opposites really do attract, and it's expected to have conflicting opinions sometimes. Learning about people's quirks and beliefs totally different from mine is part of the reason I was so interested in psychology, and I guess I'm one of those people who can really appreciate people's differences.

They might piss me off, but I can mostly see how they make you interesting to me.

Amyway, no real point here... just thinking.

Wasted on the Young

If I knew then what I know now, would I have done it differently?

But then if things were different back then, who would I be now?

So Quiet

Everyone is sleeping.

Taryn, Johana and I got back from Target about an hour ago. I walked the dogs, put all the shopping away, and I was about to crawl into bed beside P-Dely and nap the afternoon away but...

It's so quiet.

I can't hear the freeway, or cars driving past my house.

I can't hear dogs barking, or kids playing, or loud music from the neighbors.

All I hear are the birds outside, and the steady whir of Taryn's fan.

It's amazing the things you notice when it's quiet. I'm one of those people who turns down the radio when I'm driving and looking for a house I haven't been to before, and when it's quiet, I just seem to notice more.

Like the small crick in the back of my neck from watching a movie on the couch last night.

And the way the middle of the floor is clean from the dog hair being blown into the corners.

The sweet smell of an open can of Hanson's soda.

And Taryn's nasty, crusty-ass binkie that she loves unconditionally.

The breeze is nice and cool, I have fruit salad downstairs. I think I'll go read a book, savor the silence, relax, and enjoy my hard-to-find solitude before everyone wakes up.

So Much Easier to Hurt

I'm realizing that when I plan to write for an audience, I am much less inclined to write at all. Initially, I thought that I kind of chicken out from writing for people. I feel as though I put so much energy into my writitng, and then I worry that it's boring, or rude, or pointless and that nobody will want to read it anyway, so why bother?

But really. I think the truth of the matter is that when I write, I face my demons. And I'm scared shitless to let this half-formed part of myself out into the open. It's so easy for me to rant about people who piss me off or how depressed I am. I am so much more comfortable in the dark places than I am being happy, and I don't know how to express myself when I'm not hurting.

My anger is like a sharply honed knife, always ready, always strong, always a threat. And that's simple, because when I feel it, I lay my hands on the computer and the rage flows without any effort at all. But when I feel happy and content in my life I don't know how to express it. I feel like a stumbling toddler, trying to figure out how to walk for the first time, jerkily slapping words together until there is some semblance of a coherent thought, but not quite.

When I re-read my tirades, I can feel instantly how emotionally charged the words are, poised and ready to engulf my emotional self again. But my expressions of joy are dripping in euphamisms and cliched phrases that could have been pulled from any high school text book. I don't know how to convey the nuanced differences between joy and happiness, not like I can drown myself in the overwhelmingly varied expressions of hurt and depression that I am so familiar with.

How sad is that? That I can't express a positive emotion. That my emotional repertoire in general is limited to that which is negative. I don't know how I got like this, or where in life I learned to be so angry, and somehow missed the lesson on how to express contentment.

Because I am content a lot. Holding Taryn in my arms as she drifts off to sleep, or laughing with her as she sings me a baby-song while we walk the dogs. Curled up in bed on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffe in one hand, a book in the other, and the dogs lounging across my feet. Taking a stroll on a crisp Wednesday morning, scooping poop before most people hit the snooze button, or luxuriating in a steaming hot shower.

I try to take pleasure in the little things. I've faced enough disappointment in my life to savor those things that go right, to try to pull the positive from every fucked up situation... I just don't know how to convey that I like my life. I am happy with my routine and my friends and I'm not looking for more anymore. So I guess that is contentment? I really am not sure.

Lots of Good Days, Thank You

The last week or so has been good. Work has been hard, and I'm tired. Taryn hasn't been sleeping well since the last tooth came through (Four!) and her gums are split in two more places so I don't see an end to this in the near future.

But there have been some really good days, as always peppered with irritation and annoyance, but good nonetheless.

We took Taryn to the beach last Saturday. We started out in the late morning with sandwiches and had lunch at the Cheese Factory. While P napped on a blanket on the grass, Johana and I took Taryn around, showing her the ducks, and the other babies who were there. We walked by the dogs which Taryn squealed at, I think she's always shocked to see one bigger than the cat, and let her play in the grass until she started shoving handfuls of mushy cut weeds into her hair and mouth.

After an hour or so, we headed out past Bloinas and over to Stinson. The place was packed, which we didn't really expect seeing as it really wasn't that warm, and once we got Taryn changed and fed, I dropped her in the sand to take some photos. She absolutely loved the sand, couldn't get enough of wiggling her little sausage-toes around to get a feel for the consistency, and mouthing fingurs littered with it. I walked her down to the edge of the water, and let her play in the firmer, packed sand there. She loved watching the guys "surfing" on the bodyboards, the dogs running and chasing the waves, and the seagulls pecking around for forgotten crumbs.

After the beach, I planned to go home and sleep. I was exhausted from partying the night before, and I had promised to go to a bridal shower that I wasn't really wanting to attend anymore. But when we got home, Taryn's Tio Julio and Erin came by so we chatted with them for a while, ate, and I got ready to go.

And of course the Bachelorette party (I couldn't with a clear conscious call what it was a bridal shower) it was a freaking blast. I had so much fun, and even though I was dead on my feet when I got home at 4am, I was so happy with the wonderful time I had, especially since I was expecting much less.

All in all, that day was as close to perfect as I've had in years.

It was as close to perfect as I've had in a long time.

The same week was P and I's 5 year wedding anniversary. We were thinking of a quiet night in, since we had already planned to throw a St. Patrick's Day themed party to celebrate the anniversary with some friends, and funds have been tight lately so we didn't want to stretch ourselves too thin. The day we discussed not really celebrating, I received a delivery from UPS. Inside was a gift certificate to The Melting Pot, the exact place we had wanted to go to celebrate. I was so overwhelmed with gratitude, I'm sure I came off as almost flippant, since Ally was right there when it came, but sometimes I just can't fathom how good friends and God can work together so perfectly sometimes.

So Thursday I was home at lunch, feeding Taryn as I beamoand how exhausted I was and appreciating how beautiful the weather is while simultaneously wondering how to get my mood lifted, and I look at the table and see a box. I was stoked, I thought someone had delivered some fruit to P and I as an anniversary present. But holyjesus, when I opened it, I about tinkled myself in delight. Inside were 12 ginormous strawberries dipped in chocolate, some white, some milk, a couple had nuts or coconut or both white and milk chocolate.... mmmmmmmmmmm. I had to eat one right away, and since the box suggested eating them within 48 hours for the best taste, I've been freely enjoying myself for the last couple days. I still have 6 left, and though I'm sure I could eat them all myself, I have been sharing with P and Johana, and I want to save one for T&B too, so they can savor the wonderful-ness with me too.

I need to do thank you cards. I can't express to people in spoken words how much I appreciate their thoughtfulness, and caring and support. And I don't know if this last week has been better because my neurons are firing in sync, or because I'm feeling for the first time in a long time the good juju I'm surrounded by. It's so easy to focus on the stress and pain, and drama, and all that crap, but I've been trying to see the little things, and just appreciating everyday pleasures like walking the dogs early in the morning before work, or savoring a cup of coffee while I blog, those little everyday pleasures are making the big things more enjoyable too.

Another Attack of the Flapping Jaw

If someone ever wrote a book about my life, it might be titled Aletta - Normally Pretty Quiet, But When She Gets to Talking, You Won't Believe the Shit That Comes Out of Her Mouth. Seriously. I think it sounds about right.

Judge for yourself:

I was recounting an exchange between my mom and I, regarding a certain Cup of Blonde (why couldn't she be a Spoon of Blonde, then I could just call her SOB all day), to said Blondie about her girlfriend.

Already, the readers are groaning in their seats.... I know, I know. I should have seen the set-up, but the huge red flag... I thought it was just a piece of lint stuck to my eyelash.

I even prefaced this little story by telling CoB "Look, laugh at this even if you don't think it's funny so I won't know if you're mad at me."

WTF? Who says that?

Oh yeah....me.

So anyway. Here's the story. CoB has this great girlfriend who is Italian, and cooks Italian food, and she's funny as all get-out, and so yeah, I'm not the jealous type, but sometimes you wonder, you know, if maybe you're batting for the wrong team? So I was kind of moping one day when P was being a man and telling my mom about how CoB's Vic cooks! And helps her clean! And my mom makes this comment like, "Well, what are you going to do about it, go after her?"

And I thought it was hilarious, not only because CoB's Vic is so totally in love with her, but because I had been joking with another friend, we'll call her Teapot to protect the innocent, that I really wanted to get a girlfriend on the side for all the other stuff, you know? And we kind of decided that in my situation, it would probably be better to have a live-in girlfriend, and a man on the side, since men are only good for that one thing that a woman just can't do for you.

Of course, I didn't explain all this to CoB, because once the words left my mouth (see "...go after her." above. Doh!) I realized how bad it really could sound and made some lame follow-up about how I know Vic loves her and...

On a scale of one to ten, that was probably douche-y.

(God, most of you don't know just how clever I am)

And so yeah. I didn't really trip off the whole conversation, my brain didn't kick in just how lame it was to tell CoB that until she came to say 'bye' at the end of the day, and I was like, "Oh shit. She's going to tell Vic I said that. And the next time I see Vic....ah. How embarassing."

And the worst part of it, I think CoB was trying to make me feel better for being married to a stinky, sloppy man, because she told me that if Vic and her weren't together, Vic would go for a mixed girl, or a Latina. I think maybe she was trying to cover all the bases there, because most people aren't sure which I am.

So here's my disclaimer to the world: I'll be married for 5 years next month. Yes, P-Dely pisses me off, and he does smell sometimes, and while he does cook, it's often a different version of the same thing, but love is one of those fucking things that you just can't help. I can't imagine my life without him. I love him so much more than I ever planned to, and I'm happy and satisfied that every year we are together, our life together gets fuller, richer, more chock-full of amazing memories and more enjoyable.

But if I was Mormon, I'd totally have a chick on the side.