What is That Stuff Above the Peanut Characters Heads?

Today I had a job interview. It wasn't a good one. I tend to think all of them suck, and that I will fail. I don't understand why I keep trying some of the time, although I don't have many interviews; this was probably the third this year. It seems that whenever I am interviewed, the CIO or Director seems to think that being an asshole is the only way to get a sense of what type of person you are dealing with. I can see that logic. I think you can see it by being nice as well. If someone has a character flaw or has a hard time explaining themselves, that will come up naturally in the interview. At the beginning of every interview, I try to forget asking myself questions and instead focus on being centered and being true to myself. And I find that I betray myself once a situation comes up. Which leads me to being true to myself. Once this happens, I tend to spiral into self-attack - how could I have bent on my beliefs and convictions? Well, I did. No point in dwelling on it now, except to learn from it. If only I didn't dwell on it. I'm dwelling on it, and building a basement and a panic room below that. And I feel like that is the biggest obstacle to getting a job. What is my greatest weakness? Panicking and freaking out when someone pressures me to bend and my natural inclination to accommodate gets the better of me. Someday I will be able to move on. Someday my greatest weakness will be something else.

Mon Amour

When I first met you, I loved you. The way you smelled really stood out. Citrusy but ending in a woodsy scent, really yummy. It was the kind of scent that was like poetry. Some scents are just a floral, or a couple of florals, or florals with a little bit of spice. But they are always separate. This one was different. They "rhymed". It was just brilliant. The gay guy at Nordstroms introduced us, as I was buying some lipstick, lip gloss, and lip liner. Needless to say, my lips looked really good!

But I walked away. I couldn't commit and I was a little overwhelmed. I was happy with who I was with, Marc. A couple of years later, I saw you, again, in Los Angeles (before it was in Orange County). Again, the same scent. I was tempted, but wanted to wait until I was ready.

And I wasn't ready for a long time. I got pregnant, and then my baby grew older. Marc was out of the picture. I was on my own. Then opportunity came up. The time was right. My son was old enough to have you in his life.

When I looked you up, I couldn't find you anywhere. Your facebook page was gone. I googled you; the lamest results came up. I panicked. And then I found you, at Barney's place. I could consummate my passion of you, Armani Prive Vetiver. And every day I wear you, I inhale and try to envelop your essence.

Just when I try to get out, it pulls me back in

Lately I've been fantasizing that I've moved on from my child hood. It seems so long ago, not like yesterday like it did 10 years ago or so. I'd like to think that I've done a lot of consolidation.

On Friday I went to the playground with Logan. There was a young, cute dad that was there with his son. Logan was busy doing his own thing. The dad approached me. He asked about my son's hair cut. "Oh, so you've already cut his hair?" "Yeah", I said. His son's hair was pretty long, and curly-ish. "We don't want to cut his hair yet, it's so soft and nice as it is."

I really didn't know what to say. What I did say was the wrong thing. "Well, we want to make sure that he gets good hair cuts rather than bad ones at Supercuts", or something along those lines. It was snarky. It closed a door rather than opening it.

I realized that it was because when I was a child, my hair was either really long, or really short. My mom would give me $10 and drop me off at the SuperCuts and say "tell them to give you the pixie cut". And I would. It was really short. I have a round face, and in truth, it didn't really fit me, but it was super short.

And that's how it was me and my sister. When I think of it, it symbolizes how my mom neglected me, and it brings up a fear that maybe those parents are neglecting their child. Just because they don't want to cut his hair. They can be charming, wonderful people, who take great care of their child, it's just they have this different belief.

And then I realized just how big this issue is. That whenever I see anything that remotely looks like neglect, the neglect that I experienced, it's going to bring out that type of reaction. That it doesn't stop with the hair cuts, that ill fitting clothes, shoes too large, clothes that are overly dirty, babies that are told to be quiet when they are just being babies, all of the things that come up generates that reaction in me. And I need to be aware of it, and try to take ownership of it.

Until then, I need to be compassionate with myself about why I'm snarky. Because I can be harsher with myself than anyone that I make those comments to. I guess next up is finding a dandelion break when you're in the sea of emotion and have those reactions.

One time When I Should have Asked for a Ride Home...Or Not Gone Out at All

It was a warm evening in Tucson, as it always was in the summer. I was 15, and hanging out with some friends and in came Rob, who I'd heard bad things about, but I didn't care, I thought it would be fun to go four-wheeling in the wash in Rob's jeep. I'd be with my friend Stella, we had beer and her boyfriend, Jason, I thought I'd be fine. Right?

You could see all of the stars in the night sky - it was gorgeous! We were having a lot of fun four wheeling, when we came to this part in the wash that had a little pond. Stella and Jason went away. That left me and Rob. Rob got completely undressed, and was trying to coax me into the pond. I saw where this was going, and said that I wasn't okay with this. Then he picked me up and tried to get me into the pond. Then I went from a little scared to terrified. I grabbed onto a tree for dear life, and for as hard as I was pulling, he was trying nearly as hard to get me in there.

Then I was trying to get into the jeep, and he was pushing his penis against me, and was trying to get me to have sex with him. I was yelling to Stella to come over, and was trying to get into the jeep, because it would be difficult for him to force himself on me, so I thought, or maybe I thought it was a tiny safe place.

After a while, he stopped, and then I went back to the jeep. I screamed out for Stella, and after a little while she and Jason finally showed up. I asked if they could take us home. I thought Jason was a good guy, but then as we piled into the jeep he and Rob were ganging up on me and calling me a bitch. Soon after that, we were four wheeling again, until the car stopped right outside of someone's motor home on the side of the wash. There was something wrong with the car and they couldn't start it.

The guys were being really rude, and I got out. "C'mon, Stella, let's get out of here. Fuck these guys, they're assholes". Stella reluctantly followed me. We walked to the nearest paved road, which turned out to be Houghton Road, which was the furthest outskirt you could find. We started walking towards town. About a half an hour later, the guys drove by us. There was no one else on that road. They drove up and down as we walked on, Jason saying mean things to Stella, Stella crying but still being there with me and walking with me to the nearest Circle K. Sometimes they would drive dangerously close to us, and yell at us. "We won't let you in the car until you bitches apologize", Jason said during one of the drive by's. "Fuck you!!!" I said, and we kept on walking under the desert sky, continuing to get taunted.

Finally, in what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at the Circle K. I called a cab, I had enough money to get us to her house, which was near mine. We waited shortly for the cab, which seemed to take us to her house very quickly in contrast to everything else that happened. When we got there, Stella said that her mom probably wouldn't be happy to see me, and that I should probably go home. Needless to say, that was the end of that friendship.

The next day I went to my boyfriend's house to tell him what happened. He was smoking crack and using a plastic bag to inhale and exhale and inhale and exhale out of to maximize the high....and then Rob knocked on the door. He was with Jason. He didn't come inside, he just stood at the door. I cried and cried and cried. It was the Fourth of July.

Words Cannot Say How Much I Love You

Connor was in such a great mood this weekend all weekend. I hated to have to be away from him for a baby shower on Saturday, but I have to say, I had a lot of fun at the shower. Nevertheless, when I saw him, it was as though he had not seen me all week, and boy! was he glad to see me. Since he can't walk yet, I crawled on the floor after him, telling him that I was going to get him! and he laughed and tried to flee away from me. So me chasing him and him laughing and trying to get away is a new development.

Today, Corey and I went to another friend's wedding party, and Connor was had a great time (he was invited, too). He's such a blessing. Jason was playing with Connor, and Connor was really enjoying himself with Jason. We also so Joelle, and she was avoiding us from our conversation last Sunday. Oh well. I see that she has issues, and we bring those issues up. So we'll never be friends. I think it's sad, but that's life.

And now Connor is asleep, and I'm back to my super early schedule and won't get to see him tomorrow morning when he wakes up, but I will be there in the afternoon, as soon as I'm able. And I realized after seeing Joelle that like her, I have my issues too, but Connor is not going to have the life that I had.

I often feel like the soldier that is sacrificing himself so that his comrade can go on and complete the mission. And that sums it up pretty well. I won't be able to realize my dreams and be terribly successful, but I can create the conditions so that Connor can. Because I care. About. Everything. And because I do, Connor is going to have the life that I wish I could have.

I was looking at some old pictures of me; pictures from 1972 - 1982. I was thin in 1982. That was the year that I was molested. And then I started eating to hide who I am and what I look like. But there was a picture of me in 1972, and if you remove my hair and put in Connor's, he looks just like me. And I think of my childhood and all of the things that happened; even the bad fashion is an example of my mom's neglect for herself, for me, for myself, for my sister. And I know that because I love Connor and want to help him develop in every facet of his life, he is going to have a life completely unlike my own. Thank God.

Bad Acid Trip

I spent the week obsessing over the the event from last Sunday. I knew that I was in a bad mental space when we went to breakfast last Sunday, but as usual I couldn't just let it go. No, I had to obsess over it until I feel like I understood the situation inside and out, from top to bottom and from every angle that there was to look at it. And what I found was depressing.

I realized that when I went, I was tired of "sniffing the air" to see when/where it was safe to express myself. I wanted to "just be" myself for a change rather than being cautious for how that might affect others. And so I did, and I got my ass handed to me. I was basically having a bad acid trip, acting things out, and having a great old time...until I realized that I was alienating everyone around me. Even Eva was giving me a smirk like...you are a little crazy.

It was really rather scary, actually, because I realized that by "just being myself", I was being exactly like my mom, which is a nightmare realized. I realized that I was being competitive with the other women there, the mom and the mom-to-be, and it was only to feel superior, which is something my mom does ALL THE TIME. So when I realized just how much like my mom I was, I nearly died. The last thing I want to be is like her, but I know I am, too often. Snooty, holier than thou, arrogant, socially maladroit; all of those things fit me to a tee.

You may be thinking; who is this person, and why should I be reading her blog? She sounds like a bitch. And you're not wrong; I am a bitch, but I'm also recovering from an awful childhood and trying every single day to overcome the myriad obstacles that my mother, bless her heart, created for me. Hence, I am unfrozen cavewoman non-lawyer, trying every day to rewrite what was indented in my soul for so long.

You Drink Your Own Breastmilk - Ewww!

Today Corey and I went to the farmer's market with our (almost) one year old son, Connor. We met up with our friends, Jason, Marlow, Janine, Janine's 15 month old daughter, Sarah, and Eva. Marlow is 6 months pregnant.

Janine mentioned that Sarah still nurses and that she provides her milk. I have to say, I'm a little envious, because I blew my milk supply by my own arrogance. I had been tired of pumping three times a day, and always needing to come home to nurse as soon as I was able to. My nanny said that I didn't have to nurse so often, and so I took that to mean that I only had to pump/nurse twice a day, and in so doing I wiped out my supply. Oops. So now I dry nurse. That said, I still have a lot of milk frozen in the refrigerator that is still good.

When we were talking about Janine, we asked her about whether she froze her breastmilk, which I guess she doesn't do a whole lot of. I mentioned that frozen breastmilk has this awful aftertaste that makes you want to vomit and it tastes like vomit, and Janine, Jason, and Marlow were disgusted: "You mean you taste your own breastmilk?" And to that I say, Yes, but if you froze it, you would understand why. It's not like we're sneaking it into people's drinks, or whooping it up with breastmilk.

"Would you like some soda?"

"No, I'll take the breastmilk, thank you very much"

The downside of frozen breast milk is that (as I've found out), when you thaw it after it has been frozen, it's always a good idea to taste it to see how it tastes. From my perspective as a mom, I don't want to give my baby anything that I wouldn't want to eat myself. And that includes breastmilk. Does it taste good? Then it's good for baby. Does it taste rancid? Then I don't want to give it to Connor.

But all of this was difficult to explain to our friends. They obviously didn't approve of our practice of tasting the breastmilk, and I was surprised that Janine was in the same boat since she nurses. Even though I had a good explanation, it was difficult for me to tell this to them, so we sat, judged by our friends, and not in a good way. And I realized that this is something that I have to learn to overcome.

One of the things I had the misfortune of learning from my mom was only going so far to communicate what I am trying to communicate; and this goes the other way: I have a limitation of what I can take in as well. This showed up when meeting with Marlow, Jason, and Janine today. I saw my mom in myself when I was trying to catch up with the conversation. It's easy to try to attribute this to paying attention to Connor, but I know that I would experience this even if Connor wasn't there. And I see that it is hard for me to say what I need to say, in this case, that there is actually a good reason to taste breastmilk.

I hope next time I can say what I need to say when it's a good time to say it. (Before I do that, I will need to figure out what it taking up my mental energy that prevents me from doing so. More on that in future posts).

And next time I'll extol the virtues of breastmilk and just how yummy it is. It tastes good and is good for you. Yum!