Yesterday was Thanksgiving in America. A time of being with those you love. A time of eating food. Parades and American football blaring on the TV. Many watch the classic Planes, Trains and Automobiles. And it’s a time of treating my parents’ small house like a freaking clown car. Seriously, it was like yesterday was an ultimate challenge to shove as many people in an 800 (ish) square foot house. At one point in time, I crawled under the mattress pad on my bed and napped just to get away from it all. It all being: 2 parents, 3 brothers, 3 sisters-in-law, 2 nephews, 2 blaring TVs, 1 cat, 1 dog and 1 bathroom.
That last one is no joke. I had to go pee for an hour before I finally managed to catch the bathroom vacant, and even then I had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t pass out. I don’t think when my parents bought the house in the 70s that they considered they’d still be in it 40 plus years later with the next two generations. Yet somehow they managed to raise all of us in it, and it’s the home we all returned to after leaving it (at least once). It was the first time ever all of us had been together. The last time we were all together, 2 of my sisters-in-law weren’t in the picture nor the nephews nor the pets.
In case you missed it, I met one of my sisters-in-law for the first time yesterday. She’s lovely. And after careful consideration, I can state firmly that all my brothers married up, if not out of their leagues. It was crazy times there for a little while, especially considering the aforementioned nap happened before my oldest brother and his wife came over. Let me tell you, just waking up and meeting a new family member for the first time in the midst of chaos was an experience. And then all I wanted to do was sit, but there were no seats available.
After we crowded around my parents new dining table, we had a little Christmas. It was mostly for my brother and sister-in-law up from San Diego. Then… my dad wanted to take pictures of all the brothers and me with their wives. Cue the scary music. As I recently discovered when doing the slide show for my parents’ anniversary party, very few photos exist of my brothers and I together where one (or more of us isn’t flipping off the camera and/or making a face). But after multiple attempts a photo was taken of all seven of us together and no one was making a face and no one was flipping off the camera.
So, now we’re forever locked into this family, because lets face it, it’s probably not going to happen again. That means no one can break up and/or changes in partnering in general. I suppose in one way that is a good thing. I mean I can never bring a man around, but it’s not like I would anyway. I discovered yesterday that my family is convinced I’ve had a secret boyfriend for the past 6 months. To which I say, try 10 years. Then I giggled, because I just bought a gym membership for a year, and freaked out. Because commitment isn’t necessarily my forte. Not that I’m not planning on being around for the next year, but now I have to pay an early termination fee if plans change.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Culture, Dreams, Family, Food porn, Geek, Life, Lore, love, Magic, Musings, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Spinsterhood, Traditions, Trauma, Travel, Words, Writing
Right right right. I know. Technically speaking it’s Thursday. Thanksgiving 2015 to be exact. But in case you missed it every now and then I deal with insomnia. Actually, that’s not why I’m writing Wednesday’s blog at 5:10 AM on Thursday without going to bed. Although, I may need some melatonin after I write this bad boy. The real reason why sleep has evaded me so far is thanks to my sister-in-law. She came into town tonight (as did her husband/my brother and the cutest Shitzu in the entire world that I know of). And we just stopped talking a few minutes ago.
Their plane was late, and then we had to wait for the suitcases. So, it was nearly 1 by the time we got home. Then my bro and I did a quick run to a local drive-in for food and shakes. After that Brother and I finished off the bottle of whiskey, and my parents went back to bed. My dear brother had woke them up when we got in (I love him, but he’s a pain in the ass if he’s awake and you’re asleep and he wants to see you). Then three of us were left to our own devices and we began to talk.
To be fair, it had been two years since I had last seen them. We talked in the kitchen and then moved to the living room. It should be noted that my parents turn off the heat when THEY go to bed, fuck the rest of us who are still awake in the house. So, even though all of us were quickly learning to deal with frostbite, the conversation continued. Then Brother up and disappeared. (Probably to do something like find his toys he wants to play with whilst he’s here. Toys=guns.) So, my sister-in-law and I were left to deal with the cold as we continued to talk.
So much has happened in the past couple years. Probably the most major events being both of us getting jobs in our chosen professions. Then there are also the family issues. She talked about moving up here to be closer to us for their sakes. But hot damn! It would be so amazing for me if they lived in the area. I could talk with them and hang out with them. I wouldn’t have to drive to the airport to pick them just to spend a few days with them. Nor would I have to feel guilty about guilty about getting a tattoo rather than going to see them.
That was the appointment on Monday. A consultation for a tattoo. I’m super stoked about it. I need to swing by the place to see the design before my getting inked appointment. It’s with the artist my friend and cousin used independently of each other. They both have very different pieces, but both of them look great. I have nothing but excitement for this new piece of art. However, I must make a trip in the new year to go to San Diego to see Sister-in-law and Brother, lest I suffer a guilt trip to end all guilt trips.
Posted in Adulting, Culture, Family, Geek, Language, Life, Lore, love, Musings, Ramblings, Uncategorized, Words
Over the weekend I may have indulged in adult beverages more than I have in a while. I also didn’t consume my regular quota of water. So, after three straight nights of drinking adult beverage and not enough high quality H2O, I had a headache all day long. Luckily, I was able to leave work a little early (have to go in a little early tomorrow) and take a nap before I go to an appointment tonight. (Fret not, you’ll discover what said appointment is soon enough.) I even have time to hammer out this bad boy before I have to jet.
So, you may be asking yourselves, what the purpose for the weekend of debauchery. To which I say, so many reasons but mostly though because I’ve found being at home intolerable. I may have mentioned before it now feels like I’ve drinking far too much coffee or that if I don’t move my head my explode. Even though, neither are true. I haven’t drank much coffee as of late and I know my head won’t explode if I don’t move. Still though, my knowledge doesn’t make things better.
Today, an elder gentleman CDP was talking in the staff break room about life. He spoke about the fact peoples’ brains can convince them of anything. They read something about the benefits of alcohol and use it as an excuse to go on binger. But he was convinced your heart will never lie to you. Your heart will always tell you what’s up and what’s true. Your heart will always have the answer. To which I replied, I don’t like the answer my heart is giving me. And then he laughed and shared a personal experience. It was really quite beautiful, apart from the pounding in my head from the aforementioned reasons.
I’m glad I walked in on a conversation to catch that. It has given me a lot to think about. I could make connections between my choices over the weekend, what’s currently happening in my life and the wisdom of a man who’s been around the block once or twice. Or I could drink some water and change into clothes that don’t have soup on them. Because I need to look like a grown-up for my appointment. Super excited. Most likely it will the topic of next blog. All about it. No emo bullshit.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Culture, Dating, Geek, Language, love, Mornings, Musings, Ramblings, Sick, Uncategorized, Words, Work, Writing
Confession: I met someone I really like. I like him so much I’m not even telling my family about him. I’m not sharing this blog on my social media, that’s how much I dig this fella. I like him so much that by writing this blog, I hope I jinx the whole thing and it crashes and burns like a fiery mass of space debris falling to the ground. Partly because I just got the new Adele album and really want to feel it, ya know? And also partly because my life can go back to how it used to be. At the same time, the thought of not having him around, even if it has been mostly text, makes me pretty damn sad.
When I was taking one of my classes for my MA, we read a book that stated the process of falling in love has similar chemical reactions to doing drugs. (Cocaine, specifically, if I’m not mistaken, but I totally could be.) First off, calm your tits. I’m not falling in love with this guy I’ve hung out with all of twice. Second off, I think the book was referring more to the meeting of people you’re actually attracted to and like. Liking someone with whom I have pre-arranged run-ins is something new and different for me. I’ve asked multiple friends whom have been there for me over the years through various and sundry encounters with the male of the species if they remembered the last time I actually liked one of the said males. No one (including myself) can remember the last time I actually had a pre-arranged meeting with someone I liked.
This wasn’t my intent when I started using online dating as a distraction from Grandpa dying. I meant for it to last a week or so and be done with it. I didn’t plan on getting a message from someone I couldn’t ignore right before I was about to tap out. I didn’t plan on after meeting him, liking him more than before. And most of all, I didn’t plan on EVER liking someone more than said someone likes me (again). After three weeks of what I imagine it would be like to go on a crack binge, I finally had to take a step back. For me that means not initiating texts nor arranging the pre-arranged runnings into.
Doing this has restored some of my sanity. Now, it feels like I’ve constantly drank too much coffee. A vast improvement from crack, lemme tell you. However, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m more of a doing what I want when I want person. On one of our pre-arranged meetings, he told me he’s slow. And I want to respect him and not force myself on the poor guy. But it’s really hard when he brings up getting together and doesn’t make any solid plans. Apparently, all my other friends have experienced this at some point in time in their encounters with folks they’re interested in. But none of us can figure out why someone would do that. Does anyone know?
A male friend suggested that perhaps the fella to whom I’m referring was wondering if I was interested. But no, that can’t be it. In fact, I am almost totally 99% positive homeboy knows I like him a lot. And when I told male friend this, he was at a loss too. So, right. If I get all mo in my blogs, you’ll know the reason… my jinxing hopes/fears came to pass. And I’m trying to get back to homeostasis.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Culture, Dating, Dreams, Geek, Language, Life, love, Magic, Musings, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Sex, Spinsterhood, Words, Writing
So since May, I’ve been wandering around this world next to blind, because I crushed one of my contacts with a bookshelf. (As one does.) Finally, this morning I woke up before God was up and made my way to the eye rap… doctor’s to pick up my new contacts. (Side note: WOO HOO for rare genetic disorder making the contacts covered by health rather than optical!) As soon as my eyes were used to them/not focusing in and out rapidly, I realized how much I need the bloody lenses in order to see properly.
Driving was amazing. For the first time in six months, I didn’t curse those who opt to drive with their headlights on. I didn’t have frames in my way all fucking day. Things were sharp and crisp. I saw my clients’ faces clearly for the first today. Turns out they look similar to how they look with my glasses; so that was a relief. So all in all, the day was pretty good. Then I got my haircut, which thankfully my vague instructions turned out to be enough for something cute. After which, I did the only thing I could do, and that was go home to nap.
When I woke up, my eyes were needing to breathe. So, I took those lenses out. However… Something strange happened. I went to put my now spare right lens in my back up container, except it was full. As in, there were two other lenses in the container; one in each side. Confused as hell, would be an understatement for how I feel about this. I have no memory of having that many spares. I hadn’t any memory of there being any back-ups. I have no idea if they’re all right lenses or if there’s a left. Can contact lenses spontaneously manifest? Maybe I had one, and it reproduced with itself. The only other reasonable explanation is that my contact lens container is magic.
I find it a strange thing to be magic, to be honest. But I suppose as far as magical items go, it’s not too far out there. I mean a magic wardrobe is crazy as is a bed knob. It’s just that I’m a little sad my contact lens container doesn’t whisk me away to parallel universes or transport me anywhere. All it does is produce contact lenses, which was way more impressive when I had to pay for my lenses and eye care out of pocket. Now, with my insurance… not so much. Not that I’m not grateful for a bit of magic in the bathroom. It’s just, you know, not as cool as putting on a ring and becoming invisible.
I wonder if the next time I check on my spares, if there will be six in there. Considering I added a third to the party. Or maybe me adding one will throw off the magic. Which, if that happens, I question if it’s really magic at all. This is all a clear sign I need to brush on my magic research via reading great novels and etc. Hmmm… I will take my fabulous new hair out to the shop for some stuff.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Geek, Language, Life, Lore, Magic, Mornings, Musings, Ramblings, Reading, Reality for the win, Words, Work, Writing
Today at work someone told me her client had been really nervous about the prescreening process all new mental health clients have to do with me. However, the client soon relaxed, thought I was cool and hopes to be assigned to me. This confused me greatly. I mean I had spent maybe five minutes with said potential client. Co-worker explained I had been listening to Nirvana when I was conducting said prescreen.
A couple weeks ago, another co-worker came up to and told me a mutual client thought I was cool. Once again confused by such a statement I inquired if co-worker knew why I was cool. This time the answer was because I have tattoos. Evidently having tattoos makes one cool in some peoples’ eyes. (Just wanted to share that with you all in case you’re on the fence about getting one.)
Over the past couple weeks, a friend has been talking about her new therapist. Friend loves new therapist. As friend knows I’m in the business, she feels free to discuss her therapist’s techniques. However, despite the therapist being good, that is not why friend loves her new therapist. No! Friend loves her therapist, because said therapist doesn’t wear anything flowy. She wears normal clothes.
As I thought about all three of these situations, it made me wonder what the fuck sort of reputation mental health persons have. Then I remembered, I was more likely to tell people my major was basket weaving than psychology. I still hesitate to tell people what it is I do, and not just because I don’t enjoy small talk. There is a stigma of not only going to see a mental health professional but for the said professional themselves. And the media doesn’t help. Seriously, I’ve never seen an accurate portrayal of a therapist. Probably because my job isn’t about me, it’s about the people sitting in “the chair”.
So, apparently just by listening to Nirvana, having tattoos and wearing non-flowy clothes I’m fight the stereotype of my current profession. I wonder what would happen if clients could overhear me with my friends. Or what if I didn’t tell people I was a professional basket weaver? I do believe heads would explode. The thought makes me giggle. It’s almost as good as when clients apologize for swearing in front of me then I casually drop the eff-bomb in the next sentence. Usually as in, “that’s fucked up”. Because what they’re saying is usually, in fact, fucked up.
I can only imagine how cool I’d be in the eyes of my clients and potential clients if we weren’t required to dress professionally or at least allowed to wear jeans. I can picture it now, client walks into the office, sees I’m wearing jeans as I turn off some music from my early teens and then there’s fainting. Because fuck me, therapists, clinicians, counselors, etc are in fact real people. It reminds of this one time a client said all they wanted was an answer, so I replied 42. And that’s all she wrote.
Posted in Adulting, Awkward, Culture, Geek, Life, Lore, Magic, Musings, Politics, Ramblings, Reading, Reality for the win, Traditions, Work, Writing
The other day I witnessed the affects of someone coming down off a speedball. It was heartbreaking to hold the despair and pain. Watching this person experience the weight of the world was the best anti-drug I can think of. Not for the first time nor the last, I felt as though I needed a grown-up to help. Then I realized I was that grown-up, and I had even more sympathy for the weepy mess before me.
Today, as I was driving home, I was hit with the weight of the world and broke down sobbing. Thank the Lord it was dark, because lemme tell you, I’m an ugly crier. And this was the ugliest cry I’ve had in a while. In fact, it was the only cry I’ve had in months. Which is probably one of the reasons why it was ugly. Regardless, it was a warranted cry. So much has happened. So much has changed in the past few months. It’s only so long before I could ignore the build-up of emotion.
It felt as though all the sadness in the world hit me at once. There were so many things to cry about and for a second I was worried I’d never be able to stop. Of course, that sent me further into the abyss of pent up and buried emotion. In that moment everything was meaningless. I’m pretty sure I was Lamentations-level of emotion (for all you Bible readers out there). I mean with all the shit of last week and hearing horror stories for my job, there’s only so much room in my body for the infinite sadness. Then I remembered my words.
The very thought of thinking about how I would write about this little break down in my blog tonight gave a sliver of light in the middle of the darkness. The crying soon stopped. Now, I’m listening to Sinead O’Connor as I write this. There are still the bummer feelings, but sometimes, I just need to be fine with wearing my pajamas, spooning my laptop while my iTunes plays every sad song I own. But fret not dear one, at least all the mascara I was wearing came off on the ride home. So, I won’t wake up with Alice Cooper eyes.
Posted in Awkward, Depression, Faith, Life, love, Music, Musings, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Trauma, Uncategorized, Words, Work, Writing