Welcome To The 2012, Summer, Olympic Games. May The Odds Be... Ever In Your Favor?

Here's the thing... I sorta love the Summer Olympics. There is something about the whole world, rallying behind people who have given up everything to do what they love, that just... gets me. I have to admit, there is also a part of me that is that crazy, undereducated fan... who thinks I know everything there is to know about Gymnastics, Swimming, Synchronized Diving, Bicycle Racing... and... Archery? :) I sit, glued to the edge of my seat, watching complete strangers, whose names I have literally never heard before this week, compete in their sport of choice, (That I have never been interested in until today) and yell at the tv like I know what I'm talking about. (I'm a really good coach) :) I have caught myself saying things like "Ugh... that dive was terrible. They totally weren't matching when they hit the water." or "Yeah... she was doing really well... until that hop at the end." or "He should get closer to the wall before turning around and heading back to the other side of the pool." Ok, champ. Settle down. You're a 35 year old Mom... who can barely turn a cartwheel without pulling a hammy, or injuring your wrist. You did Gymnastics for 5 minutes of your life... not even long enough to qualify being called a 'Gymnast'. You will clearly never be called 'The Flying Squirrel'. And your 'time in the pool' is long gone. Remember? You don't even own a bathing suit anymore. After I finish scolding myself for being ridiculous... It's on to judging yet another sport I know nothing about. I love it. :)

I, in my afterglow of wining the gold in Women's Gymnastics, called my Sister to talk about it. I asked her if she caught me and my girls... doing our thing... and her response was this (And I quote) "Yeah... I read the Hunger Games. The Olympics creep me out now." Ok.... what? What the hell does THAT mean? She can be really cynical about stuff (Yes... it's genetic...) so I just blew it off, and chalked it up to her not being supportive. (I mean... my feelings were hurt... but I moved on...) I do, however,  understand her blase attitude about the games. We have a joke in our family. Whenever it is time for the Olympics... the shit hits the fan. We get Mono... For the second time? Tires pop on our cars... kids get Strep... people die... It just has always been a bad omen. Mostly for her... but I am not exempt. During the opening ceremonies, we are both nervous wrecks. Shaking, and dreading what is to come, while the rest of the world oooohs and aahhhs over the spectacle they have created for our viewing pleasure. (Well.. and I'm nervous that all of my teams are not at the top if their games.. we don't want to let America down...) Is she just being her 'I hate everything' self right now... or is she actually onto something? Are the Olympics and Hunger Games on some similar playing field? Pssshhh... that is nonsense. The Hunger Games is so... fiction. And the Olympics are amazing.... right? I better investigate! (Or... get  a hobby... or a real problem? Either way... I'm intrigued...)

I started to analyze both of these 'games'... and low and behold... I make a connection! They are totally the same!! (Yet... totally different. But... just go with it for now...) I'm actually dumbfounded that I didn't put it together, prior to her brazen statement. There are tons of similarities! Why was I so disgusted with the premise of Hunger Games... and yet cheer on the Olympians like it is the greatest thing since sliced bread? What an idiot. Am I metaphorically challenged? They can't be one in the same. That would be way too disturbing!

In all actuality... even though one is fiction... the similarities are astounding. I'm going over and over things... and its all unraveling! My mind starts going back and forth making sense of it all. I'm overwhelmed by the absurdity... and like usual... when all else fails... I made a list. (Again... any suggestions for a hobby would be greatly appreciated at this point) :)

Similarities-
 - We prime our promising, young athletes to give up being a normal kid, train their butts off, move far, far away from their families, develop eating disorders, stunt their growth, monitor their food supply... just in case some day, if they are designated the 'chosen one', they will be prepared, and have a fighting chance.

-If they win, their families are taken care of for the rest of their lives. If they lose... well... you know. Certain death. (Mostly via social media... but still. In all seriousness, though... if one more tweeter calls Michael Phelps a buttface... I will delete my account. Just to prove a point. That'll show those hottie haters.)

-The whole country is glued to their televisions at night... waiting for the final count of the day.

-There are huge ceremonies at the beginning and end. Mostly to draw you in, and make you keep watching. They players are put on a pedestal, dressed in some odd fashion statement, and paraded in front of the world. Their stories are over dramatized, and put out there for everyone to become attached to them. "The girl who came from nothing... suddenly we all are rooting for her" or "This boy doesn't even know his father... yet... he overcame the..." blah blah blah. Aren't we all touched. We feel like we know them. But we don't. (And I know Chinese people made that get-up you are wearing... America.)

-The terrain is rough, and well thought out by the 'Gamemakers'.

-If things are going smoothly... there will most certainly be some sort of scandal to draw us all back in.

-We sit in judgement. As if we could even remotely hang... or do a better job. (I'm that girl..)

-The commentators are assholes.

-We all shed a tear for the beautiful, little, waif-like girl... from a less fortunate country/district... when she is deemed not good enough, and is 'eliminated'. Her story touched us too. Tito... will you pass the tissues?

-There are sponsors. And under the table betting. And... shady biz surrounding all of it. But yet... we act like there isn't.

-The contenders are all suddenly famous... and scrutinized, and... have become instant celebrities. They are included in breaking news... and the top stories of all news casts. (Did I already cover that? Ok.. maybe I'm reaching now...)

-Partial/almost complete nudity is the norm. I mean... although I've never seen it in person... I think I know every contour of Michael Phelps' junk. (Not that I've been studying it... cuz that would be weird... so..... yeah...)

-The whole thing is just one, giant love story. (Or... not... ?)

-Then there is my favorite. Effie and Queenie. Think about it.

They totally did that on purpose. And I now appreciate it. (seriously... what took me so long?)

Differences- 
-The contenders in the Olympics don't actually kill each other. As much as they would like to... It just isn't tolerated.

-The Queen wears far less makeup than Effie Trinket.

-The Triathletes don't get little packages parachuted down to them, packed with 5 Hour Energy, when they are starting to fade. That sort of thing is shunned. (Although... that would be awesome. Perhaps in 2016?)

-The Olympians choose to be there. (They aren't entering because they want to protect little sis....)

-The Gamemakers aren't actually trying to kill anyone in the Olympics. It is way more civilized. They don't sleep in trees, and they get food whenever they want.

-There is no Cornucopia in the Olympics. But... there is Water Polo? Hm. That's weird.

-There is no facebook or Twitter in the Hunger games. Nobody can talk shit about the contenders, hiding  behind some fake name. You have something to say... you own it.


-The Hunger Games are fiction. The Olympics are real.

And that is about it.  


I've been informed that all of this comparison business is common knowledge. I was just the last to know. It isn't actually a conspiracy theory after all. Nor is it a life changing, profound enlightenment in my life. It's just I feel stupid that I never put it together. Maybe it is because I'm old now, and nothing is as it has seemed my whole life anymore... or maybe it is just... The Author of the HG saw another angle of the Olympics that we all missed all these years. It really is a battle that more goes into than any of us realize. These kids are deprived of normalcy. Only the strong survive. Dog eat dog... And all of that melodramatic shit. Just because I have had this epiphany, and I now understand the trilogy I enjoyed so much... doesn't mean I'm not going to rally behind, support, criticize and cheer on my favorite athletes as they compete... with the same zest as before. :) I will also be more prepared to deal... the next time Captain Obvious throws something in my face. 

The good news is... as I'm getting older, and solving mysteries like the super sleuth I am... the Olympics have started to take it easy on me. Nothing unruly has happened so far... and we're almost done! My Sister... not so much. Her car is being towed as we speak... The odds are just not in her favour for the next few days. That much I know. Now I better get back to junk studying... as I'm running out of time... and about to win the gold! :)


USA! USA! USA!





 

To Be, Or Not To Be... A Housewife. That Is The Question. I Think?

I have somewhat of a 'newer' inner struggle these days. I'm not talking about my inner fat kid again either... I'm talking about my personal title. When people ask me what I do, I have no idea what to say anymore. Do I throw out the... "I'm a stay at home Mom", "I'm a wife", "I'm a hairstylist a few hours a week", "I'm a professional Bridesmaid after being in 19 weddings", "I could be a competitive eater", (just not hot dogs... but Kobayashi has nothing on this broad...) :) Or, "I'm kind of a professional friend, and I plan Girls Weekends and Christmas parties"? I mean..... all of them would make more sense, and give me more satisfaction than saying the ever dreaded... "I'm a housewife." It really shouldn't make much of a difference what I say, right? After all, my days are spent catering to my peeps, and keeping my house running. There is the laundry, (literally 7 loads a day... I, personally, have a pair of undies in each load. Otherwise, it's allll theirs. How many outfits do these people WEAR a day? Jesus!), I drive kids everywhere they need to go, vacuum every day, scrub floors and toilets, do the Target runs, do the grocery store runs, water the plants, clean some more, weed the gardens, make the beds, do the dishes, make breakfast, lunch and dinner, do more dishes, finish laundry, return emails about camps, classes, teachers, etc... I even decorate, paint walls so well I don't even tape anymore, fix broken toilets, and leaky faucets. Hell, I have even been known to sheetrock my own walls, and build my own furniture. (Ahem... excuse me... I had to scratch my balls for a second...) :) all without monetary compensation. So... why does that have a certain stigma attached that I can't quite stomach? I am a mutha effin' housewife. I need to learn to deal... I'm pretty sure that ain't changin' anytime soon.

I never really thought I'd be this person, in all honesty. I always thought of 'Housewife' like this...

When I was growing up, Women were no longer the 50s, June Cleaver types... aspiring to be a housewife, for lack of other options. Wearing a dress, full makeup, heals and an apron, eagerly waiting for Ward, the Beav (Not to be confused with the 'Biebs') and Wally to come home, so she could dote on them hand and foot, make their favorite meat-and-potato dinners... followed by a from-scratch apple pie that is cooling on the window ledge... and keep her opinions to herself.

Not that there is anything wrong with that scenario... because there truly isn't. It's a beautiful thing. It just wasn't what I ever wanted in my life. I am a product of the 80s and 90s. I always saw myself being strong, intelligent, self-sufficient, and successful. Bitch... I don't need no man! I'm gonna pay my own bills! (I learned that from Latifah, TLC, Beyonce and the ladies of Destiny's Child... I'm not gonna burn your house down... or use correct grammar... but I'm gonna pay my damn bills...) :) Women, to me, were CEOs of companies, making shitloads of money, being almost 'equals' with Men... You clearly had no drive or self confidence if you didn't work your ass off. My Mom gave up her career, and was a SAHM/Housewife. It didn't really appeal to me... until I had kids. :)

Once upon a time, I did have a pretty killer career. For many years, I was a young, single, girl... partying and working my ass off. It was a very rewarding place to be. If I wanted something... I got it. On my own. If I wanted to take a vacation... I booked it and left. If I didn't feel like doing laundry... I went shopping. I paid other people's bills... and took pride in being able to help. People asked me what I 'do'... and I never hesitated to tell them exactly what I did. I was proud as hell! I was the girl who was booked out weeks in advance with people's hair appointments. My clients, whose hair was so important to them, freaked out on me when I left for a month to go to Europe. You should have heard the meltdowns about 9 weeks of maternity leave. They needed me. And I needed them. I was self sufficient, passionate, doing what I had set out to do, and yet... I had this nagging feeling that something was missing. How can that be?

When I hooked up with my Husband (obviously boyfriend back then) I knew that was it. I knew he was the one I was going to build a life with, and eventually breed with. (Again... wanted my kids to have those eyes... I win!) :) He was gorgeous, had an amazing work ethic, was so sweet and respectful, and we had so much fun together. I literally never looked back. He had a good job... but I was making 3 times as much money as he was back then. It was ok in my eyes. His... not so much. When we went to qualify for our house, (We wasted no time... it was within the first year... I also had pushy bitch on my resume) I am the one whose income mattered most. He hated that. Or... he secretly liked it... hard to tell with him... :) Little did he know how quickly that would change. (Like... 'I was pregnant when we bought our house' quickly...) We should probably talk about some stuff.... like... we will never play 'Hid the Pickle' at Christmas again. At least until we are married... capiche!? :)

After giving birth to, who I happen to think is the most perfect, little, specimen to walk the planet, I realized my passions were elsewhere. It started to make so much sense to me how women have such a hard time juggling everything. Maybe those June Cleaver types were onto something, after all. One minute you are a happy, successful, independent woman.... payin' yo bills. The next thing you know... you are dirty, sleep deprived, exhausted like never before,  and what the fuck are you wearing!?! Your boobs are leaking in public, and you don't care... and you are depended upon. Not by some wealthy client, in for her monthly 200 dollar service, but by this little person. Who would actually die without you. Whoa. I have to say, I was still in the mindset that I needed to work my arse off to be 'worth' something. So... after 9 weeks, I returned to work. I was broken hearted... and suddenly... not passionate about people's hair... or anything else for that matter. I wanted to be home with my baby girl. I was actually jealous of my Sister, who was home with her, 3 days a week while I worked. It was nice to get out of the house, and be social again, but my heart wasn't in it. I get it, June. (And Mom...) I would haul ass home, on my 45 minute drive from work, just to have missed her. She was already sleeping. Fuck. I'm not good at this. Tears were flowing regularly. My poor Husband. I mean... HE has to work everyday... but it's different. He knows that now.

 Shortly thereafter, I switched jobs. I moved to a salon a couple miles from my house. I was renting my station, and in charge of making my own schedule... I could get used to this :) After my second child, within 2 years, I gave up working days all together. I worked 3 nights a week, and it was a pretty good deal. I got to still be 'me', and I still contribute enough financially, that I'm at peace, and still can justify the spordic, manic, purchase from time to time. I get to be home with my babies, and I can sneak out for Thursday night happy hour with my work besties, after work, without guilt... cuz I am already out... and you can't stop me :) It's funny... When I became a SAHM, there wasn't facebook to show off their first... everythings, and feel like I was being somewhat 'social' from my living room computer. No Pinterest, to find activities for the overwhelmed mommy. There weren't 'Mommy Blogs' either... to read and find support when I wanted to throw in the towel. It was me, and my babies. It was the hardest thing I ever did, and I started to kind of miss being 'somebody' in the real world. My Husband's job got better and better. We did well for many years, with my little bit of an income. (My clients all ditched me when I moved across town... oh well. That was a good way to weed out the crazies..) I never quit my job all together... that wouldn't work either. I had a good thing going, and kids that napped. I worked out, yapped on the phone, and played till 4... then off to work. Low and behold... I'm balanced :)


I will never be the SAHM/Housewife you see on Bravo. (Or, the city I live in...) Although, part of me is thankful for those broads. They have made the word 'housewife' make a very attractive comeback. Nowadays, you can be at home, work some, take pride in things, and speak your mind.... all while being the 'housewife'. I will never have that opportunity, but I don't hate. I don't have a slew of staff that do my 'grunt work' for me, or a nanny (or 3) to look after my children, while I'm off at the Country Club playing tennis, or out to lunch with my other fancy girlfriends. I won't work out at the elite fitness clubs or live in a gated community. I live in a community that is full of that... excess everywhere you look. I don't let it get to me when I'm driving through stunning neighborhoods, while my kids oooh and aaaah over the castle-like mansions we are passing by... that their friends live in... (Ok... sometimes I let it get to me... but I made a conscious choice to be home. Not that my Stylist income would help us attain that lifestyle anyway... I will never be that chick... I married for love... did they? Wait a minute... I hate these people! Well.. your Husband looks like a Cro Magnun! And your kids are mini magnons... so there!) :) I'm just trying to find the happy medium between this

 
and the new and improved version... Housewife on 'roids...

It's doable, right? :) I mean... Even though I am the staff around here, and the personal chef etc... Who says you need breast implants, mansions, sugar daddies, live in nannies, Botox, Jimmy Choos, Birkin bags, Bentleys and bleach to be a happy housewife. I can throw in the morals, values, cooking skills, etc... (Man... that was a shorter list) and combine the best of June and Tamra. :) I do know the Housewife title in my life is going to be short lived. Eventually, my kids will be gone, and I'll be bored to tears, looking back at this time fondly, and wishing they had an activity or play date for me to bring them to. I have no regrets. Well... that's a lie. I have some regrets. Looking at myself today, I have a long way to go before I'm at my happy medium between June and Tamra. I'm sure my 3 inch roots, mom-boobs, farmer tan, non-botoxed wrinkles, Isaac Mizrahi (for Target) flip flops, and toenail polish that has been dissolved by Deet... because I have to be outside with my kids... cuz my nanny doesn't exist... wouldn't fly in the glamorous O.C.. But I take June-like pride in the fact that none of that actually matters. (Although... not even June would condone my feet right now... get a pedi, you dirt ball. The 'ya dipped those feet in battery acid and walked on hot coals, didn't ya' look is out...) Fresh apple pie IS amazing :) Is that considered balance?

Nobody can explain why some women choose the career path, and some don't. I believe, unless it is strictly financial, (I totally get that) it is a personality thing. Completely driven by need for success. I guess, ultimately, as much as I thought that was my personality, that isn't me. (But it kind of is...) Who knew? I can't say part of me doesn't wish things would have played out differently... I always dwell on the what ifs. For now, as much as I hate saying the word... I am a Housewife. (Part time Stylist... SEE! had to throw it in there!) I'm dealing with it, and learning to accept it. :)

I must run... gotta go pick up a kid, and the laundry blob has doubled since I sat down to type this... Anyone need their hair done? Just get a hold of your favorite Housewife/stylist, Salina/Junemra :) OMG!! Who AM I!?!? I'm calling Latifah.. If she doesn't answer... I'm asking Beyonce! :)

Peaches and Cream and LPs... The Condensed History of Two Sisters

You know... I consider myself somewhat of a lucky broad. I'm so grateful for so many things in my life. I really am. Some more than others, of course, but I still try to count my blessings as often as possible. I have a wonderful marriage, healthy, amazing kids, a cute, (albeit little) roof over our heads, food on the table, a good job (When people have money to spend on their hair), great friends, a loving family... and my relationship with my Sister. That relationship has topped my list for as long as I can remember, and saved me so many times... I cannot even begin to count. I, honestly, don't know how I would have made it through my life without her. She is my best friend, my source of support and hysterical laughter, my shoulder and ear, my sissy/soneji... and for that I will consider myself forever blessed.

 When I was little (Eons and eons ago...) I constantly begged my Mom for a Sister. I named EVERY baby doll 'Sissy', and was relentless. I wanted a damn Sister. Thankfully, I hit the motherload when my Mom got knocked up with Morgan. I was almost 3 when she was born, and I actually have some recollection of it. I hovered over that baby like she was my own. I remember flipping out on other kids when they would hold her... or even look at her. She was mine. My partner in crime. (But that 'crime' part didn't come to fruition till much, much later...) :) For the most part... I was smitten with her. I could feed her, haul her around, help get her dressed, pick out her outfits... you know... she was my living baby doll. It was my favorite! :) But then... people stopped paying attention to me. (Which, if you know me at all, you know didn't go over well) She was the darling, little, baby... with the curly hair and chubby cheeks, and I was just... the 3 year old. What!? Hello? Remember me?! I'm the one that was here first!! And so it begins....

We moved around a lot during the first few years of our lives. She was my only constant. She thought I was funny, and hung on every word I said. (I mean... wouldn't you?) :) I dressed her up in doll clothes and did her hair. (yes, I started early. Perhaps it is my calling?) :) I taught her stuff, we snuck treats together, and collapsed into uncontrollable giggles over absolutely nothing. (We still do that... and we jump/perculate for hoooouuurrss... right, Morn?) :) We stuck up for each other... becoming completely enraged at our parents for yelling at the other one for something, and we held hands... a lot. Our parents dressed us in matching clothes (Thanks for that). We spent our days painting nails, singing Kenny Loggins into hair brushes with Mom, playing outside,  and we were one, big, happy, family. I got my Sister... holla at your girl :)

We finally settled into a teenie, tiny house in Minneapolis. I was almost 5, and she was 2. I started Kindergarten, and was becoming a 'big girl'. We still were besties at home... but I got a little taste of what it is like to be just me... outside of the home. I was making friends, and she wasn't old enough to do all the things I could, and wanted to, do. We still revolved around her nap time and schedule. I got a lot of "No, Salina. I can't bring you to Jane's house right now... your Sister is sleeping."s and I wasn't too thrilled. Again... I was here first! She and my Mom would walk to get me every day after school. She was always so excited to see me. She would run to me and hug the shit outta my leg, when I was saying "bye" to all my new friends. I started to resent the fact that everywhere I went.... there she was.

By the time I finished kindergarten, my Sister and I had been through the unthinkable. We went through something that is one of every parent's worst nightmares. We were violated by someone we all trusted. We had no idea the impact it would have on us... for the rest of our lives. I couldn't save her, and felt like I had failed her. That was a game changer in my 'I wanna be solo' attitude... and from there on out, I had her back... no matter what. You will not fuck with my Sister. Or you will deal with me. Nobody will ever understand that overwhelming feeling of protectiveness. No matter how I try to explain it. It's so on...

Things got kinda weird in our family after that, for many years. We spent most of our time in our basement... playing Barbies, and doing little girl stuff. We were back to being inseparable, and we went pretty much everywhere together. (I wasn't letting her outta my sight...) :) She was Ken... and I was Peaches and Cream Barbie. (Which happened to be the Barbie she got for HER birthday.... but she was the prettiest one... so I just... well... you know... I got to be her. Again, I was here first.) :) She started to become a person... and I liked her. We had neighborhood friends by then, and she didn't always want to join us in our shenanigans. She was pretty attached to our Mom, and didn't have a real adventurous side yet. She didn't want to play kickball... or climb trees... or play night games. Kick the Can was out of the question. :) She loved to yell sing, and had become a little character, though... so when we would put out a sheet/dance floor, in front of the tv, on Friday nights... she would dance and sing her little heart out to the songs on Solid Gold. (And the theme song to "The Greatest American Hero") We had a blast together.

Things continued in that fashion for quite a while. I was busy with an active social life, and she hung out at home, with our Mom. (I'm making her sound like a freakish homebody... she did have friends... and left the house from time to time... I swear. Just not as often as I did. It's still that way...) :) Life had mended itself for the time being, and we were back to being one happy(ish) family. We had buried (Or.... swept under the rug) the past, and we were moving on. And then, suddenly, we were physically moving on... to Edina? A foreign city, that we were not looking forward to blending into. Will we fit in? Isn't everyone there rich and snotty? Are we really moving? What about our friends? Ugh... Thanks Mom and Dad. Jr. High isn't hard enough as it is... let's just add insult to injury, how 'bout...

So... We moved. I sat in my closet for a week... she cried a bunch. But... we still had each other. Thank God. Barbie was a thing of the past... and New Kids on the Block had entered our lives. We wore bras and talked about boys. (Talked a lot... about boys...) We were 4 years apart in school, so we never got to do that part of life together. She was still in elementary school... and I was in 8th grade. We got acclimated fairly quickly, and began to 'blend in' as best we could. I made some really awesome friends right away... with whom I'm still in contact. :) She made a group of good friends as well. She got picked on a lot, however... and it made me mental. I remember going to her school, and staring down kids as they mocked my Sister. Don't you know!? You don't get to fuck with her! Things have been hard enough! Assholes. I made many threatening phone calls, and a few more threatening appearances... but it didn't really help. Once again... I failed her. Something has got to give...

My new friends were awesome to her, and she started to hang with us more and more. By the time she was 12... we would take her glasses from her, make up her face, stuff her bra... and take her with us (Blind and naive) to parties. I got her drunk for the first time, and took her to the lakes with me. Our schools were connected, so my friends and I would go pull her out of school when we were leaving (Unbeknownst to our parents... She had many Dentist appointments... and my 15 year old self was taking her? They bought it... and off we went. Naughty). I introduced her to hot boys from other cities, colored her hair blond, included her in everything, and had my partner in crime back. I even made her change what kind of undies she sported. Boys don't like 'Granny Panties' (Or... GPs)... and that is what is important in life. Right? :)  We took to buying each other what we called 'lucky panties'. 'LPs'. The more stripperish, the better. Tiny, made of string and bling, butt floss. Every birthday and Christmas... we exchanged LPs. (I still have a few of them... for old school, good measure) She was no longer tattling on me to Mom and Dad... because she was with me, and wearing tiny undies. It was a win-win. :) I was still getting straight As, and ended up having a darling (Mmmm hhhmmm) boyfriend. (Yeah... he tricked me...) :) She and I had a lot of fun, and things were good... for a minute.

Meanwhile... back at the ranch...

Our 'happy' family had started to fall apart. Things from the past had reared their ugly heads, and my parents had begun to loathe each other. My Mom was sleeping on the couch, my Dad was angry 24/7... and my Sister and I were teenagers. Hormonal, emotional, teenage girls. Can you imagine the stress level? Holy shit. You could have cut the tension with a knife most days. To make matters worse, she and I had grown into ourselves. We became darling overnight, and there were suddenly lots of boys. Stemming from issues in our past... we definitely struggled with how to deal with that. So... we just... went crazy. Our poor parents. On top of their foul, failing marriage... they had to deal with 2 unruly girls, who had some serious anger and men issues. For the love... ugh. We spent many nights crying on my bed, and solving the world's problems. We were in this together, and we were our main support. None of our friends understood... like we understood. I'm surprised any of them even talked to us at this point. We became even closer, and our bond was what helped us through the next few brutal years.

Our parents divorced when I was 17 and she was 14. It was the beginning of what we remember as... Hell. I took my Dad's side, and moved in with him. My Sister and Mom were living together, and my Mom was losing it. We lost a loooong list of people during that time, including my Grandpa Bud, and Morgan's best friend Henry. He was murdered. It was swell... :( She still cries about it. I'll never forget that phone call. My Mom's best friend and her 3 daughters were killed in a plane crash (The pilot was a man my Mom had recently dated, and flown all over with...) They were our second family, and I'm not sure any of us have even dealt with that. I will leave out a bunch of terrible things that happened... just because it is just too much... but trust me... it was a brutal 5 or 6 years. Nonstop tragedy and turmoil. Rape, money issues, family issues, depression, my 'dark period'. I believe there were even... dog fights? In St. Paul? Somewhere in there, anyway. :) But... the thing is... we had each other. During all of the 'Hell' years, we still found reasons to laugh. Reasons to be happy, and things for which to be grateful. (We reached... believe me... but we made it happen) :) We always joke about finding our inner Polyanna. Sometimes even that bitch won't cut it. :) We still bought LPs, and still sat on beds and laughed. It was how we coped.

Somehow, in the aftermath of all of that madness... we both ended up ok. We only carry some of that with us in life... once again, denial and selective memory work wonders. :) We both married amazing, hard working, kind, hot, only children. (Who needs another Sister anyway?) We both did that fairly young. We both have a beautiful Son and Daughter, and we love each others kids like our own. We, of course,  helped each other deliver all 4 children. I even got to don scrubs, and be in the room for her c-section. We can't do that stuff without one another. It just ain't happenin'. :) She is the first person I call in the morning, and the only person who knows as much about me... as I do. Our Husbands have never really understood our relationship. Only a few of our closest friends even get it. We have our own language, and voices we use while speaking of certain things. We can laugh about the dumbest shit... for hours, and speak in broken sentences. Cuz... "I know what you are saying." I have to admit, I felt like I did my daughter a disservice when I didn't give her a Sister. She and her Brother are sooo close. I might even say 'besties', but it just can't be the same... can it? I never had a brother, so I'm not sure if it will ever be the same bond.  I do know one thing, though... I will do everything in my power to make sure they never have to go through what we did... to build that type of relationship. They will be besties... just because they are. Even trade? :)

People have said that every child in a home has a different 'childhood'. She saw everything from her own perspective, of course, and would maybe disagree with me on a few things. Like... the part when I said it was my 'calling' to do hair. You should have seen her bangs on any given day :) I will never know what it would have been like to go through my crazy life without Morgan. (Or my mom...) I look back at some of the shit storm that was our lives, and think how fortunate I am that things turned out the way they did. I literally am forever grateful. Even if LPs have turned into GPs... and we aren't the darling sissies we once were... and talking about boys has turned into convos about 'obeseness', (that's what we lovingly call obesity... cuz if you don't call it the real name... it can't be really happening... right?) wrinkles, bullies, health scares, dance, bills, husbands etc... we are still the same best friends who have been through the ringer and came out the other side. 2 girls that depend on each other, and are the only constants we will ever have. My Husband could leave me tomorrow (He won't... but... in theory... it could happen) and I'd still have Morgan. We can't stay mad at each other for more that 5 minutes... because we have something really important to tell each other that just can't wait. We don't agree on everything, but we always hear each other out. We cheer each other on through life. And, basically live by the saying "when life hands you lemons... call your Sister." I could go on and on... but I think you get the point. :)

A friend of mine with 2 daughters once asked me how my Sister and I are so close. Her girls are always at each others throats. I simply answered with this "It's never a guarantee that you will be close to your siblings. But... when you go through what we have together... there really isn't another option." End of story.

I Love you, Chunkin. Love, Punkin. :)

50 Shades of... What The Flog Just Happened?

I just realized I haven't written in my blog for a long time. I've been a little 'tied up' with some other things. :) Dance season for one, having a garage sale, (Blog post about THAT to come) a bunch of other stuff... and reading the fucking 50 Shades trilogy that bothered me, intrigued me, bewildered me... and gave me a bad case of the 'what the fucks'. (Not to mention the yeast infection and Bacterial Vaginosis I got... just from reading it)  If you haven't succumbed and read "50 Shades Of Grey" yet... props to you. If you are planning on it... make sure you are ready. As it says overandoverandover in these books "We aim to please".

I gave in about a month ago. I had a few friends reading it, and talking about it non stop. Calling each other 'Miss so and so' and quoting the 6, redundant, phrases that are used overandocerandover in the books. But, what really got me, was all of the dance moms started reading it. I felt left out and kinda curious... and I figured it can't be as gross and BDSMish as I thought, or the church-going mom with 6 kids SURELY wouldn't be reading it. Right? Boy was I wrong. (I never knew I knew so many closet perverts) :)

Book one was obviously the beginning. It went a little something like this:

Awkward, shy girl... who blushes all the fricken time,  is sent to do an interview with a filthy rich, hotter than Hell, bachelor. She even cleverly trips into his office, cuz she is just so awkward. Then she blushes. He is immediately smitten and follows/stalks her and they begin dating. There is a lot of lip biting on her end. (Like... a lot of lip biting) and he runs his fingers through his hair so often that I'm pretty sure he has got to be suffering from self inflicted Alopecia. I'm pretty sure her incessant blushing is going to cause Rosacea as well. They are constantly 'looking through their lashes' at each other, (I mean... is that even physically possible?) and they have a lot of sex. Like a crazy... 4 times a day, every day, 'your lady biz has got to be inside out by now', amount of sex. He introduces her (And most of the female population ages 18-45) to the BDSM lifestyle. She is his sub and he is her dom. There are rules, a pedophile from his past, contracts, lots of fighting about when she will eat, more lip biting (It just drives him crazy and stuff), tons of blushing, and the first time in the Red Room Of Pain. Now, I'm no virgin, and I'm pretty sure I have seen a few things in my day, so I wasn't sure why I had the reaction I did to this playroom part. For that whole week, every person that made eye contact with me, was immediately in my mind, a dirty 'flogger' in the privacy of their own home. Everyone but me. It pissed me off, and made me feel like I was really missin' out on the good stuff. I was even plotting where I was gonna put my own 'Red Room Of Pain'. (Do the kids actually ever GO in the shed? I mean... I've never seen them GO in there... so...) :) There wasn't much of a plot in the first book, just mostly him grabbing her, taunting her, grazing her 'sex' with his thumb, and his 'erection' springing all over the place. (Not sure why those 2 words now bug me more than anything... the Author needed to step it up a bit with the wording. Nobody actually says that. FYI... It's weird.) I was completely fascinated and not yet annoyed by the repetitive writing, and the over usage of words like 'My Mercurial Man' and 'Errant behavior'. I may even have blushed a few times. He is her mercurial, Greek God, Fifty... and she is his errant Ana.. HIS. And it gets real creepy how 'his' she is. (Or... maybe it's just me...) Of course they break up at the end, so you just HAVE to spent 20 bucks on the next book of ill-written smut :) But who wouldn't? He IS sexy... and rich... and  so sexy... and he grabs her 'sex' a bunch. Must. Read. On.

I feverishly begin book 2... in the middle of the night. What is wrong with me?

I believe that book 2 is when they introduce the infamous silver balls. (Don't quote me... it all runs together in the middle of the night). I want those. Anyhoo... They get back together, he makes her eat a bunch, buys her some more stuff, and they have a bunch of sex. She explodes around him... and then blushes. Mr. Bossypants braids her hair, she bites her lip, they look through lashes, they email a bunch, they 'aim to please', and she makes a lot of 'good points, well somethingorother.' (I'm starting to skim) There is a helicopter debacle, and she can't bare to lose him. He can't bare to lose her. It makes her blush. They go have sex. Suddenly, something weird happens. I'm super pissed. Out of nowhere, in my mind, Christian has red hair and cig burns all over his chest... and a hairy... self? And she likes him? He needs to learn how to not be such an overbearing asshole. I'm like... mad at him. He's pouting... then she's pouting... and there is a lot of "SHIT! I made him mad!" And "FUCK.... he's pissed". Who cares, you male dependent idiot? Ok... thankfully the plot thickens (If you can call it that) and I'm still reading. Thank God for that crazy Jack man. There are some more lash peaking episodes and her 'sex' has got to be bruised by now from all the sexcapades. Ugh... She's gonna marry him? But he's so... mercurial. (Again) Self proclaimed 50 shades of fucked up. RUN, ANA! He bought your job! Please let there be a reason for this 'story'.

Book 3... Now I've invested and I have to keep going. Or... do I have to? Will someone just tell me what happens?If I read the words "Laters, baby" one more time... I will croak.

They have gotten married and gone on a honeymoon. She is topless for a hot second... and he almost kills her. She is HIS! I am starting to hate his red headed ass. He calls her fat. I hate him. His erection probably smells. SHOCK... He's pissed again... there is a lot of pouting in the tub and shower. (Ok... maybe his erection doesn't reek... but whatever...) The plot is set aside for some more sex. Then there is some more... sex. Ican'tbelieveI'mstillreadingthis. Somewhere around the part where she has gotten him to let her touch him (On his cig burns.. and she's bawling?)... I lose interest completely. He's all mushy and weird... and they are all emo. I miss the O.C. (Original Christian) the one who was hot, rich, and kind of an intriguing dink. and I'm just plain sick of it. I set aside 2 hours to just get it out of the way, and I skim the last half of the book. I think they have babies... I know they bought a house, they went clubbing? There is that crazy Jack again (To the rescue, from the reader's standpoint) There was some more fighting... and hold on to your hats.... they humped a bunch.

I realize I am no book connoisseur. Nor am I an avid reader. The last books I read were the Hunger Games. And... before that... The Witching Hour. I was in High School. :) These are just my thoughts... and I'm sure not everyone will agree. I know some ladies who were smitten from page one, all the way through to page 6,000. (Or... what felt like that) :) I'm glad I got through it, though... I feel like I accomplished something. And... you should hear my Sister's and my conversations about it. I have never laughed so hard :) I would like to thank Mr. Grey for all of his conversation starters, and ideas. (My Husband thanks him too) :) If you need me... I'll be in the shed... plotting... for my flogging :)

Laters, Baby :)

The Truth About Dance... And Some Other Stuff.

Every Tuesday night, when my Daughter gets home from dance... we watch the show "Dance Moms". I watch it, only because, my kid wants to. (I swear it's not because I'm inappropriately obsessed with how a morbidly obese woman, who can barely get around, has such a talented team that actually pay her to treat them like crap... And.. Her voice? It is like... a dying seal... with an attitude. I hate her.) I'm not sure how to reiterate how bizarre that show is to me. My Daughter has been involved in competition dance for 5 years now, and it is a huge part of our lives... whether we want it to be or not. Dance, like any other sport/activity, is extremely time consuming, and an entity all its own. Shows like "Dance Moms" have given it a bad wrap.... and it kinda bugs. I'm actually kind of pissed that they portray dance in such a way that makes people secretly, and behind my back, ridicule and judge me. If that was really what it was like, and Abby Lee was yelling her fat ass off at my kid... mark my words... my kid would play some other sport. A sport that would take up JUST as much time, energy and money as dance... but that she wouldn't dig nearly as much. I feel like I have spent the last 5 years justifying her activity of choice, and I'm just... over it. Yes, she wears stage makeup. Yes, her costumes are vaguely 'baby stripper' like, sometimes. And... we have weekend long competitions. So what? It's not your kid. I don't judge you because your kid chases a ball around a soccer field, in 90 degree weather, until they pass out, or have a severe sunburn. I also don't judge parents who let their prepubescent sons... wear a wrestling get up... and roll around with other boys on a mat. I have a girlfriend whose son wrestles. She would rather have him wear some of my daughter's costumes, than that skin tight, all revealing, accidental boner showing off, suit. She told me so. I'm a hairstylist. It is not out of the realm of normalcy that my kid would be dolled up, and shakin' her booty.  :)

My Daughter is obsessed with 3 things... Dance, gymnastics, and Justin Bieber. And when I say obsessed, I mean... obsessed. She is not the kid who plays soccer or softball. Those things would never interest her. Hockey, to her, is a 'boy sport'. It requires profuse sweating, acne, pushing, spinal injuries.... and bad hair. She likes to go to her brother's hockey games... drink hot chocolate and cheer him on. (I'd be lying if I said she doesn't enjoy running around and flirting with all the boys that are off the ice as well. She's 10 and related to me. I passed that down vaginally, I think. I'll deal with that some other time...) He does the same for her. Just like any other Brother/Sister team... they are supportive of each other's choices. She thinks hockey is dumb... he would never dance. Isn't that why you teach your kids to follow their dreams? It's up to them to decide what makes them happy? Justin Bieber is coming between them more than anything right now, actually. My daughter has a bedroom covered in Biebs pictures, posters, calendars etc... and an ipod full of his music, that she blares regularly. My Son has a sign on his door that says "Jutsin Beebre Is the werst". She hates it. :) He has an ipod full of pictures and videos of his sister... doing various, impressive tricks and dance moves. Just not to Bieber tunes...

Like everyone else, who has given me shit for years, I wasn't completely educated on what I was getting into with the whole Competition Dance thing. I just knew that it had to be better than rec dance. She started with rec, and it was just not the right fit. The recital, albeit cute, was almost embarrassing. There were girls standing there, picking tights out of their crotches, feverishly looking for Mom and Dad in the audience, and having no clue what steps they were supposed to be doing. It was adorably disastrous. When our girls' "On the Good Ship Lollipop" was over... out came the competition girls, their same ages. I was blown away by the difference. In fact, you should have seen my jaw drop. They were GOOD! No crotch pickers, and completely on point. They were 5 and 6. What?! That's what I'm talking about. We signed her up the very next week. She had never gone through an audition process before, and it was surprisingly brutal and emotional for her. It made it a bit easier that her best friend was also auditioning... everything is better in a pair. (Another vaginal trait from me, I guess.) :) She made a team, and off we went... into completely foreign territory.

I was not expecting how much it would change her. (Or me... I now know what glue will hold anything imaginable, and the best websites to order bulk feathers and rhinestones... who knew?) Before she was a dancer, she was a bit shy. She made friends easily, but was shy. All of the sudden, I had this out going, confident, hard working little girl... who was passionate and proud about something! Something she chose to do, and was really enjoying! She isn't the world's best dancer. She will never be the winner of "So You Think You Can Dance"... but she loves it. Passionately. It makes her happy. The competitions, themselves, were a lot less 'competitive' than I thought they would be too. All of the girls... from all of the schools... cheer each other on, and genuinely enjoy seeing really good dances. Regardless from which studio they originated. It's a sense of camaraderie that you don't see very often. Same goes for the 'Dance Moms'. We pass each other in the hall, and even though we have never met...  we know exactly what each other are going through. I know you spent 7 hours stoning that costume. I know you know... I did too. I know, that you know, that makeup on a 10 year old is incessantly judged... and Jimmy cracks corn. We also both know that, the minute our kid gets on that stage, and the music starts... we hold our breath, get goose bumps... and cry a little bit. (And dig in our purses... so nobody sees it...) We are proud. And there is nothing better than that feeling. Being proud of your kid. They work hard all year, and give up their friends' birthday parties, and school carnivals... to perfect their dances. The level of pride that they, as dancers, feel, is even too much for this sappy Mom to handle! :) The intense energy at awards is a feeling all its own, as well. Getting the ever coveted 'Platinum' for a dance... is just what the doctor ordered for these girls... who are pooped out after  along day... and want to be recognized for their efforts. It's exciting. For all of us who invested.

I'm not saying that every little girl should dance. It isn't the right thing for a lot of families. And I understand people's concern when I post a picture to facebook, of my kid, wearing makeup and booty shorts. I'm clearly pimping her out. (?) I just don't understand the judgement factor. Her teammates are some of her best friends. They all go to other schools, and come from different cities. When she has had a bad day at school... she can go to dance, whine to one of her dance girlfriends, get a whole bunch of "Who cares. You are AWESOME"s, and all is forgotten. They are so supportive to each other. It's touching, actually. Nobody else understands what they do. They hear (And read on facebook) the rude comments about their costumes, and what their faces and hair look like. It is digested by them. My Daughter has asked me on several occasions if people think it's wrong that she dances. That kind of sucks a little bit. She is proud of what she does, and it isn't fair to have to suck that up when you are 10. She wears more than any swimmer... or... wrestler does. :)

Dance, among other things, has taught her confidence, discipline and friendship. She could get up in front of a room full of people... and speak. That is more than I can say for many adults I know. She knows what it is like to win... and lose. She handles disappointment better than I do. She doesn't have body issues... there are all sorts of body types on her team... and they are all normal to her. I think it has been one of the best decisions we have ever made. It will keep her out of trouble too... which, when you are coming from my and my Husband's stock... is never a bad thing. :) She gets to spend Friday nights with her Daddy... doing Dads and Daughters. (He finally caved... when all she wanted for Christmas was to do just that...) That has been amazing for them. They are best friends... and I love it! As long as she continues to look forward to dance, I will continue to support her. How could I not? Every minute of her time is spent tapping in the kitchen, flipping in the hallway and yard, doing open turns in the basement, and making up dances to the Biebs' songs. :) It's cute.

Lastly... will the real dance moms please stand up? :) I, personally, have also gotten a lot out of her dance. I got the moms. These women have been so much a part of my life, I can't tell you how much they have impacted us. There is a bond with us as well. We work together all year, put up with judgmental family and friends, spend countless hours planning and stoning costumes, shoes and organizing outings. We lean on each other for advice and encouragement, and sneak wine into the dressing rooms... in case one of us needs it. :) When my Son got hit by a car on his bike last Fall... the first 5 people who called, stopped by, and dropped off survival goodies... were all Dance Moms. That is what we do for each other. They picked up and dropped off my daughter for dance for 2 weeks. They made my son cards and sent get well wishes. It meant so much. When my Mother In Law was diagnosed with Breast Cancer last Summer... I got countless emails and calls making sure we didn't need anything, and checking on her progress. These women are some of the coolest women I know. We know what is going on in each others families. We travel together, and I see them more than anyone else for 3 months straight. I have girlfriends... but having the Dance Moms is an added bonus. Some of them will be life long friends of mine. Same goes for our Daughters.

So, I guess... next time you watch "Dance Moms" and think that is real... or you think that I'm weird for letting my kid wear makeup, or a costume you think is inappropriate, etc... just remember... I am proud of her, and I think she is amazing at what she does. And another reminder... next time there is a swimming meet or wrestling match in your area... watch out for surprise boners! :) Tee hee!!

Sincerely,

My tiny dancer's biggest fan :)

Aging. It's The Pits. Period.

As of late, I have been completely overwhelmed with what is happening to my... well... my everything. I turned 35 this past year, and it has been a vicious, downward spiral ever since. I have never had to worry much about what I looked like. I never put much emphasis on it either, but I'm pretty sure that is because I always thought I was attractive. I mean, we all are in our teens and 20s... right? Even some of our early 30s? (Like, until 32...then you're done.) It's a breeze... Bright eyed (including the whites), smooth, unwrinkled skin, no puffy, under eye madness, and not a grey head or eyebrow hair, or pube to be found.  (Not that I have those dreadful bastards... but I'm sure they are not the 'myth' they used to be.) I look at pictures of my 20-something self, and think "My GOD... I was hot! Why did I think I was so fat, and worry about a bad hair day?" That is usually followed up with a "But... what the hell am I wearing!?!" Seriously... the 90s were not my best dressed era. I wore things like silver jackets that looked like moon man attire, suits, (yes... I said suits.) really short shirts... and wait for it...... overalls. I literally sported overalls like they were necessary. Like I was going to get hand picked for a Bell Biv Devoe video any second... but only if I wore them everywhere I went. With my ballet shoes. Always ballet shoes. (I guess I wasn't concerned with the fact that I'm short?) Wardrobe malfunction, after wardrobe malfunction... bygones. Clothing choices aide, I always had it goin' on. I turned a few heads, and it just didn't matter that much to me.  Cuz it just... was.

I really never have put much emphasis on appearance. I go to the store, school, even parties... with no makeup on, and in my sweats. I am pretty confident nobody could ever call me vain. My Mom told me being pretty is a curse... I ran with that. Who gives a shit? I don't even tell my daughter she is beautiful. Instead I focus on the fact that she is funny, smart and a really good friend. I have had some ishy life experiences that made me that way, and I embrace it. Who really cares what ya look like!? I'm not ugly... right? Until...

A couple of months ago, I happened to look in the rear view mirror in my car. On a sunny, bright, mustache enhancing light, day. It ruined my life. I was amazed/mortified/bewildered by what I saw. Things that had never really been 'my' problem, suddenly have reared their ugly heads. On my FACE! I have wrinkles on my forehead, like Rumpelstiltskin, that I now blame on my really bad sunburn in Mexico... when I was 17. I have a couple of grey hairs, which I blame on my kids and 2011. I have swollen, puffy, dark... business, under my eyes that make me wanna pinch them really hard until they just fall off. I blame those on Allergies and my Mom. I'm starting to develop crow's feet, and those little 'down your cheek smile lines'. I blame those on my Husband and Sister. They make me laugh too much. Don't quote me (Or make fun of me), but I think I'm starting to grow a beard? I'm not sure what to blame that on... but I'm gonna keep searching for something. It hurts my feelings... a lot. I can't hide my 10 extra pounds anymore. I blame that on the fact that that 10 extra pounds, has turned into 30 extra pounds. Good luck hiding that, fatty. :) I have a double chin. God forbid I make the 'kissy face' lips... My mouth, in that formation, is reminiscent of an elderly woman's anus. And that I blame on my years of smoking. While I was checking myself out in that mirror, and trying to breathe... even though my jeans were pretty much disemboweling me under that seat belt... It hit me. (Well... it actually 'hit me' when I made the kissy face, but whatever...) All of the things I blame my 'beauty demise' on are just parts of the problem. The real problem is really simple. All of these terrible things, that have suddenly started, are due to... Me. Being old. (Well... and the smoking.) I'm officially aging. It can't be reversed. I'm fucked. :(

From that day forward, I have neurotically checked everyone's forehead that I have come in contact with. I check their eyes. I try to get a glimpse of their stache in sunlight... but I always end up depressed. Even if you have those terrible things too... it doesn't make me feel better... because I also have them. Yours are just on you. And mine are on me. And I hate it... for both of us. I will think things like "Why do I have to have such bad allergy bags under my eyes? But at least I don't have her smile lines, or that frowny thing in between her eyes." Gross. Who IS this person I have become? I'm not supposed to care what I, or anyone else, looks like!! It's supposed to be irrelevant. Well... I guess the song "You Don't Know What You Got Till It's Gone" has just earned a new place in my heart. Goodbye, young, cute me. Hello older, less attractive, version of me. Me 2.0. I don't know how I feel about her quite yet.

With age comes wisdom. We all know that. With age, also comes a new found love of makeup, and anti-aging creams. It also brings a new found clarity about Botox, lasers, and Plastic surgery. All of the things I mocked, in my more attractive youth. (I now feel like I need to start a savings account, just for those purposes.) I'm sure I have painted a very pretty picture of my state of affairs these days. It probably isn't as bad as I think, (Just go with that, ok?) and it is only gonna get worse, but I can't help but wonder... Is it harder to start the aging process when you have been a 'looker' in your past? Like... something has been ripped away from you... and you miss it? Or... is it harder to start aging when you have never had 'being hot' on your resume? I guess it is what it is. We will all end up as wrinkled, old, prunes... with grey pubes... eventually. I'm just perplexed as to why it took me so long to notice it was happening to me! Denial is a magical thing. :)

I will eventually come to grips with, and accept all of this... (meanwhile, fighting it with everything I have.) :)  In some strange way, I feel sort of ok with some of it. My life hasn't been easy, and I have earned every bit of wisdom and strength these wrinkles and greys bring with them. Life is funny that way. You take so many things for granted, and then look back and think... What just happened? There is no use in sweating the petty. (Or even the Tom Petty, for that matter) Some things are inevitable. Tragic, but inevitable. My Husband and kids think I'm lovely, and that is really what matters. My Mom said to me the other day, "Honey, don't worry so much about aging. Pretty soon you'll be my age, and you won't be able to see. You will look in the mirror, and think you look GREAT!" I love her.

I will never be that 110 pound, little blonde, that walked into a place and turned heads... but I now look at those girls, and know that they, someday, will have learned all of their lessons, and they will hopefully have a lot more money than I do... to spend on Botox. :) Maybe I need to go buy some overalls. Just in case Bell Biv Devoe is looking for a middle aged, Suburban Mom... to push them around the nursing home. :)

Pinterest... A Mixed Bag Of Emotions? Perhaps...

I recently, after much time spent avoiding it, got sucked into the vortex that is Pinterest. It may be one of the strangest things I have ever been wildly addicted to. It still makes no sense to me, and makes my head spin, and eyeballs ache. Is there a reason why we need to have THIS much information all in one place? And why does it make me feel so many things? It really does. Maybe I'm not ready for this kind of roller coaster. (Or...I'm just nuts...) I have an intense urge to break down these emotions, however... by number.

1) It makes me feel sad.
I know that may seem odd... but it does. I go into the 'Everything' page (Filled with 'pins' from perfect strangers... and why I'm seeing their things is beyond me. I feel like a Peeping Tom...) For some reason, I am clearly connected with a bunch of 25 year olds who recently gave birth, or peed their first positive results on a  pregnancy test, got married or engaged, bought their first 'fixer upper', threw/are getting ready to throw their first 'big girl dinner party', have all the time in the world to make overly detailed, and in my opinion, weird... crafts... that will NEVER turn out like the picture, (Lets just say they did turn out... why the HELL did you waste 3 hours making an ice balloon sculpture? Is it for your big girl dinner party?) and/or think that really bizarre braids and messy updos are the bomb... diggity?

Here's the thing... I'm fricken old. Like... I'm 35. I got married 10 years ago. It was a lovely affair for 400, of which I did all the planning in 3 months prior to, with... wait for it... NO INTERNET! It was all of my own ideas. My invitations were from a book that my Mother in Law has at work. I had 200 to choose from, and was completely overwhelmed. I didn't make them from scratch.. inspired by someone else's 'pin'. (Copycat?) Hell... I don't even have digital pictures from my ancient wedding. I had 200 proofs from negatives, (Once again... completely overwhelmed) and they are now in a book. Also something I didn't make. :) My centerpieces were hand-me-down fishbowls from a friend's recent wedding. I filled them with fish. It was totally queer, and I'm still kinda sad about it. Don't get me wrong... I loved my wedding. It's just... Where the hell was Pinterest then, huh!? :) Mama could have used to look at some fancy ideas... while breast feeding her brand new baby, and planning a wedding! Just keepin' it classy... :)

We also bought our house 11 years ago. We have redone every room in it (7 times each... I swear) and I didn't get to look at any cool ice balloon sculptures, or dream closets for inspiration. My house is just... done. Thank you, Pinterest, because now I want to do it all over again. It makes me sad that I missed so many neat ideas. (Maybe we could quit 'pinning' pictures of weird, fish cave bedrooms, though... it freaks me out.)

Another bummer is all the baby pictures and projects. Lets just rub it in that I can't have any more babies. (Per my Husband's demands) It hurts my feelings. I seriously want to make some shit out of onesies and locks of hair for my kids. My 8 and 10 year old kids. I also want that hat for one of them that looks like a boob and nipple... for breast feeding babies? I love it! For real... Where WAS this shit?!

I've thrown lots of dinner parties. Most of them consisted of too much booze, not enough food, and late night dancing... in my living room that doubles as a dance floor. Good times. BUT, I would have LOVED to have had some little roll ups, and fancy beverages... sipped out of decorated jars. I would have made name cards out of corks, and centerpieces that would have just 'wowed' you. (I'll be sending an invitation for my next dinner party soon... there's no way around it...) I'm sad that my last dinner parties have failed to live up to Pinterest standards. Those days are over. :)

As for the crafts... my crafts would kick any craft on Pinterest's ass. I'm not sad about that. In fact... some of the crafty biz I see, with captions like "I'm SO gonna have to try this!! I've never seen ANYTHING cuter!" Followed by 36 hearts... make me shake my head in bewilderment. I sometimes want to comment on these strangers' pins, and say "Mmmmkay... are you really gonna have to try this? Like..... why is it so imperative that you do this?" and follow it with 37 hearts... just to one-up them. :) But I won't. I'll just wait till they pop out that first baby, and they realize that none of that is actually realistic. They, too... will be old and bitter like me one day.

2) It makes me feel insufficient.
Ok... I am  a Hair Stylist. That is what I have done for a living for 18 years. I'm pretty well seasoned in my field. Or, at least I THOUGHT I was seasoned... until  I went on Pinterest. I find myself saying "How on earth did that chick get that braid to wrap around her head, turn at a ninety degree angle, swing back around, fray a little in all the right places, somehow get dipped in rainbow colors and sprinkles, then back over her forehead and down to the floor?" I am baffled... and clueless. Seriously... no effing clue how they did that. I am insufficient.

I also feel insufficient because my bank account just can't afford to keep up with all of these 'pins' that I want to keep up on. (Maybe if I could figure out that braid... someone would pay me to do it for them? I don't know... might work...) I want those closets and kitchens... but where would I put them? My house is even insufficient in the Pinterest world. :)

3) It makes me feel stressed out.
Let's face it... there is just too much to look at. That would stress out even the most mellow stoner on the planet. It just would.

4) It makes me confused.
Obviously the overwhelming part of it is confusing. That being said... where else will you find an inspirational weight loss poster... pinned right next to a brownie/cookie/cake/muffin... casserole? That confuses me. I sort of dig the irony... but it's confusing, nonetheless. Once I get more pinning practice, perhaps some of he confusion will subside. Until then... whatdoesallofthismean?!! :)

5) It makes me feel ashamed.
Not only am I looking at strangers' wishes and wants (And coveting them... like they really have them or something like that) but I find myself wishing ill on the owners of those closets and kitchens. Maybe they will bequeath them to me... if only they would take ill and croak. Shameful. I'm also ashamed at my reaction to the food. I do have an inner fat kid, and she has a hay day on Pinterest. I swear... one of these days I'm going to wait until everyone is gone, and make one of those delicious looking cake/cookie/brownie/muffin/caramel casseroles... and eat the whole damn thing... while nobody is looking. But then... I'll be even MORE ashamed when I see the inspirational, weight loss poster underneath it. Or the outfit.. complete with purse, earrings, shoes and scarf, that someone just pinned... that will clearly not fit me now. Because I ate that casserole. Vicious cycle. Oh, the shame.

But it mostly makes me feel...

6) Happy and inspired!
Don't get me wrong, I am not surprised I am absolutely addicted to Pinterest. It is right up my alley. I thoroughly enjoy having grown men follow my board called 'Yummies'. I love when people repin my shit. I love getting new ideas for dinner (Whether or not I make them is still up in the air) I love the idea that everyone's ideas are great. (Except some of the crafts... and fish cave bedrooms. But who's judging? Oh, that's right.. I am...) :) It makes me happy that 25 year olds are getting married and having babies. Babies who will, no doubt, have the coolest bedrooms on the block, and shit made out of locks of hair and onesies. I'm inspired by the way some people are SO into food... that they can't take it, and make hearts, when they come across a recipe for Caprese Chicken, or lasagna. It makes me smile that we can envelop ourselves in some down right harmless, yet ridiculous, 'wishboards'. Full of stuff that has impacted us or made us 'want badly'. Who knows... maybe some day I will have that kitchen with the fabulous island. Or that closet... full of shoes. Until I do... I'll just keep looking at all of this as good, clean fun. (It is all fun and games, until that casserole actually materializes..) :)

I must go now... I found a fantastic recipe earlier. I need to go share with all my grown men following Yummies. (Why is that so funny to me?)

Happy Pinning!!