Remember back in the day, when a person wanted to be included in something, said person would have to subscribe to whatever was being sold?  When a normal person had the choice to be included in insanity?  When it wasn’t considered “insensitive” to call people out on their bullshit?  Remember what is was like to be proud of your accomplishments because they were YOURS and nobody else expected the benefits from your hard work?  Let me tell you, those days are gone.

In some essence, we all subscribed to social media.  I would even say that most people did so in order to stay in touch with folks and share their lives with others.  For lack of better words, most people had good intentions.  With all of that being said, social media has created monsters out of already overzealous drama queens.  Every year,  I don’t think it could get any worse, and am I proven wrong every damn time.  We aren’t just  talking about Tide Pods and condoms, folks.  We are talking about everyday life and people.

From self deprecation for compliments and creating mirages of hilarious proportions to agendas being pushed on to people of no interest and making everyday situations seem like the end of the world – there are no molehills left, just mountains.  In this day and age, a person can rob me and then blame me because I had something they didn’t.  Some random idiot can kill another person because said idiot wasn’t as happy as the now blood pile outlined in chalk.  Any person is allowed to be a leech on society because they don’t feel like working their way up the ladder the way others have.   Every problem is allowed to be blamed on something or someone else.  What ever happened to “that person’s just an asshole”?  Why must an excuse always be readily available?

We are living in a time of lose-lose kind of world.   Most toddlers are taught and trained by electronics instead of people and real circumstances, causing a ripple in the learning curve.  Children are catered to – to the point that discipline is now considered abuse.   Teenagers have been given the ability to blame the generations before them.  Adults speak from both sides of their mouths, because regardless of what company they’re in, they need to feel accepted.  Manners are shocking, not expected.  Compliments are now verbal assault.  Self pride is egotism.  The list goes on and on.

As I surf through my social media pages, I see nothing but ridiculousness.  Young adults demanding respect while disrespecting everything in their eyesight.  Welfare recipients buying designer things.  Men complaining about their bitches, but….are calling them bitches.  Women expecting to be treated like royalty while acting like trash.  People that hate our country, but love our benefits.  Every single person is oppressed.

Chances are, if you are living a shit life, it’s your own damn fault.  I’m not saying that you didn’t get knocked down or that something bad at some point didn’t happen.  But good God, you can’t sit in a boat with a hole in it and continue to blame the sea for your drowning.  Change your course.  Make your own path.  Quit putting yourself in situations that require constant pick me ups from others.  I know it can be done.  I’ve had my share of unfair happenings.  I’d like to say that I have faith in society, but, the unfollow button is much more promising.

It’s been years since I’ve written down my thoughts. We are talking a different house and vehicles, an adult child, an accumulation of four dogs, a new medical diagnosis, and a new POTUS long. I obviously take vacations seriously. Some things haven’t changed, though. I’m still the same sarcastic jerk of a girl with a side of snarky that typically rubs people the wrong way.

We’ve had a lot happen in four years. We lost the chance to ever see Tom Petty, Scott Weiland, Prince, or David Bowie perform. The Walking Dead killed off Glenn, we have to wait an eternity for the Game of Thrones final season, and the Fifty Shades of Grey casting is downright horrid. Don’t even get me started on Jack and the crockpot. The 2016 election was probably the most brutal that we’ve seen yet – from the mudslinging to the ugly crying – it was all just…ew. We have more protests than we do taxpayers, being politically correct isn’t good enough anymore – we need to be sensitive, and our government listens to us through little devices that we purposely place within our homes to make tasks hands-free. And, for the love of God, do not refer to anyone as female or male now.

So welcome back to my blog. I have a lot to just spout off about. You’re welcome to pop in and read the writings of a forced hermit. But, remember, this is for my entertainment and if you don’t like what you read here, you’re free to leave. If you get butthurt easily, I suggest you just keep on keepin’ on. I am back with my words – yes, they’re mostly cynical and thick with sarcasm, but they are always true.

There’s this guy named Mark, and he’s my hero.  He’s brilliant, kind, and easy on the eyes.  He’s funny, compassionate, and has a steady hand.  He’s also the person that I believe saved my life.  Five years ago today, Dr. Mark Luciano performed my brain surgery at Cleveland Clinic, and even he stated that he had no idea what he was dealing with until he was already in there.

June 18, 2009 – my parents, my siblings, and two of my best friends were sitting with me in prep before noon.  We were getting scolded by the nurses (Heather and Dee), wringing our hands (Mom), joking and laughing – really laughing, right Maria? (Dad, Sveinn, and Maria).  Dr. Luciano walked in and immediately plopped down on my bed, joining in the conversations.  He put my family at ease.  I left my family en route to the OR and I was scared.  Petrified.  I talked myself down, going over the neurosurgeon’s creditials – he has patents, and labs, and ongoing studies; he’s the Section Head of Neurological Surgery at the freakin’ Cleveland Clinic!  I had my very own McDreamy!  At this point, my anesthesiologist, Bird, came in; a great big guy with a personality to match.  The last thing I heard was “see you in a few hours, sweetheart”.  And this is what he left me with – a hole from a size 14 IV.  Still have a scar!

As my family and friends were, in no particular order, drinking insane amounts of Starbucks, walking 2 miles to smoke a cigarette, threatening desk nurses, getting fed (along with the rest of the hospital) by some Middle Eastern royalty, and having a very, very long day, my McDreamy was having complications.  A four and a half hour surgery was now six hours, now eight hours, until finally, about 10 hours later, he walks out to talk to my “posse”, as he calls them.  He was carrying two candy bars, which to Dee meant that he had good news (who can eat candy with bad news, right?), hence his first nickname, Dr. KitKat (his second was Dr. Hottie – for obvious reasons).  In the recovery room, I woke up screaming.  SCREAMING.  I was in so much pain, my feet were on fire from being strapped to a metal table for so long.  My neck felt like it was ripped in two from the incision.  I cried because I just didn’t feel right.  Something was wrong.  Dee wiped my forehead clean of the blood to reveal holes in my forehead and my face felt like it was blown up like a balloon.  The way my family looked at me terrified me.  My Mother, frantic about the blood coming from my ears, wasn’t whispering as much as she thought she was.  All I wanted to do was go back under.  I made my family and friends, who so patiently waited for me, go home.

I woke up the next morning and realized within an hour that everything had changed.  I was deaf and blind on my left side, my chest hurt, and my body was weak.  I couldn’t even keep my balance laying in a hospital bed.  My blood pressure took a direct hit in surgery and was having a hard time regulating.  A sympathy stroke during surgery weakened my left side.  And my hair was gone.  GONE.  I had a small tuft on the top that was left and that was it.  This wasn’t supposed to happen!  I was sad, and scared, and angry.

The next week was horrible.  I wasn’t with my kids, the meds they had me on were eating my veins, my vitals constantly flunctuating.  I had to learn to walk with a walker, I drooled on myself, I could still feel the swelling of my brain.  Constant nausea from severe vertigo, the fact that I had to be dependent on everyone, for everything, was enough to make me pissed off.

This paragraph will be short because it’s my rock bottom, and I don’t like to revisit it.  I came home and needed help with everything, even sitting on a couch so I wouldn’t fall off.  My friends washed my hair, my family took care of my kids, and I did nothing.  I was worthless.  I started feeling sick on Wednesday and prayed that whatever it was would take me.  By Friday I was in the ER with my kidneys shutting down and I wanted to die.  I was so angry with my Mother for not letting me just die.

Then I woke up on Saturday.  Physically and emotionally, and even spiritually.  I was alive.  Not only was I alive, but so were my kids, and my family, and my friends.  I had a job to go back to, I had Mommy-ing to do, I had a lot of sarcastic comments to catch up on.  I remember thinking “screw this, I’m better than that”.  I immediately apologized to my steadfast support group for being such a whiner.  I threw out my walker and started walking, ok bouncing off walls, but it was still on my own.  I got my hair cut that covered enough to make it look decent, but I still pulled it up in a ponytail ala 90s grunge style.  I went to things my organizations were putting on, that my kids were involved in, and rebuilt my life.  I had every reason to put one foot forward.

I lived for a reason that day five years ago.  Emma and Alena were my one and only focus and they are what saved my life.  Three months after surgery, I met Jason.  And my life just pulled together.   Those three people are, unapologetically, my first and foremost.  So to those who think I prioritize them too highly, or show my appreciation too much, or love too publicly – I don’t care.  People that matter don’t mind, and those that mind, don’t matter.  I still live with the residual effects from surgery complications, but they’re not my crutches!  I don’t complain and whine because that is exactly what I did to get to my rock bottom.  I don’t breed hatred over someone else’s accomplishments because I know how hard I had worked for mine.  There was no one else to blame for my rock bottom but me.  I came back with avengence because I was allowed to.  I have never been happier in my life than I have been in the last five years, and it only is getting better – if that’s not something to shout in the streets about, I don’t know what is.

So, to my parents and siblings – thank you for loving me at my lowest and celebrating with me at my highest.  To my friends – thank you for being my strength and my cheerleaders.  To my children and my now husband – thank you for understanding the bad days and making the great days.  Last but not least, to Mark Luciano – thank you for my everything.  On my fifth anniversary of that day in Cleveland Clinic, I’m proud to say that I got a life sentence.

Learning how to reign yourself in is an ongoing task. We all get off task, or lay low, or simply give up from time to time. This year, the first six months have flown by with my planner being largely ignored and me trying the “fly by the seat of your pants” method. Boy, did I fail. But you know what? I can start over again. If I have learned anything in my almost 40 years of life, it’s that I can stop, regroup, and start again.

As usual, the winter months make me into somewhat of a hermit. I despise the cold, I’m not a fan of winter sports, I don’t like the darkness (I’m a Leo – I absolutely LOVE the sun!), and the dust from the furnace, salt from the shoes, and puddles of melted snow from winter gear get on my last nerve. I got in a rut of having a little extra free time so I didn’t plan as much. Now it’s June and I’m a hot mess with planning, so I need to start again.

This winter also brought some things into our lives that were not welcomed, but in the end, made my husband, the girls, and I much, much closer than we already were. My little family is very much the epitome of second chances, and I’ll share my take on them.

Personally, I’m the epitome of a second chance. My medical history alone proves that. The things I have lived through and came out stronger have helped mold me into who I am today. My life experiences have afforded me a different outlook on life and responsibilities I will not fall short on. My trials and errors have taught me some hard earned lessons that I will carry on throughout my life. I have been proven right, and I have been proven wrong; and I forget nothing from which I learned from these.

My husband and I have both been married before, and both had resigned to being unhappy until we found each other. Jason and I get teased, ridiculed, and in some cases, lashed out against, because of our happiness. Anyone who knew us in our “former lives” truly knows how thankful we are for each other. I finally have someone that I can rely on, that loves me unconditionally, and has nothing but my and the girls’ best interest at heart. He finally has someone who gives as much to the family as he does, who builds him up, and loves him for all his strengths AND his weaknesses. I can honestly tell you that when Jason and I first met almost five years ago, it wasn’t that “Dream Weaver” moment; it started out with a battle of the stubbornness, and moved on to a great friendship full of trust, having each other’s backs, and a true interest in the other. Then one day, our hearts said “oh, hey! There you are! I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time!”. As much as I fought it (I think I tried to run about three times), I finally realized that we were meant for each other for no other reason than that God made him for me, and me for him. Sure, Jason and I argue – some tiny, some not-so-tiny – but they are very few and far between. I realize that it’s hard for people to understand that a husband and a wife actually LIKE each other, but we do, and we don’t apologize for it. We respect each other, and more importantly, our kids, too much to air our dirty laundry in public. Now granted, our dirty laundry is maybe a couple of t-shirts and a sock or two – not an entire load, but still, it’s ours. We may overdo the hand-holding, the time-sharing, and the “happily ever after” take, but it is not anything but our appreciation for our wonderful life. He makes me a better person, and I make him a better person. It’s as simple as that. There’s nothing wrong with relishing in second chances.

As far as my girls, Jason adopted them over a year ago. The three of them had discussed this for a while before it was presented in full. I don’t even think the ink was even dry on our marriage certificate when we started the process for the girls. He has been such a positive impact in their lives and the girls are so in tune with him that it’s as if it’s always been this way. I know that I was a damn good single mother, however, these girls have flourished unbelievably after Jason entered our lives, and to be honest, so has he. The father/daughter relationship is an ongoing learning curve for both sides, and there’s real beauty in that. The girls knew they had a man, who regardless of what life handed them, would be there, no questions asked. And I had a husband who truly wanted to be a parent. When Alena needed help with homework or projects, Jason was sitting there for hours on end. When Emma went to prom, Jason was standing there proudly taking pictures. Jason is more of the teacher of our parental unit (I’m the “let me just do it” kind of person). He has taught Alena how to skate, Emma to work on cars, and both of them how to pick on me (ok, maybe they already knew that one, but let’s blame him.).He knows that they both look up to him, want to be involved in his life, and look to him for guidance. They’re proud of who he is, and thankful for his unfaltering love for them. And let’s be honest…the comeback of “oy…you’re adopted.” just doesn’t get old.  Their second chances were game changers and they all hit home runs.

My friends are an important necessity in my life. Some of my friends gave me a second chance, and some are their second chances with me. I have learned this about myself though: I do not try harder than anyone else to keep a relationship afloat. I got a call this past week from someone that used to be near and dear; I quickly found out that information is all they were seeking. I wasn’t hurt, and that showed me that that relationship had run its course. No harm, no foul, just part of the past. I’ve had to rekindle a few friendships this year because I dropped the ball – me; not them, me. You know what?  It was my regrouping that showed me what I wanted. I’m getting older. The drama, the negativity, the blame games were never my thing, but they are certainly something I no longer tolerate. So, to a handful of people, I happily have the viewpoint of “it’s not you, it’s me” – because I want better than that. I make conscious efforts to surround myself with people who make me a better person. Call that selfish, but in the long run, it helps a lot more people than just myself. If someone isn’t happy for me or my family, do I really want them to be a part of mine? My second chance started when I became friends with myself, and everything falls into place after that.

A planner has always been who I am. Without it, I am in total chaos. Plans ranging from shopping trips to places traveled, parties to have to financial obligations. Without structure, I’m kind of a hazard to be around. I love itineraries and checking off things from a list. It’s just who I am. So, I know that my kitchen calendar still has “May” on it, two vacations still need to be finalized, children’s activities need to be followed up on, and a plethora of household chores await me. Daunting? Yes. Impossible? Not at all. I just have to regroup and prioritize.

I’ve lost track of time and realized that I’m into the middle of 2014 already. I have vacations to plan, meals to prepare, gatherings to attend, and time to use wisely. This requires discipline, something which I either possess wholly, or not at all. Everyone needs to just bear with me.

All hell has broken loose – my straightener died, a vehicle broke, the furnace quit working on the coldest night, my coffee pot leaked on the counter, my computer goes at a snail’s pace, and I have a headache.  Seriously. What do I earn money for?  Things that only work when they want to?  I work to pay my bills and buy my stuff – oh, and provide for “people” that are narcissistic pieces of crap – because GOD FORBID they don’t get THEIR cut of MY household income or provide for their own!!!

1.      Manners, Discipline, Accountability:
Use please, thank you, you’re welcome, excuse me – and teach your children the same. Have some discipline. Don’t cave into your child’s tantrums or your craving for a deep fried Oreo. If you’ve done something wrong, apologize and don’t repeat it. And don’t expect to be forgiven.

2.       Get a job, a no, you DON’T deserve $15 an hour to flip a burger:
If you’re an able-bodied adult, get a job. Yeah, if it’s entry level, it’s going to pay low wages. Work your way from the bottom up. Don’t be a career welfare recipient, or a career student – pay your own way, live within your means, and create your life from there. Don’t rely on everyone else to create your life – financially, emotionally, spiritually – for you. If the job force in your field isn’t booming, move on – the world does not revolve around you and what you want. Supply and demand, people.
If you’re a teenager and want to have extra things? Get a job! Most parents struggle to provide the roof over your head, the food in your belly, and the clothes on your back (mainly because they’re supporting lazy America, but that was already covered). If you want to run all over town, get the latest music, buy the expensive clothes – earn it! My teenager has been working for 2+ years – babysitting, food vending, and started a “real” job the day after she turned 16. Do I still buy her and her sister extra things? Sure do! Because I save up for them from the job that I’ve held for years.

3.       Be Spongebob Squarepants, not a sponge (formerly titled just “Spongebob Squarepants):
Seriously – what happened to pride in the American adult? I’ve been in situations where I’ve needed help – be it a financial loan, a place to stay, or a good word – but come on! If a person relies on dear old Mom and Dad to take care of their (and their children’s!) needs, there’s a problem. This whole society of grandparents raising grandchildren is ridiculous. You all know I’m not talking about the tragic situations where something happens to a set of parents. I’d be EMBARRASSED if my parents were the providers for me and my kids! When does the family loyalty stop and the accountability start? Don’t have babies you can’t afford in the first place. Unless it’s bringing in cash, then refer to number one!

4.       FA RA RA RA RA, RA RA RA RA:
English is our language. Learn it. How annoying it is to even feel the need to state this. Yes, we’re the melting pot. But come on – think of all the struggles of each and every immigrant overcame to become an American citizen – learning English was a pretty high priority. Did it make them forget their mother language? Of course not. But the country, as a whole, did not include all the languages that came off the boats on their grocery stand’s open sign! This also goes out to those who abuse the language. It’s ridiculous. People – I don’t care what race, color, ethnicity – sound like FOOLS when these are a common sentence – “sup homies…hangin’ wit mah niggas.”, “Mah boo and I chillin’ at da crib.”, and “reppin’ da hood, who gonna hook me up?”. Yet, it’s usually those spewing such stupidity that are “demandin’ respect, yo”. While we’re at it, learn the difference between there, their and they’re.

5.       Stop. Just Stop:
Skinny kids in “wife beaters”, fat chicks in daisy dukes, ANYBODY in jeans slung below their ass. KNOCK IT OFF. Quit buying your six year old daughter shorts that say “Hottie” across the back. Don’t buy your teenage son the ghetto-fabulous Snapbacks. Don’t wear your MILF tshirt. Stop wearing glasses unless your vision requires it. Quit lacing your social network activity with vulgarity. Stop complaining – start doing. Stop posting pictures of your cleavage, your duck faces, your twerk tongue, and your gang signs. Stop being proud of your ignorance.

6.       You being offended is offensive:
I wake up every morning as a white girl who believes in Jesus, smokes cigarettes, owns a handgun, immunized my children, has processed food in her kitchen and thinks the government needs a major overhaul. I’ve offended a thousand people before I’ve even poured my coffee. Could you imagine if I got on Facebook and stated “Processed food kept my child from starving this evening”, “immunizations kept me from ever having to deal with Chicken Pox”, or *gasp* “Proud to be White”??? Oh. Mah. Gawd. Double standards are only called out when it’s controversial.

7.       First, Second, and Third Place:
Not everyone deserves a ribbon! End of discussion!

8.       Shit happens:
Simple as that. Things break. Relationships fail. Times get tough. Nothing entitles you to anything good just because you’ve had bad stuff happen. You don’t deserve a brand new car because your 15 year jalopy died. You don’t have the right to poison your children because you resent their other parent. You aren’t entitled to expect handouts instead of working harder.

9.       Duck Dynasty and Marijuana:
Really? These are your outrages and celebrations right now? *shakes head* What’s next? Making teenage pregnancy glamorous? Grooming toddlers for pedophiles? Celebrating that your uterus hasn’t fallen out after poppin’ out 19 kids? Oh wait…. 10 years from now the hit show will have the content of a 17 year girl, on her 12th child with her 62 year old boyfriend that she met backstage at the Little Miss Pretty pageant. Oh, and they’ll own a pot farm.

10.      War Crimes:                                                                                                              Do those who oppose the military not see the irony in the fact that the military is fighting for your freedoms – including your right to oppose them?

11.       Crutches are for the disabled – the truly disabled:                                          Quit with the excuses people. We’ve heard them all. Crutches don’t give you rights. I don’t care who was abusive, who left you, who hurt your feelings, what you were wrong about – these things don’t define who you ARE – they create the character you BECOME. Positive or negative, simple as that. YOU choose to drink like a fish or freebase some rock. YOU choose to be a resentful ex. YOU choose to be all the negative things people accused you of being! Where’s that my problem? We all have things in our past that we shouldn’t have had to go through. Want to hear a few of mine? Domestic violence, substance abuse (not mine, thankyouverymuch), pregnancy loss, brain tumor with residual blindness and deafness. In my life, I’ve been told that I wasn’t pretty enough, thin enough, or good enough. I’ve been threatened, been accused, and been mistreated. BIG. FREAKIN’. DEAL. Rise above it.

12.  Hipocrisy for Dummies:                                                                                   Hypocrisy is the state of falsely claiming to possess virtuous characteristics that one lacks. Hypocrisy involves the deception of others and is thus a kind of lie. Hypocrisy is not simply failing to practice those virtues that one preaches.  It’s also the name of a Swedish Death Metal Band.

I cannot see on top of the refrigerator.  Therefore, it does not exist.  But I can see the dust underneath the cupboards.  Folding the California King sized sheets usually requires me to look like I’m building a fort.  Adjusting the shower head?  Forget about it.  But my cheek lays perfectly against my husband’s heart.  No pasta will be cooked, and certainly not in any of my Pyrex dishes, unless Emma or Jason are home.  They are stored on the top shelf and on top of the cupboard, respectively.  Putting Jason’s clothes away is not my chore, simply because I cannot reach his shelves (they’re above mine), yet my arms are long enough to hug those that I love.  Changing batteries in smoke detectors, or the light bulbs that have blown out are things that I am not able to do.  I’ve never been the one to put the star on top of the Christmas tree, but I do get the best forehead kisses ever.  I have to tip toe on bicycles and only have to open the garage door “so much” to go outside. I can’t reach easily reach behind the couch, and sometimes my feet dangle when sitting.  I still manage to somehow give my kids piggyback rides.  I physically look up to most people, but I know that a lot of people figuratively look up to me – and that means a lot.  Emma likes to play the “high five” game with me and Alena loves to steal my shoes.  Going to a drive-up ATM in the truck hurts my armpit and I’ve been known to get measured for rides at amusement park.  I can’t reach the medicines, I lower all seat belt adjusters, and I’ve been known to ask a stranger to get something from the top shelf at the grocery store.  I’ve never backed down, I’ve always stood up, and don’t even think about intimidating me.   And those sheets?  They’re sitting on the dryer, waiting patiently for the tall person to put them away on the high shelf.

As many of you know, it is extremely difficult to offend me, and I’m not offended – I’m intrigued, I guess.  Since the only thing I “belong” to is Facebook, that is what I’ll refer too.  This is not singling anyone out – I have multiple people that do these things and it just makes me wonder if I’m in the minority on these subjects.

Facebook, to me, is a great way to communicate with others, watch your friends and families through pictures, share in their lives both the good and bad days.  It’s also a place to vent, such as what I’m doing.  I understand what I’m about to type about will strike a nerve with many people.  I know that if I don’t like what is on a persons wall, I can simply “unfriend” them or hide them from my news feed, but there are a lot of people I have some connection to that I just don’t want to do that with.

So, why is there such a need for vulgarity?  I don’t understand why people feel the need to express themselves publicly by consistently swearing, promises of being able to cause bodily harm, posting what sexual favors they would like, or having arguments or disagreements for all to see.  Some of the things I don’t understand are below.

Fighting on the internet.  Seriously people?  There’s a difference between a debate and an argument.  The he said/she said crap is drama.  I expect this crap from teenagers, but I see it more from adults.  Save your quarrels for face to face interaction – that is the way to handle things as an adult.

Being upset and then even more upset if someone asks you to spill.  If you are so ticked off and the first thing you do is post it on Facebook, expect to be asked why you are so ticked off.  You vent, we ask.  That’s how social networking works.

In a relationship, it’s complicated, in a relationship, single, in a relationship, married to, it’s complicated, in a relationship, divorced, in a relationship……’nough said.

Telling me (and your other readers) to proudly “eff off” because you posted your entire life story on the internet and people judge you on that and it upsets you…totally your fault.

People bashing their own kids.  Not kidding around or picking on them in a fun way.  Literally badmouthing your own child.  This doesn’t make your kids look bad.  This makes you, as their parent, look bad.

Call me old fashioned, but it is not classy to read how a woman is willing to drop her panties for the Christian Greys of the world, or how she can fight better than the guy next door, or proving that the f bomb is a eloquent way of using your vocabulary.  I’m not a woman who needs to wear pantyhose and dresses with every hair in place while only speaking when spoken to – I can swear with the best of them and I’m sure, if my children or family were at stake, I could get in the ring with someone trying to hurt them.  Maybe I learned from my behavior as a teenager, maybe I just want to set a good example for my own daughters – who knows?  Even in 2013, there’s a way to be an equal woman and feminine at the same time.  (Let’s face it, if your man wants a man, what is he doing with you anyway, then?)

As for the guys, comparing your girlfriend or wife to a motorcycle or car is not endearing, it’s disrespectful.  I don’t care how much you like that little thing your significant other does to your body is not cool – and your significant other shouldn’t appreciate you posting about it either.  There’s a thing about a man who can be sensitive, funny, strong, and have manners…and it drives a woman wild.  (Let’s face it, if you want to be all bad guy, you’ll be attracting a lot of GIRLS…and that could get you in trouble!)

I’m not naive enough to think that all my Facebook friends are just enthralled with my postings, and I’m sure you roll your eyes from time to time.  I know people *gag* at the occasional love postings between my husband and I.  Also, I’m not saying that I don’t read some of the sayings/pictures and get a chuckle, because I do – but I keep it in my head, where it belongs.

Remember what you post is probably going to be discussed in some circle, at some time.

I’m sitting at the computer, waiting for the sugarplums to start dancing so that I can place presents in piles for the kids.  I’m so tired that instead of listening to Perry Como croon Christmas carols to me, I’m rockin’ out to White Zombie.  Whatever, I’m sure Rob Zombie celebrates in his own way too – don’t judge me.

I’m passing the time until Alena’s cough settles down long enough for her to fall asleep and for Emma to Tweet herself into slumber.  I’m also passing the time until I can see Jason again.  I’m not out for a pity party – some people have it much, much worse than I do right now and I know that I am lucky – extremely lucky – to have what I do.  That doesn’t mean that my darkest days aren’t looming around in that everbusy brain of mine.

*Dear Lord it sounded like Santa just came through the roof*

Anyway – where was I?  Oh yes, dark and twisty on Christmas Eve.  People tease Jason and I about the way we love each other.  Mostly, it’s in good fun because both of us agreed on one thing before Rubeck and Ms. Noe became “Jason and Heidi” – we thought relationships were settlements – and that was that.  In three years, that gruff, tattooed, scowling Devil Dog has shown me what unconditional love between two adults really is.  He puts up with my neurotic ways, laughs at my nerdiness, feeds my guilty pleasures of Vera Bradley and shoes – but more than anything, he LOVES me.

On Friday, as most by now know, he had an emergency appendectomy.  His appendix burst – and basically in the worst place possible.  When the doctor told me, point blank, if we would have waited any longer to get him to the hospital, there wasn’t anything he would have been able to do, it honestly felt like someone grabbed ahold of my stomach and pulled it out through my mouth.

People say that when you have a near death experience, your life flashes before your eyes.  I’ve had such an experience and I can tell you that this did NOT happen to me.  However, when the surgeon told me about cutting it so close with Jason, OUR life flashed before my eyes and the three years of memories, lifetime of dreams, and never-ending love burned images into my brain at warp speed.

I’m feeling a bit selfish this Christmas Eve.  Yes, I’m thankful (eternally thankful) that Jason is getting better each day and closer to coming home to me, however, I’m sad that we’ll miss our first married Christmas together.  The mere fact that he isn’t here with me leaves a void that is incomprehensible.  I hate that he’s alone in a hospital room on a night that, in my eyes, is still so magical.  I’m struggling in a role that I excelled at for so long – the single parent.  One part of my brain is telling me to suck it up and do my job.  Another part is wanting to just cry.

There’s no crying….there’s no crying on Christmas Eve.

I’m watching the clock tick it’s minutes away, listening to highly inappropriate music for Christmas, and balancing on want and need.  The coughing has ceased and the social networking has gone quiet.  Here come those sugarplums.

http://youtu.be/lkN5M-nJx6A

With the Christmas season counting down its last days, I look around my house and see presents and lights and evergreen.  I smell cookies baking and cinnamon candles burning.  I hear Perry Como crooning all my favorite carols.  This, to me, is Christmas season. 

However, growing older has tied in many unpleasant feelings as well.  Stress over the money spent, the time allotment for festivities, and the fear of forgetting someone or something.   There’s the anxiety of kids finding Christmas presents that are tucked away, the sadness for the loved ones we’ll miss celebrating with, and the fretting about the bills that will come in January’s mail. 

I’ve learned a few things over the years.  I started up a Christmas Club bank account a handful of years ago and add to it every year.  Does this ease up my financial strain?  Yes.  However, I still stress over money because something else will have to be bought, I want people to have more, or I miscalculated something.  I keep a planner AND  a Christmas binder that helps keep gift ideas, addresses, and party dates in check.  That doesn’t mean I haven’t missed something, though – those calendars are only as good as my pen to the paper is, and sometimes, I forget.  I hide gifts – sometimes so well that I find one or two come April or so, I miss my friends and family (and pets!) that are no longer celebrating with me, and I will forever dislike bills. 

The point is, it’s human nature to sweat the small stuff – but the small stuff can take away from the big ol’ fun stuff that are our rewards.  Big deal if I lose a 4 pack of socks that I planned on stuffing into a stocking?  Surprise gift for no reason in June!  So what if I’m packing festivities in?  I love spending time with my loved ones!  A fat bank account?   What’s THAT?!?! 

I say “Merry Christmas” with a smile on my face because that is what I celebrate – and want to spread that cheer to others.  I give to the Salvation Army kettles every chance I get, even though I struggle just as much as others.  I wrap an obscene amount of presents because it makes me happy and makes the receivers of said gifts smile, too.  My house has eight – yes eight – Christmas trees because, in my mind, there just can’t be enough Christmas.  There’s nothing, in my opinion, like the feeling of laying in a dark room that’s only lit with the lights from the Christmas tree. 

I don’t care if people want to say that I don’t know the true meaning of Christmas because I’m commercialized.  I know I celebrate the birth of Christ.  I don’t care if someone wishes me a Happy Hanukkah, a joyous Kwanzaa or a simple Happy Holidays because of THEIR beliefs – they are still wishing me good tidings.  I’m good with my traditions, my beliefs, and my feelings. 

 So, to my family and friends, I wish you a very, very Merry Christmas.

This is more personal and probably a bit more vicious than my political thinking.  So, as always, if you don’t like my opinion, so be it.  I’m not here to make friends because of my opinions, my words or my actions.  I’m typing as a means of venting my frustration.  I don’t need conflicting statistics, I don’t need to be asked about the “what if” situations, and I certainly don’t need someone telling me that MY thoughts are WRONG.  Call me a hatemonger, defriend me, judge me…at least I still have a voice and I will NOT be silenced any longer.  If you’re offended – NOT my problem.  You were warned to quit reading a few sentences back.

When did it become unacceptable to be better than someone else?  Why is it that I get bashed for knowing that I’m better than others in some areas?  I mean really – do you chose the tone def choir member to sing the solo?  No.  Do you ask the fainting kid in Anatomy class to be your lab partner?  No.  Do you request the services of a mediocre DJ for your wedding?  No, no, NO!  There was a time, where the majority of people DID strive to be the best – at sports, with money, while learning.  But, that is truly unacceptable in today’s society.  If someone doesn’t have the same opportunities as you do, it’s your responsibility to ensure that they do.  If a person doesn’t do as well for themselves as you do, it’s your responsibility to make sure they are taken care of.  It no longer matters if you’ve worked your tail off to provide yourself with luxuries.  The demanding cries of “it’s not fair” have overtaken common sense and the American Dream. 

So, recently, I was told that I was no better than a certain person.  Truth be told?  I am a better person than the one I was compared to.  AND THERE IS NO SHAME IN THAT.   So, why did I feel a twinge of guilt?  Because, in today’s bleeding heart society, everyone’s self-esteem should be equal across the board, so that nobody feels left out.  Eff that!!  That’s not what I am about!  I strive to be better!

This got me to thinking – which we all know is a dangerous situation most of the time.  It also made me quite mad that I actually SECOND GUESSED myself as a human.   I was raised in a family, with parents that told me that I could become whatever I wanted.  I was loved and provided for and cared for.  I was given opportunities because my family had a financial stability.  Guess what?  I blew all that aside as a teenager.  I made HORRIBLE decisions that haunt me still today.  They are called CONSEQUENCES.  This has become a foreign word in today’s society.  It literally makes me sick when constant excuses are given – what happened to things like “you pay, you play” and “rise above it” and my personal favorite “Get.  Over.  It..”?

There’s a saying that has gone around and I’ve even told my own children this – the main reason that someone is jealous of you is because you are what they will never be, or you have whatever they will never have.  I’m not perfect, but I have (most of) my crap together.  I do alright for myself.  I sleep at night with a clear conscious.  I believe in myself and my words.  I know what I am capable of – both good and bad – and I make my choices daily. 

I’m better than the lazy ass that collects more welfare and state aid than I make working.  I’m better than the parent who taints their children with lies.                                               I’m better than the drug dealer rollin’ in that sweet ride.                                                       I’m better than the ungrateful person that expects hand outs.                                                I’m better than the thief robbing in the night instead of working for minimum wage.            I’m better than the two faced coward that exercises his rights, but doesn’t support the military fighting for those rights.                                                                                           I’m better than the abusers of people, both old and young.                                                 I’m better than the abusers of animals.                                                                                I’m better than the blamers.                                                                                                 I’m better than the person who abuses the system.

You know why?  Because I take pride in myself.  Because I have face consequences from my own actions.  Because I don’t blame my behavior on someone else.  There is much pride in taking responsibility.   

So here’s the deal: 

If you treat your spouse like crap – whether it’s abusive and hateful or by expecting them to take care of your entire marriage – they will (and should!) leave you.

If you treat your kids like meal tickets, you will go hungry.

If you allow yourself to blame others and always play the victim, you will eventually run out of excuses.

If you only come around when you want something, doors will close.  In your face.

If you think that everyone has it better than you, do something yourself and quit your complaining.

If you think that your child replaces your ex-spouse as a beating post, an ear to bend or a best friend, you are not mature enough to be a parent.

If you create a problem, at least TRY to solve it.  Don’t push it on to someone or something else.

If you insist on being a whiny, negative ass, you will be nothing more than an entertaining train wreck.

If you think you’re entitled, think again.

Comes down to this; I AM better than some people.  Just as much as some people are better than me.  Yes, I am Christian, but I also am human.  I have major issues with laziness.  I have huge issues with entitlement.  I cannot tolerate self inflicted stupidity.

I am better than this person.  Because I pay my own way, take care of my kids, take care of my spouse, pay for my own bills, take responsibility, all while covering their ass too.  I also raise my kids with manners and respect and work ethics.  I can’t say that (or even one of these things) about them.