Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches...

Sigh. So, you all know how I feel about the holidays since Dad died. I am not a fan, for those of you that don't know. In the spirit of not being a sourpuss, which I was so recently called by a...dear friend, I am going to make a positive, crap-I-am-thankful-for post like everyone else as opposed to my cynical, fuck-this-holiday-bullshit typical post.

This is a picture of my kids and I this afternoon. We're sitting on the couch watching The Simpson's (which I later turned off because, well, its really just NOT ok for a 5, 4 and 3 year old to be watching it). Anyway, its slightly out of focus, the boys are watching tv instead of looking at the camera and my hair looks ridiculous. I love this picture. This picture represents a new era of traditions for me that I am somewhat...nervous about...uneasy with. This is the first holiday in 10 years that my husband and I are not together. It's definitely strange and while I did invite him to join us, he politely declined as spending holidays together is not what divorce is about. He's absolutely right.

We are having a good day. My sister isn't here. My Granny isn't here. My dad isn't here. My husband isn't here. My brother has barely emerged from his bedroom and my mom and I are pretty much just hanging out like its any other day. But its not. It is Thanksgiving day and so many people I care about aren't here. So I am feeling bitter. Lonely. Somehow, though, I am at peace. I guess because I know this is right. Having gone through major loss before I know the first year is the most difficult to get through. But I am. Its 4pm. I am going to check my turkey, which is on the Weber, watch the Cowgirls and later I'll be watching Trains, Planes and Automobiles with my family because while so many things have changed, those are traditions I love. Also, I will be removing my pants because pants are bullshit, duh, and I've gained about 12lbs in the last 3 days and they're tight. Life is short. Enjoy every sandwich. Eat lots of turkey. And love without a cause or purpose.

So, Happy Thanksgiving, bitches.

#TWM...Little Shop Of Horrors...

These are the things we beg for. A root canal, an I.R.S. audit, coffee spilled on our clothes. When the really terrible things happen, we start begging the god we don't believe in to bring back the little horrors, and take away this. It seems quaint now, doesn't it? The flood in the kitchen, the poison oak, the fight that leaves you shaking with rage. Would it have helped if we could see what else was coming? Would we have known that those were the best moments of our lives? -Meredith

An apology...kind of...not really...I don't know. I hate coming up with titles for this shit I post...

"Describe in what ways you expect too much from your significant other. Do they deserve an apology?"

This was the prompt over at Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop that stopped me mid-inspiration-click. I have been thinking a lot about my pending divorce. I recently started remembering all the things I once loved about my husband. While I know this choice, to get a divorce, is whats right for my kids and myself in the long run, I can't help but miss the comfort of our marriage this time of year. Holidays suck for me. I've never been a huge fan anyway, but the last few years have pretty much sealed my loathing of all things traditional. When you feel that way, its nice to have someone to bitch to about it that knows what the hell you're referring to. All that said, I have given my husband a pretty bad ego-bruise. One that I think is most likely deep and scaring. He is not a bad man. By any means. I mean, come on! I am not the Queen of Hell. I am a good person! Therefore, I think it obvious that the man I married and created little people with, hellions as they may be, cannot possibly be THAT bad.

I expected my husband to love me in a way he doesn't know how. I have told him as much over the years. I have said to a few friends recently that I always knew I wasn't being loved in the way I needed. I knew that for whatever reason, he just wasn't right for me. He doesn't understand why I won't give counseling a chance. Its because I know as much as he can change on a surface level, things like behaviors or communication, he isn't ever going to be someone that understands me. He never has. He's the first to admit that. When he doesn't understand something, he won't respond to it. That isn't his fault. Its simply who he is. I spent a long time expecting that to change. For him to change who he is. I can't change who I am. Yet I expected him to. Insanity!

Now here I am, 10 years in and walking away from the only real relationship I have ever known. I am angry with myself that I let it be for as long as I did. I lied to myself. In turn I lied to him. I wanted it to work. I wanted him to be right because we have so much fun. Laughter was never something our marriage lacked. We had a comfortable existence. That is something that I am learning doesn't come natural between two people. That is a gift. He and I had that. At times I still feel it between us, well, when we're getting along that is. When he's mad, he's mean.  Callous.

I can only assume how he feels about all this, too. I wouldn't want to be wrong in my assumptions, so don't hold me to them, but I know he is angry. So, so, so very angry with me. I know he is hurt. Deeply. I know he still holds onto a little shred of hope that this isn't over. I have given him no signs that there is anything to hold on to and even when we're getting along well I remind him of the divorce and that, yes, it is what I want.

I certainly expected many things that were not unreasonable that he fell short of for me. Even if he hadn't though, there were certainly expectations I had that he simply had no way of ever meeting. I realize now that that isn't his fault. I owe him an apology for that. I am so, very, truly and honestly sorry for that, Husband.

I wish it could be different, whether he trusts that or not. I don't want to tear apart the life I have known for so long. I don't want to be miserable, either. Staying with him is certainly the easier choice, by far. It isn't the right one. I know life without him is going to be difficult and I find my heart aching deeply.

I don't know how things are going to turn out for us. I hope we can be friends, because we were always really phenomenal at that. There's no one in the world that will ever laugh at the statement, "That Jeep is FUCKED. UP."...but he will. Letting go of those things is hard. I wish he knew this wasn't all easy for me either. Maybe he does. Maybe he likes that this is difficult for me since, while he certainly helped lead into it, I am the one that facilitated the current circumstances. I don't know. I don't know what he thinks or feels because true to form, he won't communicate with me beyond being mean or callous when he's angry with me. I am guessing that is the only way he knows how to cope. I don't know, again, I won't assume to know anything about how he thinks or feels.

Husband, I know you are reading this and I know some of my words hurt. One day I will write you a post that is directed specifically to YOU, not an anonymous audience. Or maybe one day you will actually be able to talk to me, from your heart (which I know exists because I have seen little bits of its love come through a few times in the last decade). Either way, I'm sorry for expecting you to be someone you're not. It wasn't fair. I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you that. I'm a bit of a pussy at times, despite my she-balls.

TWM...When It All Falls To Crap...

It's a little bit horrifying just how quickly everything can fall to crap. Sometimes it takes a huge loss to remind you of what you care about the most. Sometimes you find yourself becoming stronger as a result. Wiser. Better equipped to deal with the next big disaster that comes along. Sometimes. But not always. -Meredith

My Mom Found Some Old Crap In A Box And This Made Us Laugh...

To: All Male Tax Payers
From: I.R.S.
Subject: Increased Tax Payments

Dear Taxpayer:

The only thing the I.R.S. has not taxed is your pecker. This is due to the fact that 40% of the time it is hanging around unemployed, 30% of the time it is hard up and 10% of the time it is employed, but it operates in the hole. Furthermore, it has two dependents and they are both nuts.

Accordingly, after March 30, 1979, your pecker will also be taxed, based on its size, using the pecker checker scale below. Determine your appropriate category and insert the tax under "other taxes", Part V, line 61 of your Standard Income Tax Return (Form 1040).

Pecker Checker Scale

10 to 12 inches                 Luxury Tax                                    $50.00

8 to 10 inches                   Pole Tax                                          $25.00

6 to 8 inches                     Privilege Tax                                  $15.00

4 to 6 inches                     Nuisance Tax                                 $  5.00

Note: Anyone under 4 inches is eligible for a refund. Do not ask for an extension. Males with peckers in excess of 12 inches should be filed under "Capitol Gains".

Very Truly Yours,

Ruben J. Cutchapeckereff

I.R.S. Representative

Someday...Maybe...

When @Kristin_opc first approached me about blogging I had no freaking clue what she was talking about. In fact, I'm pretty sure I made some joke to the tune of oh-you-stuttering-fool. Then she replied with something like, shut-your-freaking-pie-hole-for-2-seconds-you-beautiful-bitch. Then her fingers floated over the keyboard in a flurry of precision and up popped this beautiful page of text describing her life in detail to a public audience I never realized existed.

Now I write this ridiculous little 'blog' which is really just a place I come to blab about nothing, everything and the space in between. It is my teeny tiny sliver of WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT IT TO BE and I love the shit out of it. It is the one place I feel I can be me...or not be me...and it really doesn't matter because no one that reads this little slice of Shit-pie cares! And I love that!

Tonight my friend Mer and I went out to dinner. After dinner we went to the grocery store. We tried on little hats. Big hats. Crazy hats. We had THE. BEST. TIME. I laughed so hard I was crying. At one point we were so hysterically gasping for air in our antics that I think some fellow consumers believed we truly were in need of medical help. It was the best 30 dollars I have ever spent.

I am sure I will hear about it from my husband later, as he is the one 'working', I can't find a job and I am the one divorcing him...so he dictates what money goes where. As far as he in concerned, not a penny should be spent on my having a good time. He will read this post, or see a Tweet I made about it or some "friend" will fill him in on the simple, old-fashioned, good-natured FUN I had and he will take it upon himself to tear me down for it.

I know it was simple, easy fun. He will try and make me feel guilty for it. For going out while my children were at home, asleep, in the beds I tucked them in to before leaving any further needs of theirs to my mom. For doing something that made me laugh until my side hurt in a joyful, innocent pain...why should I feel joy after hurting him so badly? For thinking for one nano-second that life beyond my current situation could contain a shred of joviality when he had tried his damnedest to show none for any other aspect of our life.

If I hear nothing in morning texts from him it will be because he read this blog post and is looking to go against my basic expectations.

Someday, I think, he will remember me as the simple woman he fell in love with.

Someday, I think, he will remember the easy manner in which I would gently rub my feet together, against the grain of the sheets, an equal number of times before falling asleep.

Someday, he may be able to forgive me and remember the specific manner in which I fold towels before carefully stacking them in the linen closet.

Or maybe he won't. Maybe he never saw those things. Maybe he did and he hated them. Maybe the man meant to notice and adore them hasn't yet entered my life.

Maybe.

But maybe...maybe there's a lot a little bit of the right kind of love can do.

TWM...Double Whammy...

So last week I slacked off and didn't make a TWM post. Here are 2 good ones to make up for last weeks super-slacker-ness. Both of them definitely describe a good part of my life lately, too. Happy Thursday!

When we're headed toward an outcome that's too horrible to face, that's when we go looking for a second opinion. And sometimes, the answer we get just confirms our worst fears. But sometimes, it can shed new light on the problem, make you see it in a whole new way. After all the opinions have been heard and every point of view has been considered, you finally find what you're after - the truth. But the truth isn't where it ends, that's just where you begin again with a whole new set of questions. -Meredith

Ask most surgeons why they became surgeons and they usually tell you the same thing. The high. The rush. The thrill of the cut. For me it was the quiet. Peace isn't a permanent state. It exists in moments. Fleeting. Gone before we knew it was there. We can experience it at any time, in a stranger's act of kindness, a task that requires complete focus or simply the comfort of an old routine. Everyday we all experience these moments of peace. The trick is to know when they're happening so that we can embrace them, live in them. And finally let them go. -Derek

Meanwhile I Keep Searching For A Heart...

"They tell me love requires a little standing in line and I've been waiting for you, lover, for a long, long time. I've been pacing the floor, I've been watching the door. Meanwhile I keep searching for a heart."

Well. Zevon, obviously, was a freaking Genius. Lyrically and possibly definitively. I have heard the lyrics to the above mentioned song on many occasions. I only recently understood (as in, was able to verbally understand, the lyric 'a little standing in line') parts of it and Holy freaking shitsnacks did it happen at a inopportune time. I am at a point in my life where I am divorcing the man I have been with for 10yrs. Ten. Mother. Fucking. YEARS. Time enough to decide what qualities are important in a spouse, or mate. Qualities that...when you are 17 fucking years old you can NOT decide are things you HAVE to have in the future. I have been making a list, mentally, for...years probably, about the qualities I MUST have in a future partner. I have been planning a blog post...pros vs. cons...on this topic for a while as well.

So. Here I am tonight and there is A LOT on my mind. And about 4 sentences prior to this, I received a text from a man I enjoy ALL-too-much. And it just...ugh!!! It is all too freaking annoying, cruel, imperfect and horribly...just...fucking...BULLSHIT. Really. It is. If you knew me, my life, my wants, my desires, my hopes, dreams, lustful thoughts....whatever! You would know. You would be as completely frustrated with life that you want to smack the hell out of anyone that tells you love is real. Tells you happiness exists. Tells you it takes a long time to find the things you want. My friend, that I ADORE, called my life, and only the little he knows about it "twistedly poetic". My response was "Twistedly poetic??? It's a sick fucking joke." This friend has called me "intriguing". He, I think, is insane.

Fuck. I *may* not be thinking entirely clearly. My point is this (I think I have a point but please don't hold me to it): there is apparently a slew of fucking men that seem to think I am exceptional. More than enjoy my company. Love my sense of humor. My love of sports. That I can drink any fucking Irish man under the freaking table. I am not sure how they fail to notice that, as of late, I am cynical, angry and pissed the fuck off at the God damn world. Men that know those things....somehow...none of them...work for me. Because now? Now I have a mother fucking LIST. BITCHES. (I'll do that in another post one day).

I always wanted to be the well educated, gorgeous-in-sweats-with-an-au-natural-glow, looks like a pro while running, cute when angry, special woman men like Hiatt, Joel, Zevon and the others write songs like Feels Like Rain, All About Soul and Mutineer about. I ended up cynical but wonderfully optomistic. I love the rain, I know my soul, I pray for those I love, speak my mind, even when it mean disrespecting the people I love because, God damnit, sometimes it just comes to that. I love the people I hate because that is what Jesus would fucking do. I cry myself to sleep at the end of most days because I cannot believe that I settled for less than any of the surface bullshit qualities I listed above, let alone someone that doesn't set my soul on fire.

I am sick of men wanting the things about myself I hate. Or worse! Seeing things in me that simply aren't there. I'm honestly just annoyed at this point. I am not even divorced yet and the prospect of dating, looking or actively pursueing anyone scare the good and dirty fuck out of me. I have kids already. I have ZERO desire to ever remarry. I want self dependence. My own space. My own bed. A bed that can house my kids and I on a Saturday morning. A bed with pillows soaked in my tears. One that smells of my shampoo and bar soap.

I am sick of men telling me what an interesting, awesome, just-what-I-want-in-a-woman, woman I am. How my personality is exactly what they want. I am sick of being the hypothetical "girl next door". I want to just be me. I want to be me in every way, shape and form and I want for THAT to be enough. I want for that to be "tragically poetic" but in a beautiful way. I want to be all the things I'm not. But I still want the things I am to be enough for the people that need me.

If I weren't so fucking hell bent and giddy on making everyone that enters my life happy, I think it would make ME more happy. I really fucking hate it to shit when the people I think could love the shit out of me, don't have the fucking time of day, or evening, or night-because...of whatever.

Remembering who you are is tough. Being who you are is tougher. Remembering who you are, where you came from and being strong, proud and tough as shit to actually behave in accordance with that is the toughest. Fuck anyone that can't keep up with you and God bless the poor bastards that try like hell. Make Saints of the ones that manage to fill your void without making you hate them, get it and stay with you when you try like the she-devil to try and make them do so.