Tales of a Pasty White Girl

The month of April has not been kind to me so I don't feel the least bit guilty for wishing the bitch a fond farewell. This has been a long and unpleasant 30 days.

This month alone I had a dream crushed, it's still fixable just temporarily out of commission, fought 2 really nasty bouts of strep throat and had 2 sunburns. Sunburns. In April. I know, I know. Pale girl problems, right?

I look absolutely ridiculous right now. My shoulders are lily white and the rest of my arms are the color of a ripe tomato. My calves are as bright as the new fallen snow and my thighs are same shade of red as a baboon's ass. Now visualize all that and you have a visual of me looking all kinds of hot.

For two days I couldn't walk without serious pain. Pants were out of the questions and I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit I wore the same baggy sundress for those two days because I couldn't bear the thought of pulling a pair of shorts or jeans over my swollen, blistered stubby legs. Pulling up underwear took great skill and precision as to not accidentally scrape my tender skin.

Now the itching has started to set in and it is driving me ape shit. In a day or so the oh so attractive peeling will begin and I'll have to slap my daughter's hands away from trying to peel me like a banana. (she's a twisted one, I tell ya). The thing is, I KNOW I'm pasty. I should have known from the first sunburn of the year that I got while standing under a tree was foreshadowing things to come, but nooooo. I'm a dumbass who can't take a hint. I should have immediately ran to Sam's Club and stocked up on sunscreen that very day.

Alas, I didn't and my poor skin has paid the price.

I'm going to the beach in June and at this rate I will burst into flames as soon as I step foot over the Florida state line. If you happen to be in the St. Augustine area around the first week of June and you see a shapeless blob lying on the beach under an umbrella, covered from head to toe in a Snuggie, over sized sunglasses and a floppy hat, stop by and say hi to me. Better yet, take pity on me and bring me a cold Diet Coke and some aloe vera. I'll probably need it.

Oh Ye of Little Faith

I really, truly wish I was one of those people who could rely on faith. I've tried and tried but it isn't something that comes easily to me. As much as I would love to sit back and relax and rest assured that everything will be ok, I can't. There isn't enough Prozac in the world to calm my anxiety ridden self to the point where I can just chill. Faith seems to come naturally to some people. George Michael said we gotta have it, the Bible says we should have it. Why can't I let go and feel it?

That of course brings up more anxiety. Shouldn't someone who identifies as a Christian be able to rely on their faith to ease their fears? Does my inability to do that mean my faith in God isn't strong enough? I drive myself batshit crazy trying to figure it out sometimes.

I want to be able to close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel the sense of calm that so many people are able to experience. The calm that lets them know that everything in life will work out just how and when it is supposed to. Maybe I'm too much of a control freak for that. That requires letting go of the tight grip I have on the need to have answers immediately. I want to know what the plan for me is and I want to know now!  

Is that too much to ask?

Change is Good for the Soul...And the Hair...And the Clothes...

A post I made on Facebook has kind of been bothering me for a few days. Well, maybe not bothering me, but it made me think about things on a deeper level. (Yes, I have many levels. I'm not only cute and hilarious, I am also a deep thinker.)

I had posted a picture of myself on my wedding day and commented how I'd love to fit back into my dress. Not a big deal. One of those "I wish I was as fat now as I thought I was then" moments, you know the ones you have when you're in your mid thirties and have stretched out your body by carrying two large and healthy babies and then pushing their big heads out your hoo-ha, you know? My little sister kind of blasted me for my desire to constantly change. She said I'm fine the way I am and she doesn't understand why I always want to change myself. Well. Let's look at the possible reasons.

We could look at this on a psychological level and say perhaps I'm looking for the kind of approval I desperately wanted but never got from a certain person in my life who shall remain nameless.  But that's not the reason. We could say I'm a victim of the mind fucking laid out by the media and I'm trying in vain to achieve a level of beauty that can only be attained by cosmetic surgery, photoshop and thousands of dollars. But that's not it. Or we could say that I'm just completely spastic, suffer from an undiagnosed form of ADHD that manifests itself in my many hair and body changes. That could be part of it.

Honestly, I don't know why I always want to change the way I look. I love changing my hair and that's all there is to it. I like changing from brunette to red to purple or blonde. I think it's fun to go from long to short to curly to straight. I've been doing it for over 20 years and I don't see that ending anytime soon.

As for the body stuff, well that's another story. I'm no longer trying to change my natural, God given shape. I'm content and secure with being below average height and having an ass that can knock you across the room with one well placed bump to the hip. I don't own a scale so I can't get caught up on a number and I try not to get bent out of shape when I have to go up a pant size because I know it's usually due to the fact that not all brands run in the same sizes. That doesn't mean that I'm going to run out and buy a bikini and let my muffin top flop around. Some things I like to keep under wraps.  I'm a work in progress when it comes to this.

But no matter how often the outside of me changes, the inside never does. I'm still the same goofy, dorky, self-deprecating, lovable gal I've always been. If anything I'm the most comfortable I've ever been and those of you who have known me since the days of being so shy I wouldn't speak up and always walked with my head down so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with the world know that.

So no need to worry dear sister. Let me reassure you that I am completely happy with everything about myself. Except my hair. Growing out a pixie is proving to be a massive bitch. :)

Starting Over

Don't ya just love the twists and turns that life throws at you when you get a little too comfy and cozy? Just when you get your tush smooshed into the sweet spot where you think you everything is right in the world reality starts creeping up on you like the Jaws theme music and ends with a big old bite out of your ass. 

Here's the thing. My first official writing job is no more. Just as swiftly as it entered my life, it exited even faster. Probably wouldn't have been such a big deal had I not quit my boring, responsible, soul-sucking, steady paycheck job to devote my time to following my dream. But I did, and it was and now I'm jobless. 

I can't lie, I've had more than my usual freak outs in the last few weeks. I've had every emotion from sadness, to fear to embarrassment. It's ridiculous how much having a job can define someone. I've worked since I was 16 years old, what do I do now?? The embarrassment  has been the worst because who really wants to admit they made a bad decision? I've never been a person to jump without a net and I'm not sure I will again.  All I can picture is my family living in our mini van down by the river. (And just to clarify, the van is NOT mine. It's my husbands. I cannot bring myself to be a mini van mom. It clashes with my purple hair ;) )

Things like this force you to reevaluate a lot of things. I know things could be worse. I don't have a job but I have my family, our home and our health. Those are the most important things. Looking for a job absolutely sucks. I haven't had to do that in almost 9 years and I'm quickly realizing that I'm not as qualified for things as I'd like to think I am. 

BUT! I'm a persistent and plucky little shit, so I will rise to this occasion. I know exactly what I don't want in a job and now is a great time to find something new.I had a few back up plans in mind and here's what I've come up with. 

I could live my ultimate nerd dream and work at a bookstore during the day and write my own stories at night. 

I could combine my roller skating skills with my teen age fast food experience and be a skating car hop at Sonic. 

I can apply for any and everything I see (within reason. this old girl keeps her clothes on and does not "shake it" in a sexy way) and see what new adventure comes out of this. 

I think that's what I'll do. It might make for a hell of a novel one day. 

Hard Lessons to Learn

There are many, many lessons I have learned as an adult that I wish my kids could understand now. The most important one is to not care what other's think about you. It's a bitch to learn and an even bigger bitch to master, but once you do, your whole world will change.

Joshua was a bit down last night and when he finally opened up he told me he doesn't think anyone at school likes him. This isn't a new conversation, but it is one we haven't had in awhile. The kid has friends at school, he talks about them all the time. Then he finally revealed that it's middle school he's worried about.

"What if no one likes me in middle school?"

Now picture that coming from a kid with the biggest, most expressive brown eyes you've ever seen. Now imagine a few tears welling up in those eyes. It's the worst thing ever. Like, gut punch, kick to the crotch bad. My heart and soul were crushed and I didn't know where to begin.

I tried to explain you don't have to be friends with, or even like everybody but all that got me was an eye-roll and a groan. There are so many things I wanted to tell him that I knew wouldn't help at the moment but would be invaluable when he's older. How a lot of people are just total assholes who love to make others feel bad because it boosts their fragile egos. How if someone doesn't like you for who you really are then they aren't worth your time. How it is important to have one or two friends who have your back all the time and not a bunch of "friends" who would stab you in it. How it doesn't matter what category or clique you fall into during those middle and high school years because once you leave those buildings all that bullshit nonsense won't amount to anything.

But I didn't. Those lessons won't do any good until he's ready to hear them, and right now all he wants to hear is that people will like him. I  hugged my boy, wiped the tears, and said a silent prayer for help to get us through these upcoming years unscathed.

And I might have added a prayer or two for anyone who dares to hurt my baby. Hell hath no fury like a pissed off mom.