Changes

There is no clever anecdote for this day. To put it plainly, my life has completely changed. I don't want to say fallen apart because there is still a lot of it that kicks ass.

So, over all, I'm still awesome, Silas is still perfect, I still have the best friends in the world, I still have an amazing family, I still have a good job with really great bosses and co-workers, and my roly-poly ass has not missed a meal.

There's just this giant elephant in the room of the pending being a single mom losing the man I'm in love with thing to deal with. Once i've figured out how not to give a shit (and believe me, I will) all will be right with my world.

And no, Kenneth, I'm still not going to jump. Sorry to disappoint.

Re-write

Disney got it all wrong with Prince Charming and the Knight in shining armor.

You want to know who really comes in and saves the day? Your best friend. Most of time your best friend is either a straight female or a gay male. Or if you're a dude reading this post, you don't really care about Prince Charming, but you're decidedly NOT the ones saving we damsels-in-distress from our evil step-mothers (hateful bosses, ill-trained color specialists, you). YOU are saving your Bros from their bitchy wives/girlfriends.

That is the true dynamic of the male/female relationship. Men don't ride up on stallions and slay dragons for their princesses. They hop in their jeeps and pick up a six pack and a pizza and watch kung-fu with their ailing buddies.

Meanwhile, our bad-ass girlfriends plant a stiletto in the dragon's heart, careful not to break that bottle of wine, and have the princess out of that dragon's grasp and laughing uproariously within half an hour of arriving.

So, can we stop selling our little girls this crap about some knight in shining armor riding up to save the day so that HER girlfriends don't have to listen to how she doesn't understand why he doesn't "care about her feelings"?

Simply put: Your man just wants to drink beer and laugh at dumb stuff you don't find remotely entertaining, and your girlfriend will always agree with you and never call you "ridiculous" for any (ridiculous) thing you are upset about.

I propose a Disney re-write, or just a ban altogether.

Lazy Sunday

Si and I are laying on the couch. The dogs are tangled up in there somewhere too.

Nothing wrong with that. It's Sunday.

Except....half my house is in boxes and half is still in cabinets and drawers. My husband broke (okay, probably not broke but that's how he's acting) his back yesterday, and my mother-in-law is two weeks out from having had shoulder surgery.

We three are my moving crew. And as I already know there's no such thing as a packing fairy from my last move, I should be doing something other than laying on the couch.

I keep setting timelines for myself to get off the couch. "At 9:30, you'll get up and pack the kitchen."

At 9:30, what I actually did was start the marathon of watching all the crap I have DVR'd.

All of this has led me to draw the conclusion that I should never aspire to be a life coach or a motivational speaker.

Teaspoon of narcissism

A few text messages and a tricky solicitor named Debbie woke me up this morning.

The texts were to warn that Kenneth was back, and as I was trying to make my son laugh, I was mulling over, "Who the hell is Kenneth?"

That's when it occurred to me that real writers aren't getting attacked by their friends, family and fans. Just their critics. Random strangers who judge them with no actual relationship to color the judgement.

I have a critic. Therefore, I am a real writer.

Hello lemon, you have become lemonade.

Dear Kenneth

Clearly, we all have shitty days, and today was one of my days.

I really appreciate that people read my blog, but if reading my blog prompts you to encourage me to commit suicide, like dear, sweet Kenneth (who I don't know from Adam), do me a favor and don't read it.

It's okay to have bad days, and it's okay to hurt, and it's okay to get angry, and if you disagree, my blog is something you will never enjoy. So, don't waste your very precious time reading it, and don't waste my very precious time encouraging me to jump out a window and leave my 6 month old with one less parent.

I'm moody and bitchy and I enjoy airing my frustrations. It doesn't make me suicidal. It makes me female. I find that most insecure men are terrified by that.

Screw life not being fair

There is a blog in my "saved" folder titled "shiny and happy." You don't get to see that one because I didn't hit publish prior to the shiny and happy wearing off. Instead, you will be enduring plain, old, bitter Michelle.

I'm taking issue with unfairness today. Frankly, all the people who have ever responded to a lament of "It's not fair!" with "Life's not fair" can just stop reading now because I have no patience for your "get over it" attitude at the moment.

I've been "getting over" the same things for years. What that actually entails is taking up a vice (most vices kill you) and applying the vice as a band aid every time my "This isn't fair!" moment rears its ugly head because to address it will only get me beaten back with "life's not fair" which actually translates to "I don't really care."

The solution came to me today while I stared out my window (and didn't work because my work is one facet of my unfairness problem). I'm done participating in unfair situations. Once I have aired my frustration and requested change and been denied, I'm going to walk away. I am not going to keep burying the unfairness with my vices (the ones that are killing me) and hoping things will get better.

Things do not get better on their own, and they certainly do not get better when you accept answers like "life's not fair." Perhaps life isn't fair, but I'm no longer willing to live under anyone else's brand of unfair-to-you-but-it's-benefiting-me while I go quietly crazy.

Changes to come. Maybe you'll see that "Shiny and Happy" blog soon.

Dammit, Apple.

Apple has officially made my list. How can they call the contraption in my hand a phone when it will do everything but make and sustain a phone call?

It would almost be worth paying for a landline not to have to explain a dropped call to my very sweet grandmother once a week (or twice if it's a long conversation or I'm mobile on my mobile phone).

The apps were just awesome enough to keep Apple off my list until my friend, Brooke, also got an iPhone.

It has become nearly impossible for us to communicate, and, for this, Apple makes the list.

I was chomping at the bit to jump on the iPhone bandwagon (not camp-in-front-of-the-store [because I have a job] chomping, but can't-really-make-fun-of-the-guy-camping-in-front-of-the-store chomping).

Yes, I had heard about the dropped calls, but I do not enjoy talking on the phone anyway. So, win-win for me....until I got an iPhone and found out that I hate texting on it worse than I hate talking on the phone.

Blackberry getting Words With Friends is all I'm waiting on to un-convert.

Apple, you're on notice.