operation liberation
so, yeah… being that tomorrow is goina suck, i liberated myself today and cut all my hair off.
the inspiration came from the lovely and luscious sarah’s website, which i love… and then her HAIR website, which i luuuurve. um yeah, homegirl has an entire website dedicated to hair.
so last week, i’m paging through the lovely before and after shots of the magnificence that sarah has inspired for many lovely ladies, and i find this!!!!
“shorter, non-pixie styles” = ME!!!!!!!!!!
i wanted mena suvari’s hair like RIGHT THE EFF THEN!!!
so i book my appointment for “operation liberation,” ready to de-baggage myself of the hair that has weighed me down for oh so long. and i wait… and wait… and then today, the day before THE DAY i gots mah hairz did y’all…
(yes, sarah, you can take any of these photos you want lova…)
the before…
long, thick, heavy, yet luscious
the hair…
over 5 inches of baggage
the during…
the back…
promise, it's my hair... just not blown out straight
the me!!!
mah hairz is the shitz
so yeah, tomorrow may suck. it is quite possible i’ll spend the day in my bed. but dammit i’ll look goooood.
houston, we have a problem
the magoo is turning into a manipulator. yup, it was like he hit 17 months this week and is all of a sudden the 2 year old little shit that i babysat for once upon a time.
(pretty positive that family is not aware of my website. if they are, sorry, but you know she was a little shit back then too).
i know what you’re thinking… “oh no, not the magoo. not the curly haired precious love with the rosy round apple cheeks and chicken legs.”
LOVE ME LOVE ME LOVE ME
problem numero uno: dad is the favorite. it’s cool and all that jackson is a “guy’s guy” and loves hangin with the boys. he loves all of his uncles and has A TON of them (paul’s USNA roommates included) who he sees quite often. he’s rough and tough. bumps his meat head at least 42 times a day and doesn’t even realize it, as does his dad. bottom line, dad’s the favorite.
I LOVE MY DAD. I LOVE MY DAD. I LOVE MY DAD!!!
DAD LOVES ME. DAD LOVES ME. DAD LOVES MEEEE!!!!
problem B: both magoo and i are of the same sun sign. that’s right. taurus the frickin frackin bull reigns this household. granted, i am ALL taurus and jackson is just barely a taurus and dangerously close to aries (the taurus nemesis). nevertheless, we’ve got some stubborn peeps up in this piece.
NO MOM. TALK TO THE HAIR.
troisieme probleme: these manifesting issues we’re having with the magoo are causing this type of dialog between paul and i to happen more often than it should…
paul phone call: “hey. checkin in. how’s it goin?”
me: “effin sucks. our child hates me and only wants you. bring wine home.”
paul: “i swear, i’m not the favorite. as soon as you leave the room, it’s all ‘mom mom mom.‘”
me: “bullshit. bring wine.” click.
**********
the magoo has started this fake crying/whining bit that just drives me up the frackin wall (really trying hard not to drop the f-bomb, mom).
when he doesn’t get his favorite spatula because i’m actually using it to cook with (yes, occasionally i cook. i know, i can hardly believe it myself) he does this “ehhh diss (translation: this) ehhhh diss” that has got to be the most pathetic thing i’ve ever heard.
sometimes when he does the “ehhh diss” i mock him with the spatula. that’s right. i show it to him and say “oh what? you want this? SORRY! NO DICE!”
(i realize this post is making me sounds like a horrific bitch, but those of you who know me know that i’m not… all the time. and those of you who don’t “know” me but read me… well, you can come to your own conclusions on that one).
i digress…
so when the magoo is not whining and moaning or groaning to get something he can’t have (like the candle lighter or my beer bottle) he goes ape shit. the tantrums have started and this child is not even 2 yet. NO ONE TOLD ME THIS HAPPENS BEFORE THEY’RE EVEN 1 AND A HALF. THANKS.
and godalmightyinheaven, allah, the universe, goddesses, ninja aliens, or whatever you believe in as your higher power, when dad leaves for work in the morning, the beast that lies within the magoo comes out in full force. it’s ugly nasty. and it’s a combo of fake whiny cries that don’t produce tears, and anger towards me because he knows he’s left with me all damn day.
guess what kiddo? i’m not too keen on it either.
tips on master manipulating toddlers???? HALP!!!
hold me
i’ve been in bed since 8:38 this evening. trying to keep in mind what so many friends and loved ones are encouraging me to do right now, take care of me. and so i read for a while, attempting to place my mind elsewhere, though the tension headaches blur the words on the page (fuckin PTSD).
jackson had a nightmare tonight. at 10:30 i heard him screaming. paul and i both woke up startled and i went into jackson’s room to find my magoo crying in the corner of his crib yet still asleep. eyes closed. i picked him up, wrapped the two of us in a blanket and rocked him until he calmed down. rubbing his back, i wondered to myself “what could a little one, a 17 month old, possibly have a nightmare about?”
maybe jackson was waking me up from a nightmare. i have a lot of them. maybe he woke me up, knowing that right now i need the comfort, the closeness, the support.
i need to be held.
**********
i’ve been receiving a lot of emails this week, as saturday approaches… my 9 year sucky anniversary. a friend, a fellow survivor, wrote me today and asked “does it get better?” (referring to the time after one shares one’s story). “tell me it gets better,” my friend said.
i couldn’t give her the 1 word, 3 lettered answer she wanted… instead i emailed her back and said, “once it’s out and you’ve opened yourself up and shared, it’s embraced. maybe not easier. but embraced.”
**********
there are times when i am strong. i imagine wearing this armor consisting of survivorship and bravery and power.
and then there are times when i am weak.
my armor is currently hung up in my closet, allowing me the vulnerability to be who i am at this moment, a sleep-deprived, just-getting-by rape survivor. i’ll put the armor back on at the start of october.
a new month approaches. a good one. one that includes a trip out to portland and seattle just paul and i. one that will include me expanding on my story in ink.
i am excited.
**********
i twittered with another friend today, who is experiencing her own sucky anniversary this week. not in the same way i am, but she is grieving the loss of her child. and as both she and i most likely share too much on the internet, i found myself telling her, “i hear you. and i’m listening.”
i imagine both of these friends i mention in this post have their own armor.
sometimes it gets too heavy to wear. and you have to hang it up for a while.
be vulnerable.
cry it out.
be held.
under-tow
waves
collecting
swelling
building
rolling
tumbling
crashing
reaching
and then
pulling
retracting
repeatedly
**********
this is not a good week for me. i appreciate all the support you so graciously offer via emails, comments, and tweets. please forgive me if i don’t answer you in the most timely of manners. saturday will mark 9 years. 9 years of waves.
lovey but no likey
guess what? i’m actually going to write a post today that has nothing to do with the following:
A) babies/toddlers/children of any sort
B) puke/vomit/spewing
C) rape.
(((wild applause and a bow… “thank you. no, thank YOU.”)))
a little bickering and arguing between me and my hub this morning has inspired this post. nay, inspired this question that i want to throw out there to all of you… this is not a question that applies only to the married folk, thereby excluding the unmarried. no no.
this is a question that applies to anyone in a relationship, an exclusive one (more specifically). anyone who has a significant other to whom you are devoted and (here’s the kicker…) love.
L-O-V-E
if you’re just screwin around with someone and you like them but do not love them, this post is not for you and therefore you should close this window and take your browser elsewhere. thanks for playin.
to answer my question, you must in fact love the one you’re with, because my question is this…
what do you do when you love your significant other but you just don’t like them?
and this isn’t a long-term not-liking situation; this most likely consists of a situation or circumstance in which your loved one has done something or said something (or not done or said something when you wish they had) that you just aren’t cool with. your significant other has disappointed you in some way, shape or form, and you find yourself just not liking them at that moment.
bleh… is what comes to mind.
you love the person, most definitely. you know their heart and you love the core of their being… you loooove that person, but ya just don’t like ‘em.
what do you do?
how do you get to the point where you find yourself liking them again?
is time a factor? do you just need some space to get perspective and breathe?
does your significant other have to make it up to you in some way in order to gain your likeness back?
i’m struggling to find how i answer this question myself, which is why i am putting it out in the blogosphere.
answer me oh internetz… fill my mind with your internetty wisdom…
sometimes punching pillows helps. sometimes escaping in the car and driving helps. other times, like now, writing helps and at least alleviates that negative energy (til i leave my sanctuary at panera and go home).
quite honestly, i have been known to throw a plastic cup at a wall. and while it didn’t break (which i was hoping for) it made a very loud sound that pleased me. not that i am encouraging such behavior… i’m just sayin, i’ve done it.
so what do you do when you look at that person, your person and say, “i love you, but i just don’t like you right now.”
how do you get back to liking them again?
Have a Sip
