Why Can't I Just Not Care?

Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you could just not care? Seriously. Like just walk away, not care, turn a blind eye?

Sometimes, I think my life would be a lot simpler if I had that ability.

Recently, I tried to turn over a new leaf and be more open minded, loving, accepting. To be more helpful and less judgmental.

Because deep down? I like to help people. So I tried my hardest. I tried so hard it made my head hurt and my heart ache. I tried so, so hard.

But, I've come to realize, some people do not want my help. They don't want help at all.

Also? I've realized that no matter how hard you try, not everyone is going to like you. There may be no good reason, but it is what it is.

My personality type really takes issue with being disliked. I've never done well with people not liking me, especially if I dig deep and am really honest with myself and I still can't figure out why they don't like me.

Yes, I'm whining. But I truly struggle with this.

And some days, I really question the value of empathy. Don't get me wrong, I value empathy, but can you care too much? Is it a waste of energy and emotion to make kind gestures towards people who continually throw it back in your face?


Hot Mess

Today is my birthday - I'm the big 3-2.

Woo. Hoo.

No, I'm not all freaked out about getting older. I just don't get so excited about birthdays anymore. I really can't remember the last time I did anything for my birthday except maybe go out to dinner.

Which is fine.

No, really. I promise.

But sitting here today made me think about where I was ten years ago on my birthday. England. Having way too much fun. WAY TOO MUCH. As in, if you look up pent up, goody two shoes set loose in a foreign land with lots of booze in the dictionary, there's my picture.


That's me on the left. Yes, I am standing on a table (I was wearing a miniskirt standing on a table, cause I totally am classy like that). Yes, I am doing 'rock on horns' with my fingers. I can tell you that I remember that night and it didn't end pretty. Oh no.

Did I mention I drank a lot? Yeah. This drink in my hand? It's called a Snakebite and it is pure evil in a glass. In fact, many pubs over there will not serve this concoction because people end up doing stupid things after drinking a few...YOU DON'T SAY. The bartenders never had a problem serving those bad boys up to us silly exchange students.

Which brings me to this day,exactly ten years ago.

The birthday celebration extraordinaire. My twenty-second birthday fell at the end of the school year. I'd made some great friends and we were ready to cut loose.

I decided that I wanted to cook dinner for all my roommates. Nice gesture, no?

Except for the fact that I started drinking around noon. So, by the time dinner time rolled around, let's just say my knife skills weren't so great. I did not cut myself, but I'm pretty sure I grated some knuckle with the parmesan.

We hit the pub, stayed there till it closed, then hit the local disco. I remember pretty much everything that night, which is amazing, because I counted how many drinks I had and I hit 22 between 5pm and 3am. 22 for my 22nd.

Wow. Maybe I should be proud? Or not.

Here is the sole photo I have from that night. It is blurry. Kind of fitting. (OMG, I'm totally drinking peach schnapps.)

There are times I get nostalgic for that crazy time in my life. Cause I've for the most part lived a pretty down to earth, responsible existence.

But for a year (or two) I was a bit of a (FUN) trainwreck. I made it through, unscathed.

That hot mess? I miss her. Carefree, LOUD, probably obnoxious as hell.

But would I go back to that? Um, no. Not in a million years.

This morning, my husband brought my son in to me to snuggle at 7am. He got right under the covers, rolled over and hugged me and said 'I wuv you mommy'.

I'm pretty sure that no birthday party could EVER top that.



This last week - no make that two weeks - have been really rough.

You may or may not know my mother in law passed away early Wednesday morning. The lead up to her passing was...God...I don't even know how to describe it. Overwhelming. Scary. Unbearably sad.

And now that's she's gone, there is a sense of relief, not because she's not with us, but because she was suffering so horribly. I had never witnessed someone dying from cancer. And it is beyond awful.

But wedged in between the sorrow, there were little glimpses of the woman we love, gifts to us, things we can look back on and smile.

Grief comes in waves. I will forget for a moment that she's gone. Then it hits again.

My mother in law loved to ride on the back of her husband's Harley and today, when I was out on my run, a pack of Harley's roared by me. I stopped, there on the side of the road, sobbing. And then, for the rest of my run, I just talked to her in my head.

Thanking her. Asking her for forgiveness for any way I'd hurt her. Telling her funny things G had said and done in the last few days. Promising her that I would take care of her family.

And I think she could hear me.


Spam Belongs in a Can, Not in My Comments.

I need some help, users of Blogger!

I get the WORST spam in my comments. I won't even tell you what it is because I swear when I talk about it, more of them come and spam me - I will just say that it has to do with young women of Asian descent scantily (or not) clad. It is driving me absolutely insane.

For a long time, I blogged here and didn't turn on the word verification in the comments because, let's face it, I don't get a ton of comments and word verification is a further deterrent.

But, after dealing with all the garbage I've been finding in my comments, I figured anyone who is truly interested in commenting would put up with the hassle.

And that the spammers would not. WRONG.

No, for some reason, the damn spammers are not only patient with word verification, they are verified blogger users.

So, if anyone out there who reads this has any advice for getting rid of the creepy commenters, please say so in the comments.

I'm begging you!


We Ran. We Ate. We Drank. We Cut Hair. (Texas, Part II)

I fell behind in my Texas posts, but I'm BACK. On to day two:

After falling asleep listening to the craziest thunderstorm I've ever witnessed (and listening to Christy and Lisa yelling 'STRIKE' in the next room when thunder struck), I awoke to a bright and beautiful, albeit, VERYEFFINGEARLY Saturday morning. By early I mean 6:15 Texas time and 4:15 Washington time. Yes, that's A.M. There was coffee. So I didn't complain (I don't think. I can't be held responsible for any early morning whining that may have escaped). And then? We ran. Lots of miles. I did 9. NINE. What? And it didn't hurt, for the first time in forever.

I ate a PowerBar Shot. It was seriously the grossest thing I have ever ingested. I'm not even kidding. It tasted so horrendous it burned. But it worked. The last two miles went so fast.

Big ups to Amanda, the best pit crew ever. She drove up and down and up and down the road, making sure we were hydrated and all that good stuff. Plus, she took some amazing photos.

Like this one.

Christy, Amanda, Lisa, Thea, Me, Kirsten, Elaine

After our run, we all went and hunkered down in the Frio River. Best post run icing, ever. Miss Molly the dog came with us and spent some quality time fishing for the minnows that were nipping at our legs.

Next? A haircut. I think all of us were freaking out a little bit about cutting Kirsten's hair...except Kirsten! That hooker couldn't wait to be freed of her flowing locks! We measured the her hair to make sure it was long enough to donate, then Christy went to work with, um, KITCHEN SHEARS? Yeah. It was pretty awesome. Jonathan Antin is crapping his pants right now.

See? Don't eff with Christy and her kitchen shears. For reals, yo. She'll cut a hooker(s hair).

All done! Kirsten is one brave lady. And now? I can't even picture her with long hair...short just suits her perfectly.

The night continued...how many hookers does it take to open a bottle of wine?

And there was wine. And margaritas. And shots. And lots of amazing food.

We had a favorite things swag bag - each of us brought a little something to share with the group.
So much fun - and a great way to get to know each other even better!

It gets surprisingly cold at night in Texas. We gathered round the campfire, had s'mores and laughed. A lot.

You know when you wake up in the morning with a sore throat from gabbing so much you've had a good night!