38

i would post a "this is what 38 looks like" picture, but i'm still in bed and my hair's a mess. also, if you've seen me recently, you pretty much have a clue as to what 38 looks like. not much has changed. :-)

and this is where i quote myself from last year's b-day post:

"today - and really, the whole month of december so far - is about celebrating myself. i'm alive. i'm relatively well. i'm safe. i may not have my own place but i have somewhere to sleep that doesn't involve a shelter or a cta train. i have a part-time job that doesn't completely suck. my friends win all of the awards for being wonderful. i am loved. there is obviously a metric fuck-ton that i can be upset about, and trust me, i am totally upset about a lot of things a lot of the time, but for right now, in this moment? happy."

i stand by all of that. if anything, the list of things i'm upset about has grown (america, fuck yeah?), but i  have so much more to be thankful for, also. like friends who cue up the jukebox with prince, rick james, and stevie wonder and order shots of whiskey right at midnight so i can start my actual birthday off right. i'm thankful for this year's b-day staycation. hell, i'm thankful for the ability to recognize how many things i have to be thankful for. not everyone can do that.

here's to 38 being a spectacular year. i have no idea what's in store, but i'm glad y'all are along for the ride.

happy birthday to me!

on: difficulty with generosity

why is it sometimes so challenging for me to accept generosity from others? (sorta kinda related: why is it so challenging for me to spell "generosity" correctly on the first try? thank god for spell check.)

a friend from college emailed me to say they'd be in town this week for work, and wanted to know if we could hang out one evening. calendars were consulted and a date was made. i asked if my friend wanted something specific for dinner, since they haven't lived here full-time in forever. not really, they said - this was more of a pre-birthday celebration dinner for me anyway, so i could pick the restaurant (within reason, of course).

needless to say that i was excited about this prospect, not only for #alldecembereverything reasons, but also b/c i hadn't seen this friend in a while and we always have fun when we catch up.

and then another friend, who'd already said they were plotting a celebratory surprise of sorts for my b-day, sent me a note with some of the particulars for our outing. i might have done a little dance of joy while i was at work reading my email. ok, i totally did a little dance of joy while i was at work reading that email, but then i remembered i was at work and therefore i should keep the dancing to a minimum.

obviously i have no issues accepting generosity during the month of december and, depending on how my annual celebration plays out, sometimes into january. it's the ordinary (read: non-celebratory) acts of kindness that i have issues accepting at times.

i alluded to this back in october (also i just realized i spelled "engagement" wrong in that title and fixed it before i started writing this, dammit) and i found myself wrestling with it again last night. y'know how some people have trouble accepting compliments? i have trouble occasionally with people being nice to me. it's not that i feel that i'm unworthy of such kindness b/c, as we all know, i love myself to the moon and back and beyond. i think it's more of a residual superwoman complex - deluding myself into thinking i have to do every gotdamn thing myself and then feeling guilty when someone offers to do something that will make me feel better, even if it's fleeting.

i know i'm not the only person who struggles with this, even though the rationale behind it may be completely different. i am trying to be better about this, i swear. i do not want to be that guy picking a fight or starting an argument when someone does me a unsolicited favor.

question of the day

do you know anyone who grew up wanting to be a cop?

i know people who wanted to be teachers, or lawyers (self included), or doctors, or firefighters, or astronauts, or veterinarians, or a slew of other things, but i can't think of anyone who wanted to be a cop.

yes, these are things i think about when i wake up at 4am and can't go back to sleep right away. given recent events, i don't think i can be blamed for this line of questioning. sigh.

#alldecembereverything: the 2014 edition

guess what time it is? no, it's not peanut butter jelly time, but i completely understand if that's your first answer.

it's #alldecembereverything time! yes, ladies and gentlemen, my absolute favorite time of year is here! yes, i know december doesn't start until monday, but since quasi-landlord is taking me out for an early b-day dinner celebration on sunday, i figured i'd might as well post the celebration list in its current form so y'all can pick and choose which (if any) activities you want to participate in.

tuesday, december 2: "porgy and bess" at lyric opera. goldstar has discounted tickets available.

thursday, december 4: bears vs. dallas. thursday night football. #anyonebutdallas. it's entirely possible that i will end up watching this game at home, but on the off chance that a game watch gets organized, i'm putting it out there.

friday, december 5: i'm going to the one of a kind show at merchandise mart. discounted tickets available via goldstar, or you can try to find freebies via some of the participating artists. if you want to go on friday, let me know b/c i have an extra free ticket. first come first serve.

saturday, december 6: karaoke at third coast comics at 7pm-ish. i'll be there after i get off work. byob.

sunday, december 7: sweet honey in the rock at symphony center in the afternoon. also short rib dinner that evening with the fine folks at sunday dinner club. if you want in on the nomz, let me know & i'll forward the details to you.

wednesday, december 10: women employed event with roxane gay. if you haven't read "bad feminist" or "an untamed state" yet, you should do that. both books are amazeballs.

sunday, december 14: ladybrunch at angelina. 11am-ish, depending on when i can get a reservation. you should rsvp if you haven't already. if you didn't get an invite and feel that you should have b/c we're cool like that, please let me know so i can rectify this oversight.

monday, december 15: bears vs. saints monday night football. depending on the weather and my budget and other factors, i will either be at soldier field or at a bar for this game. stay tuned for updates as i get this one figured out.

tuesday, december 16: blackhawks vs. wild. i am hoping against hope that i will be at the united center for this game. if that falls through, i'll likely watch it at burger bar b/c $5 wings on tuesdays are delicious.

wednesday, december 17: happy birthday to me! lunch at primehouse as per my usual, then the david bowie exhibit at the mca (squee!) at 1:30. dinner and/or drinking later that evening tbd.

thursday, january 1: bilal at city winery. i bought discounted tickets via goldstar and you should too, b/c saving money is awesome.

yes, i know that last event isn't in december, but if you know me, then you know that i'm likely to continue this celebration until MLK day, if not longer.

i will try to update this list as events warrant. happy almost #alldecembereverything! :-)

defining and pursuing happiness

i was up late last night watching the end of the blackhawks game (yay!) and the bulls game (boo!) and as midnight struck, my mind started racing just as i started yawning repeatedly. this, of course, meant that it took me some extra time to actually fall asleep b/c i couldn't stop mulling certain thoughts over and i was honestly too lazy to go get my laptop or pull out a notebook and start writing.

luckily, some of those same thoughts were still present when i woke up this morning, so here we are.

i think we all need the occasional reminder that we can not define anyone's happiness. that's not part of my job description as your friend. i can talk with you about how you'd like your own version of happiness to look, but i can't define it for you.

what i can do, though, is help you in the pursuit of your happiness. that is definitely in my job description as your friend. you figure out what makes you happy, you clue me in on it, and off we go in the pursuit of whatever that something or someone is.

like i said earlier this year - i'm all about supporting your dreams and your goals and, yes, the pursuit of your happiness. i may not be able to define that shit for you, but damned if i won't be supportive if/when you figure it out. everyone needs at least one person in their corner who's willing and able to back them up, even if it's just to play cheerleader. go pursue some happiness or at least have fun trying to figure it all out. :-)

a few rules of engagement

pay attention.

use your words.

when someone wants to be nice or do something nice for you, let them.

those sound simple as hell, and yet i find myself constantly reminding myself that these are just a few things i can do to not completely suck as a friend. obviously i do not have all of the answers for "how to be an awesome friend" b/c if i did there would be a book or at least another blog and i'd be making the rounds on the talk show circuit and making all of the monies. :-)

this week, i kept repeating "pay attention" and "use your words" to myself over and over, like a mantra. i will admit that part of it was due to the fact that i needed a few people to, well, pay attention and/or use their words and it wasn't happening the way i wanted it to. also i'm not a mind-reader and i have no idea what some folks are thinking if they don't actually verbalize that shit, but whatever.

letting people do nice things for me (well, outside of my birthday, i guess) should not be as difficult for me as it is. first i feel guilty and then i feel like i'm letting myself down for not doing whatever the nice thing in question is on my own and then the voices in my head just have a field day b/c it's fucking ridiculous to feel this way. so what if quasi-landlord offered to make dinner 2 nights in a row when i was perfectly capable of scrounging up my own sustenance? just say thank you and stfu already, self.

(i totally said that to myself this week, btw.)

pay attention.

use your words.

when someone wants to be nice or do something nice for you, let them.

any other rules for not being a sucktastic friend? please to discuss in the comments.

by all means, please send your finest cheese to go with this whine

(all of the whining and emo in this post, in case the title didn't tip you off already.)

i really didn't want to go to work yesterday. like, at ALL. not because it was monday, or because i thought i'd be walking into a shitshow, but because i just really wanted to sit at home and listen to music and eat and drink my feelings. i talked myself out of taking yesterday off b/c i knew i'd have today to sit at home and wallow in my feels if i so chose.

it was dicey for a while there, though. by the time i got to work, i was emotionally exhausted and felt like the smallest thing could send me over the edge. luckily, i made it home without falling apart. a friend asked how i was doing and all i could say was that i was tired. i couldn't get my shit together enough to articulate the hows and whys of my being tired, which, as i admitted to my friend, was frustrating for both of us - them because they were genuinely concerned about what was up with me, and me because i wasn't in a space where i felt like i could give voice to everything i wanted to say. i'm gonna try to give voice to it now.

here's what i think i know at the moment: i'm fucking exhausted. not physically, but more mentally/spiritually. i'm tired of feeling like all the work i've been putting into building and creating a sustainable life for myself has been for naught. i've been living with quasi-landlord for a little more than a year now and while yes for the love of god and other holy things i am thankful for fuck's sake for having a stable living situation, it's not mine and i'm not satisfied.

that's part of my problem, you see. every time i feel like i want to express this frustration, there's a voice in my head telling me to stfu and be thankful for where i am. i AM thankful, as most of y'all can attest if you've been paying attention. my #attitudeofgratitude has been well documented.

and then there's another voice in my head saying that i should just be ok with what i have and be done with it. to stop working so damn hard and accept what i see as a temporary life as permanent. to resign myself to part-time employment and barely having enough to cover expenses and honestly spending more time than i'll publicly admit thankful for my introvert tendencies b/c it means i can stay home and not spend money.

that's not me, though. i want more than that. i want a full-time job that lets me maintain financial responsibility and doesn't make me want to cry every time i walk into work. i want a place of my own where, if i so choose, i can invite y'all over or just be by my gotdamn self and be happy. i want enough money left over after paying bills and handling business to be able to eat, drink, hang out, and be merry. this doesn't sound like a tall order to me, and yet it's been elusive as hell during the past 6 years. did i mention that i'm fucking exhausted? b/c i am.

obviously i am able to keep moving and functioning on most days, but that's because yet another voice in my head pretty much commands me to get up every day. even today, while i'm parked on the couch writing this, i pulled myself out of bed and took a shower and even washed my hair b/c that voice reminds me that i still need to take care of basic things, like hygiene.

every now and then, though - like yesterday and today - shit gets overwhelming and instead of pushing all those emotions away, i need to give myself permission to vent them or at least sit with them and acknowledge their presence before i go back to living for what passes as normal. the fact that i feel like i have to give myself permission to be exhausted is exhausting in and of itself, and yet here i am.

you know where i'll be tomorrow? back at work. back to the proverbial grind. roxane gay kinda nails it for me in her "the price of black ambition" piece, specifically here:

I have achieved a modicum of success, but I never stop working. I never stop. I don’t even feel the flush of pleasure I once did when I achieve a new milestone. I am having a moment, but I only want more. I need more. 

i almost wept after i read that this morning b/c it's just so damn timely and applicable to my life. i can't even say that i'm having a moment...ok, i could say that, but i'd be lying to myself and i try to avoid that, so, yeah. as much as i think i would love to rest on my laurels (such as they are at the moment), i don't think i could ever stop until i reach my goal. knowing me, i'd probably make up a new goal and then keep working. such is my life.

o hai october!

i have been meaning to write something all week long. unfortunately, i have been unable to remember what i was going to write about. i know better. i know i should write these ideas down whenever they pop into my head b/c my quasi-ADD tendencies mean it's highly likely that i will forget whatever brilliant blog post idea i had. womp.

instead, i will share some of the random and/or reoccurring thoughts that have been swirling around my head this week. ok, some of them have been hanging around for longer than a week, if i'm going to be completely honest, but let's not nitpick.

--who takes care of the caretakers? what happens when the person who's been designated as the caretaker realizes that they're overwhelmed and can't fulfill the duty or duties that have been put upon them? who's there for those people?

--believing in love even when you're not actively in love with someone. i think i tweeted about this late last week - someone asked if i still believed in love and they were kinda shocked when i said yes. love takes all kinds of forms and even my cynical self can still believe in love even when i'm not in love. i don't know why that's a difficult concept for some folks to understand. the day i give up on believing in love is the day i just need to retire to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and y'all know i'm too much of a city girl for that to ever happen.

--football! woo! i love not having to worry about what i'm wearing on saturdays and sundays during the season. i watched a bit of last night's game (seriously, vikings: you had ONE JOB) and found myself annoyed with all of the pink for breast cancer awareness. yes, i am team #fuckcancer all day everyday but the "pink fatigue" is real for me. obviously your mileage may vary. also i saw like 2 minutes of the arizona/oregon game last night and holy hell those oregon uniforms pissed me off.

hope y'all are doing well and continuing to #embracethecrazy and #doitlive and believing in love and all those other beautiful things that keep us moving forward. :-)

connecting with "life itself"

i saw "life itself" last night. it was on my "must-see eventually" list as soon as i heard it was being released, but i missed it in theaters during its first wave. i could've rented it via on demand or on amazon, but i didn't for some reason.

when i found out "life itself" was playing at the siskel film center, some part of me knew that there's where i needed to go for this. thankfully my schedule wasn't super-crazy this week and therefore i could take myself on this journey.

more than once during the movie, i reminded myself that i was watching a film about roger ebert at the gene siskel film center. i felt like such a CHICAGOAN in those moments. i can't really pinpoint why. i mean, it's no secret that i have lived in and loved this city for what feels like forever, suburban sojourns notwithstanding. maybe my subconscious was having a particular 9/11 remembrance and without my realizing it, i was having a stronger attachment than usual to this city. 

i am attempting to write this w/o spoilers for those of you who haven't seen the movie and/or read ebert's memoir, but this piece kinda gets at what i'm trying to share: gene siskel's widow was talking about the tempestuous relationship siskel and ebert had. at one point, gene said of roger, "he's an asshole, but he's my asshole." i laughed through my tears on that one b/c that's how i feel about, well, a lot of you. (i use the term "asshole" with nothing but love and affection, obviously.) 

i think that's what struck me both in roger's book and in this film - that throughout his life, he wanted to connect with people. not necessarily people he agreed with, mind you, but people who meant something to him. maybe it's b/c he was an only child and i'm sure any psychologist worth their proverbial salt would say that ebert was creating a family of his own. (i am not a psychologist, nor do i play one on tv, so please don't accept this diagnosis as scientific fact.)

that resonates with me, as most readers of this blog have probably surmised throughout the years. the desire…no, strike that - the need, really, to develop and maintain connections, however tenuous. not to be popular, b/c clearly i am bereft of fucks to give about being popular, but to know that there's a circle, however big or small, of people you give a shit about and who, hopefully, give a shit about you.

seeing roger with chaz was on a completely different level of connection, though. i was digging through my twitter archive looking for things i'd written in response to roger's death last year. a lot of what i managed to say through my blubbering focused on chaz and roger. i may live to see 100 and i'm not convinced i'll see another relationship like the one they chose to share with us.

building and maintaining connections. it's not easy and yet roger and chaz seemed to work so well together that you'd forget that there was actual work involved. there were a couple of times in the film where you just knew chaz was nearing the end of her patience while roger was hospitalized, but then you'd catch them giving each other looks like "ok, fine, i'll stay, but only b/c it's you." that's a helluva connection.

and then (spoiler alert for those who haven't seen the movie) chaz talks about how, at the very end, she and some other loved ones were with roger and they were playing dave brubeck's music and everyone was holding hands and she found herself peaceful enough to be able to let roger go. that's another part of having connections, isn't it? knowing when it's time to sever a connection, be it through death or disagreement or something else.

as the end credits rolled, i just sat there for a moment, primarily b/c i'd cried enough to give myself a sore throat and i couldn't stop blinking residual tears away. i just kept thinking that my heart was so heavy and yet so very full at the same time.

hours later as i write this, i still feel that way - that my heart has been so heavy and yet so full simultaneously. not just today. not even just this week. hell, not even just this year, and lord knows there's been enough to cry/laugh/cry about already.

maybe it's remembering how powerful connections can be. i know i've felt more connected to chicago in the past few years than i probably ever have b/c of [reasons]. 

but i also feel like i've (re)established some powerful connections during that same time frame. i don't mean powerful in terms of clout or anything like that. but powerful more like…meaningful. i guess that's a more appropriate term. yeah, we'll go with "meaningful." that sounds good.

i think that the older we get and the more we realize that certain things in life really do have the capacity to suck for what feels like forever, the more important the connections we have with other people are. sometimes those connections are the only thing that gets us through. other times those connections are blocking us from whatever's next. the wisdom, one hopes, would be in knowing the damn difference.

on: being grounded (and not in the teenager kind of way)

i was talking to a friend recently and they were telling me about the current woes of a young woman they know. apparently she's a child of divorce and her mom is unstable and one or both parents are recovering alcoholics and she, according to my friend, just can't seem to get her act together. in this young woman's defense, though, she's still, well, young. i've not met this woman, but i know she's only a year out of college and is still trying to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up.

my friend is understandably concerned about this woman, b/c apparently her issues are starting to manifest themselves in ways that could be construed as self-defeating, if not self-destructive. as far as i can tell (and this is based solely on what my friend's told me, mind you), this young lady isn't really aware of the fact that her behavior is starting to raise some eyebrows.

"you know what i think a big part of (young lady)'s problem is," my friend noted, "is that there's no substance there. she doesn't have any sort of grounding or center. she doesn't really know who she is. it's not her fault, obviously, but i think that's what's missing."

we mulled that over for a bit and then my friend continued, "i mean, look at you. look at the things that have happened to you during the past few years. you're grounded enough and you're confident enough in who you are that you were able to deal with all of those things without floating away or completely coming unglued."

(god bless this friend for choosing to ignore just how damn close i've been to breaking down on multiple occasions, but whatever.)

my friend thinks that this young woman needs to seek counseling so that she can identify all of her myriad issues and, slowly but surely, work on addressing them. not a bad idea, obviously. the conversation shifted to other topics before we went our separate ways, but i've been mulling this over ever since.

i'm wondering how we got lucky enough to have the sort of "grounding" that my friend referred to. a lot of us come from dysfunctional family backgrounds and therefore we weren't necessarily raised to be super self-confident. i know i personally spent a good chunk of my post-college years trying to figure out exactly who i was and who i wanted to be. let the record show that this is a constant work in progress and i reserve the right to change my mind at any time. :-)

but seriously - how is it that some folks get dealt a less-than-ideal hand and manage to get through it relatively unscathed, while other folks just can't seem to claw their way through? any thoughts?

michael mcdonald + stevie wonder = magic

so i saw michael mcdonald and toto at ravinia on friday night. judge away. i don't care. that show was AMAZING. i am 74% sure that cheryl lynn was there singing backup when toto did "georgy porgy." i am 1098% sure that michael mcdonald still has one of the best beards in the music industry. do not bother attempting to argue with me about this. i will write about all of the shows i attended in 2014 and friday night's performance will more than likely be near the top of my list.

did i mention that this show was AMAZING? b/c it was AMAZING. i'm not just saying that b/c i was #unsober for most of it, either. i have never loved yacht rock as much as i did friday night. even without kenny loggins, "this is it" performed live kinda melted my face.

and as much as i wanted michael mcdonald to do just one michael jackson song (although if he did, i might still be rolling around ravinia's lawn in sheer glee), my wish was not granted. michael mcdonald did, however, give us some stevie wonder as part of his encore. first this:



followed by this:



i have already tweeted the fine folks at ravinia about making an mp3 version of this encore available so i can throw money at them. michael mcdonald went from "you haven't done nothin'" to "superstition" and back and forth again for a good 10 minutes. i wished i'd brought my tambourine with me. it was (wait for it) AMAZING. my friend and i just looked at each other and kept asking "is this happening? is this encore happening? holy shit!" (i did mention that we were #unsober, right? right.)

soundtrack(s) for a day of sadz

i found myself singing this on the way home last night and it seemed appropriate because of myriad reasons:

and then i woke up this morning with this song stuck in my head:

it all makes sense, i suppose, given recent events in the news. also james would've been 52 today and y'all know how that tends to go for me. you can read my post from last year and also from 2012 because i'm pretty sure i don't have anything to add right now.

if anyone needs me, i'll be eating and drinking my feelings for most of the day.

unsoberly stumbling down memory lane, part i'm too unsober to remember what part i might be on right now

if you were paying attention to my twitter feed late this evening, then you probably noticed a series of tweets about my freshman year at northwestern and some of the songs that will always have a place in my heart, like this one:

oh, man. if i had a dollar for every time i heard this song during freshman year, i could...i don't know. pay my renter's insurance for the year? a couple of cell phone bills? or a couple of 30-day ventra passes? yeah, that sounds plausible. we'll go with that.

one of my favorite memories attached to this song? daddy picked me up for our thanksgiving excursion to st. louis to see ma dear (my paternal grandmother) and some other relatives. one of my fellow kappa sweethearts (just google it, y'all, b/c i tried to find a wiki link to post here and came up empty) lived in the st. louis area and daddy offered to drive her home for the holiday. road trip! i swear the flava in ya ear remix came on the radio (yes, children, this was back in the days when you couldn't hook your ipod or phone to your car stereo to haz all of the music nao) at least 5 times during the trip to st. louis and on our return to evanston. every time, my friend and i would look at each other and lose our shit b/c it was pretty much our unofficial anthem, based on the number of times we'd danced to it at parties that quarter.

daddy, bless his everloving heart, never said a word. i think the last time it came on in the car, daddy just rolled his eyes at our giggling selves and kept on driving.

(ehrin, if you're out there and you stumble across this somehow, please say hi via comment or twitter or whatever!)

on: being a (grief) counselor of sorts

i was at work last saturday and was still kinda cranky b/c i didn't really wanna be there, but since 2 people had already called out and saturday is one of the days that i'm technically in charge of the department, i felt like i had no choice but to suck it up and go.

so i'm at work and i notice that one of my co-workers is on the verge of tears. i asked if she was ok and she said that something happened that made her think of her mom and before she could finish that sentence, i pretty much ordered her to go hang out in the back room so she could have a quick crying jag & pull herself together.

see, this co-worker lost her mom about a month and a half ago, and since she's the oldest child, she feels like she has to put on a strong front for her siblings and for her dad. she knows that i'm well acquainted with the whole losing parents/family members thing (sigh), so she asked me if the pain ever goes away.

i didn't lie. i told her the pain somehow eventually gets easier to manage, but that in my experience, there will always be a part of you that will always be in mourning. i told her like i've told other folks both here and off-line - grieve however you think is best. if that means you need to take a few minutes at work to have a mini-breakdown on my shoulder, then so be it. (that totes happened, btw.)

later that day, this same co-worker asked how i was able to do such a good job of helping her and other co-workers who've experienced a loss in the family. i jokingly said that it comes from years of experience, but there's a bit of truth there, i suppose. work has been kinda weird lately anyway, seeing as how one of the librarians died earlier this month from injuries suffered in an accident while they were on their way to work. a lot of people have been coming in to express their condolences and in a couple of cases, i end up consoling them b/c they are distraught to the point of tears and frankly, sometimes i can't handle that kind of energy while i'm working at the desk, esp. from people i don't know.

it's different with y'all, obviously. we're cool enough and clearly y'all trust me enough to share your grief with me, and hopefully i do a decent enough job of listening and helping y'all work through whatever it is you feel like working through at that moment.

i've noticed that it's not just grief/coping with someone's death, though. a lot of times i'm pulled into a counselor role for friends who are just having a rough time. i'm ok with that. i like to think that i'm good at it. i can be that friend/counselor that allows you to say whatever's on your mind and if the situation calls for it, i can offer to beat people up or flip a table on someone's behalf or pass you some tissue or enable the eating and/or drinking of your feelings.

the difficult part, though (you had to have known that there was a "but" coming somewhere), is that sometimes i have to sacrifice myself a bit in order to effectively play that counselor role. i am human enough to admit that i'm not as selfless as i'd like to be during these circumstances. it's challenging when my selfish side is all "what about me and my feelings and my needs pay attention to me dammit" when i know good and damn well the occasion is really calling for me to shut the entire fuck up and listen to what y'all need and attempt to fill those needs as best i can. sometimes that means ignoring the fact that there's only one person on the desk at the work so i can literally lend a supportive shoulder to a colleague. other times it might mean changing my plans in order to buy booze that i really shouldn't be spending money on so i can help a friend drink their cares away.

i suppose that's kinda what being a counselor is about - having the ability to temporarily put yourself aside so you can serve others? i've been that friend for folks since high school (and possible junior high, but y'all know how my memory is sometimes) and it feels like it gets more difficult as we get older. which makes sense, i guess, since our lives get more complicated as we get older and therefore it gets harder to compartmentalize your needs so you can focus on the greater good.

so if i haven't already, let me apologize if at any point during our "counseling sessions," i've spaced out or gone quiet or you felt like i wasn't 100% there. that's me reminding myself to get my shit together and focus on the task at hand, which is helping you deal with whatever you've brought to the table at that moment. i appreciate that a certain level of vulnerability has to exist in order for us to talk about deep (and even the not-so-deep) stuff, and i don't take that responsibility lightly. we'll get through it together. i promise. :-)

love that father's day chicken

i had popeye's for dinner b/c, as previously stated, i wanted my father's day feelings to taste delicious. i have whiskey caramel frozen custard (!) for dessert later. feelings...nothing more than delicious feelings...

while i was having dinner earlier, i found myself pulling off the chicken skin to save it for last, which is something i've done ever since i was old enough to eat fried chicken, i think. actually, that's not completely accurate. there was a period in my life when all i ate from fried chicken was the skin. it drove my family nuts. mashed potatoes? done. whatever veggies were on my plate? gobbled. cornbread? you know i was 'bout that action. but the actual chicken? nope. it wasn't happening. luckily this was a phase i grew out of relatively quickly, probably b/c knowing my brothers, that "naked" chicken didn't last long on my plate.

fast-forward a bit to a visit to kokomo to see my former stepmother. i think i was about 9 years old. daddy & i had driven in for the weekend - my former stepmother hadn't left her job in kokomo yet and there was a weird long-distance/commuter thing happening. i'm sure that was part of why their marriage didn't last. at any rate, we were there on a saturday and i think daddy had decided he wanted popeye's for dinner. my former stepmother went to popeye's and came back, we sat down at the table, loaded up our plates, and started eating.

now, anyone who's broken bread with me knows that my tolerance for spicy food is low. there are certain foods that i will just sweat my way through even though i'm thisclose to passing out from pain b/c the food's that good, but that's a short list and my tolerance for those foods is a relatively recent development. i have a number of friends who, when i ask them for a sample of whatever spicy food they're eating, will tell me straight up that i shouldn't eat it b/c i will have all of the regrets. i trust them.

my former stepmother, in a sort of wisdom that is still lost on me, ordered spicy chicken from popeye's. i am 37 years old and i still don't fuck with popeye's spicy chicken like that, so you know 9 year old me  wasn't having it. at ALL. i took one bite and was in tears by the time i spat it out and told daddy it was too hot and i couldn't eat it.

oh, man, the argument that ensued after that. former stepmother's rationale was that i should just shut up and eat what was on my plate. daddy's point was that if the food was making me uncomfortable and/or was inedible, he wasn't gonna force me to eat. then former stepmother tried to play the "well, i've raised more kids than you and you're just spoiling her" cards and...y'all. i can probably count the number of times i saw my father lose his temper on one hand, and this was one of them. i got sent from the room so they could continue their "discussion." i don't remember which one of them made a second popeye's run, but i did indeed have some chicken i could eat that night.

funny how this memory has stuck with me all these years. i never saw it as daddy spoiling me so much as him knowing his kid enough to know that if i said something was too spicy, it was too spicy and therefore it was a problem. i remember once in high school when someone was teasing me about being spoiled (one of the hazards of being the youngest and a daddy's girl, i suppose) and daddy said that he'd work as hard as he had to and move heaven and earth to make sure i had everything i needed and, if possible, some of the stuff i wanted. i was old enough to appreciate the difference.

that night in kokomo, daddy knew that i needed something edible for dinner. (yes, i know, how very first world of me.) he knew it was his job to fulfill that need, and if that meant getting into an argument with his wife about fulfilling that need, then so be it.

it's one of the things i love(d) most about my father. if you said you needed something and he was in a position to make it happen, consider it done. i think some members of my family took that for granted b/c he never made a big deal about it, but after i turned 18 and daddy felt like he could treat me more like an adult, we had some conversations about it and i knew the lack of acknowledgment hurt him.

17 years after his death, i still feel so incredibly blessed to have been daddy's girl. happy father's day.

father's day flashback

i wasn't kidding last month when i said that i'm an equal-opportunity hater w/r/t mother's day and father's day. here's what i had to say about it last year, and i stand by it now:

good morning. happy sunday. happy father's day.

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

s/o to all the dads i know who are raising children that i actually enjoy spending time with outside of #adventuresinbabysitting.

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

s/o to all of my friends' dads who i've adopted along the way. thank you for raising kids who grew up to be great adults (so far).

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

s/o to the folks who have complicated relationships with their fathers and therefore can't get behind the sentiment today. *hugs* for y'all.

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

s/o to the folks who lost their fathers way too soon (16 years ago for me) and might be feeling some kinda way today. *hugs* for y'all, too.

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

and i know there's a few daddy's girls on my timeline (takes one to know one, dig?), so make sure you holla at him if you can today.

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) June 16, 2013

recipe review: parmesan-crusted tilapia

i was reading gale gand's new cookbook tuesday night as i was attempting to decompress enough to go the fuck to sleep. i'd had some time off from work and my first day back was wednesday, so i was hoping to turn in early enough so i wouldn't be completely exhausted. of course i couldn't go to sleep right away, even though i was in bed by 9:30.

anyway...i'd already started my shopping list for the week and saw that tilapia was on sale, so i added it to my list, planning to make another batch of dijon fish cakes. then i saw this recipe for parmesan-crusted tilapia, and the fish part of it looked easy enough to try out.

i got 3 tilapia fillets, which was slightly more than a pound. i used shredded parmesan instead of grated b/c that's what was in the fridge. i also used dried parsley instead of fresh b/c that's what was on hand. i didn't actually measure the pepper - i used a ziploc bag for the panko/parmesan mixture and just kinda eyeballed the pepper (and the parsley, actually).

verdict: meh. i think it needed a bit more seasoning of some sort. not salt, necessarily, b/c parmesan is salty enough on its own, but something. maybe i'll add a bit of paprika next time. or lemon pepper instead of black pepper. i'm not sure. i'm willing to try it again, though. i was kinda rushing through prep because i wanted to eat and have things cleaned up in time for the blackhawks game. i was successful in that quest, but maybe next time i won't be as harried and can actually think about seasoning, etc.

a stormy monday of sorts

obviously depending on how you choose to define "stormy." it looks like it's gonna rain any minute now as i write this.

i woke up around 3:30 this morning attempting to shake myself out of a really intense nightmare. that was one of those moments when i once again realized how much it sucks to be lonely - to not have someone that you could curl up with and they would tell you, even if it's a bald-faced lie, that things would be ok.

i was watching anthony bourdain's parts unknown while working on job apps late this morning. this week's episode was all about the mississippi delta, and it made me think of my father, and then i got all weepy. actually i'm still a bit on the weepy side. i know - who cries over seeing tamales being served in mississippi? this girl does, apparently. i remember how excited daddy was when he was finally able to get his hands on a tamale recipe and make it his own. those tamales were good, too.

and now i have to leave for work in a few minutes and hope that the bullshit is kept to a minimum b/c i'm already in a weird mental space today.

happy monday. :P

just in time for mother's day

i think it was monday or tuesday of this week that i officially hit my "i am so DONE with mother's day ads" peak. mother's day is difficult because of [reasons], and every year, it feels like i'm bombarded with more and more commercials and sales and gift ideas and offers until i want to literally run away screaming. i don't like announcing that i feel this way, though, b/c i know mother's day is a big deal for some folks and i don't want to steal their joy, but sometimes, i just wanna yell "holy fucking shit we get it moms are awesome enough with the commercialism already" as part of the aforementioned running away and screaming. i am the worst.

as an alternative, though, i thought i would share some of the tweets i posted last year for mother's day and then go back to pretending that this holiday doesn't really exist. (yes, i do the same thing for father's day. i'm a equal-opportunity both parents are dead and therefore i have no fucks to give about these holidays hater.)

good morning. happy sunday. happy mother's day.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

s/o to all the moms i know who are raising children that i actually enjoy spending time with outside of #adventuresinbabysitting.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

s/o to all of my friends' moms who i've adopted along the way. thank you for raising kids who grew up to be great adults (so far).
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

s/o to the folks who have complicated relationships with their mothers and therefore can't get behind the sentiment today. *hugs* for y'all.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

s/o to the folks who lost their mothers way too soon (29 years ago for me) and might be feeling some kinda way today. *hugs* for y'all, too.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

oh, what the hell...*hugs* all around. the sun's out and this is the last sunday i have to work until june, so i'm trying to be positive. :D
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) May 12, 2013

lucky for me that i no longer have to work sundays, which means i can spend this mother's day...i don't actually know what i'll be doing yet, besides watching hockey. maybe i'll just drink and watch hockey. that's an acceptable way to spend a sunday, right? right.

but seriously - happy mother's day to all the awesome moms i know. thank you for raising (mostly) wonderful children. your efforts are noted and appreciated. :-)

recipe review: one-pan roasted chicken and broccoli

bobby deen, youngest son of the infamous paula deen (god, remember when i used to be all #teampaula before she got caught being ridiculously mega-racist? b/c that totally happened), has a new cookbook out, and i ordered a copy from work so i could give it a go. i'm not a huge fan of the recent "zomg you can cook everything healthy and fresh and organic in less time than it takes you to order from grubhub!" trend. i blame rachael ray, she of "30 minute meals," for giving that trend its initial platform.

but i digress. i've seen enough of bobby's show on cooking channel to know that he really is focused on making healthier meals that don't suck, which i can appreciate. i also appreciated this recipe for roasted chicken and broccoli, b/c any excuse to roast a pan of broccoli is ok with me. i don't know where my fascination with roasted broccoli came from a few years ago, but i'm cool with it sticking around. it's a lot better than my childhood days of only wanting broccoli covered in cheese sauce. (i was young and i didn't know any better. shut up.)

i used 3 garlic cloves instead of 2 - 1.5 with the broccoli and the remainder with the chicken. i skipped the hot chili powder altogether and doubled the cumin - again, using half on the broccoli and the other half with the chicken. there's leftover chicken broth in the fridge from sunday's risotto making, so i used that. i also added more olive oil (maybe a 1/2 tablespoon or so?) when i combined the chicken and broccoli. i let the chicken cook for about 15 minutes instead of the 10-12 minutes called for, b/c a lot of the chicken pieces were still kinda raw halfway through the cooking time. i squeezed lemon juice on top instead of lemon wedges b/c what's attractive about lemon wedges after you've already zested the lemon?

verdict? nom, would make again. would also try with boneless skinless chicken thighs b/c i'm sure they'd work just fine in this.

recipe redux and review b/w cooking with beer

remember the bacon risotto i made this fall? i was watching something or read something that mentioned using beer in risotto, which sounds delicious b/c hooray beer. i got to thinking about revisiting this bacon risotto recipe and using matilda beer bacon instead of regular bacon, and, of course, using goose island matilda to replace some of the chicken broth used in the recipe.

today's bacon (and beer) risotto has 1/2 a pack of matilda beer bacon, which i think was about 5-6 slices. i doubled the garlic to 4 cloves, and used 2 cups of matilda beer and 2 cups of chicken broth. i cooked the bacon first and then let it drain on paper towels while the onion and garlic cooked. still not enough grease to drain off, so everything went into the slow cooker as it was. i set the time for 90 minutes on high so i could check consistency/doneness before dumping in the cheese. the rice was still a bit on the crunchy side after 90 minutes, so i let it cook for another 12 minutes on high before adding the parmesan cheese and turning the slow cooker off.

i can't believe i'm saying/typing this, but i think i'd use less beer the next time i make this. i know, i know...such sacrilege on a sunday, but while the risotto was delicious and definitely better than the 1st time i made it, holy fucking shit does it taste like beer. this is not necessarily a bad thing, so i'm thinking i'd use 1.5 cups of beer to 2.5 cups of stock/broth next time. or maybe i'd keep the proportions of beer/stock the same and not use beer bacon. obviously this is going to need further research. y'know, for science. :-)

you might also remember that i recommended serving some sort of vegetable along with the risotto. while i was looking for my printed copy of the bacon risotto recipe, i found one for sautéed spinach from this craft beer cookbook i read last year. i knew i'd still have some beer left b/c i'm not going to finish the bottle until i actually eat today, so this sounded like a great idea. here's the recipe as it's listed in the cookbook:

Sautéed Spinach 

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 large shallot, finely diced
1/4 cup Belgian white beer
1/4 cup chicken stock
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
10 ounces fresh spinach, washed and stemmed
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until hot but not smoking. Add the garlic and shallots and sauté for 1 minute. Add the beer and chicken stock and cook until the liquid is reduced by half. 

Add the butter, spinach, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook, stirring frequently, until the spinach is just barely wilted, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a serving dish and toss well. Serve hot.

i forgot to buy shallots when i went grocery shopping the other day, so i improvised with a little bit of red onion that was in the fridge - maybe about 1/3 cup diced? those fresh express bags o'salad were on sale, so i bought 2 6oz bags of spinach and arugula mix and used those instead of regular spinach. 4 cloves of garlic instead of three.

if/when i make this again, which i probably will the next time i make this risotto, i'd let the liquid reduce by two-thirds instead by half, b/c there was still a fair amount of liquid left by the time the spinach/arugula had wilted down. still nom, though.

and now my full stomach and i are on the couch with the remains of this 765ml bottle of matilda in easy reach, b/c of course i can't let the rest of this beer go to waste, right? right.

to thank or to donate?

one of my guilty pleasures, if you must call it that, is reading both the "social q's" and the "modern love" columns in the new york times every week. i just read both columns for this coming sunday (thanks, technology!) and one of the letters in the "social q's" gave me enough pause that i had to share it with y'all.

We received a mass email from the parents of a 5-year-old girl, whose birthday party my daughter attended and to which she brought a gift. It said: “(redacted) had a wonderful time at her birthday party. In lieu of thank-you notes for your gifts, we are making a charitable donation in the name of (redacted)'s preschool class.” What?!

Anonymous, (city)

Agreed: that is one wacky email. The time for doing something charitable here was before the party — in lieu of gifts — when you and the other parents were racing all over town trying to find mini-Miele vacuum cleaners and other accessories for Barbie’s Malibu Dream House. The birthday girl’s parents are free to make whatever charitable donations they like. But 5 is old enough for drawing thank-you pictures or dictating notes (and she should get on them pronto).

i had no idea this was hot in the streets! i've not experienced this, primarily b/c i haven't been to a kid's birthday party in a while (stupid work schedule getting in the way of my fun), but i'm inclined to agree with the columnist in that the time for being charitable is doing that whole "in lieu of gifts, please consider a donation to xyz charity" on the invites.

i can't even pretend to understand. when did it become ok to skip thank-you notes and make a charitable donation instead? parents - is this a thing? has this happened to you? how do you feel about it? would you do something like this? why/why not?

another (anti-)epiphany? don't mind if i do!

so i just finished reading a book by one of my favorite romance authors (don't act like you didn't know i've been reading "trashy" books for as long as you've known me, if not longer) and i'm kinda fighting back tears even as i type. i'm going to go ahead and blame some of it on hormones b/c, well, hormones.

a large part of it, though, is the re-realization (is that a word? whatever it's called when you realize something again? that's what i mean here) is that as good of a facade as i've put on my life to date, i am still in shambles and i have no idea when i'll be able to put myself back together again. i'm writing this on the couch in quasi-landlord's office/den. i'm 37 years old and i'm sleeping on a twin bed in quasi-landlord's spare bedroom b/c i still can't find a full-time job or even enough part-time employment that will let me move back out on my own w/o adding to my current and immense financial struggles. it sucks and i hate it. there. i said it. this fucking sucks and i hate it.

i really hate it when i re-realize (seriously, there's gotta be a better word for this - someone help me out here) that while i might be emotionally ready to dive back into the relationship pool, there's no way i can seriously act on those urges at the moment. i keep saying that i want to be back on my own and at least pretending to be established before i decide to start dating or pursue a romantic relationship or whatever the kids are calling it these days. that makes sense to me. if i'm into someone, i wanna be able to spend time with them at my place w/o feeling like i'm a teenager sneaking around when my parents aren't home. i have told myself this. i have told myself that if i'm gonna be serious about anyone and have any kind of partnership/relationship/whatever, i need to bring something to the table besides my student loans and sparkling personality. (shut up. there are moments when i can really pour on the charm, dammit!)

reading this book reminded me (ok, i guess i can go with "reminded," even though that's not really what i want, but fuck it) that something resembling love is out there and that, god help us all, i kinda wanna go find it again. i'm not saying i'll get married again. (some of you might remember that i only planned on getting married once, but, well, you know...) i am saying that at some point, preferably sooner rather than later in the context of now vs. before i die, i'd like to be in a relationship again. i've been battling with myself over this for what feels like forever but what really has only been about a year or so, give/take a few months.

and that's where the frustration kicks in. i hate knowing what i want, not just relationship-wise but in general life terms, and not being about to make that shit happen. a big part of why i am so encouraging of other people's dreams and aspirations is b/c i can't seem to get it going for myself, so i might as well play cheerleader for my friends and loved ones while they #doitlive. i don't begrudge their happiness. i am genuinely excited when things go well for people i care about. it's an awesome feeling, but sometimes it's really difficult.

did i mention that this fucking sucks and i hate it? i hate not being able to make even medium-range plans, let alone long-term plans, b/c i literally don't know what i'll be doing or where i'll be. i hate knowing that there is something (and maybe, just maybe, someone) else out there for me and it's not happening right the fuck now, despite all of the hard work and wishing and praying i've been doing. this shit is hard and sometimes i get tired of focusing on being thankful for the little things i have b/c every once in a while, i need to remind myself that this isn't the end. there is more. i want more, and if that makes me greedy, then i'll be a greedy bitch b/c fuck this shit. i don't accept my current circumstances as my destiny and if you're trying to do some shit that you believe in, i am the 1st one in your corner waving a flag of woo (or oom). that is how it should be. you'll have to forgive me, though, if sometimes i can't hold up that flag for an extended period of time. it's not all shits and giggles over here.

*peeks out* i think it might be safe now...

o hai. i was really kinda worried about getting through the first week of march relatively unscathed, emotionally. between the anniversary of my mom's death on march 1 and the anniversary of james' death on the 8th, i was fully prepared to have all of the crying fits and not want to get out of bed. (ok, so there were a couple of days when i didn't want to get out of bed, but that was more laziness and/or weather-induced than anything. :P)

while i was out being social sunday night, it occurred to me that i'd meant to do a blog post commemorating the 5th anniversary of james' death but i hadn't gotten around to it, so i tweeted some stuff instead:

i will say, though, that yesterday was the 5th anniversary of james' death & i managed to make it through the weekend w/o falling apart.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) March 10, 2014

a big part of that is thanks to hanging with some of y'all this weekend. a lot of you had my back 5 yrs ago and i'm forever grateful.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) March 10, 2014

so, yeah. here's to self-care in the form of hanging w/friends, eating and drinking well, & being thankful through all of it. i love y'all.
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) March 10, 2014

that pretty much sums it up. i love that my friends and i still stand up for and with each other even after all these years. let's try not to lose that, mmkay? :-)

beware the 1st of march

march 1, 1984. i was 7 years old. i remember coming home from school and seeing everyone in our living room. i knew something had to be up because why else would everyone be home from work already? my now former sis-in-law was the one who told me that my mother was dead. my family, being the religious bunch that we tend to be, had previously had the "heaven is where people go when they die" talk with me, but they were astute enough not to say anything about how soon my mother would be one of those people.

i knew she was sick, though. there were times when she'd be in the hospital and i couldn't go see her b/c i was way too young. i drew her cards, though. james helped me with some of them. when she was home and couldn't really get out of bed, i'd make sure the radio was on so she wouldn't be lonely. i "cooked" for her. my imaginary rabbit stew was legendary. i don't know why i fixated on rabbit stew - probably b/c daddy liked mocking my attachment to stuffed animals and cartoons - but i had a pretend stove and sink and bowls and pots and y'all could not tell me that i wasn't creating a culinary masterpiece.

i was 7 when i found out my mother was dead and i remember screaming and crying and my oldest brother picking me up and carrying me to bed b/c i screamed and cried myself to sleep. i remember the part of the funeral where my mother's pastor asked if any visitors were present & i tried to get daddy to stand up b/c we weren't members of mama's church. my brothers were, but daddy was a staunch a.m.e. until he died and wanted nothing to do with those crazy baptists. the fact that he was willing to tolerate occasional services after my brothers & i all switched our church memberships to 1st c. was a testament to bishop tears, really. daddy loved hearing bishop preach.

but this isn't about daddy, even though i really am a daddy's girl at heart. this is about my mother, who died 30 years ago. the woman who i did not get to spend nearly enough time with before she died. 

i think i was in high school when i learned that mama had cancer. all those years i'd believed, or had been told to believe, that mama died of a heart attack. maybe she suffered cardiac arrest in the hospital, like daddy would do some 13 years later. i don't know. but it was cancer. breast cancer. 

my mother was a teacher. details are sketchy, but i'm pretty sure she'd given it up right before i came along. that would explain how i started reading when i was 2, though. my mother loved playing the lottery and gambling. family legend has it that my first (and so far only) trip to vegas was when mama was still pregnant with me. i don't know what kind of luck she had. i do remember crown royal bags filled with quarters. those were always around the house.

i don't know what mama's favorite color was, or her favorite food, or what she wanted to be when she grew up. i don't know how many times her heart was broken. i don't know what she felt when, as a woman with two sons by two different fathers, this guy that she'd eventually marry and have two more children with first came along. i don't know how they met, or when they fell in love, or when they decided to get married, or if they were even still in love when she got sick. i don't know what kind of advice she would've given me about life or love or how to be a woman. there's a lot i don't know. there's a lot i'll never know.

i do know i'm essentially a slightly darker version of my mother. y'know how folks say someone looks like so-and-so just spit them out? i get that all the time w/r/t my mother. i didn't get her height, which would've been nice to balance out these super-long feet i got from her. i did get some of her jewelry, though. that ring i wear around my neck? it belonged to my mother. i started wearing it in high school, i think - the ring was too big for my finger and so i just put it on a chain i had and the rest is history. 

i prefer to think that i got my love of reading and learning from her, too. can enjoyment of soap operas be considered a hereditary trait? b/c i'm willing to claim that, too. i was all about all my children and one life to live and my scandal addiction has already been documented for the record. mama loved her some guiding light, to the point where 2:00pm was my nap time and even if i wasn't tired, i had to go in my room and be quiet for that hour. yes, it was that serious.

i don't know if my mother loved music, but i have to assume she did. part of me likes to believe that she and daddy bonded over their mutual love of music. the radio was on a lot in our house. i had a toy piano in my room and took lessons for what seemed like forever but was probably only a year or so. i'm listening to music as i type this and it just seems right.

it doesn't seem right that my mother has been dead for 30 years. that i have carried this grief and longing and yes, sometimes anger with me for 30 years. i may not have been able to give voice to it 30 years ago, but i can damn sure vocalize it now - the shit's not fair and cancer fucking sucks and while i can't pretend to imagine how differently my life would've turned out if my mother had lived long enough to help me through my first heartbreak or been there to applaud when i graduated, i'd be a lying sack of shit if i said i didn't indulge in daydreaming about it every now and again. yes, i know, life is difficult and we all lose people we love and there's not much we can do about it, but this is my mother i'm talking about here and the fact that i have to grasp at memories of her instead of having a whole mental database of reminisces to draw on both is depressingly maddening.

today is march 1, 2014, and my mother has been dead for 30 years. i don't know what her dreams for me were, nor do i know if i've even come close to them, but i'm here and she's not and i am sad and angry that this is a reality that i have had to resign myself to. this is a part of who i am whether i like it or not and every now and again, i have to face up to it instead of letting it simmer just under the surface while i attempt to get through my everyday life. today seems like as good a time as any to let it out.

(and if you think this was maudlin, stay tuned for my "omg i can't believe james has been dead for 5 years" post coming in the next week or so!)

what a difference a year makes, or something

i wrote this last year, but this is the 1st time it's seeing the light of day.

"today is february 20, 2013. robin roberts made her triumphant return to “Good Morning America,” and I think I just unofficially committed, in my head, anyway, to getting back into the breast cancer awareness/fundraising game.
 Shit.
 After the 3-day in 2004, I said I was retired. No more walking. No more crewing. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve donated to anyone’s bc-related cause since then. I was done. I’d worked on crew for 4 straight years and then walked close to 60 miles in the 3-day and I was done.
 As 2013 got underway, though, a tiny part of me started thinking about coming back. 10-year anniversary of my last walk. 30-year anniversary of my mom’s death. So many survivors to be honored. So many who succumbed that deserve to be remembered.
 So. Much. Work. to. Be. Done.
 Fuck.
 I hadn’t really paid that tiny voice much attention until this afternoon when I saw robin on tv. I didn’t sob, but there were legit tears in my eyes all the same, and as I drifted off to sleep (hey, it’s my off day and I can nap if I want to), that tiny voice got a little louder. Recruited some other tiny voices to its chorus. Made sure it was the 1^st thing on my mind when I woke up from my nap.
 Dammit.
 It feels all kinds of weird to be mapping out fundraising goals and taglines when I don’t even know when the 2014 walks will be. Hell, I don’t even know where I will be by the time 2014 rolls around.
 And yet.
 $3,000 goal. 30 years without the woman who brought me into this world and who left it entirely too soon.
 I think I’m actually going to #embracethecrazy on this one. Holy fucking shit. This might actually happen, god help us.
 I haven’t been this afraid of putting words to paper in a long time, which kinda leads me to believe that despite my protests to the contrary, this is something I should do. I don’t even know if I want to do it, if we’re going to be completely honest here, but I think I should. I think I have to. Because fuck cancer. The hell with more daughters and sons and families losing loved ones prematurely.
 Typing that last graf might’ve just sealed the deal in my head. What in all purple fucks am I thinking? This is madness."

today is february 24, 2014. i'm back in chicago (i was in skokie last year when i wrote the above) and a few weeks ago, i actually decided to look at the avon walk site to see how i could get the ball rolling on the plan i concocted. turns out registration for crew members is closed. so much for that plan. and i know in my heart of hearts that i'm not in a place where i can commit to participating as a walker this year.

i've made my peace with not being actively involved in this year's avon walk. i still want to punch cancer in the face, though. sigh.