Day 76: In Tribute to My Mother

I was going to write about my weird church outing today, but I think I need a day or so to ruminate on that one. Instead, I am going to briefly touch on an emotional topic, so forgive me if I bleed all over you. Today is the anniversary of my Mother’s death and while I know my Grams never fails to remember, oddly enough, I often do. I suppose I prefer to celebrate her life, but also, a day never goes by that I do not think of her in some way, so I don’t need a single day to remind me of what I lost and the wonderful person I had a chance to love.

Anyway, short and sweet tonight. My Mother was a kind, generous, sensitive woman who never said a bad word about anyone and believed in being a lady – something I vehemently opposed ever being. She was also the strongest person I’ve ever known in many ways and yet extremely cautious and fearful in others. She was a real person full of flaws and contradictions, but mostly love. Today I celebrate this woman who was taken from my family and me far too soon. I have long stopped believing in God and a hereafter, but I do know that my Mother’s love an spirit live within me and it is to that part her that I talk when I need advice or feel particularly down. She is also with me every time I bake, an activity she taught me to love, listen to country music and decorate at Christmas.

Here’s to you Mom. I miss you every day. You didn’t swear, drink or argue -- clearly I am adopted! Even so, you taught me to love and to laugh and that will live within me until I too am just a series of memories in another’s lifetime. In love and remembrance, Amy Elizabeth.

Day7: Bikers Are Just Like Phish Fans

I visited the Harley store the other day and it occurred to me after looking around, sitting on several bikes, and talking to a number of sales people who work there that the people we often judge are not the ones who exhibit prejudice. As a woman wearing pink lipgloss and melon toenail polish I might assume that the guys at the Harley shop would laugh at me, they didn’t. This is not to say that there are not those among them who are racist or sexist, but in general you can go to any biker bar, rally, or shop and meet an eclectic crowd who will talk to whomever walks in just for the conversation.

The experience at the Harley shop illustrated that these people are some of the most comfortable individuals out there. They know who they are and what they like and if you are into what interests them then they like you, no matter your age, sex, or color. No one made fun of me when I sat on a Electra Glide and couldn’t touch the ground or when I needed one of them to show me how to stand the bike up by myself. These guys just love their lifestyle and are psyched about anyone else that shares their view. Not to say they dislike those that don’t, but I was an easy target to make fun of and no one did or even made me feel like I was out of my element. They encouraged me to try different bikes and gave me pointers on things.

Why is it that those of us who consider ourselves to be educated are often among the most judgmental? I love the dive bar, but I do note the rednecks, frat boys, bloated mid-westerners, etc. I can talk to anyone and fit in with almost any crowd if I am dressed appropriately, even so, I’m still acutely aware of my environment and somewhat naturally drawn to those I consider more like me. I don’t know if this is necessarily a bad thing, I mean, it’s not a crime to make friends with like-minded individuals. I do realize, however, that I can be a snob and while I may turn up my nose at a biker rally where long-haired, shirtless guys in leather vests mingle to classic rock, they probably would welcome me just because I’m there.

Maybe the biker world is a lot like a Phish concert. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, how you dress, what you earn, or how you speak, it’s all about sharing a common interest. The ironic thing about bikers, is that you’re just as likely to run into a Harvard educated one who wears suits in his day job as you are a factory worker who wears a uniform. Harleys and bikes like them, appeal to a cross-cultural group of people and the only rule for hanging with a biker crowd is to possess an admiration for the ride. Maybe we should all live a bit more like that. Does it really matter what you do or is the journey getting there the most important part?

Day 74: Hey Jackass! It's Still a War

If I have to listen to one more person tell me that they’ve heard Iraq is not so bad anymore, I’m going to join a militia and go on a rampage against idiocy. Everyone seems to have a brother, cousin, friend, etc. that is in Iraq and has said that there isn’t much going on or that it’s boring in Iraq. I do not want to negate the experiences of anyone else, but I thin kit’s important to point out that some of these people are either idiots or so far out of touch with the rest of the military it’s laughable. Personally, I prefer to just call them jackasses and move on.

My husband is currently serving a year-long tour in Iraq and let me assure you, he is working his ass off 20 hours a day. Workloads vary depending on rank, branch, and location, but there are still plenty of units that are busy, in danger, and finding very little time for sleep. Jeff does not overestimate his work or his lack of sleep. I know when he sleeps. I talk to him nightly at 2am or after local time and he gets up usually around 6am or some nights doesn’t go to bed at all because they have a night mission. The war is not a 9-5 job and for many of those serving there is no time to sit around, there is no wearing civvies, there is no good night’s sleep.

Sure, there are plenty of military personnel that are spending more time playing in joint Iraqi – US soccer tournaments, war games, or just lazing away in the airplane hanger waiting on something to do. These people are not any less valuable, but they aren’t representative of everyone currently serving in Iraq. So please stop asserting that Iraq is a cakewalk and that the person you know is an authority on what is happening. Of course, there is also the possibility that Jeff is not representative, but even so, he is at least an example as well as the leadership he works with on a daily basis, that there is still a war and it’s not fun or relaxing.

So please stop telling me that you’ve heard the war isn’t a war anymore or that soldiers are living it up in Iraq. As far as I know, my husband is not vacationing in the beautiful desserts and city sewage of Iraq. It’s a war people and some of us are still fighting it. Soldiers are still dying, commanders are still working their asses off, and sleep is still hard to come by. Jeff has been living off an average of four hours of sleep a night for almost eight months. He has no days off, he has no leisure time, no time for books, intellectual discussion, beer with friends, nor for that matter does he even have friends there. He is a Major in the United States Army and that gig is a bit different than sitting around laughing it up with the guys waiting for someone to tell you what to do. It’s still a war, it’s still real, it’s still 24 hours a day.

Day 73: Why Does a Cheap Thrill Feel So Dirty?

Tonight I watched WEC on TV and sat there wondering the entire time why the hell I was watching WEC on TV. For that matter, why was I even watching “Versus,” that obscure cable channel that I couldn’t find on purpose if I tried. For anyone that doesn’t know what WEC is, and I hope that is most of you, it stands for World Extreme Cagefighting. Yee-haw! Scariest part yet, is that at a few points, I was straining to hear the commentators. So what is this sudden fascination with a “sport” I have never even heard of before? Honestly, there isn’t any. We all do things when no one is looking that we wouldn’t dream of admitting. We may not even want to, we just get absorbed in something unexpected and the next thing you know it, you’re watching Paris Hilton’s “My New BFF.”

I have lots of dirty little habits I don’t want to claim. I have watched TMZ on TV, seem to always get sucked into the Bachelor and Bachelorette for the last four episodes, greatly enjoy formulaic chick flicks, and can absorb a 400 page romance novel in an afternoon. There have even been days at home when I’ve accidentally sat through an entire episode of Oprah. I say accidentally because in these situations you never intend to read a Barbara Taylor Bradford novel, you just pick it up to look at the cover and the next thing you know it’s four hours later and your Mom’s book collection is one closer to being in your library.

Are we ashamed of our own nature? Do we seriously feel that we have to be better than, all the time? Can’t we just relax and watch a little bad TV without the guilt of it making us as cheesy as Ms. Hilton herself? I am not so weak minded that I won’t watch TMZ if I want to just because I’m afraid someone might find out, but I don’t necessarily respect myself for it either. I have a friend who frequently buys magazines like People, inTouch, and US. I would NEVER buy these myself and I’m sure I have made fun of them more than once, but every time I am at her house I lunge for those damn mags to make catty comments about what celebrities are wearing, visible cellulite on actresses thighs, and why anyone still thinks Cris Angel is cool.

I am still going to disparage sports like WEC and UFC and I can pretty much assure you that I will not ever purchase inTouch or the like on my own and even if I do start DVRing Oprah, I’m not going to let you know. Some things are so personal that we don’t even want to admit them to ourselves. I am a book snob. I read literature with a capital “L” and that does not include Harry Potter, romance novels, or Tom Clancy. Even so, there are days when I’d almost like to not have to think so hard. Finnegan is making me tired and has left my literary snobbishness in his wake. Can’t a girl just read People while watching the Today show without feeling like a failure?

Day 72: Willpower is Just a Fancy Word for Jail

Willpower is not my friend. In fact, I may not even be acquainted with willpower. One day after a great workout at the gym I feel that half a snickers bar, lime Tostitos, garlic cheese bread and steak nachos are my just rewards for having sore muscles. This happens to me all the time. I do the right thing by my body for a day or two then I feel that I have sacrificed enough and deserve a reward. What exactly I am rewarding I’m not sure, but I do know that I greatly enjoy the food or drinks until the next day when I again feel gluttonous and guilty and that guilt forces me off my ass and into the gym once again. So what is it about willpower that contains such a negative force that we feel like it is an insurmountable goal?

I do not need to eat salad and celery all day, every day but thinking of being strong mentally make me assume that is what it must be. Willpower just sounds restrictive and makes me act out in rebellion as if I am protesting some inmate code at a penal colony. Whatever the reason, when confronted with the idea of eating healthy versus eating a restricted diet, I freak out every time. Healthy is not bad. You can actually eat pretty well if you are dedicated to a healthy diet, but thinking about it as a “diet,” which means restricted calories and limited food choices suddenly makes me break into a cold sweat.

Likewise, the idea of hitting the gym every day five times a week or more will paralyze me, causing me to anchor my expanding ass to the sofa for a Star Trek Next Generation marathon. It’s not that I don’t like to work out or eat healthy, it’s just that the whole idea of willpower seems daunting. I suppose it’s a bit like the woman on a diet who splurges one day and has a slice of chocolate cake and then thinks “well hell, I already blew my diet I might as well eat the whole thing.” Willpower seems like an all or nothing and that is pretty much how I live my entire life. I can go all day in front of a huge bowl of peanut butter M&M’s and never give in, but the minute I have one you can bet that I will gorge myself on the entire bowl.

Moderation has never been my thing in life and that has somehow carried over into every facet. If I go shopping, I spend everything I have, if I travel, I do it up big, if I eat I try a lot of everything, and if I love, I fall in love every day. The world is filled with opportunity and just when you think Dunkin’ Donuts is awesome along comes Krispy Kreme and makes you want to try every damned type of glazed deliciousness. I do things big and willpower is no exception. I try to live a normal life of moderation, but I end up freaking out and going full out no matter what. I heard someone once say that you should live life like you’re always in fourth gear and I think I do that. So what if it means I am five pounds heavier than I want to be, or have a credit card bill equal to our car payments, the point is I’ve lived and willpower is a state of mind for which I’m just not willing to sacrifice.

Day 71: Shut Up and Work . . . Out!

The gym rat. I define this a bit differently than most. Rather than the person who regularly goes to the gym and works out hard, these are the people that regularly go to the gym and talk . . . a lot . . . nonstop . . . right beside you. I appreciate that the gym can be a social place, especially if you work out at a small gym and know the regulars, but some people just don’t work out. They are the women in full makeup, hairsprayed hair and jewelry or the guys who have some muscle built on top of fat which makes them look big and in between their lightening speed sets of six all they do is yap. To each his own, absolutely, but if you are on the machine I need or just standing in the aisle or next to my treadmill, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up or move it along.

I mentioned this to a friend and the response I got back was that I should just politely ask if I can work in. This would likely achieve the desired result in that I would be able to continue working, they would move on, and I’d also be gently reminding them that it’s a gym, not a social club. This all makes sense, but I know myself. I would approach with every intention of saying this nicely, but what would come out would likely be more along the lines of, “I didn’t realize it was social hour at the gym, is there any chance you’ll be working out soon or possible vacating your barstool – I mean, weight bench?”

I wouldn’t take this approach right away of course, even I’m not that mean. It would more likely result after having to fight my way around said gym rat several times in the course of an hour or having to listen to whatever inane conversation standing near the stairmaster has inspired. After being an innocent bystander affected by the “all talk, no workers” I would likely go in to try to let them know it’s annoying and instead accidentally be offensive as hell. I try to control it, but I’m a fairly tell it like it is person and sometimes I say things out loud by accident.

Watching the women who come looking like they are on their way for a night on the town bothers me less because it is just so fascinating to watch. Somehow they manage to spend 90 minutes in the gym without ever actually completing a set. I don’t think I could work out that poorly if I tried, and sometimes when I’m not in the mood, I really, really want to try. These women are really more of a cougar out of its natural habitat kind of thing and therefore interesting in a strange sort of way. I’m still thinking hairspray and big hoop earrings probably aren’t staples for the gym, but what the hell it’s at least amusing.

My absolute least favorite of the gym rats are the guys who hit on you. I am at a gym. I am wearing workout clothes that are not cute, tight, sexy yoga type clothes. I am sweating and a bit breathless. I have no hairspray, jewelry and limited make-up (I’m still a girl, so a little foundation and lip gloss are musts). Please do not hit on me, even I think I look gross. Have a little self respect and wait to hit on girls when we are out and attractive. If you think I look hot when I am sweating and in a baggy t-shirt, then I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to handle the goods when they’re all prettied up. Also, just . . . NO! I’m at the gym, not the club, at what point did it become normal to pick up women here. At least do it at the grocery after the work out when we’ve mopped off the sweat, reset our pony-tails and freshens the gloss. Then again, you might just want to try working out. $70 a month is a pretty steep cover charge for a bar without cocktails and women drunk enough to want to go home with you.

In closing, let me just say that the gym is a public place and you are welcome to go everyday and never lift a single weight or visit the cardio equipment. I realize that it’s none of my business and I’m certain I have annoying habits as well. So knock yourself out. Keep chatting it up, but at the end of the year when you’re out $800 and your ass is still spreading you might want to change your game plan., just my thoughts.

*Note, the picking me up portion of this blog is meant in a general way despite the first person. I am certain the husband would appreciate me pointing out that I am indeed married and not actively hooking up at the gym. Just thought I’d put that in here to cover my bases.

Day 70: Living in the Shades of Gray

I am a woman of strong opinions. Rarely does a topic come up that I do not have a strong feeling for one way or the other. In fact, I tend to distrust or even dislike people who are wishy washy about things, refusing to take a stand. While I do realize life is lived in the shades of gray and not the black and white, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go through life believing in things. My opinions are never completely hard and fast. I may be staunchly to the left on a particular topic, but I can listen to your arguments and find something about it I agree with. This does not make me a hypocrite, but there is no doubt that I am a woman of many contradictions.

The rest of this blog could be filled with lists of my beliefs and the point of contention within each that I side with the “enemy.” The exceptions are not the point, the message is that I am not afraid to stand up and shout that I am anti NRA, pro hand gun legislation, but yet used to want a gun and would love to go target shooting. Anyone who behaves in an extremist way frightens me. You can’t always be right, no argument is 100% regardless of how many points of support your argument has.

I used to joke about my contradictions and my husband has definitely pointed out a few, though sometimes in a less jocular way that employs phrases such as, “ what the fuck are you talking about,” “do you even hear what you’re saying?” and my favorite, “ you’re arguing my damn point for me.” I get it, I vacillate a bit, but these are complex issues. Take heart John Kerry I totally get it. You can’t just make up your mind on something delicate and complicated and never waver or see the other side. More people should acknowledge the other side instead of simply being yes men to the Ann Coulter’s and Michael Moore’s of the world.

So if I tell you that I am anti-hunting, but am a meat eater and get my meat at the grocery store in plastic wrap as nature intended I understand the contradiction. I also secretly want to go on a hunting safari in Africa, but I won’t respect myself after. Even so, life is all about the shades of gray and that is where I’m living. Nothing is certain, nothing is guaranteed and sometimes if you cling so deftly to your position you blind yourself to reality. I’m not asking you to be best friends with the other side, just recognize that like you they are just people with opinions. None of us has the answer, we’re just answering the questions in a different way.

Day 69: Leave Me Alone . . . Why Aren't You Here When I Need You?

You know how when men are sick they usually are kind of like whiny children and need women to take care of them and when women don’t feel well they tough it out, take care of the kids, make dinner, and deal with whatever needs to get done? I’m not like that. I’m kind of a bitch when I don’t feel well. Although, in my defense, being under the weather is usually related more to various types of headaches rather than a cold or the flu. I suppose fore many people suffering from a severe stress headache or migraine would cause them to be still and quiet. Headaches usually do not precipitate loud or obnoxious behavior, unless you’re me.
When Jeff was home a headache for me meant a day of trying and failing to make me feel better interspersed with verbal abuse and apologies for said abuse. I don’t know what it is that makes me need or want to criticize him when he is trying to help me, but for whatever reason, he is never more annoying than when he wants to help. A typical situation goes something like this: Ame is in bed with a migraine. Ice packs are balanced or ace bandaged to several spots on her head, much medication has been ingested, and ever noise or movement stresses her. Jeff pokes his head into the bedroom to ask if Ame needs anything. “Honey, do you want some tea? Or do you need more ice?” This concerned query is met with a gem something along the lines of: “No! Why do you have to keep bothering me? I just need to be left alone, stop hovering you are so insensitive!”
After a few repeat performances of this routine, each one met with an increasingly abusive response from me, I take action that goes very close to this: Ame, exasperated with being ignored when she clearly needs caretaking heaves off the covers and stumbles weakly into the kitchen to get fresh ice, a cup of tea, some soup, etc. Jeff, upon noticing her says “Baby, what do you need I’ll get it, go back to bed and lay down.” Ame spins her head around without pivoting her body, an angry expression contorting her face and says, “clearly not! You know I don’t feel good and yet I have to get up to get everything myself! It would be nice if you actually fucking cared!” Then she roughly finishes filling the ice packs, bursts into tears and shuffles off to bed.
You don’t have to say anything, I realize I’m a real treat. Why is it that being sick or in pain makes us so unbearable to live with sometimes. I know Jeff is trying to help and is not a mind reader. The funniest part about it, is that in the five years we’ve been together I have had dozens of headaches and yet each time the same scenario plays out. Why he hasn’t just given up I cannot imagine. Why I continue to blame him for not knowing the exact moment I might need something is equally boggling. So he tries, I’m an obnoxious ass, he apologizes for basically doing nothing wrong, then I feel guilty and apologize for being a huge bitch, only to do it again the very next time. So after careful examination of myself, my motives, and my behavior I have come to the conclusion that Jeff needs to do a better job of predicting what I will feel when and what I will need when I feel it.
I don’t care that you are in Iraq fighting a war. I have a damn migraine, you need to be here to annoy me until the minute I actually do need something, you’re not there, I get it myself, then scream at you for not caring. How dare you expect me to behave like an adult. I don’t have kids, do I look like a Mother to you? Only Moms know how to handle illness properly. Duh! You don’t even love me, if you did you’d stop being so mean and heartless when you know I don’t feel good. Love is so much fun.