Oops, My Depression is Showing

I don't think of myself as a person with depression. I often think of myself as a depressed person, but that's not the same as the clinical definition. I was just diagnosed two years ago when my therapist got tired of me crying in every session. I thought it was totally normal, it was therapy after all. But I was actually crying all the time. At my desk at work. In the car. Walking the river trail. I thought I was just Sad and it would go away, but it only got worse. So she recommended medication.

When my doctor prescribed Lexapro, she said it wouldn't change my life, that I'd just wake up one day and feel not-so-bad. And I did. It was like one day I realized that I didn't cry. It didn't make my life better, it didn't make my problems go away, it just took the edge off. It made everything more bearable and less stabby. I stopped crying. I thought it was a life-saver, which sounds kind of stupid, but when you don't have to run to the bathroom at work anymore because you don't want to be embarrassed by sobbing at your desk, it's really kind of a big deal. Which is mostly how my depression exhibits itself. That and the crushing anxiety I sometimes feel. I've never had a full-blown panic attack, but I've been fairly close. And although my depression wasn't debilitating, I could still basically function and get out of bed when I had to, it was nice to just get up without thinking about it. I thought I'd never give up my medication.

When I got laid off, I switched to the generic prescription because I could no longer afford my beloved Lexapro. I didn't like it as much. It felt like I had room for more. Like I could be a little happier, but just a little. And then I got used to it and forgot I was on something different. The major difference I did like was that if I missed a couple of days of Lexapro, I was sick. Dizzy, nauseous, icky. The generic doesn't do that so quickly which is probably not really a good thing.

I've been feeling better lately. And like I said, I don't think of myself as a person with depression. I think I'm normal. Well, maybe not exactly normal, but chemically balanced. I started thinking that my depression was just a situational experience. I started thinking I could stop my meds. You're never supposed to stop cold turkey, so I started skipping a day or two. When I missed three days with no apparent side effects, I did stop altogether. Big mistake.

At first I didn't notice anything. I started not sleeping very well. But big deal, I just napped during the day. Then this week I started questioning things that I was really sure about just a week or so ago. The thing that had made me really happy started to seem not so worth it. I started to wonder if I just wasn't that into it, if I'd somehow fooled myself into thinking I was totally in love. Which isn't like me. It actually takes kind of a lot for me to even like someone, I'm pretty dismissive. And that scared me. And then I realized that what I was feeling was numbness. Apathy. Very unlike me. I get excited over the dumbest things, and I started to feel like I didn't care about anything at all.

Next came the anxiety. Sitting in the doctor's office with Mr. A. yesterday totally freaked me out. I was convinced that they were making us wait so long just to drive me crazy. And Mr. A? He wasn't looking so A at the time either.

Today was the last straw. Yeah, I went to a sad movie, but then I couldn't stop crying after that. The remodel in Target made me sad. It was all I could do not to cry when buying eye cream at Clinique. I cried in the car all the way home. Over nothing. Or the rain. Or that fact that I almost cried in front of the Clnique lady. Or because I don't like my clothes. What I'm saying is, there was no concrete reason for it. And that's apparently how my depression defines itself.

My depression. It's funny how I take ownership of it. I don't want it. It's like a roommate that I live with and simply tolerate. It's not invited. I'd be happy not to have it. I almost convinced myself that I don't. Almost.

Depression is stupid because nobody takes it seriously. It's only physical to me because it's not visible to everyone else. If I'm grumpy or ragey or teary, then I'm just being a bitch or a weirdo. If you say you're depressed, people say so what? Everybody has bad days. But I can have a perfectly good day and still fall apart. Which further complicates the problem by sabotaging what little self-esteem I'm trying to hold onto. Even trying to explain it sounds like a cop-out. So I don't. If it's a particularly bad episode, I just wait for it to stop. I hide out and try to avoid people because that's what is best.

This week made me realize that I have this stupid disease. I am imbalanced. At least chemically. When something that made me blissfully happy just a couple of weeks ago ceases to matter for no reason at all, that's not okay. Or normal. Or acceptable. I owe it to myself and the people around me to do something about it. I'd saved a few pills on the off-chance that I'd actually need them. It turns out I do, no matter how much I wish I didn't. So I'll be better in a few days. More like the self I want to be. The self I can be. With the help I don't want but so obviously need.

Those sharp edges will be blurred again soon. Honestly, it can't happen soon enough.

Open Letter to the Assholes on the River Trail

Most people know to use the river trail here in town for exercise. Most people understand this basic concept. It's not that hard. However, some of the people using it for the right reasons are subjected to those who don't. Some people don't know how to use it at all. This is dedicated to all of you who fall in this latter camp. Assholes, please take notice.

1. Dude With the Cigar - Are you fucking kidding me?!?!? I smelled you from 20 feet away, but I thought I was hallucinating. Because who is insensitive enough to smoke a motherfucking cigar on the river trail? And then I saw it. The huge cloud of smoke ahead of me. Next to a stroller with a baby in it. Okay, it's enough that you don't care about my lungs, but you don't even care about the lungs of the small person you are walking next to? Fuck you. Smoke in your den at home, not out in public. Asshole.

2. Same goes for the few smokers I have seen. Have you even noticed the people running past you? Or the people walking in their exercise clothes? Yeah, we're all out there for a reason and it isn't to clog our lungs up with your nasty nicotine habit. It's hard enough to breathe without breathing in your smoky shit. Fuck you.

3. Ladies. Do not wear perfume when you are working out. Trust me, it doesn't cover up the sweat smell that you think you are hiding. It just makes you look (and smell) more obnoxious and high-maintenance than someone exercising in nature should be. The rest of us can't breathe when we're coughing up your cheap perfume. Just don't.

4. Men. Don't take off your shirts. I realize it's cold and it's been a while since any of you have done this, but I'm still recovering from some of the exposure I saw last summer. Only about 2% of you can get away with this. The rest of you can't. Seriously, you don't want us ladies throwing up in our mouths when we pass by you, right? Cover that shit up. The other 2% of you who can get away with it? Don't stop. Please don't. Just know who you are. If you have any doubt at all, you can't get away with it and keep your shirt on. For the love of god, cover your shit up.

5. Men who talk. Don't do this. We women are honestly out there to exercise. Lose weight. Train for some type of race. We don't want to be approached. We are sweaty. We most likely haven't showered. We are gossiping with our girlfriends. We are not out there looking to hook up. We don't want you talk to us. If we are attracted to you, we will let you know. Trust us on this.

6. Off-leash dogs. I'm torn on this one. Some dogs are just fine, others aren't. I guess you should use some common sense here. If you have any. My dogs must always be on their leashes. They are assholes who can't be trusted. My girl dog is a bitch, literally. She hates anything that walks on four legs. So I know to keep her on a leash at all times. And then we'll meet a dog off-leash who circles her and sniffs her. Sure, it's not aggressive so its owners think it's okay. Only it's not because it gets my dog in this freak-out-aggressive tizzy. She can't handle it. And I don't need the stress. If your dog doesn't care about another living soul in the world and won't corner my dog trying to sniff her ass, be leash-free. If there is any doubt about your dog's intentions, leash the motherfucker. Seriously. Don't stress the rest of us out. I will have to resort to kicking your dog in the nuts if you can't be responsible.

I know we can all get along. We can. Even Rodney King can. Just follow these simple rules. Please. I can't be held responsible for those of you who break these simple rules. You're assholes and get what you deserve.

You have been warned.

How I Know My Kid Is Mine

D is very talented. She sings. Sure, I sang in glee club in elementary school, but it's not quite the same thing. She sings in public. And plays guitar. She dances. Trust me, she got none of her grace from me. I have no moves and I run into walls and furniture on a regular basis. In my own home. Clearly, we are different people. But once in a while, she does something that is very much like me and I'm assured that she wasn't switched at birth. Yesterday was one of those times.

I got a call from a cell number I didn't recognize. I thought it might be about a job so I answered it, when normally I would just ignore it. It was D. She sounded like she was in a vacuum. Turned out she was in the bathroom with a friend on the friend's phone because she had left her phone in the classroom that she left when she got gum in her hair. That she couldn't get out and she wanted me to pick her up because she just "couldn't" go back to class with gum in her hair. I laughed. I giggled. I laughed some more. She asked me not to laugh. I couldn't help it. Finally she said, "Just come get me and you can laugh all you want."

I didn't get there until five minutes before school was over. Seriously, she could have stayed but she said she wouldn't leave the bathroom until I got there. She informed me that there was a fire drill while she was sequestering herself. "And you didn't leave in case there was a real fire?" I asked. "No, I texted my friend to make sure it was just a drill. And I would have stayed in there anyway." I now know that they don't do sweeps of bathrooms during fire drills so I'm slightly concerned about the deaths that will occur from girls getting gum in their hair.

I used peanut butter to get it out. Which worked, but it was disgusting. She was already detesting the smell of mint and now neither one of us may ever eat peanut butter again. I may fill her stocking with mint gum this Christmas, because now it's funnier than coal. Plus I'm evil like that.

D swears she will never chew gum at school again. I swear I will laugh every time I tell this story. And be reminded that she really is my kid.

Ode to Wonton Pizazz

Oh Wonton, you brought us such joy with your little froggy antics. We loved the way you and Potato sat on each other. The way you looked at us through the plastic of your little tank. The way you scuffled with Potato over food. The way you made us laugh when stretching your little webbed feet.

Wonton, you had more personality in your little half-ounced size body than most people I know. We won't soon forget you.

Rest in peace, my froggy friend.
Wonton Pizazz 2011-2012

The Night I Became A Bendite

Central Oregon residents enjoy many outdoor activities throughout the year. During the summer, I love it here. I float the river, I hike, I did my first 5K last year. Hell, I've even been known to camp a time or two. But come winter, I am singing a completely different tune. A tune that goes like this - "It's cold, I hate winter, snow is stupid, when is it going to be warm again?" I don't ski. I don't snowboard. People ask me why I live here. That is too long of a story to tell.

At any rate, I participate in no winter activities. None. I stay inside and drink. A lot. Until this year. Or at least last week. K (AKA Mr. Adorable) asked me to go snowshoeing with him, his friend, and his friend's FWB. Oh, the things we do when in new relationships. But he did buy me my first pair of snow pants (yes, first ever. I have never worn a single pair.) so how could I say no?

And you know what? I actually liked it. I kind of liked it a lot. We went at night and at first I was freezing. And coughing on the snowflakes I was breathing in. Through my mouth. And then I warmed up and only my face was cold. And then I really warmed up and the sweat from my body kind of steamed my face and warmed all of me up. The best part of all was the little shelter where we (by we, I mean the army dude that was with us) built a fire and I got to drink flasks of booze. And water. But mostly booze.

The way back was even sort of romantic. The moon was out, the snow had stopped and, mostly, I knew that I would live and not get lost in the woods or get eaten by a mountain lion or killed by some crazy snowshoeing serial killer (actually I'm not convinced that couldn't still happen).

So there it is. I now have a winter activity. I'm cool. Time for a celebratory drink!

Happy New Years to Everyone Except the Stupid Bitch Who Called the Cops on My Kid

D went to a New Year's party this year with about 20 of her friends. I thought the parents allowing this party were crazy. Like a good parent (or something like that), I met them when I dropped her off and made sure they were going to be there all night. They assured me they would be and, when I told them how crazy they were for spending their night with a house of screaming teenagers, they let me know that it would be someone else's turn next year. Ha ha. Yeah, I'll take the rotation five years from now.

Anyhoo, I got a call from D close to midnight saying she'd had the cops called on her. It's every parent's dream to get this call, right? It took a couple of days for me to get the full story after the initial adrenaline rush of that night. Apparently, the girls were a few houses down from the party house cheering "Happy New Year" at passing cars. Until the Drunk Trashy Bitch pulled over and started yelling at them. I think that what she relayed in her really intelligent adult language was that they were a "bunch of punk-ass bitches" and accused them of throwing a bottle at her car. One of the girls actually tried to have a mature, adult conversation with her, but DTB was stumbling and inhaling too hard on her cigarette to accomplish this task. She proceeded to go home and call the cops.

When the cops showed up, they got the girls' story but said they would have to go talk to DTB to get her side of the story and that if she wanted to press charges, they'd be back to do so. They never came back. Probably because they realized that DTB should have been arrested for a DUI and verbally assaulting innocent children.

That bitch is just lucky I wasn't around. Yell at my kid because you're a drunk, trashy asshole and I will tear your throat out. Only I get to yell at my kid like that.

Another Fun Teenage Conversation

Last night D had a short performance with Youth Choir for a cancer survivor's group. Appropriately, she was completely focused on the teenage boy in the leather jacket.

D: He is so hot, he is so gorgeous!! Don't you think he's hot, Mom?
Me: He's a child.
D (to her friends): My mom thinks he's hot!!!
Me: That is NOT what I said. I said he's a CHILD.
Other teenage girl: That's okay, my mom says stuff like that too.

FML.

Losing It

Lately I've found out what being unemployed for ten months will do to you. It will drive you crazy. Or make you really, really stupid. I think I'm both now. For example, this morning I was yelling for my dog to come in and getting really irritated that she wasn't listening to me because I didn't want to let cold air in the house. The poor thing was lying innocently by the fire. Inside the house. When I left to go meet a friend, I searched frantically for my car keys. Which were on the table next to my purse. Right in front of me.

And if that's not enough, my emotions are all over the freaking map. Two days ago I woke up grumpy. General grumpiness turned to anger. Like raging anger and hatred of everything in the world. For no apparent reason. I just hated everything. I wanted to hide out at home, but I also wanted to go out somewhere. But then I knew that I shouldn't be out in public with a very real chance of killing someone for doing something stupid like existing. This morning I was so restless I couldn't sit still. But I didn't really want to do anything other than sit on the couch. So I paced from room to room for a while.

I don't remember what day it is most of the time and I've started forgetting to do things I say I'm going to do. Like meet a friend for yoga. When I don't forget, I change plans in my head but I don't communicate them to anyone else. Which makes me feel so self-absorbed I can't stand myself. I think I'm going to start losing friends soon. I wouldn't be able to put up with me for long.

It's getting really pathetic. I'm predicting the next stage will be learning to knit sweaters for my dogs. And the invisible cats that I was talking to while decorating my tree alone.

Seriously. I need a job.

My Favorite

So I've been complaining a lot lately about Nutcracker weekend and how much it sucks. And it does. I'm tired. D is tired. I have to have extra energy to get her through the times that she's tired and grumpy and sore and hungry. Which isn't fair, because she's younger than me and is supposed to have more energy. I spend more money than I want to on last-minute supplies and spend my time catering to her needs. Or wants. Or whines.

I'm dead tired right now and I think pajamas are the best thing ever invented and I'm about to sleep like the dead (with Nutcracker music stuck in my head), but I have to say one thing. I love my bugabooga more than anything in the world. I'm a mom so I know I'm supposed to say stuff like that, only I'm not that kind of mom. I don't like most kids. Some days I can hardly stand the one I have. But I love her to pieces anyway and tonight she outdid herself.

She had her first solo tonight and there really aren't words for how I felt. My heart nearly burst when she came out on stage. Doll has always been one of my favorite parts and she made the Best Doll Ever. She was beautiful and radiant and she floated across the stage and she looked so grown up and the only reason I didn't pass out from holding my breath the whole time was because I was concentrating on trying not to cry so that I could see her without my eyes getting all blurry.

Am I proud of her? Yeah, sure. But that's just too generic a term. She astonishes me. She surprises me in the best possible ways. I don't know how she got to be the person that she is. But I'm glad she is. And I'm glad she's mine.

Life Lessons from Mothers to Daughters

Sitting behind a gigantic, lifted truck today, D and I had this conversation:

D: He must have a really small penis. You taught me that.
Me: Yes I did. He must have a snail-sized penis.
D: Snails are cute. I like snails.
Me: Snails might be cute, but snail-sized penises are not. You should run from those.

I'm always looking out for her.

I'm So Smart Sometimes

Alright you guys, I have the most brilliant idea like ever in the history of my great ideas. Possibly even the world's ideas. It is that good. And if it actually gets done, remember it is my idea and I want the billion dollars that it will make.

So yesterday, I had to call unemployment. Which is the biggest waste of time because they put you on hold for precious hours of your life that you will never get back. I did it twice yesterday. The first time I was told my wait time would be 120 minutes. Really. 120. It takes me less time to count that high and even that is too long to wait for anything. After an hour I think someone picked up but then they disconnected me. Fuck me. Like an idiot, I called back. This time it was a 153 minute wait. Because they had to add in that extra 3 minutes. It couldn't just be 150. I waited another hour and gave up. Yeah, I need money but at this point my sanity is more valuable.

I got up early this morning specifically to call in hopes that less people would be calling at 8 a.m. This time I was told between 25 and 35 minutes. It ended up being 45, but whatever. At least she didn't hang up on me this time.

While listening to the same, repetitive music and messages over and over and over and over, I got my brilliant idea. Most of us have smart phones now, right? We can watch videos on them. So instead of playing stupid music that makes you suicidal, why don't they play videos to watch? Right? It's totally entertaining! And totally mindless, but so what. Waiting on hold for days on end is a mindless task anyway. I vote for cartoons. But only the good ones, the classics. Tom and Jerry. The Jetsons. Pink Panther. Mr. Magoo. None of these new retarded cartoons that must be made by monkeys. I would have to put my head in the microwave if Spongebob Squarepants came on. (Even spell check doesn't like Spongebob. Or Squarepants.)

I know, it's a totally rad idea. And it's mine. Steal it and you are dead to me. Not your money though, money is never dead to me. Plus it's my money in the first place because it's my idea.

My Little Apple

Last night's conversation:

D: I'm going to text my man candy.
Me: Man candy? What did you say to him?
D: "What's up dog?"
Me: You say that to your boyfriend?
D: I'm not going to be all, "Hi honey." Gross.

She's also "training" him to be weird like her. Gotta love that kid.

Weird Moments For Moms

Here's a good one: My kid just posted on her Facebook wall that she's in a relationship. Apparently the big moment in the life of teenage dating is making one's relationship "Facebook-official." And then your friends post things like, "I think I just peed out of happiness."

Two weeks ago she wasn't sure she was ready to date, now she's Facebook-official. Have I mentioned she's a Gemini? I can't even keep up with her moods, let alone her "relationship" status. And of course anything I would dare to post would be immediately deleted.

I really don't even know what to say. Or how to feel. I think something lame like weird works here. So, yeah. It's weird.

Ode To the Sweet Man at the Liquor Store

You, my friend, as you know, made my day. And week. Quite possibly, my month.

Winter is not kind. All I've wanted to do this week is eat and sleep. Eat and sleep. Go back to bed to sleep. Eat some more. I think I'm really a bear stuck in a person's body. I would give anything to hibernate. As a result of this sleeping and eating, I'm already getting fluffy. Putting on my jeans this morning was a harsh reminder of this fact. Like, really depressing. I like to eat mushrooms, I don't like to look like them.

I decide to treat myself to a martini so I visit your store. You greet me in such a friendly way. Which is nice, because liquor stores can feel really skeezy. I prefer to be treated like a productive and functioning alcoholic, not a homeless boozer.

While ringing me up, you said you would flatter me by checking my ID. I always love when that happens, but I didn't expect your reaction, "DAMN, you're doing good baby!!" Apologizing for the "baby" wasn't necessary, it added the extra oomph that I appreciated. Really, someone buy this man a drink!

Thank you for giving me bragging rights and making me forget about my winter marshmallow belly for a few minutes.

You remarked at the end that "this is going to get around." My friend, you have no idea.
Cheers!!

Then and Now

When I was in college, I thought that the older women, the "moms" that went back to school after 20 years were laughable. Why bother going back to school when their lives were half over? School was for young people. These women were supposed to be at home helping their kids with their homework, not doing their own. But, secretly, underneath my smirks, I was jealous of them for one thing. They got the better grades. I assumed it was because their lives were so pathetic they had nothing better to do, but I envied them that. Even if I hadn't been so painfully shy back then, I wouldn't have befriended them.

Well, guess what? I turned into that mom going back to school 20 years later.

For years I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought I knew what I wanted when I was 19. What a joke. I don't think I would want any of those things now. Including the boyfriend. And then I just sort of fell into every job I've ever had, aside from the ones I thought I wanted to do but soon discovered that I would have to be crazy to continue in that vein. Getting laid off this year provided me with the opportunity to revisit the broke feeling of my college days (daily spaghetti and the occasional Taco Bell). But it also became a wake-up call. Do I really want to go back to the same thing I've been doing? Not really. Do I want to just fall into another job? Nope. So I took some time to think about the things I've enjoyed doing over the last few years. The parts of my jobs that I did really like. And after some soul-searching and months of researching master's programs, I chose and enrolled in a school. Ta-da!!!!

College is an interesting concept now. I'm old. Or at least I feel old when I compare the differences between Then and Now. When I was in college, there was no internet. The one computer class I took taught DOS and we used floppy disks. I know, some of you don't even know what those are. Fuck you for being young. Now all of my classes are online. I don't buy books in a bookstore, Amazon sends them to me. I share classes with people from Alabama, Indiana and India. Only they actually, physically, live there. In college I wrote my papers on a word processor. I took notes on paper. On a desk without a computer. I actually had a callous on my finger from writing so much. I don't think people even get those anymore.

The other big difference? Yeah, it goes back to those better grades. Part of it is that I'm paying for it this time around, but that doesn't really factor into the day-to-day of class. Honestly, I've just gotten really competitive. Including with myself. And I think I'm smarter. I have "life experience" or some shit. So I can't accept less. My first class spoiled me; I aced it. I was lulled into a false sense of geniusness. My second class started easily enough - I got a 99%. Yes! Go me!! And then the second assignment brought an 88%. What? The fuck? That is NOT an A. This can't happen. I am an A student now. I kicked my ass on the next paper and am now checking for my grade roughly every 45 minutes. It has to be an A. Has. to. be.

Here's another little twist on the Now. I do have a kid in school still doing homework. I ride her little tush constantly to get better grades. I have high expectations of her. I push her and don't accept excuses. So now I have to set an example or something stupid like that. Honestly? I think I'm competing with my own kid now. Hey, whatever gets us that elusive 4.0....

Warning: Emotional Vomiting

You might not want to read this one. I'm not about to be charming or witty or even amusingly sarcastic. I'm about to dive into self-pity so deep that I can barely stand to be me today. It's about to get ugly.

I've been unemployed for nine months now. The first couple of months were "whatever, I can do this, there's something better out there." Then I started to panic. And then it was summer and I got the best tan of my life. But now it's winter and I'm already prone to depression. As in, I'm already on medication. But this is bad. Unemployed, broke, depressed with no end in sight.

It's not for lack of trying. I've sent in tons of resumes. I've applied to the same places over and over. I just sent one in yesterday to a company I applied to last month. I did some contract work for a few weeks and had hoped that would turn into more. Nope. Bupkis. Crickets. Oh hell, even the crickets are gone.

If you've gotten this far, I really urge you to stop. I'm just about to get utterly pathetic. Ugh. Here it is. I'm alone. I have wonderful friends and I don't actually live alone. There's a teenager here. And a couple of dogs. But I don't have someone to hug me at the end of the day. There's no love in my life and right now it just feels lonely and magnifies my situation that much more. I don't have that person to fall back on. I am unemployed, broke and alone. Living the fucking dream.

And as soon as I break down, like I did today, crying my eyes out before I even got out of bed, I remind myself that it could be worse. That it is worse for a lot of people. I don't have cancer or chronic pain. My daughter is healthy and beautiful and blossoming. I have friends that mean the world to me. I have a home and sweet puppies and my car is paid off. Thus begins the joy of the cycle of guilt and self-hatred.

But I can't help it. This is just one of those days. I feel helpless and hopeless and trapped. I'm tired of being positive and strong because I'm not. I'm exhausted and out of energy. I'm tired of "hanging in there." It doesn't pay the bills. I can't even snuggle with one of my cute puppies because she ate poop first thing this morning.

Something needs to change for the better soon. I hate feeling like this and I hate being like this. And I could blame it on the cramps and hormones, but today I just give up.

The Joy of Flying

Remember when flying used to be fun? When they gave you actual food and the flight attendants were really nice and would bring you pillows and blankets to help you feel cozy? When you didn't have to take your shoes off and you could carry a pair of tweezers or a bottle of shampoo? When I was little, they gave out those little wings pins and your dinner plate came with tiny glass salt and paper shakers. Which, incidentally, my mom "collected" but when I stole a piece of candy once she came unglued. Seems a bit hypocritical if you ask me, but whatever....

I used to love flying. Now I hate it. Even flying with my best friend didn't make it better.

To fly to Disneyland, we had to go Redmond-Portland-Seattle-Orange County. Do you see the problem here? We had to go north before going south. Yeah, it made a lot of sense to us. In Portland we changed planes. Or thought we did. We really just went in and out the same gate and back onto the same plane. Same flight attendants and everything. I even asked the guy, "Is this the same plane?" He asked where we were going and when we told him he gave us a weird look. J said "Yeah, apparently we have to fly to Canada before we can get to California." He believed her. Then he told us that there is a direct flight from Redmond to Seattle, which was completely missing the point. We don't want to go north at all, we wanted to go south. The really crazy part? We met a family on the shuttle to our hotel from Alaska. Their flight from Alaska was shorter than ours from Oregon. Makes total sense, right?

We annoyed everyone on all three flights. Except the one guy who was amused by our interpretation of the safety card. And the one flight attendant when I almost blew water out of my nose. On accident.

On the flight back, we didn't have seats together. We each had a middle seat in the same row. As we were boarding, we noticed an old man and woman in the aisle seats across from each other in our row. Assuming they were together, we asked if they'd mind switching seats so that we could be together. They said, "No. We want to sit together." Um, but you would be together. You'd be closer together. "No. No. We don't want to. No." Oh, well thank you for being such assholes about it. And, really. Who purposely buys their tickets like that? They wanted to sit together, but not actually next to each other. And they didn't say one word to each other the whole flight. In fact, when the old lady couldn't open her little bag of snacks, she asked J to help her. Not her husband who she had to sit next to. Wtf??

The only thing I was grateful for was not having to sit next to the asshole in the pirate hat who kept yelling at his kid when we were waiting at the gate. It was like he had to announce to everyone what a shitty parent he was. Obviously one of those dicks who hits his kid and probably his wife too. I would have stabbed him if I got stuck next to him. I don't know what I would have used since I wasn't allowed to have my tweezers. I would have figured something out.

Total Cute Overload

Tonight was D's first real date. That one back in the summer doesn't count because she wasn't into him. She is very much into E. They went to homecoming last week, but that's not really a date either. It's a dance, it's sponsored by the school, there are a thousand other kids around.

My rule is that there are no couple dates until 16; she's supposed to go out with a group. But I kinda like this boy and I haven't liked anyone else she has before. I met E last week when I took pictures of them for the dance. He was quiet and shy, but looked me in the eye when I talked to him. His mom was there too and she was adorable and also shy and quiet. I was the loud mom in the room. Great. E also seems smart. He's in the advanced classes and he plays violin and guitar. He's also the same age and isn't driving yet so there was no danger of involving a car. So I said okay.

I just realized why I'm so tired tonight. Watching your child grow up before your very eyes is emotionally exhausting. First there was the uber cuteness. I dropped her off in front of the restaurant where she had asked him to meet her. He walked over to the car to greet her and I watched to see if he would acknowledge me. He did. He did a little wave in that relaxed way that guys have. It's what I love about them, when they seem so easygoing and comfortable with themselves. And then they turned to walk in together. I could tell he likes her. He walked as close to her as he could without actually touching her.

When I picked her up, his parents were there at the same time. The kids stood on the curb for a second before It happened. I witnessed my child's first kiss. It was just a small hug with a quick peck, but it was on the lips. I looked away quickly so they wouldn't see me watching. I did ask her if that was the first one and she said yes and asked if I was going to cry. Even in the dark she could see my face contorting. But I didn't. Not until now, as I'm sitting in my room telling you this and she's in the living room giggling with a girlfriend.

She's in love. It's puppy love, but she's getting there. She was giggly and goofy in the car. I know she didn't want to tell me everything and that was okay. She was also just living in the moment. In that first little rush that doesn't feel the same when we get older.

My heart is full and yet breaking at the same time. She's growing up and from this moment it's just going to go faster. I don't think I'd change it either. Yes, I'd like to lock her up and keep her safe, keep her with me. But I also like the person (young woman?) that she's becoming and I'd like to learn more about her. Mostly I'm just grateful that I get to be a part of her life.

An Original Douchebag

The following excerpt is from a conversation that was unwelcome to begin with.

Random guy in a bar: Is that your real eye color?
Me: Um. What kind of question is that?

Later...
RGIB: You really need to change your eye color.
Me: Why?
RGIB: So that I'll stop staring into them.

I give him one point for originality but minus ten for the attempt.

Protecting the Sexy

J has this cat name Yuki. He is black and best described as Sex on a Stick. He totally knows it too, which just makes him sexier. Yeah, somehow it's okay for a cat to know that he's the shit, but the same quality in a human is gross.

Anyway, we're going to Disneyland next week and she was worried about leaving him at home. Black cats and Halloween don't mix. At all. She was concerned that her roommates would get stoned and let Yuki get outside so that he could end up being catnapped and used in some disgusting satanic ritual. (Yes, there are some really sick fuckers out there.) So I volunteered my house since J2 will be taking excellent care of my animals. (And this way I'll know there's something sexy on my bed while I'm gone. Because it's certainly not there when I'm home.)

The whole point of this was to post this little exchange J and I had yesterday.

J: Cool. Gotta protect my sexy boy.
Me: Yes. He is too sexy for outside.
J: Yes he is. He is for our eyes only.