Trial By Fire

In my last blog (aka my Lazarus like rise from the dead) I revealed some major things that have happened since you last heard from me. Namely, I had a kid.

Seriously, what was the man upstairs thinking when he decided I would make a suitable parent? I’m pretty sure if nothing else this blog has served as a forum of overwhelming proof that I am by no means the most understanding, patient, or forgiving person on the planet. C’mon we all remember my previous posts about binge drinking, neglecting to pay my bills and picking unwarranted fights with the Boo. Granted I have grown up a wee bit since then (ahem) but still. Anyone who has previously conducted their life in such a manner and does so with such overwhelming sarcasm and complete disregard for the way in which it affects others should by no means be responsible for raising another human being.

My point being…I hope I don’t screw this kid up.

When we first found out I was pregnant it was a complete shock to the Boo and I. It was definitely a surprise but a good one at that. (And no, there is no cute story about how I lovingly revealed my positive pee stick in a wrapped up jewelry box with a bow on top. True to form, I simply ran into the living room in my Hanes night shirt, disheveled hair and morning breath and announced “Holy Shit! I’m pregnant!” Classy, eh?)

But after the initial excitement and Facebook proclamations had worn off, the anxiety set in. How in the hell was I going to pull this off? Was I honestly capable of carrying, birthing and raising a precious baby girl without scarring her for life? I mean, let’s face it, she’s already got the short end of the stick to begin with since she is carrying my DNA and all it’s proclivity to facial hair, thick thighs and the inability to think before speaking. But more so, was there anyway I could not mentally scar this child with my complete and utter lack of knowledge and sarcastic, sometimes caustic, demeanor?

And then I saw her.



Quinn Isabella was born on October 30, 2011 and the instant they laid her on my chest I knew I would figure it out. Yes, it may be trial by fire. Yes, I may suck a big one at first. And yes, there may be times when I make my 12 week old baby do inappropriate booty shaking dances from BET music videos but that’s neither here nor there.

The point is she’s mine. She has my eyes, my blood and, God bless her, my DNA. Without even trying she’s already taken over my entire heart and filled it up with slobbery kisses and toothless grins. Without even trying I know I will raise her as best as I know how and hopefully she will grow into the beautiful young woman I know she’s destined to be.

The other night I laid on the bed just staring at her as she played. She was exploring the world around her and when I bent down and kissed her I didn’t get a grin. She rolled her eyes at me.

She is so my daughter.

Well, Hello There

Anyone remember me? Most likely not. It's only been 2 years.

(Embarrassing!)

I'm still alive but my life is a bit different. Since my last post I lost 49 pounds, the Boo and I got married, built and bought our own house, I (gained all the weight back plus some when I) got knocked up, and we had a baby!! Crazy, right?!?!

So here I am once again, on bended knee, begging you few remaining faithful readers o mine (Can you hear the echo? Cause there's no one out there) to give me another chance. I promise I won't leave you high and dry again. I have a baby now so you KNOW the possibility for embarrassing, ridiculous, incredibly sarcastic blog fodder is endless.

And c'mon...you know you missed me.

Because I am Nothing if Not Ambitious

As luck would have it my sister arrived on Sunday night and what would you know I had to start work on Tuesday!

Story of my life.

But we managed to cram in some good times when I wasn’t at work. Relaxing on a family friend’s boat on the lake, sipping wine and eating tapas at Press, chowing down on sushi at Nikko, thrift store hunting, American Idol madness, and an eventful Thursday night in uptown involving a champagne filled hookah, lots of booze and late night Jack in the Box.

It was a good (albeit stressful) week.

And I think it goes without saying that my new job (which requires me to work from 3-1130) has left me deprived of things I once took for granted in my slothful days of unemployment.

Among them are…

1. 40s, spicy peanuts and Jeopardy with the Boo

2. A never ending onslaught of mind-numbing reality television

3. Happy hour

4. Cuddle time with the Boo

5. Cooking dinner

6. General debauchery

7. And of course this blog and all my lovely blog friends

I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Yes, the hours aren’t terrific. The drive is a bit taxing. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers yo!

I figure I’ll just grind these first few months out till they have no choice but to promote me to a new tax bracket at which point I’ll promptly request normal people hours, an office with a view, and a revolving door of minions to fawn over me, tell me how glorious I am, and basically do all the real work.

Sounds doable.

On Some Recent Developments

· I sent the Boo out Monday night to get a new chew toy for the crazed mongrels as they are being true to form and literally driving me up a effing wall. (The new house is so much bigger than the old that they’re running around like maniacs ready to piss themselves in ecstasy every 10 seconds.) Suffice it to say they needed a new distraction. Anyways, the Boo comes back 45 minutes later and what does he have? Not just the chew toy but a fish. (Ya know, one of those ones that lives for like 2 weeks and then gets unceremoniously flushed down the toilet before their new name even sticks. Can you tell I’m jaded? I’ve had and killed way too many Betas in my day.) The Boo let me name him and of course I picked Totes Magotes. Duh. We’ll see how long he can make it in this crazy, dysfunctional home.

· I’ve started working out again and boy does it severely suck. But I have to do it. I feel like a behemoth in my baggy $2 Hanes old man under shirt and stretchy yoga pants at the gym soooo something’s gotta change. (And by something I mean my exponentially expanding thighs…and ass…and waist. Let’s just say we’ve got some work to do.)

· My little sis is flying in from Chicago on Sunday to spend 5 days with the Boo and I. I’m so excited because I don’t get to see her often and I miss her like crazy. We’re less than 2 years apart so we’re cut from the same cloth. (As kids we used to call ourselves “bosom buddies”…not sure if that was supposed to be a joke or if we were serious but it happened…and it wasn’t pretty). Anyways, when the two of us get together there is no doubt lots of alcohol consumed, lots of sarcastic and cutting remarks exchanged, and one hell of a good time. I’m so excited but the only thing is the timing kind of sucks because….

· ….I GOT A JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (In case you’re all jumping around and squealing obnoxiously like me I’ll give you a moment to compose yourselves.) It’s the highest paying one that I really wanted which is frickin awesome! I’m super excited and so relieved and willing myself not to shout from the rooftops. However, their looking at starting me the day after my sister gets here so that would kind of suck…not being able to see her. But there is still a possibility the start date could be pushed back a few more days so cross your fingers that it is and I can hang with little sis.

Ok so that’s all that’s new with me. My life is kind of starting to kick ass right now. How’s yours?

Say What You Need to Say

There are moments in everyone’s life that resonant endlessly throughout your soul. Defining, life-altering, wake-the-fuck-up-calls that smack you across the face and smart with their sting.

The loss of a life, instantly, unexpectedly, is sadly one of those smacks.

Over the past two days I’ve caught myself obsessing over the fragility of life. How quickly it can be gone. How mortal we truly are. And how much we take it all for granted.

It’s times like these where you realize how naïve you’ve been all along. That that person whom you would give your life for may not be there tomorrow. That those you hold closest to your heart could be ripped from your grasp instantaneously. That life as you now know it could cease to exist.

And it is times like these that have forced me to take inventory of the things in my life that I am truly, utterly grateful for. My family, friends, and love of my life who have always without fail supported, encouraged and loved me unconditionally. It’s unfortunate that it takes such tragic events to awaken this sense of thankfulness but nevertheless it must be said.

Now.

To whomever you cherish in your life, tell them. Tell them that you love them and appreciate them and NEED them in your life. Even if you think you say it too much. Even if (especially if) you don’t say it enough. Tell them what they mean to you. Tell them.

Tell them.

Because you never know when they won’t be there to hear it. You just never know…

Only the Good Die Young

On March 24, 2008, one year ago today, tragedy struck.

My cousin was only 27 years old when he passed suddenly and unexpectedly in the night. And today marks an entire year since the last time he was with us.

There’s something profoundly sad about no longer being able to wake up every morning and think, “One year ago today he was still alive,” something my sister and I discussed as the day approached.

It all feels too new, too surreal for an entire year to have passed without him. And sad in so many respects to think that life has marched on uninterruptedly despite his death. Cruel even.

The following is something I wrote in the ensuing days after his death. I still can't read it without crying. I loved him dearly. I miss him immensely. And days like these only prove a painful reminder of the life we've lost. His.

He wasn’t just a cousin. He was the big brother I never had. When I was younger I always reveled in the fact that I was the oldest but part of my heart ached because there was something I knew I could never have by attaining that cherished title…an older brother. Someone to watch over me, protect me, give me advice and comfort me in a way only an older brother could do. Yet, it seemed fate had eluded me and I was destined to live devoid of that so desired presence in my life. That is, until I met my cousin, Gary.

He was everything I had hoped for in an older brother and yet so much more. Caring and compassionate, funny and articulate, wise beyond my years yet relatable in every aspect. He was what I had always hoped for. I remember one of my earliest memories with Gary was in Birmingham at our Grandmother’s house. The whole family had gathered together for some special occasion, which at this point is unbeknownst to me. And in retrospect, it’s clear why I don’t remember what we were even there for, it’s because all I remember was spending time with my cousin…my big brother.

My sister, Brittany and I, spent hours on end in the backyard with Gary, attempting to construct what would be our architectural masterpiece. In our minds it was going to be an amazing three bedroom, two bathroom cabin with stained glass windows and a fireplace, yet in reality, it never matured farther than a few metal poles and some broken glass from the neighbor’s windows. Over and over, we were implored to come inside and spend time with the rest of the family but all I remember is not wanting to leave my cousin’s side. I had faith that my dreams of perfection in the form of "backyard fort" blueprints would all be executed and eventually personified with the help of the only other two people who could appreciate and acknowledge my vision, my sister and my cousin…my big brother.

Eventually we were forced to come inside and the fort/architectural phenomena was forced to cease in existence. Yet I’ll never forget that time I spent with him. As juvenile as it may seem, that one instance instilled in me all I needed to know about my big brother. I knew that he would always watch over me (as he so lovingly made sure I didn’t pick up any of the broken shards of glass to compose our "stained glass windows") and he would always make me feel important (by giving me specific tasks in the construction of our fort which made me feel indispensible to the project). From that day forward I loved him with all my heart.

Growing up, I regarded him as my own big brother and I think part of me resented the fact that he couldn’t actually be that. I was so proud of him that it wasn’t uncommon for me to take pictures of him to school to show all my friends what a handsome "big brother" I had. I would regale them with tales of our adventures and his subsequent success, beaming with every accomplishment I informed them of knowing that only my big brother could have done such amazing things and done them so beautifully. And growing up, he was my role model. But then again, who wouldn’t have wanted to emulate him? Masterful articulator, quick-witted and sarcastic, opinionated and driven, passionate and ambitious, encompassing all areas of the modern day Renaissance man - that was my cousin…my big brother.

Years passed and time changed us but my heart never swayed. I knew that the bond Gary and I shared was forever solidified and could never be broken regardless of the frequency of visits. He was always with me in my heart and in my mind and no amount of time or distance could ever shake that. Now as I sit here writing this it’s still surreal. I feel as if he’s just left on a trip and he’ll be back in time for the next family get together. That a few months from now we’ll all be sitting around eating dinner talking politics where he will undoubtedly take the opposing side (not necessarily because he’s a proponent of the candidate but simply for the sake of argument) and he’ll continue to argue for hours on end to the point that you want to pull your hair out and give up. But then at the last minute, he’ll flash that charming half grin smile that seems to light up the entire room and win everyone back over.

But it pains me to think that that will never happen, evidenced entirely by the fact that I’m forced to right this memoir in the past tense. I wish I could bring him back. I wish these words had the power to resurrect your baby boy…my big brother…breathe life back in to him and enable him to be among us for just one more day. Unfortunately that isn’t a possibility. Yet, I know that his memory will live on for years and years to come - likely after we’re all gone and with him in heaven. His life was so much more than our minds can even comprehend and his actions and very presence touched countless lives and hearts that we will never come to know. But I find comfort in knowing that I will never be without him. Although he may have been ripped away from this world all too soon, he will never and can never be forgotten. He will forever be the person I aspire to emulate. The person I seek to impress. The person I hold dearest to my heart. My cousin, my blood, my big brother.

You’ll always be in my "Top Eight". I love you.