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.

I Have a Confession to Make

I haven’t blogged in almost 2 weeks. And because of that I’m slowly losing followers and rapidly losing sleep.

Here’s the thing. It’s not that I don’t want to write (because I do) it’s that I feel have nothing to write about (because I honestly don’t).

(It’s called writer’s block for a reason, right?)

I feel like my voice and who I am as a writer is largely centered around the unfortunate circumstances that tend to plague my daily life and the sarcastic, sensationalized spin I put on it to make it more interesting. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been.

But now things are different. Things are better and I’m happier. Oh yes, I could write about how wonderful life in the working world is, how great my relationship is going or how things are finally falling into place. But that’s not who I am. Sorry but I’m not Miss Musing. I’m not the perpetual optimist nor would I want to read something so generically positive.

So why do it? Why write?

I’m not sure where this is going but I need some advice. Should I stick around and write about life’s sudden perfection and strive to no longer be the sarcastic bitch I really am and just accept that things are wonderful? (Probably not.) Should I leave all together and be thankful for the experience? ( I don’t know.) Or do I take a time out and wait for clarity? (Which, coincidentally is what I’ve been doing in this interim and have yet to find any.)

I hope someone can shed some light on this because I’m so frustrated I’m about 2 seconds away from deleting this whole blog entirely. . .

HELP!

Finding the Light at the End of the Tunnel

To quote one of my favorite bloggy buddies out there “I love my life and I love that I can say that.”

Several months ago I read that on Shannon’s 20sb page and for some reason it stuck with me. I loved the concept of such a bold statement in all of its simple complexity and I hated the fact that I couldn’t say it about my own life.

While I still had a good man by my side and a roof over my head it was admittedly not the ideal life. A far cry rather.

I lost my job. I put on weight. I had major health problems compounded by legal problems and car problems and every other kind of problem imaginable. I was irritable and depressed. Anxious and angry. My life was not the life I wanted or even felt I deserved.

I could do better. Be happier. I just knew it.

And finally I’ve found it. It’s been exactly 10 days since we’ve arrived in the Queen City. Our home is gorgeous (pics coming soon), our neighborhood is leaps and bounds ahead of the one we just left, the weather is gorgeous, the people are nice and the job market is, like I thought, a hundred times better.

Case in point, I’ve had 3 interviews and am looking at a possibility of 4 different jobs all paying more money than I’ve ever made in my life…and all of this has happened within one week of living here!!!

Now I don’t wanna get my hopes up. I know things can happen. Jobs can fall through and offers can suddenly disappear but I’m hopeful at the prospect of such a dramatically different job market. Even if I don’t get any of these jobs (even though all the employers seemed to LOVE me) I know that I’m much better off searching here than where I was.

Shall we recall the fact that I was laid off in October and searched Tampa’s job market incessantly to no avail for the following 6 months before we moved?!? The furthest I got there was 2 interviews for a serving job…and I couldn’t even land that despite the fact I have 6 years experience in food and beverage. No one would call me. Nothing was open.

It was a dead end.

But it’s completely different here. And for the first time in almost a year and a half I finally feel like my life is about to become something great. Full of happiness and love and success and peace.

And I love that I can say that.

I'm Moving On...

D-Day is upon us. Exactly 24 hours from today the Boo and I will be packing up boxes, turning in keys, and hauling all our worldly possessions to a great big (and terrifyingly new) adventure.

I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t a bit scared.

Scared that I won’t find a job quickly. Scared that bills will go unpaid and credit will be compromised. Scared that we won’t make new friends. Scared that we won’t learn our way around the city. Scared to fall flat on my face. Scared to hear “I told you so” once again.

Scared to fail.

But then I think that’s natural, right?

There will always be a certain aspect of our lives that we can never completely control. Things we can’t foresee. Situations we can’t compartmentalize into exactly what we want them to be. The ideal. The quintessential fairy tale ending.

Things like that can’t be guaranteed.

(But then again they don’t exactly happen on their own.)

In other words, unless I jump in with both feet, toss caution to the proverbial wind, I will never fully know if I’m capable of making it. Capable of something more, something bigger, and something far greater than anything I’ve experienced thus far.

And you know what? I damn sure intend to find out. Because there’s a little phrase that I remember in times like these: “Fear is temporary. Regret is forever.”

(And God knows I can’t afford anymore regrets.)

So guess what, Charlotte? Ready or not…here we come.

I'm Pullin' a Dwight Schrute Again

Question?

If you could create and enforce your own law (state or federal) what would it be and why?

Mine? Recurring driving tests throughout the years to keep your license (and keep old people and idiots off the road.)

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…

Friday's Food for Thought

“The unreal is more powerful than the real because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend? They can go on and on.”- Chuck Palahniuk

On Some Random Nonsense

1. As of late (yesterday) I’ve taken to calling the Boo by his middle name. Payne. Yes, that’s right. As in P-A-I-N. If that’s not the coolest f*ckin name on the planet then I don’t know what is. I have daydreams of how magnificently that middle name could come in handy when faced with an enemy. “I’m about to bring the PAIN on your ass. Cause that’s my middle name, son!” Not that he’d ever be that lame to use such a line. But in my revisions of future said story he most certainly will.

2. Totes ma-gotes has got to be the most awesome phrase ever invented. It just sounds kick ass. I laid awake in bed last night just saying “Totally…totes ma-gotes” over and over in my head and getting a little chuckle every time. Oh, Paul Rudd how I love thee. (And for the record, no I have not seen I Love You, Man despite the raving reviews I’ve read it received. Nay, I’ll just wait a few months years till it hits DVD and goes to Blockbuster and eventually makes its way off the “New Releases” perimeter and into the gaping abyss of a cluster f*ck that comprises the middle aisles of movies everyone’s already seen or hates. I call it frugality. And no, I’m not Jewish.)

3. Have you seen this?? I think you should. (Click the link you stubborn bastard. Do it. Quit being so GD lazy!!) If you try and tell me that’s not the funniest thing ever I will slaughter your first born. That’s a fact. (And I know I posted about it back in October or so but let’s be honest, I had no readers then so guess what, it’s happening again.)

4. Danny Gokey sings like baby Jesus. Sweet, six-pound 10 ounce baby Jesus. And it is BRILLIANT. I don’t care what you say about him I am SOLD. That sweet, widowed church boy has got some mother-f*cking pipes, yo. (And look, enough with the Adam obsession, ladies. I mean, I get it. He sounds like Freddy Mercury. You could probably share the same skinny jeans and eyeliner. But please, the man is clearly gay and any delusions to the contrary are just that…delusional. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, not in the least. All I’m saying is spending your days pining away for Mr. Lambert to make sweet love to you whilst serenading you with a sitar infused lullaby and simultaneously fathering your children is a far-fetched fantasy that’s never going to happen. So give it up.) But back to Danny. You wanna know what the best part about this kid is? “Gokes” (as I so lovingly refer to him) kinda rhymes with “Totes ma-gotes” and that is the crazy link that set this blog train o thought a chuggin.

Genius.