Anchor

it’s amazing how quickly life can change in a week.  i felt like i was on a good path, finally getting my shit together, enjoying the glimmer of a light at the end of the ol’ proverbial tunnel- and then this week?  good hell.  i feel like crying and throwing expensive things around the house.

my son’s girlfriend of 4 years broke up with him on sunday- out of nowhere- and he is devastated.  i’m heartbroken for him, because she was his entire world.  something is rotten in denmark- i don’t believe she acted on her own i’m sure her parents kind of forced this.

i also got news that someone i knew just had a heart attack and died out of nowhere, leaving his partner and everyone else in total shock.  i just talked to him days before about wedding plans…. it’s so crazy.

there are a bunch of other messy little details in my life that seem to be unraveling when only days ago i was making a lot of forward progress…

the only constant is my partner.  even at our eye-rolling-est snippiest prickly times he makes me smile.  i look to putting a hand on his back as i am falling asleep.  even though he works until 2 am, i can always text him; my lifeline to him.

i was feeling so insecure this weekend and almost effortlessly, he fixed my brain hurt.  this is a new occurrence.  he kissed away my self doubt and i love him all the more for it.  our ten year anniversary is coming up next month and it’s amazing how much our relationship has evolved.  i love him every second of every day and am thankful to have him as an anchor.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/18/daily-prompt-thats-amore/

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Conversation With Myself

it’s been awhile since i did a mental check up/life evaluation and i said i would make sure to take time to keep myself focused on myself during this whole transition thing- it’s overdue.

i’ve been so busy writing advocate pieces and throwing articles to different sites that i just haven’t even had a chance to braindump in a very long time.   i made and donated a few mosaic pieces to an art show at the GLCC- and succumbed to peer pressure to start an Etsy site.  now i need to do a logo and Pinterest that- and all of that social media hullaballoo for that.  my laptop had a wicked rotten virus, but, i actually fixed things myself- that NEVER happens!  i’m pretty excited about it!  we did a whole bunch of new (to us) things with the different GLBTQ groups, including a FASHION SWAP, trans partner support group and a lecture on HATE CRIMES.   i set up a Gofundme account for bf’s top surgery and have been working on a bunch of fundraisers for that.  Sonnyboy got a job- thank god- so that stress is FINALLY off my shoulders and i FINALLY feel like i can relax a tiny bit.  i’ve been filling out a lot of apps and going on stupid interviews with places that i don’t belong… it’s been horrible.  but through it all, i keep looking towards better days- credit cards gone, car paid off, vacation, breathing room……. *sigh*

i certainly haven’t gone to the gym enough and working out at home is usually ignored- but i’m working on that…. it just always seems the easiest thing to fall by the wayside, when meanwhile it should be the most important…  in fact i think i’m going to go crawl onto the couch and fall asleep.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/daily-prompts/

Well Placed Words

writei absolutely love words. letters and words.  not so much sentences, but letters and words excite me.  i would suppose that’s why i write in fragments so often.  i feel like words convey as much as a sentence can, and there doesn’t always need to be a filler like “the” or even nitpicky punctuation. words fill your mind with ideas, and usually people skim enough that they don’t need grammar and all of its trappings.   sure, there’s a time when a perfectly formed sentence can really add to the fluff and polish, but then again, sometimes…. just a word can do just as much….

for instance….

LOVE.  KISS.  SEX.  WARM.    just those words on their own can definitely make a statement.  and who doesn’t love some well placed words?

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/10/daily-post-take-that-rosetta/

My Face Isn’t Red, But My Fridge is GROSS

  1. i unapologetically love The Bee Gees.
  2. i shovel the sidewalk, get the mail and scrape ice off my car in snowman pajamas.
  3. i have spent lots of time at “clothing optional” campgrounds and i am a big ol fat girl.
  4. i often eat cereal for dinner.
  5. i didn’t learn how to drive or get my license until i was 25 years old.
  6. i used to work at an “adult bookstore” and helped people buy vibrators and porn.
  7. i now clean houses for a living.
  8. i hated being pregnant. all nine months and didn’t think childbirth was beautiful or magical.
  9. i still have to look at the keys sometimes to type.
  10. i cry when i do my taxes because i hate math so much.
  11. i graduated from art school but can’t draw very well.
  12. i lie and say that i am paying attention to people when try and give me directions, when really i’m ignoring them and just go and google it.
  13. i despise shopping and would rather get my clothes from a thrift store, department stores make my skin crawl.
  14. i am openly bisexual.
  15. i don’t believe in ghosts even though my mother was an ordained Spirtualist minister, claimed to be psychic, and performed exorcisms out of our house.
  16. i tinkle when i laugh too hard on occasion. ok. i do it all of the time
  17. I LOATHE baby showers and wedding showers WITH A PASSION.
  18. i very rarely pay attention to names in books, so, a lot of times near the end, i have absolutely NO CLUE what is happening to people.  i’m like a toddler.
  19. i cuss like a truck driving-sailor.
  20. i hate my neighbors so much that i secretly wish bad things will happen to them when they park in our spots…. *giggles and hides from karma)

having said all of this, i am embarrassed by very little, however, that if you looked in my refrigerator right now, i would be horrified.

bee gees

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/daily-prompt-red/

Message in a Bacardi Bottle

i would have to think that if i was laying on the beach and a bottle washed up that the ONLY possible reason i was there would be working as a maid at some swanky resort in the tropics.  so basically, this scenario sucks ass.

i clean for a living, the disgusting crusty remains of dirty dishes, unspeakable toilets, endless pet hair, constant stuff everywhere, every day.  it’s like not leaving home. it’s like picking up everyone’s bath towels and putting the toilet paper ONTO the dispenser- about thirty times a week and it’s wiping ramen noodle spice packet dust and coffee residue from six or seven counters weekly.  countless shoes and pillows put in their correct places, endless crevices to be vacuumed, cobwebs galore, constantly and all week.  so, it might seem that moving all of this “fun” to someplace seaside or tropical might be nice.

pina coladai imagine, i’m there in my hawaiian print shirt and turquoise cotton work pants, wandering the beach side cabanas, cleaning up after honeymooners and spoiled people that don’t know how much i’d like to break one of the resorts hurricane glasses and shank them with it.  these lovey dovey couples don’t realize just HOW CLOSE they are to me bashing them in the head with the bar’s novelty coconut shells. they are making out and dropping drink umbrellas, cherry stems and condom wrappers all over the place for me to clean up.COCONUT

i can hear them giggling and grunting and groaning, not hidden by the bamboo “privacy screens” as i fold the seven thousandth bleached beach towel into yet another fucking swan.  i pick up trays of half eaten strawberries and pretend these jerks aren’t sucking each other’s faces like an octopus sucks mollusks from their shells.  i walk quiety by leathery brown tourists snapping their fingers for more champagne and fruit platters, squirting each other with cocoa butter and KY like NO ONE has to clean that crap up.  i replace the newly folded swan towel next to a dry-humping, drunk couple that are feeding each other chunks of pineapple, and the couple immediately picks up the towel to sop the runny juice from their faces, giggling, only to then drop it to the ground to  possibly later to use a rag for their “love juices.”  yuck.

the heat is getting to me as well as the squeals and ecstatic giggling, so i wander away from the cabanas and notice trash in the water.  i walk towards it expecting more condom wrappers or even the usual bikini bottom and realize that it’s just a bottle.  from as far away as i am, i can’t tell if it’s an empty bottle of lube or booze; either way, as “Housekeeping”, it’s my damn job to pick up litter like i’m some golden garbageman in paradise.

Bacardi_Light_Rum_1_75_L_1_75Li make my way  through the honey colored sand, littered with bits of shells, ground up pieces of old hotel guests’ credit cards, and porsche glass, and stop to pick up the bottle, ready to chuck into the jewel encrusted trash bucket i’m carrying.

“what’s this, i ask to myself,  “a cliche’d message in a bottle?  who’da thunk?  how novel!”  i glance around nervously before i open the dirty old bacardi bottle, wondering what hotel protocol is for “lost beach articles.”   i chomp-pull out the crammed in cork with my teeth like a pirate, uncaring what people might say if they saw.  i pull out the rolled up note and park myself on a nearby lounge chair, figuring it will be some gag from one of the local kids.  as jaded as i am, i’m still excitedly curious and unroll the note, expecting a Target receipt, an expired Dunkin Donut coupon or at best, a menu from Polly’s Tropicano Pizza Hut.

i slowly read the note, and then read it again, this time, out loud, not believing the scrawly inky words that are in front of me.  it is a will.  “Last Will and Testament of Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo“, the island’s richest resident and he has written that he will bestow the entire island along with all of his riches and money to the finder of this note.  !!!!  i cannot believe it!!!  some luck for once! i dance through the sand, kicking up waves lapping my feet.  i am ecstatic!  i turn and head towards one of the vacationers that is yelling at me for more Rum Runners and dump the ice bucket right on his pretentious asshole head.

“FUCK THIS SHIT!  I’M RICH! and i am OUT OF HERE!”  i yell to his startled and sputtering wife, who just happens to be the color of a bucket of extra crispy KFC. i tear off my uniform, hideous turquoise scrub bottoms and all, leaving me in just my hole-y zebra print underpants and matching ill-fitting bra to run like hell back to the hotel.  i can’t believe my luck, my new fantastic life is about to begin!

“I OWN THIS FUCKING ISLAND, YOU DIPSHIT OVERPRIVELEDGED SNOTTY ASSHOLES!  so get the FUCK off my beach and get real jobs!”   laughing, i grab a pitcher of pina coladas off of serving tray and chug the whole damn thing!

i jubilantly run and run—- (A SPLASH!) a bucket of ice water is dumped onto my head, snapping me back to reality.

“Hey! Lady?  are you okay? ” someone asks.

i look around and see that i’m laying in the sand, probably drunk off the pitcher of pina coladas.  no matter, I’M RICH and drunk on the pina coladas from the ISLAND THAT I OWN, mother fuckers!!!!  a circle of people are gathered and staring at me as if i was a rabid animal and worried that i might strike again.

i look down and someone hands me a towel to cover up my nonsensical and unsexy zebra print under-garments.  i start to yell at everyone to get away from the new queen of the island when my boss wanders up, looking super pissed.

he starts yelling at me in his broken english “Mister Morales say you make fun of wife and dump ice on head. You are fired, yoong lady! get OUT!”

i pull myself up and start to yell at him about the newsflash he obviously missed, about me being the new SUPREME RULER of the island, when i reach up to touch a horrible swelling spot on my forehead.  looking down i notice a bacardi bottle, the note missing, just as a plate of crab claws, shrimp tails and lemon wedges rains down onto my head, courtesy of Ms. Bucket of KFC, Extra Crispy.  cocktail sauce oozes down the side of my face as my coworker explains to me that i suffered some sort of heatstroke and flipped out on Mr Morales and his fried chicken-colored wife, so he cracked me in the head with a bacardi bottle and i passed out.

soooooooooo apparently, i guess, it’s back to cleaning toilets in pittsburgh, no thanks to Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo, which may or may not be the name of my friend’s pomeranian and NOT the richest man on an island somewhere.

 http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/31/daily-prompt-water/

Just Give Me the Oreos and No One Gets Hurt

if only i could stop shoveling food into my fatmouth, i’d be okay.  but  how do you give up food?  food, glorious, food?  that’s like saying- stop having fun, *MissTheresa.*  stop breathing.  stop hanging out with your friends.  i yo yo dieted all last year.  that was not pleasant.  who am i kidding?  i’ve yo yo’ed WHILE i was yo yo-ing my entire life away.  let’s face it.  food.is.delicious.  food.is.yummy.  it tastes good ON PURPOSE.  cigarettes stink and frankly, taste nasty and make EVERYTHING ELSE taste nasty.  HOWEVER, i have considered taking up smoking so that i could be successful at quitting SOMETHING.

preach, ralph, preach!

preach, ralph, preach!

giving up alcohol would be easy squeezy, and i admittedly love me some booze.  but i can definitely quit alcohol no prob, because even the most delicious of girlyshots still aren’t THAT yummy.   you can pretend that you are “fancy” and love the taste of nine-thousand year old scotch, but all of the LYING and fakery in the world doesn’t fool me into believing that you just enjoyed consuming something that tastes like poisoned gasoline.  pretend all you want, friend.  i’ll be over here with my face stuck in a bag of cheesy poofs.

then there’s sex- i enjoy doin’ it immensely, but i feel like if i was ADDICTEDaddicted that i’d even be able to control that.  i don’t gamble, do drugs or shop for more than essentials.  i’m not even that into anything on tv enough to have to give it up.  but food?  a nice chilly sliver of tiramisu, or some golden crispy fried chicken?  never!  almond cookies and italian hoagies, cheese, cheese, cheese, sushi, cheese, tortellini, milkshakes, blue cheese burgers?  oh, i love food.

FOOD OPTIONSmoreover, i hate exercise, THAT i could quit.  but warm and crispy with REAL BUTTER chocolate chip cookies?  pork chops?  steak?  cheese?  no way.  i’ve been dieting so long that while i was diligently tracking carbs and counting points, a whole new batch of diets have cropped up to try and “assist” me in doing the one thing i just can’t do.  simply, i cannot QUIT FOOD.  scallops and shrimp, buffalo wings, tacos, loaded baked potatoes, curly fries?  oh…. food.  i can’t quit you.  processed, whole, organic, local, taco truck?  gimme it.  ALL OF IT.  poutine, naan, halushki, Soylent Green, sweet and sour shoes- i don’t care—give it here.  are you going to finish that?  breakfast for dinner?  right on!  meatloaf for breakfast?  sho nuff!  taco bell at 2 am?  absolutely.  i LURVE food.

food

i’ve heard all of the tips, tricks, “rules” and guidelines.  i know what is healthy and what isn’t.  i don’t blame genes, thyroids, gluten, carbs, depression, my job, stress or even the media.  i like to eat.  it’s just that simple.  i’m not that worried about losing all of the fat i need to- i imagine i shall accomplish this in my lifetime- HOWEVER, short of wiring my jaws shut, or hypnosis convincing me that food isn’t awesome i probably will never be able to quit loving it.  FOOD.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/01/daily-prompt-the-end/

Lucas and a Snowman

i’m typing.  my son is across from me in the burgundy “old people-style” armchair, reading.  you would look at me and think that i am nervously tapping my foot, but what i’m actually doing is bumping my foot into the dog, basically kicking her.  now, i’m not kicking her out of anger, she likes it.  it’s attention, and if there is one thing this orange beast likes, it’s attention.  she keeps moving her body around so that i knock into where she wants.  when my leg becomes tired, she tries to give me her paw to make sure i don’t stop jostling my foot up and down, as if this a bribe to sweeten the deal.  the hound-y black dog is happily hiding under the comforter at my son’s feet, and you wouldn’t know she was there except for her loud snoring.

my son looks up from his book and asks me questions about cooking and how i prepared the meatloaf we are having for dinner.  i’m proud that he has taken an interest in cooking, something that i never expected to happen, and now encourage and nurture every chance i get.   we joke and laugh, in our usual way, trying to one up each other with insults, but knowing that we really do enjoy each other’s company.

the sun is quickly leaving us for another day, and the moon is pushing its way back up through the sky.  the snow covered yard is still brilliant white, almost glowing, untouched by boots or pets.  i contemplate the effort it would take to build a snowman.

“it’s dark as hell in here”, my son announces.
“then turn on the lamps, Einstein,” i respond.

he switches on the lights, disrupting the hidden dog at his feet, but the lamps do little more than turn the room a deep burnt orange.  my mind wanders and i stare again out the window at the snow, thinking how happy i am to be cozy in my jammies.  i think to myself that there are few things better than meatloaf, a warm home with lots of puffy blankets, a kid that loves you and two quiet (although cranky) dogs.  i smile and my son grimaces playfully, sneering at my unspoken sentiment, yet wordlessly agreeing.  i wish for Lucas to be here and out of the cold machine shop where he’ll be for another seven and a half hours.  i wish he was home.  i sip my hot tea, blood orange zinging my lips and feel extremely blessed; missing only Lucas.

it is full dark out now.  the street is extra quiet as if the bitter cold has consumed the barky dogs, chirping children and rumbling scraping snow shovels.  most pittsburghers are probably home now, making their own meatloaves and drinking tea, warm and cozy

glad for another January day marked off the calendar.  families are chattering about, laying in front of the tv, reading the paper, doing their nightly routines, cluelessly unaware that my family isn’t all together and that Lucas still has seven hours left in a noisy machine shop.
the night moves slowly on, and still, hours to go, and the same quiet neighborhood, perfect glistening yard, still no Lucas, and still, no snowman.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/29/daily-prompt-now-2/

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