Slump..

It's the holiday season.. hooray! I love the spirit of the holidays, everyone taking the extra moment to think about others, embracing those who have less, making an attempt to overlook differences and filling the gaps with love. So much to enjoy, the human spirit at it's best. That being said, I despise the commercialism of the holidays, the grabby, me me me, I want, there must be thousands of dollars worth of stuff under the tree or you don't love your family, I hate that crap so much!

My 9yr old informed me the other day that she doesn't really need much for Christmas..  I have too many toys, and too many clothes, but maybe I could use a few online game memberships and new Monster High dolls. This from the child that WANTS every toy she sees on tv, who calls me into her room to see every commercial so I know exactly which toy she is hyperventilating over. I was flabbergasted (don't you just love that word) the conversation came out of nowhere, we weren't talking about the holidays or toys or anything! This must have been weighing on her mind, she isn't really a serious talk kind of kid.

Every year I swear that we are not going to go crazy with the gifts, and every year I panic and make a last minute expensive trip to the store. I am going to make every attempt to not do this. I am going to listen to what she really wants, and be ok with the the small puddle of stuff under the tree. I want her to understand that meaningful is better than massive, and I think she has learned that far better than I have.

 I am not going to any box stores, I think I am buying her mainstream gifts online. I am making gifts for the adults in my life, up-cycling and re-purposing. I will probably be adding a few hand made things to her tree stash as well. I have seen some things in our local shops that I would like to bring home, however, cost is such an issue shopping local! I realize why, and I will put a little money into the pockets of small business owners, but it's gonna hurt.

I want to create a slump for the commercial side of the season. I want us to begin to create our gifts, to embrace the unique gift, not prize the same gift everyone else bought. In the grand scheme of things, the ginormous stores are not going to notice my piddly money not being there. I will notice though. It may not be much, but I can't and won't continue ranting about how terrible the commercialization of the season has become while hitting up Target and Toys-r-Us for plastic crap and cookie cutter sameness.

My tree may not be piled with boxes, but I will know, and those that love me will know, that what is under the tree is special.. and that is what the season is all about.

Cha-chas, cookies, and ya-yas..

During a conversation with a friend the other day, I called my girl bits a cha-cha. She looked at me and said.. why can't people say vagina?

I was taken aback. I only ever use "cute" names for my stuff when I am around others, because there are women that are deeply offended by the V word. However, at home, it is always called a vagina. My girls have grown up knowing and using the anatomic names for not only their own junk, but the junk of the opposite sex as well.

When my oldest daughter was young, maybe 2 or so, we were hanging out at my cousin's house. Kate was riding a trike when she slid forward and whacked her vagina on the middle bar thingy. We saw what happened, and my cousin asked her, "Did you hurt your cookie?" Well.. Kate looked at her oddly, she had no cookie.. what was this about cookies.. did everyone else get a cookie when she wasn't looking? To save my poor confused child, I said, "Did you hit your vagina?" Kate replied that she had, but wanted to know more about those cookies. I thought my cousin was going to shit on herself! How can you use that filthy word! Thinking that I had unknowingly said fuck or something, I asked which word, and apologized for being offensive. Vagina, she said.. how can you teach your kid to say THAT word.. it is a horrible nasty disgusting word.. you should be ashamed.

Oh.. really?

Much like my friend, I don't KNOW why people are terrified of the words vagina and penis. They are after all, just words.. like tree and donut and blue.. yet as a majority, we see these words as dirty. More than likely, our aversion to the use of vagina and penis stems from our overall suppression of all things sex.

We are a country of mixed messages. We are unable to discuss sex except in the most abstract of terms, yet we expect our kids to have a concrete grasp on sexual behavior. We dress our daughters in hyper-sexualized clothing, then demand they remain virginal. We encourage our sons to view females as sexual objects, then do not enforce a behavior of respect. It reminds me of the gypsy culture currently being shown on tv. These girls, from as young as 4 and 5, put on the barest minimum of clothing and dance about like strippers. The boys force girls into dark corners and pinch, push, and belittle them into giving a kiss. It is against culture to be sexually active before marriage, yet the messages being sent are nothing but sexual in nature.

How about this.. let's all teach our kids, and ourselves, some new words. Vagina and penis.. say it.. V-a-g-i-n-a and P-e-n-i-s.. now, talk about them. Talk about sex. Talk about how great it feels, how scary the first time is, how it isn't a shameful act and anyone that makes you feel bad about having sex is wrong, how it's better to wait until you are older because sex is powerful and sometimes it's hard to handle the emotions even when you are an adult, how to protect yourself with condoms and birth control, how it's ok to share your body with someone else but maybe not with everyone else.. don't sugar coat it, but don't make it a horror story. Break out of the sex shaming and bring sex, vagina and penis out into the light.

We can not expect a person who can only call a vagina a ho-ha to have anything other than a repressed and dim knowledge of healthy sex. At the very least, just imagine the dirty talk.. oh yea baby, put your dingle in my ya-ya.. ummmmm.. nope.

The way things are..

When you see the title of this blog.. single and broke.. you immediately know two things about me. I am single, and I am broke.

Well.. I am so single it's scary, I haven't had a single date since my relationship to the ass-monkey broke up, and that was a year and a half ago. I harbor a crush on someone I can never have, but that's nothing new, and nothing to write about. Suffice it to say, nuns get more action than this diva does right now. sigh. I'm cute.. I'm funny (I think I'm funny anyway) I have a great smile.. yet singledom reigns. Maybe someday..

I am broke.. all the time. Now, when I say broke, I don't mean I gotta pull out the plastic and charge some stuff.. I mean in my pocket right now I have less than a dollar. I don't have plastic, I don't have a bank account, I have "here is some cash, when it is spent it is gone". The only creditors that call me are the utilities and cable people.. just before they start shutting shit off. I have been out of work for a long time, I have been reduced to begging for a bar job at the dive down the street. (I might actually get the job though) I am sick of being broke.

Maybe I am single BECAUSE I am broke. Oh wow.. my mind is blown!

Anyway.. some things you don't get from my blog title.. I am stubborn, I am loud, I am loyal, I am honest, I am goofy, I love to dance and craft and 80's music. I am creative, I am humble (stop laughing!), I give great advice, I love to cook and eat and laugh and sing and I watch reality tv sometimes.

I am single and broke, but that is just a teeny tiny part of who I am.. it just happens to be the sometimes funniest part ;)

Oh.. reality television..

The girls and I spent the afternoon cleaning out closets today. It was not an enjoyable experience. We actually got ONE closet cleared, sorted through , and re-hung in about 5 hours.. tomorrow we will start a second closet that will probably take just as long. Why.. because I am a clothes hoarder. No lie.

I volunteer every week at a clothing give-away.. and every week I bring home bags and bags of clothes. I gather every designer label, and if it looks like it MIGHT fit someone in the house.. into the bag it goes. Absolutely everything in my size comes home with me.. regardless of personal style or age appropriate-ness. I drag home all these clothes, enough for every single person in my house to have a clean outfit for months without washing a thing.. seriously.. then I pile them up everywhere because there is no room in the closets or drawers. My 9 year old has a closet full of stuff she won't even grow into for YEARS.. yet it all hangs there.. waiting. My fashion unconscious 21 year old has designer clothes she would never ever wear, and I know she won't when I bring them home.. but they still occupy space in her closet because I simply HAD to get them for her.

It's selfish. I know it is. There are people that come into the give-away that are in such dire need of things, and all I can think is that I have to get the clothes sorted and hidden before anyone sees the quality or brands or sizes I am stuffing into my huge bags.

The other day, I was sorting donations when a larger woman came in. She looked about my size, and asked me about the plus sized clothing sitting in a pile beside me. It was MY pile, full of brands from Nordstrom and Macy's and Bloomingdale's.. so I told her it all had to be cleaned before it could be put out. I sat there for a few minutes, watching this lovely woman pick through the stacks of small sized jeans and tiny tops, knowing that she wasn't going to find a single thing because I had taken every last item in her size. I felt like an asshole. As she was getting ready to leave, empty-handed, I called her back and put the entire pile into bags and told her to take it all.  

 I have a problem.

 You can't tell by just walking into my apartment that I have a hoarding issue. My shame is safely tucked away behind closed bedroom doors. I decided that you will not see me on an episode of "Hoarders".. so today we began the purging process.

I do not need a tweed skirt from DKNY.. I do not need a plaid blazer from YSL.. I will never put these things on my body.. ever. If I went shopping, I would not be caught dead buying any of this stuff! I am a bright, bold girl.. a little rock-n-roll diva.. so why the fuck did I bring home floral print, or ruffled lace, or houndstooth? It was expensive.. for someone.. and I couldn't pass up a designer labeled anything for FREE!

We filled three trash bags, a box, and put aside another box for a friend to look through.. all from one closet. It was a struggle. Every skirt, every top, I agonized over before tossing it into that bag. Come on! That's a Ralph Lauren jacket! Really!? That's a $200 dollar lace dress! I finally stopped "looking" at what was going, because it made me a bit nauseated. No, I was never going to wear it, but it was pretty and expensive and I LIKED having it.

I told you, I have a problem.

Tomorrow comes the really hard part.. going through the munchkins closet. I want my girls to have nice clothes, and I can't afford to buy them, so dumping all these designer duds into a bag is going to kill me.. but my punk princess is not going to ever don that denim jumper with the flower buttons or the adorable polka dotted twin set.. and I know it. Out it will go, back to the give-away, and I can smile when the red spangled skirt from The Children's Place gets picked up and exclaimed over by the little girl that loves it so much she asks for her own bag to carry her treasure home in.

I want to see the look of joy and excitement on another person's face when they discover that $200 dollar dress hanging on the rack, jammed between the polyester housedress from 1960 and the hand knit lopsided sweater in eye-searing orange. I don't need those labels, my girls don't need 25 shirts from American Eagle.. and I will not bring another item home unless I have already donated something of equal or greater value for someone else to enjoy.

I hope.

Oh.. well.. ok then..

Being a broke girl, my main form of communication is on facebook. During the very heated political race for President, I lost a few people.. some were real friends, some were fb friends, all brought a different view of things that I rather enjoyed. You don't have to agree with me to be my friend, you just have to adore me ;)

What I found so interesting about this self-purging on fb, is the manner in which it was done. There were two distinct methods to un-friending me.. the "poof. I'm gone" method..some of which I have to say I did not notice, I know my number has gone down but I just can't figure out who all left.. and the "here's a message about why I am un-friending you" method.. let me tell you, some of those messages were brutal.. which is actually the method I prefer. I noticed a weird little thing..

The people I actually know, the ones that I shared memories with, hung out with, grew up with.. those were the poofers. One second I was seeing a picture of their dinner, the next second other friends were commenting on a picture of their dinner that was not in my newsfeed. Really? Those that I knew almost exclusively through facebook, the subscribers, the friends of friends, the I just met you find me on fbers.. those people sent me a message. (not all but most) Sometimes the messages were not kind, slut and liberal whore and baby killer and n*-lover were usually sprinkled through the text, but at least I knew where I stood with these folks.

I knew which friends I did not see eye to eye with, I would post an Obama thing and they would post a romney thing, but we still talked. We agreed to disagree, then they cut me out of their lives. I do admit to cutting three people from my friends list, with messages to each of them, each of them a rather distant acquaintance. I did not un-friend a single person I actually knew.

Well, I suppose that the person you become is never the person you were, but many of the friends I lost spent so much of their time pretending the person they were never existed.. it doesn't surprise me too much that they simply cut me out. It can be difficult to live your lie when you have a friend that embraces her mistakes and shares every inappropriate memory ;) To each their own, I will miss those friends.. but not too much.. they were obviously not too concerned with losing me.   

I like the nightlife baby..

I was once a party girl, hard to believe I know, but true. Staying out all night, drinking, dancing, going home with strange boys.. no drugs though (except for about 6 months when I was a teen) If there was even a hint of a party.. I was there with my mini on!

 Fast forward a few years, and I was married with baby.. the mommy/wifey thing. The marriage didn't work, but I was doing my part in the responsible adult dept. working, staying home, devoting my life to my daughter. Married a few more times.. I like the IDEA of marriage, just not the prison feeling of it.. and another little munchkin brought me to my 30s. I so desperately wanted the picket fence life. I chased it to every dark and dank corner, making mistakes at every turn in my manic quest for Suzy Homemaker-dom. After my most recent, and devastating, breakup I realized something..

I am still a party girl at heart. A slightly more adult party girl.. but that chick was in there.. screaming for release!  I live for going out, for dressing up, dancing, having a drinky poo or two (or seven if I can afford it) flirting with my "safe" boys. I am still doing the good mommy thing, my youngest daughter is clean and fed and homework done every night, we play and make cookies and snuggle on the couch watching cartoons. I simply crave a different life for just me.. not my kids.. but me.

I am breaking out of my safety zone, not so much an adult party woman.. My inner wild child is bursting through, and be damned how people see me. It is time for me to stop pretending and be who I am, a party girl who makes no excuses for being one. No more innocent eye-lash batting at men I can't have, if I bat those lashes you better know you will be taking off your pants for me. I am gonna drink, I am gonna dance, I am gonna go home with men whose names I never bother to find out. My morality, or lack of it, does not define me as a woman.. I define me and I am good with who I am. I am a free girl,  Let's go ;)

40.. really?

Today, I am 40. Holy fuck.. I am actually 40. I don't now when that happened, yesterday I was 18.. wasn't I? Wow, that number looks so weird, sitting on the screen like that. 40, hmm.


What have I learned in 40 years? I have learned that when a guy says "trust me".. he has an agenda. I have
learned that childbirth hurts a thousand times worse than they say it will. I have learned that no, rubbing club soda on a stain will not remove it.. it will however make the stain more noticeable because it is now surrounded by a huge wet spot. I have learned that regardless of how hard you try, one person can not make a relationship work. I have learned that the heart is not near as fragile as you think, it heals very quickly when you let it. I have learned that boogers can be found anywhere, except in the noses of children. I have learned that fear and pain are temporary, happiness is just a blink away. I have learned that you can, and will, be better off if you follow your heart in all matters.. even if everything blows up in your face. I have learned that Fruity Pebbles do not taste as good coming out as they do going in. I have learned it always gets better. I have learned that families are not perfect, but they love you. I have learned that sometimes your best friends come into your life from the oddest places.

Above all, I have learned that this is the life we have.. we can live it, or we can hide from it.. either way, it will be over before we are ready.

Maybe 40 snuck up on me. I don't have any idea how to be a 40 yr. old woman, but I don't have a clue about how not to be a 40 yr. old woman either, so I guess I will be me and hope that works.

Happy Birthday me.. here's to the next 40!