tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58199871585398318082024-03-18T22:01:42.333-07:00No MelodramamaI used to pour my heart and soul here for all to read. Then I stopped and started again. Now I deal with my own shit but still have random unfinished thoughts in my head. Lucky you, now you can share in the randomness of it all!MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.comBlogger395125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-27236155422897430532018-03-07T13:54:00.003-08:002018-03-07T13:54:44.445-08:00Brick House of Cards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I pride myself on my ability to read people. I'm usually pretty accurate but today I realized something that has been in my face for years. It wasn't an "Ah-ha!" moment either, more like a "Wow, I'm an idiot!" kind of thing<br />
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The cliche ton of bricks hit me on the head while I was out walking my dog. Luckily she's so cute and I was distracted from my figurative head wound.<br />
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Now I feel like so many things make sense, like a reverse house of cards, they are all falling into place so clearly.<br />
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Adulting hard today.<br />
<br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-57885862362528029802018-03-06T20:09:00.001-08:002018-03-06T21:48:37.102-08:00No speed limit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I realized today that I can go from being completely upset, hurt feeling and all, to not giving a shit in less than 24 hours. The things that hurt me, really hurt too, sit with me, I dissect them. Mull over them and rather quickly decide what to do with them. This time I decided that honestly, I just don't care. I can brush myself off and move on like a boss. I know who I am and I know my value. If I'm not valued that's OK, you probably don't deserve me anyway. No conceit, just reality. I get that I'm a lot to deal with. Hot headed Gemini chicks usually are.<br />
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Does that mean I am on my way to adulting? Maybe.<br />
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More than maybe.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-37799887654141247682018-03-05T14:39:00.001-08:002018-03-05T14:48:35.425-08:00Trust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03cR1ikLjRtAs7YBMCrX1TrLLU17XhmxsSRlIcIirdjz427YXyoMslwzv-fM6hj-fa1vsiYn-XLhjiBxZJc8RU3aPtBzPPua3gzRLsR6GpHsnl5-QJWEJOgRRYXE81ydnnF9ZECvieyc/s1600/shutterstock_96212876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03cR1ikLjRtAs7YBMCrX1TrLLU17XhmxsSRlIcIirdjz427YXyoMslwzv-fM6hj-fa1vsiYn-XLhjiBxZJc8RU3aPtBzPPua3gzRLsR6GpHsnl5-QJWEJOgRRYXE81ydnnF9ZECvieyc/s320/shutterstock_96212876.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I don't lie, mainly because it's just another thing to have to remember. I will however, tell small untruths to spare feelings but for the most part I am pretty honest. My life is usually an open book and that's OK. It's pretty boring anyway, who would care. If I had anything to actually hide I'd probably just tell everyone because at least it's something interesting.<br />
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Lately I feel like people around me are not being truthful, calling anyone out on this is useless. I look for actions to find the truth. Hiding and avoidance are telltale well, tells. If you can look me in the eye and with absolute confidence say your truth then that's all I need.<br />
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Like Larry David.<br />
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If you make excuses, get mad at me for your untruths or simply disappear then I know your truth or lie. It's that easy.<br />
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OK?<br />
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OK.<br />
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<br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-54687725366236009532018-03-05T12:53:00.001-08:002018-03-05T12:53:43.706-08:00Hide and reek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What is the deal with people hiding behind excuses and vices as a way to be a truly vile person? Friends who act like bitches and then blame it on PMS. Husbands who lash out at children because they are under deadlines. To me, the worst of these are the fine folks who go to church on Sunday and then hurl insults and hate with a sweet smile. Like going to church makes you a decent person. That's like saying walking into a restaurant makes you a chef. I sat at my car dealer last week, should I call myself a mechanic?<br />
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Do us all a favor, either listen to the words of the bible and shut the fuck up or stop hiding behind a place of worship and just out yourself as an asshole.<br />
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Thanks.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-7504212330114624802018-02-24T14:20:00.000-08:002018-02-24T14:22:14.214-08:00I see the light!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Small rant or funny story from yesterday.<br />
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After spending the day watching movies on my couch while I tried to update my website I told my mother I was dropping my kid off at the mall and we were going to walk around and wait for her. It gives her a chance to get outside and saves me from driving back and forth (and back and forth). My kid was pissed, I mean what's more embarrassing than your mom at the same mall? You mom and almost cartoon like grandmother. It was an ugly fight which I took in 12 rounds.<br />
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So we drop off the kid and make our way into the mall (a giant outdoor shopping mecca that's actually really cool, a personal favorite) After about five minutes it's clear that my mother doesn't want to be there and she feels sick (which might just be from the fresh air her body lacks) so I ask if she wants to leave. She does. Great. Now I need to let the kid know and find a way home for her. I'm so pissed at this point because I fought for this mall trip. Wasted energy.<br />
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I throw my purse in the back seat and plot my way home on the now jammed surface streets. I turn onto Santa Monica Boulevard and I am immediately blinded by the sun. My already light sensitive eyes cannot deal with this and I literally cannot see a thing. I yell "SHIT!" quite loudly and tell my mother that I can't see a thing, she reaches into her purse, grabs her sunglasses and puts them on (her). Doesn't say a word. I cut over the right and pull over. She asks why and I tell her that I can't see. I blindly search for my purse in the back seat and find my sunglasses, get back into traffic and drive home.<br />
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This reminds me of the flight safety instructions: Put your own oxygen mask on before helping others. I truly believe that my mother took her life motto from that but only heard the first part.<br />
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This shit only happens to me.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-65889432479561404182018-02-23T11:11:00.000-08:002018-02-23T12:01:36.026-08:00Family picks.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So my mom is visiting. In a normal person's life this would be a good thing, a fun thing, a visit. In my ridiculous life it's like an unpaid babysitting job. I grew up in one of those homes where the kid raised the mom. I was free range and latch keyed. But not free range where I had fun and got to explore. More like I was out there on my own figuring it out by myself. Good times.<br />
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So now I get to sit around and do nothing as I hear how hard raising a teen is because she was a difficult teen. In all the stories I hear the references to children are about her and her sister. Never about me. Ever. Not once. Not kidding.<br />
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So I let her sleep in my recently done over bedroom, my sanctuary. My perfect zen space which I am quite proud of. She walks in and doesn't notice a thing. Nothing unusual there. This morning after she wakes up she says she has a question and we look at my memory board (like the one in the photo) I have memories of concerts, events, political stickers and other various things I find cool. She points to an old family picture of her, my dad, my sister and me. I love this picture not for the memory (I don't remember it) but for the 70s awesomeness. It is also the only picture I think I have of the four of us. Never a happy family the pic is just cool. The closest I have to normal.<br />
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So anyways, she points to the picture and I'm waiting for it, a memory, a story, a something! Nope, she proceeds to tell me that she remembers taking the pic because she remembers buying her outfit. Yup. That's it. The only thing she had to say about my perfect zen bedroom is that she remembers the outfit she wore in a tiny picture.<br />
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I just keep quiet. It's not worth it. Hold your breath and it will be over soon.<br />
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I tried to talk my husband about why I don't bother and he said I was still angry. Nope. No anger, just sadness and a complete lack of understanding how a person lives a life with her head in clouds.<br />
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For now I will keep my stories to myself and put them here because it's like talking to audience even if that audience is me. I'm an awesome listener.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-72602549164081359112018-02-21T14:40:00.001-08:002018-02-21T14:42:02.252-08:00R-E-S-P-E-C--- Bite me.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Why do people demand and expect respect based on age, relationship or title? Why do I have to respect someone just because they are older than me? When did that become a thing? Why is it rude when I treat someone older the same way they treat me? If someone older is a shit to me it's OK? No way. Tired of that. I don't give a crap how old a person is, anyone treating me with respect will be respected and anyone treating me like shit will, well, you know. I feel the same way with my kid. If you aren't respectful to her, she is going to react in kind. If you are interested in her life, she will reward you with an invitation to her world.<br />
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Demanding respect because of your position on a family tree? Sorry but that shit went the way of land lines and dial up.<br />
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That is all.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-60800377869255558482018-02-17T13:04:00.001-08:002018-02-17T13:04:30.875-08:00So go then.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I used to think moms who left their kids were terrible awful people. Then my daughter hit the teen years and I found myself wondering what life on the run would be like.<br />
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On a daily basis I hear how stupid, dumb, lazy and boring I am. I hear that I ruin everything, make life suck and generally exist to make her life awful. Then she needs something and I become number 1 mommy again. I just heard that I wasn't wanted at a volleyball tournament because she is embarrassed by both parents together. We suck as a duo. I mean we suck separately but are worse together. It's harder to pin us against each other when we both there. How do parents keep their shit together? Is this the reason for so many broken marriages and affairs? Do they beat us down to the point that we are incapable of being fixed?<br />
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Parents before us weren't as involved and while we were a handful we were never like today's teens. I believe this is the punishment for caring. Parents put their kids on meds at an alarming rate and I believe it's to stop the emotional abuse we are experiencing. I never realized that.<br />
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So I'm damned no matter what I do.<br />
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Apparently I am free tomorrow, anyone want to meet for brunch?<br />
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<br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-49503718669012214182018-02-12T13:49:00.002-08:002018-02-12T13:49:20.414-08:00Social media? No thanks, I prefer mine to be anti-social.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So after the election my Facebook page turned into a political rant page. Then I found solace and safety in a few private groups but I still posted my feelings. Realizing that it was pointless I took it to Twitter. I really enjoyed the resistance community I found there and was happy with the safe space that was created for our political angst. Recently someone asked my husband if I was OK because my tweets were troubling. So now I have no safe space? I guess that's why I came back here. While it is a public site and potentially I could reach millions, I know it's just me. That's OK. It gives me time to remember all my passwords so I can get new accounts and go back to doing what I want without judgement.<br />
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This shit only happens to me.<br />
MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-61385554440368147012018-02-12T09:05:00.001-08:002018-02-12T09:05:40.389-08:00Spy where<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes I feel the need to look around for hidden cameras. I've written this before but some days are so full of next level shit it can't possibly be real.<br />
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If it's real I need to stop asking "what else can happen?" because one day I'm going shake my head (in that way I always shake my head) and it's going to snap off and roll away.<br />
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That would be a wicked series finale wouldn't it?MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-40473561386552940942018-02-07T15:53:00.001-08:002018-02-07T15:53:11.716-08:00Omission impossible<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDpEt88beSacG7xkmNzsxDOtpfsYtf4Ek5aeTWd6fIJ8PJizigA7pXvBNdyBR2uAA54UigjKR90J5FsqkoUrxpPwwFaCxnzJdop83P_0VgUKdNGAFrvrgvlccGu0Lg06h1dum6XR3UmA/s1600/lies4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDpEt88beSacG7xkmNzsxDOtpfsYtf4Ek5aeTWd6fIJ8PJizigA7pXvBNdyBR2uAA54UigjKR90J5FsqkoUrxpPwwFaCxnzJdop83P_0VgUKdNGAFrvrgvlccGu0Lg06h1dum6XR3UmA/s320/lies4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Suppose last night for dinner I had a salad. Then later that same night I ate a six pack of Cinnabons. The next day when someone asked what I ate and I said a salad technically it's the truth right? Lies of omission are still lies but they protect us from looking bad or behaving in ways we shouldn't but who does that protect?<br />
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Just some thoughts in my head today.<br />
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and no, I didn't have any Cinnabons. Just some organic butter free popcorn which sucked.<br />
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Truth.<br />
MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-68202327182307068122018-02-06T21:17:00.001-08:002018-02-06T21:18:15.179-08:00There goes my hero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1_9ik2OWhePVqduPOw7i6nlGDyFOm2vBCvFZoqic01KB7kg37hVLMIdVJh7DApxTggXkwjH0JEp8DgU5kNi5f0CE4MIdkfTNvAj2RqSdThqy654FJTaJ3zptWQc3xoVHQn9VIVtU5j4/s1600/23755136_10212323760861572_7483658164550373636_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1_9ik2OWhePVqduPOw7i6nlGDyFOm2vBCvFZoqic01KB7kg37hVLMIdVJh7DApxTggXkwjH0JEp8DgU5kNi5f0CE4MIdkfTNvAj2RqSdThqy654FJTaJ3zptWQc3xoVHQn9VIVtU5j4/s320/23755136_10212323760861572_7483658164550373636_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
My dog.<br />
<br />
She's my secret keeper.<br />
She's my most loyal companion.<br />
She's the best friend I have ever had.<br />
She's my protector.<br />
<br />
Unless there's a vacuum visible or you open a bag of chips. Then she's hiding under a bed.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-1910445441814158822018-02-02T13:57:00.002-08:002018-02-02T13:57:53.553-08:00Truth hurts. So?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64P_fJ_z3lcSJOakDANcSCc4ypIKYIdzX7I2peTCb8WxZksoVPpV2AfQw0YQzZf4_S_VsNbf7tZrkAiJcQ21NzTRWuv2D5bSTr1kMuth30gK43pDjhSLd6osuKRXtulFxiWzA38hVqLM/s1600/23-talking-to-yourself.w710.h473.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="710" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64P_fJ_z3lcSJOakDANcSCc4ypIKYIdzX7I2peTCb8WxZksoVPpV2AfQw0YQzZf4_S_VsNbf7tZrkAiJcQ21NzTRWuv2D5bSTr1kMuth30gK43pDjhSLd6osuKRXtulFxiWzA38hVqLM/s320/23-talking-to-yourself.w710.h473.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sometimes who you seek when you need advice matters more than what they say. When you go to someone who will always take your side you lose. Every time. Doesn't even matter what they say. You might as well talk to yourself, it does less damage. Getting a false sense of what is right can be dangerous. A true friend or ally is the one that tells you the truth and not what you want to hear. If you find yourself going to the same person over and over it's not because you trust them. It's because you are weak and need validation. These people are the ones in the same situation year after year.<br />
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That concludes my rant of the day.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-4523008758925466162018-01-29T18:26:00.000-08:002018-01-29T18:26:31.971-08:00Moments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3b2V66jE8_RlrYPhrR84c1cDqh_HOfDkBHBH9TPXIvy-kyRZC7tUado-SbNg-1k9CbTV1iC7pLlbCRyPs9aYxuUbkOna0_pUztLHwIvRWoEDSlSfypVBnE-xd2OSpAqmveTMqO8FaVY/s1600/videoblocks-woman-hiding-under-blanket-smiling-lady-in-bedroom-lets-play-hide-and-seek_humndu4a_thumbnail-small01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3b2V66jE8_RlrYPhrR84c1cDqh_HOfDkBHBH9TPXIvy-kyRZC7tUado-SbNg-1k9CbTV1iC7pLlbCRyPs9aYxuUbkOna0_pUztLHwIvRWoEDSlSfypVBnE-xd2OSpAqmveTMqO8FaVY/s1600/videoblocks-woman-hiding-under-blanket-smiling-lady-in-bedroom-lets-play-hide-and-seek_humndu4a_thumbnail-small01.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm not a morning person but my favorite time of the day is 6:30AM - 6:40AM. The time that I wake up, crawl into bed with my daughter to wake her up and then snooze for ten wonderful minutes. In those marvelous minutes my child is a half asleep snuggling hugging angel. Smiling while getting those last minute dreams in before life snatches the serenity away.<br />
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The good news is that I get that every day.<br />
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Who says snoozing is bad?MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-5065898218731603642018-01-29T16:38:00.001-08:002018-01-29T16:38:53.398-08:00Eye love you!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1w1Be4HsxvE1agTcTJyp4_uHw39-FsZaAByEGR_msmDGY_7QThbbjEFheQYTev6bMaQcdqzeLyFXmEQXzONoQ2FGMIGwawWisjF_6CR-0DQ6kJuV0pXZejyn805cgSutxouj-HRoirP0/s1600/14d775cd43273b59749dd63aa8fffa0c--puppy-eyes-puppy-face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1w1Be4HsxvE1agTcTJyp4_uHw39-FsZaAByEGR_msmDGY_7QThbbjEFheQYTev6bMaQcdqzeLyFXmEQXzONoQ2FGMIGwawWisjF_6CR-0DQ6kJuV0pXZejyn805cgSutxouj-HRoirP0/s320/14d775cd43273b59749dd63aa8fffa0c--puppy-eyes-puppy-face.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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You know what be great? If someone looked at me the way my dog does (this is NOT my dog, she won't sit still long enough for a picture.)<br />
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Seriously, he sweet and trusting eyes only looking for a smile or a rub from me. It's the greatest feeling in the world.<br />
<br />
Woof.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-3143769142756412042018-01-27T16:38:00.001-08:002018-01-27T16:38:53.119-08:00Sign of the times<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEQXyI5zZBd2nUVn7wdPpfwr1tRrpbHjMk_PqEfnNqeKyRF5x9IpBRkXmM6ShwSDdwkj78yN7K9AkSdNz3f8NM-0NzQYgppg9aOkX19r3RhuCyHeuXpxy3vhsdSIKxFnqIzIS_ikZsg0/s1600/27021707_2001667216516692_3613062924829792576_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEQXyI5zZBd2nUVn7wdPpfwr1tRrpbHjMk_PqEfnNqeKyRF5x9IpBRkXmM6ShwSDdwkj78yN7K9AkSdNz3f8NM-0NzQYgppg9aOkX19r3RhuCyHeuXpxy3vhsdSIKxFnqIzIS_ikZsg0/s320/27021707_2001667216516692_3613062924829792576_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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I saw this and time slowed down. This is the real state of our union. Shame on anyone supporting the vile and repulsive agenda of this administration.<br />
MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-28902937894829729622018-01-27T09:58:00.001-08:002018-01-27T09:58:51.778-08:00Teen terror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qWlpkSxEZ-wC_YO09nkKqnHr-pdcV4Rs8WLX-CxcdtAxdevHURd0Yq95Cx0lX2e1HyWHrpKtuVkTxfO3p4D-CENZ65bflSAYNxrCJNyUhbhB5xxM2dU3lkju_DoJqfXp8sjgH9phGjo/s1600/cry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qWlpkSxEZ-wC_YO09nkKqnHr-pdcV4Rs8WLX-CxcdtAxdevHURd0Yq95Cx0lX2e1HyWHrpKtuVkTxfO3p4D-CENZ65bflSAYNxrCJNyUhbhB5xxM2dU3lkju_DoJqfXp8sjgH9phGjo/s320/cry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Teens are like emotional terrorists going in for the kill one minute and then saying how much they love you the next. What prepares one for this stage? Vodka? Wine? Medically induced coma?<br />
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I'll take all three please.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-73699836361399894092018-01-26T21:49:00.002-08:002018-01-26T21:57:27.765-08:00Being private in public<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2C-cDrRi0tW4tvkqIcn-nX75dEmI-lxHVOZFIz1noX2IL442LqRd3gptPIEcPSgzhTMF0ZlvBuhmDfUDZXDQmtcKdGw3HAAkSpxLEV-ALERwRWWqVMyAuaGcCHcsuLwHYt1Uzf_xvnQ/s1600/61Kq3-CEk1L._SY355_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2C-cDrRi0tW4tvkqIcn-nX75dEmI-lxHVOZFIz1noX2IL442LqRd3gptPIEcPSgzhTMF0ZlvBuhmDfUDZXDQmtcKdGw3HAAkSpxLEV-ALERwRWWqVMyAuaGcCHcsuLwHYt1Uzf_xvnQ/s320/61Kq3-CEk1L._SY355_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
So I dusted off this blog because it used to give me solace when I just couldn't take things anymore. Then I healed and found talking to actual people was pretty helpful. Not that I had a huge audience but I had my peeps. Now I'm writing to no one which suits me just fine since I spend a good portion of the day talking to myself. I can say whatever I want with no backlash. I can say things like:<br />
<br />
My daughter, once an angel child, is verbally abusive and at times barely resembles the sweet girl I once adored.<br />
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While I love having a dog (we got a dog) sometimes I get tired of walking her, feeding her and making sure she has water. Yes, I am completely smitten with her but sometimes mama just needs to be alone.<br />
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Sometimes I am so consumed with depression I can't breathe. Don't worry though, I'll still pack the school lunch and smile like I am the happiest woman in the world.<br />
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There's more but that's it for this second.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-38973639855657689072018-01-26T19:47:00.000-08:002018-01-26T19:47:21.566-08:00I'm back with a new voice.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-aArtb9xJGsCtuDz_gBmQMAGbOn0l6hM5_tM-P5HvB504EUxA3tC8yiJ93b2B-M4I05FghEvJ1XRLai8ax2idZ5TWWIYX1J2xEaMuwR7ZTKgGMubgh7YjQcwReVrjiKArKhSiv67hls/s1600/04d2d9ced40dabc96821e865977a6ca4--sexy-rockabilly-rockabilly-wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-aArtb9xJGsCtuDz_gBmQMAGbOn0l6hM5_tM-P5HvB504EUxA3tC8yiJ93b2B-M4I05FghEvJ1XRLai8ax2idZ5TWWIYX1J2xEaMuwR7ZTKgGMubgh7YjQcwReVrjiKArKhSiv67hls/s320/04d2d9ced40dabc96821e865977a6ca4--sexy-rockabilly-rockabilly-wedding.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br />
Posted this badboy on Facebook today. After months of feeling like shit I was finally (self) diagnosed. I have an acute case of not being valued, heard and respected. It hurt like hell but at least a diagnosis will lead me to a cure. I'm tired of always being the one "there for you." Sometimes a call, text or email asking how I was would be nice. I only get a random bing or buzz when someone needs something. Headshots? Sure. Can't pay? I understand, I'm in a financial mess myself but on the rare chance someone did something for me you can bet your ass I would bend over backwards (or at least as far as my old body will move) and gush with thanks, flowers and perhaps a Starbucks card.<br />
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I get nothing.<br />
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Except a request for something else.<br />
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Today's rant over. Happy Friday.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-54485182388421312992015-03-06T22:40:00.000-08:002015-03-09T16:38:04.646-07:00We will never be loyal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Q_WuCggnB0EW4EWPZPMs8TaYwKP58VJjDy2jqFKgqA9udT2t8NgaZj6m7vuQvapi3BXADRKbIZAyK_ZdDrkfiODG_qSWfVT5Ztc38uu5_UxuQMbLC45MhFhg5X3gbrzJ-c4tlAO4d9k/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-06+at+5.56.03+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Q_WuCggnB0EW4EWPZPMs8TaYwKP58VJjDy2jqFKgqA9udT2t8NgaZj6m7vuQvapi3BXADRKbIZAyK_ZdDrkfiODG_qSWfVT5Ztc38uu5_UxuQMbLC45MhFhg5X3gbrzJ-c4tlAO4d9k/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-06+at+5.56.03+PM.png" height="320" width="317" /></a></div>
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I hope that the image above is true, unfortunately I tend to run into the type that inspired the title of this blog.<br />
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It's sad because I am extremely loyal, I used to see it as a badge of honor but lately it feels more like a character flaw. I try to surround myself with others that are like me: Flawed, authentic, trustworthy and loyal. I don't want my friends to be perfect, just real. It's an ongoing theme of each chapter in the story of my life. Like any story we must say goodbye to certain people. Some chapters you don't even see it coming, like a George R. R. Martin novel without all the blood.<br />
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When I first started writing this I had friends that I thought were true blue. Sure there were some odd traits but that never bothered me. Of course looking back I can see they weren't quirks, they were huge red flags waving with such velocity they were causing tornadoes (which I failed to see as well.) OK, lesson learned and I came out of it a little wiser with a few less names on my holiday card list.<br />
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I proceeded with life, moved on, made new friends and forgot the betrayal that somehow didn't sting anymore. Time buries all wounds right? I chose wisely, carefully distinguished between quirky faults and psychotic clues. It's hard when you really just want to trust someone but you know that one day, that other shoe might just drop. Luckily nothing really terrible happened. No huge betrayal, some friends came in and out of our lives which is normal, especially when you live in an urban sprawl.<br />
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I fell into a pattern, happy with those around me, always available with a shoulder to cry on, an ear to hear complaints and a hand to hold when hand holding was necessary. I always seemed to be the one people called when they needed to vent, that was fine with me, it's a role I am used to and actually good at it. Then I started noticing a different pattern. With some friends, and if this blog was a podcast the friends would sounds like <i>f r i e n d s </i>, the relationship became very one sided. I only heard from them when they needed something. Still, it was better than before so I accepted it. Rookie mistake. I regrouped again and tightened my circle.<br />
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My MO has always been to listen, pay careful attention, don't say much but hear everything. Sometimes that can be taken for naivete when it is in fact the complete opposite. I am acutely aware of everything, sometimes to a fault. It's my superpower. I often predict situations that seem to come out of nowhere to the unsuspecting victim. Obvious to anyone who listens of course.<br />
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Recently I was put in a situation where I felt it necessary to stick up for a friend who had become a <i>f r i e n d</i>. That sort of loyalty was appreciated and for a while we were back to being friends. Then I noticed that we were only friends when I was steering the friendship (see what I did there?) When this person had the chance to show their loyalty they didn't even try. I think when a person tries to show their true color, let them. Will I continue to be loyal? Of course. I don't want to stop being who I am because it sometimes leads to frustration.<br />
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When loyalty and trust are returned it feels wonderful, like you're the queen of the castle.<br />
<h2>
</h2>
MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-18838119484715407862015-03-05T21:36:00.000-08:002015-03-05T22:13:32.335-08:00On Demand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wow, it's been so long since I wrote anything on here. I think social media, Facebook to be exact, took the place of this blog. For years I would come here and write what I was feeling, anonymously, freely and without the fear of anyone really confronting me. I guess I got brave, putting out what I was feeling on Facebook was like instant gratification for the soul. Plus I decided years ago to stop internalizing things, so when I'm happy, sad, pissed, angry, depressed and freaked out I let it be known.<br />
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I do miss writing. Sometimes I write blog entries in my head but then I'm the only audience. I'm a great audience though, I find myself brilliant at times.<br />
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It's been so long since I wrote I forgot how to access my blog. I had to email myself an entry from Timehop and then go in that way.<br />
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I was inspired to write today because of my cell phone, or my "hand computer" as D likes to say. Last year my mother traded her ancient flip phone for a "smart" phone and discovered texting. It was a lesson in patience as she navigated through the learning process. If I didn't answer her text immediately she would send it again (and again and again.) Then she would call my cell and ask if I got her text. If I didn't answer she would call me at home. I'm all for being available but I do not recall offering On Demand service.<br />
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Since when did having a cell phone become synonymous with being on call? I know it's hard to go two feet without seeing a human attached at the hand to their device but not everyone enjoys the tethering.<br />
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Sure, I use my phone every day but not every waking minute. OK, I actually do use it at my waking minute but only because I don't trust alarm clocks. I keep my phone in my purse on the floor of my car while driving, I keep it in the car when I pick up K and I keep it in my bedroom at night. If I get a text or call after 7:00PM it's usually not returned until the next morning, unless of course it's an emergency.<br />
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If I am busy during the day I do not answer my phone. That is sometimes followed by a text, which is sometimes followed by a flurry of other calls. I am not a doctor, I am not saving the world, nothing I have to say warrants such urgency.<br />
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I miss the days of the one line phone, I haven't heard a busy signal in decades. I remember going to school and being excited to see friends and catch up on what happened the night before. Now we are all up in each others shit 24/7. Back then no one ever asked "Are you mad at me?" because their call wasn't instantaneously returned. Whatever we had to say waited.<br />
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So if I don't immediately return your call, text, email, tweet or Facebook post, please don't worry. I could be shooting, editing, driving, mothering, enjoying a latte or maybe I'm just stopping to smell a few roses.<br />
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I'm happy to be in demand but I refuse to be On Demand.MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-46867126338254453382013-08-22T10:37:00.002-07:002013-08-22T10:55:19.760-07:00Love Notes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know, I know. Liar, liar, pants on fire. I have made many promises to stop neglecting my blog. I've written down posts always meaning to finish but never do. I write pages and pages in my head vowing to put it all to paper and at the end of the day it becomes yet another thing left unchecked on my to-do list (which is also written down in my head.)<br />
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Yesterday in the mail I received a letter from K's school. I was actually pretty nervous since is was handwritten and came after the first week. Did she get in trouble? Were her test scores bad? Did I fill out the 50 pages required by LAUSD incorrectly? She just grinned as I opened up the mail.<br />
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Her first assignment as a fifth grader was to write and send a letter to someone who had a profound influence on her over the summer break. Shocked that she chose me, mean mommy, over D, fun daddy or N, her best friend who recently moved close to us. Even more shocking was the way this letter was written. It was the kind of gorgeous to-the-point message that I strive for in all my writing. We always spend the summer together, I don't like putting her in camp since our time together is always so fleeting. I always assumed she was sick of me always being there, her rolly eyes are usually an indication that she has reach her "sick of mom" point. I received this look quite often this summer.<br />
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She's a smart cookie my little one but likes to take the easy way out of her work and tends to play dumb so no one notices her smarts. She on the other hand notices everything, which can be good and bad. She once asked me why I go out of my way and give up everything for her. That was an easy question with a very hard answer.<br />
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I told her I know what it was like to grow up without a voice . She didn't get it. I didn't either for a very long time but I made a vow as a young kid to make sure if I ever had a child, that child would be heard. Quite loudly.<br />
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I grew up with no voice, literally and figuratively. Knowing at a young age that you have no one watching your back really does something to a small ego. While I don't believe that you should always offer the high praise (that creates another kind of problem called Sun Shining Out Of Your Ass Syndrome) offering none leaves you deflated and defeated. As a child it makes you feel sad, confused and left with a feeling that you are worthless. As an adult that feeling takes root and you become sad and worthless. I wasn't about to let another child ever feel like that.<br />
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The problem with this: as an adult that feeling is often misunderstood. Thankfully I am surrounded by wonderful people who know me and my reasons for doing some unconventional things. In a perfect world I would only have to interact with such people, in a flawed and real world I have to deal with everyone.<br />
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I do whatever I can to help my child pursue her dreams, whatever they may be. When she wanted to do karate I found the perfect dojo and made the commitment to her that I would her her stick with until she gets her black belt. She tests in December. She wanted to try gymnastics so after trying out a few gyms we found one that was perfect for her, one that was not a money machine (even though it is off the charts expensive) but the interest of my kid and her goals are always put first. When she ends up in a class where she feels like she isn't being trained right we find a teacher better suited for her needs.<br />
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At school we try to make sure she is in the best possible class to suit her needs. She isn't a traditional student and needs a teacher that understands that. In fact I am in the thick of a middle school dilemma that might end up with her being homeschooled. Does this make my life difficult? Yes. Do I care? Uh, no.<br />
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In her modeling and acting I do the same. When we had an issue back in the spring I wrote a letter to address the situation fully expecting to be dropped (the letter wasn't very nice) surprisingly I was met with kindness and understanding. We sat down face to face and they let me address my issues. They formulated a plan and stuck with it. We were all greatly rewarded. <br />
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It may sound like I am a pushy and overbearing mom but it's quite the opposite. I am not pushing my kid because I wanted to do karate, gymnastics, model or act. I am making sure she gets the chance to do the things she wants. I am making sure she knows how to fight for and earn the things she wants.<br />
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I know what it's like to dream about the future knowing that it was only destined to be a dream. I want my child to dream about something and understand that with hard work and support those dreams are possible.<br />
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To turn the possible into a reality you need a voice. To have a voice you need support. While I fully support my daughter, it's mandatory that she knows this. Her perfect rolly eyes are a sign that maybe she doesn't. I used to worry that she thought I was just an overbearing, overprotective, pushy mom who had an agenda (which is probably what most people think).<br />
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When I opened my mail yesterday I received my answer. After my tears dried, the warmth of her hugs turned to the warming of my heart. She got it. She understood. She knew. I don't care if the whole world thinks I'm crazy. She knows the truth. She knows.<br />
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When she told me in her soft little voice that she loved me I know she was screaming because her voice, when it comes from her heart is loud.<br />
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VERY VERY LOUD.<br />
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<br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-75621100764962155252012-09-15T10:45:00.002-07:002012-09-15T10:52:37.735-07:00If you can't stand the heat...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3dHfjht0M9AXrShd0Bi4Mt55LpddPAxAjBTJp4ZWZuV4d4PPapAAlIE_tOcaediQAfhCEjIfWRcNV9DksnkWWhHoZZz1PwQFv1To_0GxS7blf5sCJQS6Pd5A7Lt2VXyAYFhCmF0ErHw/s1600/thumbnail.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3dHfjht0M9AXrShd0Bi4Mt55LpddPAxAjBTJp4ZWZuV4d4PPapAAlIE_tOcaediQAfhCEjIfWRcNV9DksnkWWhHoZZz1PwQFv1To_0GxS7blf5sCJQS6Pd5A7Lt2VXyAYFhCmF0ErHw/s320/thumbnail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788461213486660034" border="0" /></a><br />Then you're just like me. I hate it. Absolutely hate it. I'd rather be freezing my ass off somewhere than having to endure the furnace that is LA right now. I've run out of sarcastic ways to complain about it. I even let K wear shorts and a tank top to school yesterday, a usual no-no for me. The thought of her sweating and uncomfortable overcame my hatred of sloppy dressing for school.<br /><br />We have a full day today: Volleyball, piano lesson, casting and a fitting. Thankfully D is taking care of the first two right now as I prepare for the later ones. The crappy thing is the later ones are both in Hollywood where it's even hotter than it is here. Just checked the weather, it's 93 degrees BY THE BEACH!!<br /><br />All I have to say is "Fuck you" to anyone that thinks that global warming is a joke.<br /><br />That's my rant for the day. I'm sure I'll feel better when I'm driving to Hollywood and my car is a cool 50 degrees.<br /><br />Stay cool my friends, literally.<br /><br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-11469276149347014722012-09-13T11:07:00.004-07:002012-09-13T11:58:22.691-07:00I'm a mom, not a hero.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8d2RK96ZeLzY78XRaIch-4-pu8XHjPP6tEsFvsTRXfSYIj9uVZUvYR4X7Ir2630dahPSDIJ2b28DORViOzteL3z4VB3IffWXZ1X4mwVtvCdRBN_m2EW3VVSvAC7UAnf74G3gMpBsYEA/s1600/mom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8d2RK96ZeLzY78XRaIch-4-pu8XHjPP6tEsFvsTRXfSYIj9uVZUvYR4X7Ir2630dahPSDIJ2b28DORViOzteL3z4VB3IffWXZ1X4mwVtvCdRBN_m2EW3VVSvAC7UAnf74G3gMpBsYEA/s320/mom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5787725924841994130" border="0" /></a><br />After school yesterday I went to talk to K's teacher about the incident that happened on <a href="http://nomelodramama.blogspot.com/2012/09/sharp-words.html">Monday</a>. K begged me not to and insisted that she was "OK with it." While I knew this wasn't the case I had no choice but to go against my daughter's wishes. I try not to do this, I want K to know that her voice matters. Precisely the reason I went through with my discussion.<br /><br />I want her to know her voice matters.<br /><br />Her little tiny voice was screaming "I'm scared" and I heard it loud and clear. After a brief meeting I reunited with K on the playground and we walked to my car. After a few minutes she asked me how it went. I told her that we discussed the incident, I told her I felt it was necessary to let her teacher know that no matter the circumstances K was left feeling afraid and anxious. We didn't talk about it much after that. We came home, did homework and then shuffled off to K's first volleyball practice.<br /><br />Typical chaos followed after dinner (shower, arguing about something, she lost another tooth, the usual.) I went in to say goodnight and she pulled me to stay. She then gave me a giant hug and thanked me for sticking up for her at school. "Weren't you scared?" she asked. "Of what?" I replied. I told her that she should never feel scared or afraid, especially when sticking up for herself. What was the worst thing that could happen? More yelling? I told her that I was pretty sure no one ever died from that. I told her there would be many times in her life where she will be faced with people who react differently to situations. Some cry, some clam up and some yell. In any of these situations you remain calm and move on. End of story.<br /><br />When I wrote about this on Facebook my wonderful friends filled my wall with praise telling me that I did an amazing thing. I didn't do anything amazing, special or outstanding. I stuck up for my kid.<br /><br />I'm a mom, that's my job.<br /><br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819987158539831808.post-56065366938232155732012-09-12T08:29:00.003-07:002012-09-12T10:28:50.128-07:00Drained<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAIKnQ3M3999H776NaAcGMmugGUXLbutXU-B_DhWON8Rpa_j8PfTcbkkuwsaiJfnXF1-cVJKyEIs_AKjNXGL89G6VHNdRkf72DjUzLfMZZMxlGTzcRKS34gmsRtsx4bOl9S-u7qCzLxs/s1600/drain.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAIKnQ3M3999H776NaAcGMmugGUXLbutXU-B_DhWON8Rpa_j8PfTcbkkuwsaiJfnXF1-cVJKyEIs_AKjNXGL89G6VHNdRkf72DjUzLfMZZMxlGTzcRKS34gmsRtsx4bOl9S-u7qCzLxs/s320/drain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5787312918696961810" border="0" /></a><br />Not that kind of drained. It's been way too serious around here. Today I have a simple yet thought provoking rant:<br /><br />Can someone tell me why plumbing issues ONLY happen at night or on the weekend? Is it just in my house? I can say with complete certainty that every singe time one occurs around here it's either a weekend (usually a holiday weekend) or 11:00PM at night.<br /><br />I understand this place isn't brand new and the plumbing isn't the best but please, why can't my sink ever get backed up on a Tuesday at say, 2:00PM?<br /><br />Is there an answer for this or is this one of those unanswered mysteries of the world.<br /><br />Excuse me while I wait all morning for my plumber.<br /><br />MicheleBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02943467820730914854noreply@blogger.com3