Evolution of the Middle Child

All my life I’ve been the “middle child”, the typically forgotten child and that is in a normal family. I don’t know how much of my personality is derived from being a “middle child” and how much was a result of environment, but either way, I wasn’t like any of my siblings. To this day I differ very much on everything from my life aspirations, my likes and dislikes and even my wardrobe.

Looking back at it now, I’ve come to the realization that as a child, my parents were rarely around. They were always busy running our family business (Campgrounds, Horse Stables, petting zoo, etc.). My sister Angie and I would play for hours completely unsupervised. We cooked for ourselves, dressed ourselves, traveled via bike where we wanted and nobody ever gave it a second thought that we were always alone. It’s no wonder I’ve never been the type to ever depend on people too much, I’ve never really had anyone to depend on for things. If I wanted something, it was up to me to get it. It’s ingrained in my brain that way, and it’s not something that can easily be erased.

The one thing that always made me feel as though I was the black sheep of the family was the fact that my mother and I were far from being close. I swear when she looked at me, she wondered how on earth she ever gave birth to me, a complete stranger. Born of her loins, yet a foreign creature within her existence. I was everything she never wanted. I looked nothing like her, with her dark brown hair, dark eyes and small frame of only 5’3”, it was as if I were her antonym. I had long strawberry blonde hair which was usually wild and uncombed. I was 5’7” by the time I was an 8th grader. I had hazel eyes, a “C” cup and fair skin. My favorite color was black and my favorite outfit consisted of jeans and black T-shirts with black work boots. She went to church and I slept through it. She liked to shop and I’d rather be in the barn with the animals. She painted her fingernails and envied my nails which grew long and strong and were never painted, but often used as a screwdriver. I enjoyed watching L.A. Raiders Football, she hated the fact that I would sneak off to the television to watch it. I loved Harley Davidson Motorcycles and the amazing creatures who rode them and she told me that I would end up living in a trailer with a biker. I wanted a tattoo; she said she wouldn’t attend my future wedding if I ever desecrated my body with one. Yeah, we were different alright!

Do you know what it’s like to be not only the middle child, but also the stranger child to a mother at Christmastime? My sisters would get exactly what they asked for and be fawning all over the place with their treasures opened Christmas morning, while I sat quietly with a tweed blazer, underwear, a sweater, turtleneck and some other random off the wall gifts. Now, don’t feel too sorry for me, occasionally my dad did take pity on me and get me some new tack for my horse which I loved and raced to the barn to try out, but mostly is was sweaters and turtlenecks, underwear and socks. And yes, I do know there are children in the world who get nothing, and I would never complain about gifts when so many go without. And I’m not complaining now, just telling a story…..It wasn’t until my parents began their journey towards their divorce that I moved from behind the scenes within my family to front and center. I had by this time enrolled in college, got kicked out of the house at eighteen, dropped out of college, got engaged, bought a house, called off a wedding, let my ex keep the house, moved seven times, went back to college and made many other choices that my family hadn’t paid much attention to. Then came the time for me to become the “normal” one in the family.

Once the divorce action was underway, I became a counselor to my mom, a mother to my little sister, a role model for my brother (temporarily), a scapegoat for my father and a news reporter to my sister Angie in Wisconsin. I played negotiator, spiritual leader, therapist, domestic violence advocate, legal researcher, foster parent, and those were the hats I wore when I wasn’t having a mental breakdown myself quietly behind closed doors. I, once the odd man out, the black sheep of my family had somehow become the thread that managed to hold our family together. I suppose the reason I was able to do that was because of always being on the outside looking in on my family my entire life. I have always believed that everything happens for reason, and there was a reason my entire childhood felt unjust. Everything I went through was all just conditioning for the strength I would need to get my family through what ended up being the complete destruction of a 30 year marriage, the falling out and estrangement of parents and children and in the end, becoming a child of a broken home. All the aloneness I experienced as a child has been long since replaced with many friends and a family who loves me for who I am. I am no longer the “middle child’, I’ve become an actual daughter to a mother who never thought she’d “get” me, and a sister to two of the most amazing women I have ever met. I think I can live with that!


Current Mood: Busy, busy, should be working!
Current Music: Amy Lee - My Immortal

The Most Profound Insult

The Most Profound Insult:“You are about the most self-defeating person I have ever met. If someone was to give you the keys to the Kingdom, you’d ask what was wrong with the Kingdom if someone was giving you the keys to it.”

That my friends if the most profound insult I have ever had the privilege to receive. I received this insult on Wednesday, December 15, 1999.

1999 turned out to be a very confusing yet very liberating time in my life. I was very experimental in love back then and apparently in a transitional phase that led someone to give me the above insult.

It’s hard not to wonder how far have I come from then to now. Am I still the self-defeating person described in terms of Kingdoms and Keys? What am I doing these days to sabotage myself? What walls have we built around ourselves that we cannot break through, nor let anyone climb beyond to join us on the other side of ourselves?To be continued………………..


Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Live ~ Lightning Crashes

Maturity & Motherhood

Ever since I was a kid, people always used to say “Heather, you are so mature for your age!” They would say it with a tone that was both amazed but yet puzzled. I took it as a great compliment. When I got a bit older, early teen years, I got them saying this “You are how old!!??” That is mostly what all the guys were saying, but some of the women I would meet would also use the same question. Now, I know it wasn’t always my sense of sophistication that had them confused about my age and place in life. I’m sure my physical appearance had something to do with it.

I remember when I was in the 5th grade, Mrs. Fisher our school nurse had a talk with all the girls in our class. It was just before we finished the school year and headed off to the middle school for 6th grade. She talked about menstruation, developing breasts and the need to talk to our parents about getting bra’s for us. I remember her telling us in the future, we could no longer go around wearing sweaters with loose knitting without wearing a bra because our nipples would show. I remember being mortified because when she said this, she was looking at me. I was one of the few girls in my grade that apparently had anything worth worrying about. Sure, Steph and Charissan were right there with me, but she looked at me…..and didn’t look away. I feel my cheeks getting warm just thinking about it. You know it was such crap too, because I hated sweaters, I was a total T-shirt/sweatshirt girl!

So okay, not only was I physically ahead of schedule, but also mentally I knew too much for my own good. I have my lovely sister Angie to thank for some of that. Now, Angie, when you read this, please forgive me for telling the world you corrupted me! Angie and I were pretty close when I was younger. She was so rebellious. I’ve never known a more bullheaded, defiant, outright unruly teenager in all of my life. I loved her greatly. Oh how she inspired me and molded me into my own version of deviance for future years. Two very notable memories always come to mind when I think I learned about sex a little too soon in life. First was brought to me via AC/DC. The song “Shook Me All Night Long” was very popular in Angie’s room. We sang it night and day, doing chores, on the school bus, everywhere but the dinner table. One day Angie said “Hey, Heather, Do you know what this song means?” I just looked at her and didn’t say anything out of fear of ridicule for being naïve as to what it did mean. You never want your big sister to know that something is over your head. Well apparently that song is about sex. I also learned that the line in the song “I told her to come, but I was already there” didn’t have anything to do with going anywhere as I had previously, innocently imagined. From then on, I couldn’t sing that line without crinkling my nose at the thought of what Angie described to me as “coming”.

The second time I was forever changed for the older was when Angie found a Kama-Sutra book that somehow got left at our house from the previous owners. Angie studied that book as if her whole entire future depended on it. She would sit for hours in her room just looking at it. It was this book that inspired her to play a trick on my mom, when my mom found out about the book and took it away from her. Angie was pissed and nobody pissed Angie off without some sort of payback! So one day before Angie headed off to school, she took a male Mannequin that we used to have left over from our sporting goods store and Angie hauled him up to her room, undressed him and placed him into her bed. She covered him up slightly but left enough exposed so an average passerby would definitely jump to the conclusion that he was in fact naked. When mom came up to Angie’s room that day to put away some laundry, she was in for the shock of her life when she found a naked man in her daughter’s bed in the middle of the afternoon. I suppose since Angie was in trouble for knowing about sex, she wanted to make sure that Mom knew she intended on using that knowledge someday whether she liked it or not! God I love my sister!

With all of that said, I’ve come to the conclusion, that my age has now outgrown my maturity. Sure I’m perfectly able to function as an adult in this world, but my mind has not given up the fight between adulthood and youthfulness. Sometimes I say to myself, “Heather, what are you so afraid of?” “Everyone gets older!” I often wonder whether it’s the idea that the older you are, the more normal you are. So many people get married, have kids, and they become these whole other people. They no longer are the person who they started out in this world as. People no longer identify them by name, but say things like, “Aren’t you _________’s mom?” Or call you something even worse…..Mrs. something or other. Why do we as women first of all have to give up our last names when we get married, and then lose our self again when we become mothers?As many of you know, I’m 27 years old now. Everyone around me is having children. Most of my friends have at least one child and quite possibly working on their second. Around every corner there’s someone dying to ask me, “So…Heather, when are you going to have children?” It’s a very scary proposition having children. I can’t even fathom the totality of it all. It’s ironic that I was one of the first girls in my grade to venture into being sexually active, taking that risk to become a mother with a simple break of a condom, and yet I’m the last to take the plunge into motherhood. Sometimes I worry that I’m defective. Am I the only woman alive who hasn’t said, “I just can’t wait to have children of my very own”? Am I the only woman alive who doubts that they will make mother-material? Am I the only woman alive who is afraid that a baby means the end of life as she knows it?

I only hope my maturity level will catch up with my age…..and soon! They say that only time will tell………well time may just be my worst enemy at this point. I'm quickly learning that time isn't always on your side.


Current Mood: Unsure
Current Music: Foo Fighters - Best of You

News Flash

Apparently, there are only two kinds of husbands. Did you know this? Yeah, me either. According to a recent article read on my msn homepage, the two types of husbands are the “Husband-husband” and the “Boyfriend-husband”. If this is a common truth I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve heard it!

The author of this article explains the two breeds of husbands as follows:“Husband-husband” : “The “Husband-husband” is your best buddy, a man you can count on to walk the baby at 3 am, research consumer reports for the safest car and even buy you tampons on the way home. Yes, sex is more tender than thrilling, but isn’t that to be expected with time? Still sometimes you wonder if this cozy security is all it’s cracked up to be. Shouldn’t marriage have more pizzazz, electricity, mystery?”

“Boyfriend-husband”: “He is everything you’ve wanted since you were 15: Sexy, spontaneous, and irresistible. He makes you laugh; makes you shiver, and makes you mad as hell. He doesn’t really picture himself as a husband and father, and deep down he still doesn’t. Sometimes you wander when you are married to a Boyfriend “Did I make the biggest mistake of my life?”

So this is pretty cut and dried and a little stereotypical for my taste. I mean c’mon, do you really think you can put every man in the world into either category whole heartedly? And is it not possible for your man to be a good combination of both? Because if you ask me, either relationship if all one way or all the other, doesn’t sound all that appealing. This doesn’t paint a pretty picture of marriage in my opinion.

Basically your choices should read, you can marry someone who you are not that attracted to, but who is the runner up to someone who curls your toes, or you will marry someone who can never fully live up to husband qualifications. Frankly who would get married if this is the only two types of men out there?

After doing a quick tally on my post-it notepad, I can honestly conclude that out of…lets just say 15 or so relationships, I’ve only ever been with one man who I know that I could so narrowly classify in one of these categories. I refuse to give his name being as this is a public forum, so for the sake of privacy we will call him “George”. When I read this article, I laughed at the thought of “George” being my husband. He’s easy on the eyes, complicated, talented, smart, funny, and completely emotionally unavailable making him utterly unattainable, but highly attractive. I wouldn’t say he’s a bad boy, but he’s unconventional to no end. He does not let the things of this world define him. He doesn’t believe a piece of paper (marriage certificate) should be necessary to prove your love to someone and he wears his sexuality on his sleeve. It was never in the cards to pursue an “actual” relationship with him, but our brief courtship with disaster and pleasure was worth every pain caused by his wake. To be married to a man like this would mean that I wouldn’t have time for anything else in my life. He would consume every ounce of my energy. I wouldn’t be able to get anything done with him around. I mean, you can’t be you, the un-sexual, messy haired, house-slipper wearing you, when someone like him is around.

Casual household chores such as mopping the floor would have to be done in French maid outfits and I would end up spending more time rolling around on the dirty floor with him on top of me, than on my knees scrubbing actually getting the floor cleaned. I’d find myself wearing garter-belts, fishnet stockings and stilettos while taking out the trash, trying my best to look magnificent while doing so. You couldn’t wear sweat pants and eat chocolate when you are bloated and menstruating. You’d keep your not-so-sexy panties in a lockbox and sobbing while watching Bridges of Madison County would be a thing done only when he was out of town.

Kids...how would you have time for them, and besides if you have kids, you wouldn’t be able to have sex in every room in the house anymore. Before long, I would wake up and discover I’m 40 and the only thing I have to show for the last 13 years is an overly-healthy sex life and a husband who still thinks any day now he’ll talk me into having a three-some. So yeah, it’s a good thing men like him light up your life briefly, and burn out before they burn you beyond hope of a damned normal existence. The fires of passion may seem important, they may even change your perception in how you feel about life, but in the end you don’t always find true intimacy within passion’s constraints. True intimacy is being you, the real you around someone who loves you for it. Someone who can see you at your absolute worst, and still think you are beautiful. Now, since I used poor amazing “George” as my example in this post, I want it to be known, that the above prediction of his husband likelihood behavior is just an imaginative one. I know “George” can be anything he wants in a relationship, but I think in a relationship with me, we’d have been more lovers than friends…and he’d never pick up tampons for me, because I’d never ask him to.

So in conclusion to this rambling/hard to follow post: It doesn’t really matter what classification your significant other falls into. We all are different. We all respond to one another differently and no two combinations are the same. Find your own combination and create the relationship that fits you like your favorite pair of jeans. You know the pair I’m talking about, the ones that only get better with time and never make you ask “Does my butt look big in these.”


Current Mood: peaceful
Current Music: Marvin Gaye - Let's Get it On

I couldn't help myself.....

Here’s something ya’ll might not know about me…I collect old books. The older the better. I love everything about them, the musty library smell, the yellowish discolored pages, the way the paper feels thick and grainy between your fingertips, the hard bound volumes in all shapes, sizes and colors…they have provided hours of entertainment for me. In my not so always normal mind, the book still reserves the significance of power and knowledge. I mean think about it. There are people in history who were completely self-taught to do the most miraculous things from books. They didn’t have fancy colleges and technical schools; they had a book and a set of eyes…well, and determination for personal excellence, growth and knowledge. How I do adore the want of mankind to share and distribute what we have learned in this life. Do you know, that whatever it is you want to know how to do, someone, somewhere most likely has written a book about it. Want to build a bomb or an airplane, do your taxes, perform medical procedures, have wild sex? It’s all there at your local public library.

Libraries are highly underrated these days since the introduction of the Internet and I find it quite a shame. Sure I love technology, but the idea of books becoming the cassette tape of the future disturbs me.

So where was I, I apologize, I start talking about books and I get so far off track I sometimes can’t find my way back even with the use of both hands and a flashlight. The reason I told you all of that was to tell you this next story about a very noteworthy quote I recently had the pleasure of reading. The story goes as follows:

I love to purchase old non-fiction books from garage sales, etc. You know educational type books and see if I can’t learn something new and interesting. Well I learned something so very interesting, I can’t hold it inside another minute: Try to compose yourself as you read my next line….“Women carry their hurt and pain from life in their vaginas” Yes, that’s right my friends, as we speak your vaginas are full of hurt, anger and pain. You know that argument you had with your husband last week, it went straight to your vagina so that you can carry it around with you for the rest of your life.

I don’t mean to gross anyone out or anything, but I’ve had some serious emotional burdens in my lifetime. I’ve seen a lot in my 27 years. I’ve had unhealthy relationships, loss, hurt, anger and betrayal, and never in all of my 27 years did my vagina even so much as complain to me about it. Never said a peep. And I thought we were close!!

Can you imagine going to see a therapist and there you are sitting on a leather couch telling her your problems and Wham, she tells you that you better be careful or you might upset your vagina? Whose appointment is this anyway? My Vagina’s or mine? I tell you who’s paying the bill…..not my freeloading vagina, that’s for sure!

Now, you might ask what kind of voodoo books am I reading…well it’s a book Titled Women’s Bodies and Women’s Wisdom by Christiane Northrup, M.D. I picked it up at a garage sale in Holland, Michigan for something to read while I was on vacation. Boy what an eye opener that was. This book is jam-packed with information like angry vaginas and other fun factoids. Did you know that “the clitoris is the only human organ whose soul function is to generate sexual pleasure”?. Or, did you know that sunbathing is associated with sexual arousal? In ancient Greece, men used to run on the beach naked to expose their testicles to sun to improve their testosterone levels! The book as a whole is very informative and will even make you learn a thing or two about things you always thought you understood about your body, but the theories about the angry / hurt vaginas of Caroline and Charles Muir in this book could not be ignored without writing this post. According to the book, Caroline and Charles Muir are the couple that popularized the ancient link between sexuality and spirituality. They also coined the phrase “sacred spot”. If you want to read more on this, it’s page 241, Chapter Eight, Reclaiming the Erotic.

So the moral of the story my friends: A woman’s body is full of hidden mystery, pleasure, wisdom and apparently “sacred spots”, but it’s most important to listen to and always protect your vagina. Apparently it is your treasure chest of emotional and sexual baggage and let us not forget it is the passageway for life. Ladies use it wisely! Men, respect its power and its vulnerability!

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[NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR, TO THE AUTHOR: the book referenced in this post is actually worth a read, it just has it’s kind of off the wall parts. When I read about the angry vagina theory, it struck me as funny. That’s the thing about theories, always open for interpretation! No disrespect intended Dr. Northrup!]


Current Mood: Educational Frame of Mind
Current Music: Billy Joel - New York State of Mind

Another Day at Technicon

First of all, I didn’t get very much sleep last night. I’ve been having some issues with insomnia for the last few days. Sleep just doesn’t seem to come at the end of the day. So while driving to work, I realize, I’m super tired. My eyes feel dry, my head foggy and body weary. Not a good way to start not only the work week, but also my first week back to school (Fall Quarter).

Once I get to work, I see that my desk has been covered with all the things my boss has for me to do today. This is typical of Monday mornings. However, when I started reading the array of post-it notes plastered everywhere; I discovered I was getting attitude on a post-it note of all things. Remember the days when post-its where friendly reminders and instructions? Well those days are gone my friend and have since been replaced with attitude, demands, and reprimands.

So after I got yelled at via post-it, I began getting to work. I had a million things that needed to get done, so I figured I best not waste anytime. Only my head has still not cleared from the cloudiness from this morning. This usually clears out around 9:00 a.m. when I finally wake up, but since I’ve been spending my evenings, on the computer, staring at the television, or playing my guitar while praying for sleep the clearing never comes. Only consistent cloudiness and slow response time. I need a cappuccino. If you need further proof of my mental state, look at the state of this entry. It’s a sad excuse for noteworthy. Forgive me. I’ll be better tomorrow! I hope.


Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Nine Inch Nails

Enough Yet?

When is enough, enough? Are there any guidelines for how much one should take from anther human being? Should you endure more tragedy if they are your family? Are you a cold unfeeling heartless person when you write someone out of the story of your life?

A lot of questions this morning I know…but…sometimes you hear a song, or you see something that sparks these questions to resurface even though you have suppressed them a million times before. Every time you think that you’ve come to some sort of peace with the situation, someone makes you doubt yourself, or you make yourself doubt yourself. I know that sounds confusing, but when you’ve been through what our family has, you’ll quickly understand, that not everything in life is going to make sense. There will always be something that if you think about it all day, you’ll never come up with a logical conclusion as to why it is.

You see, I haven’t spoken to my father in years. I don’t know how many, but at least 3 or 4 for sure. Maybe longer I don’t know….I try not to keep track because that would require thinking about him and that’s something I try to avoid if I can. It is hard not to you know, especially considering the fact that he lives right down the road and likes to drive by my house excessively, follow me if ever he does see me out and about and let us not forget my mother who everyday has to tell me how he’s ruining her life. So yeah, it’s a never-ending struggle to escape the reality of it. However I think I manage pretty well, except for here and there.

For example, the 23rd is his birthday. Every year for my whole life we’ve celebrated. Now the 23rd comes and goes each September without celebration but with a twinge of guilt instead. I know I have nothing to be guilty about; after all, it wasn’t I who ruined our relationship. He did that by calling me “a whore like your mother” and then saying other fabulous things such as:
(Warning Vulgar and Distasteful Quotes to Follow!)

“Women are like p*ssy some are blonde, some are brunette but they are all pink inside!” [-- still not sure what the hell this was supposed to mean exactly…]

“I swear when you grew tits you became just another worthless woman with a phone growing out of your ear!” [--Ah, what a lady’s man, always knows just what to say!]

“Looking at you disgusts me! You remind me of your mother!” [-- Sticks and stones Daddy.]

“I could have turned him inside out before he even got his hands out of his pockets” [--Threatening Keith via phone from the mental ward of St. Rita’s Medical Center. Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine doctor. He checked himself out shortly after…]

“I only had you kids because I needed someone to work on the farm.” [--Well that makes it all worth while doesn’t it!]

“I’m going to do to you what I should have done a long time ago” [--said while having poor Brooke in a choke hold after attacking both Mom and Brooke on Super Bowl Sunday, February 2002.]

“Oh, go ahead, call children services, then you can go live with a foster family where you can get raped every night, yeah, go ahead, here’s the phone!” [--Hmmmm…let me do a quick pro/con list of my options here.]

So let’s just say my dear old dad “is a bit of a shit” (you’ll think that’s funny if you’ve watched Bridget Jones’ Diary). He’s not hardly someone who had brought countless loving memories to my life, so why? Why do I feel sometimes as though I’m a horrible person because I’ve written him and his cruel intentions out of Act II of my life?

The only thing I can come up with is that by writing him off, somehow I feel as though I’m a jaded person. I don't want to be the kind of person that things of this magnitude wouldn't be bothered by. But at the same time I can’t let it bother me, or I’ll be a wreck the rest of my life. I’m supposed to be strong and set an example of how not to let others ruin your life or in this case our family structure, and so far, my façade has been rock solid. Deep down though, I’m afraid that the world sees me as a heartless, uncaring, cold, bitter shell of the woman I used to be instead of the strong level-headed independent woman I try to be. Perception is a tricky thing. Forgiveness…even trickier!

Forgive him? Why you ask, well it’s not him I need to forgive; I think I need to forgive myself for doing what in my heart I know was the right thing for me to do, leave him and the hurt he creates in the past. Only time will tell if I’m strong enough for that………only time………


Current Mood: Doubtful
Current Music: Let if Be - The Beatles

A Funny Thought

Most of you most likely already know this, but I am a dog owner. As a responsible dog owner you need to know the "cycle" of your female dog so you can be her planned pregnancy advisor. Now after the last puppy fiasco that occurred in my most recent past, I prefer for my little Phoebe to remain barren for a while. Phoebe and Gauge, my most adoring black Labrador Retrievers are really quite something of a pair. He's big, strong and handsome while she is more petite with a gorgeous coat and a bit of a submissive personality.

For the last few days Phoebe has been in heat. I assume most of you understand the meaning of the animal terminology "in heat", but for those of you who do not, it means that Phoebe's window for optimal pregnancy is NOW!! We've had to keep the dogs separated since she started showing the signs of her impending sexual peak. Tonight I came home from work and let Gauge out of the garage and he went running like a maniac out to the barn where Phoebe is kenneled. Gauge usually greets me and hangs around long enough to find out that I'm not letting him in the house and then he might wander on out to visit his lover, but not today. He bolted as fast as his canine legs would carry him.

Once in the house, I could hear constant barking coming from the barn. This is usually not a good sign considering last time I heard this ruckus was when he had a opossum pinned down behind my tack box/chest freezer. Needless to say, that momentous occasion ended with one dead opossum and a few baby opossums flung from the mother's pouch and scattered across my yard. Little satanic creatures they are with their hissing and razor sharp pointed teeth snarling at you. Even as babies they are vile.

So with a general concern to find out what my dog has cornered now, I went to the barn to take a look at the situation. Instead of finding a hound dog on the hunt, I found a horn-dog on the prowl. There sat Gauge, staring at Phoebe barking his ever-loving head off. Bark after bark, after yet another bark. Phoebe just sat and stared at him.

Thank God that men aren't really the dogs that women like to think they are. Let's suppose men do think with animalistic sexual urges.....Imagine with me if you will……

….you wake up one morning to find your man in bed sniffing your crotch and panting profusely? His tongue is hanging out. He’s whining and drueling all over your new sheets! You have to tie him to the bed post to escape to the shower.

As you are leaving for work you spot your neighbor sitting at your front door, he raises his eyebrows at you a few times and then chases your car as you drive off to work.

Ah, work now there's a challenge. Every time you walk to the copy machine you come back to your desk to find your co-worker Todd licking himself and peeing on your trashcan.

At lunch, two male Wendy's employees get into a fistfight over who will get to give you your fries.

On your way home, you stop to make a deposit at your local bank and when the branch manager gives you your receipt he slips you his phone number and breeding pedigree.

By six O’clock back at home, you are exhausted from fleeing your numerous wily suitors. You pull in your driveway, hurry into the garage before your neighbor catches a whiff of your scent. You run indoors only to find your man with one pair of your panties on his head and another pair in his mouth. The rest of the night you dodge him by locking yourself in the spare bedroom. You know he’s not going to stop until he gets you on all fours, howling with delight.

With all of that in mind, women around the world, please think twice before calling your man a dog, things could be vastly worse. Remember: Men sometimes will open your door for you; they kiss your hand when you are having a bad day; they even on occasion will do something so amazing that it will take your breath away. Call me an optimist, but my man glass is half full.

Current Mood: Overly imaginative!
Current Music: Sister Hazel

The Way we Were....or Way We Are as a Result.

Well, I just finished watching The Way We Were (1973) with Robert Redford and Barbara Streisand. Sure it’s an old movie, but I had not seen it before tonight. After watching an episode of Sex and the City “the girls” went on and on about how good it of a movie it was, I couldn’t help but to go and rent it. Five words: “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” (Katie Morosky Gardner) What a line. What a story. This movie was directed by Sidney Pollack who I admire for his creative vision. (See “Out of Africa” for further proof). I know what you are thinking, yes this movie WAS made before I was born, but who says our generation cannot enjoy the classics?

This movie makes me wonder if all great loves are meant to last forever. Perhaps the ones that got away were meant to. I truly believe that true love never dies. My first love (MJF) was astounding. I swear I had stars in my eyes with just the slightest mention of his name. He was the one to whom I would spend the rest of my life comparing every other love to. For he is my vision of love, my definition, my truth. Now he’s gone and married another, yet these truths remain in effect.

What does this all mean you might ask…. well maybe nothing, or maybe, just maybe had we ended up together, that love might have died. The passion forgotten, our love gradually fading away into a past too far gone to revive. Perhaps then, my existence and ideals about love would be entirely altered from their current state. Would I even believe in the possibility of love if it weren’t for his existence?

What is the saying? It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. I suppose I’m a believer in those words. How amazing is it to say that you had a profound connection with another human life! Your faces were once so close that you could feel each other’s breath as it blew through your eyelashes. Somehow it’s hard to imagine that we would end up what seems like a million miles away but what actually is only the next town over. Whether that connection lasted a hundred years, or if it’s magical sentiment lasted but just a minute or two is it any less sacred? For me, definitely not. True love never dies, and for a long time, I doubted the truth in that, but it’s been eight years since I’ve spoke to him, and fifteen years since I first laid eyes upon him and he’s still with me. Never silent within my heart, never lost from my soul, he may be physically gone, but the part of him I kept, kept a part of me as well. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So in closing, if he were standing before me today, I could say “Your girl is lovely, Matthew” I’d touch his face and smile with the tears of love in my eyes as he walked away, back to his life with her, the woman who took my place, his wife.

Current Mood: Enduring

Current Music: R.E.M ~ Automatic for the People

It's About that Time of Year Again

September couldn't have come too soon for me this year for one reason, and one reason only......television. I swear, all summer long there was nothing but never ending channel flipping looking, searching for something worthwhile to watch...something, um what do you call it.....entertaining?! Yeah, entertaining! Reality television has made my television dark and quiet this summer. I mean how many times can we watch someone be "kicked out", "voted off" or "challenged"? The never ending Road Rules v. Real World Challenges, Big Brother, The Apprentice, American Idol, Survivor. Granted, some of these shows provide enjoyment for millions of viewers, BUT they shouldn't be the only thing to watch on television. I miss the days of the good sitcoms, the cheers and Seinfeld's of television! All we have left that isn't reality is crime drama. Now I like your Law and Orders, and have even watched a couple CSI's, but Law and Order runs like a million episodes a day on TNT, well because TNT "Knows Drama"! You can't flip the channels (day or night) without it being on at least two channels.

What ever happened to variety? I thank God for channels like TCM, PBS and A&E for at least not following the other channels with overkill of the same type of shows on 24/7. Although even A&E has the show growing up Gotti. There is nothing A(arts) or E(entertainment) about growing up Gotti. Get off the bandwagon A&E!

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one of these people who believe I am above reality television, sure in moderation they are okay to watch. I mildly enjoyed Tommy Lee goes to college...only because I loved Motley Crue as a teenager, but there's got to be more out there. Sitcoms, Drama, Documentaries, Talk shows, Soaps, music videos, award shows, and reality television. And just because one type of show happens to be popular among views doesn't mean you should overload your station with them. Sometimes too much of a good thing is just too much! We are a nation of cultural differences, I'd like to think that we are all not so "normal" that one-size fits all television is the wave of the future. If so, God help us all!A special thanks going out to the creators of "Nip/Tuck", "Grey's Anatomy", "Boston Legal" and "30 Days".....finally some shows that I can get on board with!Also, Way to Go ABC for reinventing yourself into a more contemporary television network with a better mix of programming!


Current Mood: productive
Current Music: Classical Guitar CD

Dispelling Love Myth #1

Today a person who I know and who knows me repeated a belief that every time I hear it makes me roll my eyes and sneer a bit. Now I've heard it before, and maybe there is some truth to it for "normal girls" but for me, to actually say it to me is almost too funny to bear. Here's how this conversation goes....."All women look for men who remind them of their fathers."

“Hey does anyone know where I can find a one-armed physically and verbally abusive asshole who hates women, intimidates children and dies his chest hair?”

Yeah, I didn’t think so....I suppose that's why I've had so many failed relationships, no man measures up in crazy to my old man!

So as you may have guessed, um, I suppose I have some "father issues" that I may need to work out sometime in the future, but why do they HAVE to be MY issues. I didn't pick him for a father, and God knows he didn't pick me as a daughter. We (my sisters and I) were all just son substitutes until precious and adorable Lance was born. Now I don't begrudge Lance for being born with a penis, my father's attention wasn't something I vied for. Actually around our house remaining just under the radar was the safest route. Here’s an example of a typical Father-Daughter conversation over dinner:

Father: "Heather is your feeding done?"
Heather: "Yes"

Father: "Heather did you roll the hose up and drain all the water out?"
Heather: "Yes"

Father: "Are you sure?"
Heather: "Yes"

Father: "Did the Elk get plenty of grain?"
Heather: "Yes"

Father: "If I go out there and check will I find grain still on the ground?"
Heather: "Depends how fast they ate it"

Father: "What kind of smart-ass remark is that?"
Heather: "I was just saying, the grain is the first thing they eat and I fed them over an hour ago, it is possible that the grain has been ate and you might find none left if you went and checked right now!"

These were the best of the teenage exchanges between my father and myself. Now, I’m not 100% sure about all the other father-daughter relationships in the world, perhaps there are many wonderful decent fathers who inspire their daughters to search the world over for that perfect father-reflective mate…. However, this is one girl, who’s made it a habit to attempt to dispel these urban love myths about why we pick the men that we do. For I have picked some mighty fine specimens along the road to my present situation.

To date I’ve had the pleasure to be involved with an intellectual nature conservationist, the bad boy Harley guy who always breaks your heart and moves away, the guy who dates young women then cheats on them with older women, the guy who dates young women because he’s an alcoholic and knows mature women would see that right off, the best friend’s big brother who is really into Karate, the guy who rented lots of movies when i worked at the video store, the guy with no personality but was a high school football quarterback, the guy with too much personality who was a high school quarterback, a racecar driver, the always a goodtime pot smoking radio DJ, the amazing guitar playing singer of a band guy who doesn’t believe in monogamy, and the hunting fishing boating young at heart enthusiast I’m with today. Funny that even though I didn’t mention every last man from my past, I can honestly say, not a single one has ever reminded me of my father. Even at their most devious and at their most spectacular, not a one could compare.

So to you ladies out there looking for a “father-figure” husband, congrats to you, you have something I will never have the pleasure of experiencing…..a father worthy of the love of a daughter.


Current Mood: good
Current Music: John Mayer "Daughters"

Public Service Announcement!!

Contrary to popular belief, a multivitamin can be bad for your health. I know what you are thinking, that's ludicrous, well it's true I tell you! I happen to possess first hand knowledge of how your everyday “Centrum from A to Zinc” can kill you! How you ask....well I'll tell you how.....It was early morning; I arose from my bed around 6:00 a.m., tired, groggy as usual.

Those of you who have recently joined the joys of knowing me should be warned that I'm not a morning person....consider yourself warned! Back to the story though....Okay, me groggy, tired and getting ready for work. One shower, one tooth brushing and one make-up and hairdo later I was ready to head off to work when I remembered, "Oh, my vitamin.....a lady my age needs all the help she can get!" I set my purse down, grabbed the bottle of Centrum from the top of the refrigerator and opened it. The usual friendly peachish looking tablet fell into the palm of my hand.

I tossed the pill into the back of my throat, gulped down some skim milk from my solo plastic cup (I buy plastic ones to avoid doing dishes, sue me okay!). Then instead of picking my purse back up and heading out the door, I realized something was wrong, I wasn't breathing! I did however manage to cough enough to send skim milk shooting out of my nose and across the kitchen. Everything went quiet. I froze and stood there in the middle of my kitchen with milk droplets still hanging from the end of my nose and a look of sheer and utter panic on my face. What seems like an eternity of that frozen position, I couldn't help but notice that there were cars going by, birds chirping, my little minnow swimming the same way he always does and the sun continuing to rise. I was at a complete standstill and yet the world was completely alive all around me. I didn't want to be found dead on my kitchen floor at 27 years of age. Then like someone hit me with a cattle prod, I became a woman of action. I knew what I needed to do....I needed to save my own life and get to work on time, both of which seemed to take a superhero to accomplish when it comes to my life. I then began trying to cough, vomit, throw myself down a flight of stairs or whatever it was going to take so my small town community wouldn't read about me in the Delphos Herald the following day. "Woman found dead in her home, died healthy"I pushed on my chest, I continued the fight for air and then, a flash of peach flew across the kitchen, hit the oven door and landed at last on the floor. I gasped for air as if I'd never had the pleasure of oxygen before, my face felt hot, eyes strained and legs numb. Quite a bit trauma for any girl to have before 7:00 a.m. I picked up the little killer of a choking device, looked at it and said, "Is that the best you can do?" I threw the damn thing into the trashcan and headed off to work most likely to be late....again! How many times can you tell your boss: “Seriously, I almost died this morning! No, I could not have made it here any sooner?!”

Moral of the story: Always take your vitamins in public, cause you never know when trying to be healthy will try to kill you!


Current Mood: thankful
Current Music: Sex and the City song

Moth Savior

Last night I was sitting on the front porch, or side porch I guess it is. Anyway, I was sitting out there like I do most every night before I head up to sleep enjoying the cool night air when I became enthralled by the moths flying around our porch lights. Now being as I live in the country, we have a wide array of insects, animals etc. in our yard, and apparently we are in no short supply of spiders. Now spiders don't bother me all that much, after all, i had a Rose Tarantula when i was a kid. They are incredibly smart creatures, cunning even.

I used to have (and don't laugh) white Christmas lights strewn around the ceiling of the porch for a more softer ligting arrangement, however they've since burned out and I sadly threw them away. Currently my sole sorce of light comes from our regular porch light which is really too bright. I have always found it to be incredible how the spiders just knew to weave their webs around my little christmas lights to guarentee a nightly feast. Well the christmas lights now long gone, the spiders have moved to higher ground, my ceiling light. They've weaved and weaved probably around the clock to get everything done in time for nightfall.

So as i sat there watching, the moths were frantically bashing their bodies into the bulbs and bouncing off the webs, they bashed, bounced and fell to the ground, only to fly up there and repeat what the spiders refer to as the dance of death.

Then came the final play in the game of russian rullet that is known as a "moth to a flame", a moth flew into the web and couldn't free itself, oh, it frantically fluttered it's wings, the web appeared stressed, possibly breakable, but the spider made sure that didn't happen by immediately beginning to weave it's web around the poor white creature until the final moment when the moth became entombed behind the webbing. All the other spiders sat patiently in thier own webs waiting for the very moment that they too would taste the sweet reward as their counterpart had just done. But here's the thing the spiders in all their infamous wisdom did not count on.....they didn't count on ME!

I stood up, walked into the house and flipped the switch and just like that, the lights went out and six moths flew into the night searching for some other light source to flutter around. My spiders went hungry last night. I can only hope the devious creatures are not as dedicated to revenge as they are to moth hunting.


Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Pearl Jam

Letting Go

What is it about us that keeps our feet cemented in the ways of the past? Why is it hard to let go of the past and forge into the future as hopeful aspiring individuals? Are we afraid, or nostalgic?

In a mass house cleaning last friday, i sacked up a bunch of my old clothes to give to good will. I had a stack I had been collecting for 5 years in a spare bedroom. I always said I would have a garage sale to dispose of them, but just never got it accomplished. Anway, I sacked up all of the old clothes in big black garbage bags, and then proceeded to go through my current closet and make sure i wasn't missing anything. I went through hanger, after hanger and drawer after drawer holding up items that i'm quite sure I haven't worn in several years, and a part of me just screamed.....NO!!!, don't throw that away, you may need it someday.....!! Need it I ask? What on earth am I going to "NEED" a hand me down Notre Dame Hockey looking Jersey for? Will I ever "NEED" those leopard skin pattern disco pants? Or perhaps someday I'll have a sweater emergency and need that blue sweater that comes down to my knees, you know for those days you want to hide your knees under a garment made of wool. It's crazy to think this way.

This makes me wonder, if I can't give up an ugly sweater, what else am I hanging onto needlessly? Old loves perhaps? Hurtful words said? Broken fragments of my heart? Shattered Dreams? Failures? Why do we torture ourselves with the things of the past, and how do we learn to let go?

Perhaps we hang on to the past because it's what we feel makes us who we are. Without the pain we would be different people, our souls aged and refined by life's experiences. Old lovers make us remember what it feels like to be desired. Loss to make us appreciate our current blessings, broken dreams to remind us to keep dreaming for they all didn't fall by the wayside....So for now, i'm hanging on to my issues....but, i did throw out my old clothes, okay, well most of them. ;)


Current Mood: nostalgic
Current Music: Otis Redding

Math Anxiety in the "TESTING CENTER"

Good Morning....So this is my first attempt at writing in my newly acquired online journal. Lets see how this goes shall we...So things are wonderful in my life as of lately, It's official, I passed my college math class. Monday and Tuesday of this week was spent in bed, crying, watching sex and the city, and wearing my pajamas as comfort. See what happened was, after 4 1/2 days (Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning) of non-stop studying for examfest 2005, I felt prepared when I walked out the door for my comprehensive math final. However, when the test was laying before me, I realized that I might have to fake a heart attack to get out of taking it. First of all my school is all about making classes available for the working student allowing classes to be taken at home, on video, or internet, which is cool until you go to the "TESTING CENTER". They put you in this room, with cubicles, and it's a small narrow room with big block painted walls on three sides of the room. The other being made of glass so the "monitor" can "monitor" you of all things. So I took my 12 page long test, my scrap pieces of paper and No. 2 pencil and found that the "TESTING CENTER" was packed full. They were seated two to a cubicle. TWO!!

So there I was elbow to elbow with other frazzled college students freaking out over a test. I started to take the test when i realized, I couldn't do the first problem, #1 and I was stumped. On top of that someone two cublices over from me (which if you do the math, was 5 people away) kept sniffing, I don't know if they were crying, or had a cold, or if they were just trying to piss me off, but it was getting on my nerves times 10. I no sooner punched some numbers into my scientific calculator and Wham, a sniff then two than three...i would lose total concentration. To make things worse, the entire room started to come alive with sighs, pencil tapping, caluclator punching, coughing, chair squeeking insanity, and the sniffing was getting worse by the minute. Okay, so maybe I was freaking out, but when you can't do the first problem on a 12 page test, you'd freak too!

Needless to say, I pushed my chair back, hit two other people's chairs since we were crammed in like sardines, and I left the "TESTING CENTER". I told the monitor, i couldn't take my test in that room, and polightly asked to take it out in the main distance learning lab at a computer terminal. She agreed, and I spent the next 2.5 hours (half hour longer than allowed) trying to muddle or bullshit my way thought a subject that has never really clicked with me.

So that brings us up to the days that followed having me in bed depressed, wearing pajamas non-stop. Oh, and crying, we can't forget the crying. Well, that was a week ago today, and I'm thrilled to announce, I passed my math class with a B-, the Final with a 72% and test anxiety long gone, and I'm enjoying the next couple weeks off from the insanity i like to call college. Only one more quarter to go kids and I'm D-O-N-E, done!


Current Mood: happy
Current Music: Damien Rice