From Now On, I’ll Do Me

I haven’t had much time to write for the last few months. I’ve written, just not on my blog.

Still, I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I checked in with you guys until a couple weeks ago.

My daughter was playing a for-fun tennis match with a friend, and the friend’s dad asked me: “so, have you been doing much writing lately?” My response was plainly “no,” and then I remembered I had written the obituary for my husband’s grandfather (who recently passed away at the age of 90). So kind of.

But I couldn’t remember the last time I had written on this blog, so I checked and it’s been …well, a while.

I started making my usual excuses, the ones I always make when it’s been a while. If you read through some old posts, you’ll see them. I’ve been busy. I have three kids. My life is crazy. Blah blah blah.

Those things are all true, but in the past no matter how busy I have been, I have always found the time to write. It has been a few years since that was the case, though. For years now you could scroll through my blog posts and see little spurts of zany, fun, self-deprecating Heather, broken up by large swaths of absence.

The real truth is that I haven’t written in those voids because I’ve been living someone else’s life.

That someone else was so worried about what everyone else thought about her, she’d make herself sick over little things like what someone thought of her eyeshadow color, or whether she wore make up at all for that matter.

She handmade every Christmas gift for all immediate and distant family several years in a row, because  she didn’t have a real job, so what else did she have to do?

She made her family go for an entire 18 months without eating a single meal out of the house. Because mom’s cooking is better, and better for you (spoiler: it’s actually not, on both counts).

For a brief period of time, every free moment she had was spent volunteering in the community for organizations she didn’t give a care about, doing volunteer work that she had no interest in; fully immersing herself into the belly of the beast of each organization as if any of it had any bearing on her own life whatsofuckingever.

Every party was a blow-out Pinterest party. Every corner of the house was spotless.

Everything about life was exactly the way other people wanted it to be. I was living a life that was not one for me; rather someone else carrying out her life, which was entirely for other people, in my body.

What a bunch of shit.

This person that worried about what everyone else thought about her was the biggest shit of the shit. I’m certain that this came about as a result of years, now, of being berated and bullied by people in my community and immediate surrounding (that’s a nice way of saying “family”), but it also is the complete antitheses of who I am to always worry about what others think of me.

Especially over some of the trivial shit I worried the most about.

I’ve actually been so concerned with what other people thought that I’ve intentionally written blogs containing no swear words. I censored myself to be more palatable to people that don’t like words like “hell” and “damn.”

Then all of a sudden, I heard myself say aloud about a week ago “language please” to my dad, and I didn’t even recognize my voice.

Handmade Christmas gifts are shit too. Like literally and figuratively.

Really, who wants some crappy, homemade DIY gift when I could just as easily give them a gift card to Hooters?

And I’m not even good at making things either, like I would knit a scarf and it would unravel while I wrapped the piece of crap in a DIY Christmas gift bag, whose trimmings also fell off before Christmas came.

Seriously, fuck that DIY Christmas crap. It’s like ten times more expensive to make things you could just as easily buy anyway.

I won’t even get into the thing about the 18 month eating out hiatus.

Okay, yes I will. This one I am proud to say faded fast when I got pregnant with Andrew. Between being too lazy to peel carrots, and way too nauseous to consider eating any of my crap cooking, the eating out hiatus got turned on its head quickly.

That doesn’t erase the memory of those terrible, and costly, 18 months, though. I got this idea that it would save money to make things at home, but that’s a total and complete lie. It’s only cheaper to eat at home if you have one kid and eat Hungry Man TV dinners every night. Fruits? Vegetables? Lean proteins? That shit’s expensive, and newsflash a salad at your local salad spot tastes a million times better, and is considerably cheaper, than throwing it together at home.

Moreover, my cooking is about as predictable as Trump’s Tweets. You know they’ll be there, but how good/bad/volatile the reaction is always a gamble. One of my kids one night looked at the meal I made, shook her head, said “mommy no, mommy no” and straight up threw her dinner – plate, silverware, and all – in the trash.

It’s shit.

The volunteering was pretty bad too, because it spoke to that larger issue I have had over the past few years, that need to justify my existence to other people by doing things and impressing people. As if raising two kids, or just being Heather, isn’t enough.

Unlike the 18 month eating out hiatus, I actually don’t want to get into this one, because – frankly – I’m ashamed of myself for going there.

I will, however, say that to make up for those couple years of doing so many things I had no interest in doing, I plan to spend the next few doing absolutely nothing. Not. A. Got. Damned. Thing.

What’s left?

Pinterest parties are shit. Seriously, you spend like tons of money on food labels and dessert tables, for what? People to make comments about how fancy it is, or to not even notice any of your hard work. I’ll never forget the time we had my uncle over for dinner, and I made some fancy table layout, and he kept going “what’s this?” like oh my fuck why did I spend so much time personalizing napkin rings when I could have just ordered pizza and everyone could have eaten off of paper towels?

I get having a cute little layout, whatever; but at least buy things you can use again.

Keeping the house cleanish is still a sticking point for me, but this idea that when people come over I have to remove every speckle of dust from my shutters upstairs, in rooms no one will even go into, is for the bees. My home is the condition it’s going to be in. If you came to see it and not me, well then you are welcome to leave.

If you are in to all of this stuff: into the volunteering and the Pinterest parties and the house cleaning and the impressions and all – that’s totally cool. It’s just not my jam. No matter how much I tried to force it to be, I just couldn’t.

As the saying goes: you do you. From now on, I’ll be over here, though, doing me.






Everything You Never Wanted To Know About Me

I spent some time last night scoping out new blogs. A couple things led me to do this. First we watched Hachi, and Pookie cried all over the house for an hour about how she wanted a dog. Of course, my husband was absent for the whole thing – having escaped to the bedroom to “look for jobs” – ahem, watch the Dodger’s game. Because of this I agreed to turn on another movie immediately after the crying stopped, but the one selected was some made-for-TV crap about a teenage girl that accidentally publishes her journal in the school newspaper and then goes into some book deal, or other such unrealistic jargon.

So I broke out my computer and started looking for distractions in blog form.

The first thing I do when I check out new blogs is read the About Me. Of course, I don’t want to read a blog that ends up being a total waste of my time. Someone I will not get along with. A person that speaks in grammatical errors and LOLs. Or – worst of all – will get offended if I comment and drop the F bomb.

While I read some About Me’s of the new blogs I had heard of, I thought about my own About Me. It’s pretty boring, more like a Bio. And it in no way, shape, or form represents what my blog is all about. It doesn’t talk about being a mom blogger. It doesn’t outline my truly staunch cynicism. It isn’t even snarky or funny.

To be quite blunt about it: it’s fucking boring.

So I decided I’d share with you guys another About Me. An About Me that is the true Heather. That lets out the real B(itch).

Everything You Never Wanted To Know About Me

1. I wear a 36 or 38C bra. It depends on where I buy the bra from. And no matter what, every night when I take it off I find enough food I’ve dropped in there to feed a starving third world child for a day.

2. I think it’s funny to respond to commercials, no matter where I am. As a result, yesterday when I was at the nail salon and the commercial for the attorney that is trying to hire people with urinary incontinence as a result of a faulty transvaginal mesh came on, I said out loud in front of a roomful of strangers: “can I call for urinary incontinence even if I don’t have a transvaginal mesh?”

3. For the record, I do not suffer from urinary incontinence, although I do have the bladder of a five year old that still has to wear Pull Ups overnight.

4. Oh, who am I kidding … every time I sneeze I piss myself.

5. I have a terribly unhealthy fear of elevators and getting caught in public restrooms. I think this means that I’m claustrophobic. Regardless, a few weeks ago the lock in a public bathroom got jammed and I almost shit myself right then and there before I figured out how to unjam it.

6. When I was little, I really and truly believed that the devil existed. As in a could-possess-people, living amongst us, you’d better do your daily praying devil. I don’t even know if it was my religious upbringing or what, but it wasn’t until after high school that I shook it. Then I reaffirmed that belief when I got married and attributed the title of “satan” to my husband.

7. I have enough memories of listening to New Kids On the Block when I was little that an object-association with one of their songs occurs almost every single day. That means that almost every day I have an NKOTB song stuck in my head.

8. Every time my husband takes his cell phone into the bathroom, I yell “just remember, 90% of cell phones have e coli on them because of pigs like you!” He still does it and I can’t help but feel a little pukey at the thought of him sitting on the toilet.

9.  Once he “liked” a photo on Instagram from his cell phone while in the bathroom and I was so grossed out that I deleted the photo.

10. Almost every conversation with my mother on the phone ends with the sound of the toilet flushing behind her.

11. I’m secretly looking forward to the next Paranormal Activity movie. It isn’t that I enjoy the movies; it’s that I love to watch the reactions of the audience. People screaming and calling the ladies in the film hoes is the height of entertainment for me.

12. My biggest turn on is a philosophical conversation. I don’t mean something that I like, I mean something that makes me hot. Hotter than those Greeks when they got around Socrates and his open-robe policy.

13. While I do cook and bake things from scratch the majority of the time, every once in a while I just stop at my local bakery and buy whatever I’ve promised for a party or get-together. But I can’t let my reputation be tarnished as one of those people that just buys something (I know, it is as stupid as it sounds), so I take the goods out of the store-bought container and put it in my own tupperware. Then I tell everyone I made it. Once with a cake I made a few smudges so that it really looked like I had made it.

14. I just ate french fries from McDonalds last week. This was the first time I had eaten McDonalds food in over a year; and the entire time I read the nutrition facts and reassured myself aloud that it would all be OK.

15. I’m a total hypochondriac. But I’m not your typical hypochondriac that keeps letting their fears get more and more out of control. At some point I let my reason and rationale overcome my irrational fears. And then I hit Google. But I don’t hit Google to continue my fears; I hit Google to find other people that are more irrational than me, just to feel better about myself. Like last night, when I thought our saltine crackers tasted funny. After I forced my husband to eat half a package to decide for himself, I hit Google to find people that were more paranoid with saltine cracker fears than me.

16. I cry over everything. From big things, like when my husband told me it was a fantasy to expect quality time and never taking a day for granted with our family; to little things, like the fact that the chicken I went to prepare last night was ruined by a fickle BBQ.

17. I have always had major self-confidence issues.

18. Somehow my self-confidence issues have paired me with person after person after person, from romantic relationships to casual friendships, who not only has worse self-confidence issues than me, but uses their relationships to put others down to make themselves feel better.

19. I own an old Macbook, a new Macbook Air, and an iPad, and yet I hate the iPhone with every breath in my body.

20. I’m a leaking ball of sneezing and snot. In other words, I’m allergic to everything; worst for my situation in California is my allergy to palm frond. That means I cannot go outside without sneezing. As a result, sometimes I feel like I live in a bubble of closed windows and sterile air conditioning.

21. I have no problem pulling my underwear out of my ass in public, should the occasion arise.

22. I have never worn a thong. I don’t plan on it either.

23. Every pair of underwear I own is black, with the exception of one that is striped pink-blue-and-green. I haven’t worn those in years.

24. I was planning for vacation and buying new underwear earlier this year, and forgot that I had 12 pairs in the dirty laundry, so bought a bunch more and now I own over 45 pairs of black underwear.

25. I always thought worms looked something like a penis, and therefore had no problem eating them when I was in high school and people used to dare each other to “eat worms.”

I assume many of you need to compose yourselves enough to unfollow me now.