June 18, 2019

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

There comes a time in some relationships where you realize that it is just time to walk away. You’ve done everything in your power to make it work and it just isn’t. And won’t and you feel the steady decline.

I recently had to make the choice to end a really long relationship. Most of you didn’t even know I was in one; I kept it secret out of shame and fear of judgement. Now I’m ready to move on and be a better me. But here is one last love note to end it forever.

Dear T,
You’ve been my constant companion for most of my life. You’ve been there when I was down and needed to just zone out and forget about the world. You introduced me to new, great things. You provided me with the opportunity to learn and grow and expand my horizons.

The problem is, you consume too much of my time. You are needy always reminding me of things I’m not seeing and your memory is just too full of things we’ve done together. I just couldn’t get away from it. When I turn you on all you want to do is make me watch you. Well, I’ve spent too much time with you and I need to work on me and not live vicariously through you anymore. I am done being your Sugar Mama spending all of my money on you. We are done TiVo. Done.

You will be forever missed,

May 22, 2019

One month. One million thoughts.

I am almost 40 years old. I have had my fair share of relationships, flings, flirts, and the other relationships that don’t fit in any of the aforementioned categories. I’ve dated long-term, I’ve dated short-term, I’ve lived with men, I’ve been a stepmom figure, I’ve dated a Mormon (hey that was a step out of the ol’ comfort zone), rich men, poor men, smart men, etc. etc. The list can go on. They all have one thing in common: It didn’t work out. Why you ask? Oh lord, the list of reasons could go on and on… but it doesn’t matter, what matters is those relationships didn’t work out. What else matters is how easy it was for me to wash my hands of them. A few stuck for a bit, and a few I look back on and wonder why it didn’t work or what if it had. But for the most part, I’m an “everything happens for a reason” type person. Que Sera Sera. Get over it and move on with your life type person.

"Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time." Maya Angelou

It wasn’t until recently that I met someone that had an effect on me that I wasn’t really expecting and quite frankly, can’t make it go away. I think I got to this point in my life where I figured I’d live alone and raise my chickens and cats and be content (my God that sounds terribly lame). But I was okay with it. Hell, that’s been my life for the last 10 years so why change now? It’s easier. I answer to myself. I don’t have to shave my legs. I won’t get hurt. I can walk around buck a’ naked and not feel self-conscious about it. Being single is great, right? I used to think so. Then this guy walks into my life and I realize that maybe having a connection with someone and wanting to spend time with someone is worth all the bullshit that could potentially go along with it.

Physical attraction is one thing, and I am attracted to him physically, don’t get me wrong. I wanted to touch him constantly (sorry mom). But more importantly I am attracted to him because he is smart, funny (not as funny as me), thoughtful, affectionate, and communicative. I felt like I had known him my entire life after the first two dates. There was an ease I hadn’t felt before with someone and it was exciting and terrifying all at the same time. I’m a terrible dater. I admit it. I have the mentality that if I like you and you like me, then let’s date and call it good. It usually bites me in the ass because things move too quickly. Case in point. But I felt like I was moving at the pace that we both set, not just me.  The thing is, it couldn’t work with him. Not now. He is a recent divorcee with young children. While some people can bounce back from a break-up or divorce and jump into something new easily, that wasn’t the case with him. I don’t know the details, I don’t have to. But I know that it affected him greatly and that although he thought he was ready to start something new, he really wasn’t. Even with me, and I’m awesome. (Self-proclaimed) That realization came quickly and out of nowhere to me. One day we were meeting up for drinks the next day I was getting the cold shoulder. It’s easy to blame yourself and it’s easy to think you did something wrong, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I felt sad. I felt mad. I felt confused. I went through the five stages of grief in a matter of days. Denial that it was happening. Anger that I was getting ghosted. Bargaining with him to try to make him see I was okay with whatever he could give. Depressing thoughts because I knew deep down he was ending it with me even if I didn’t quite know why. Acceptance, the final step, maybe hasn’t fully set in. That would mean it really is done and over with. For good. Forever.

"Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud."

So, what’s the ridiculous blog post about? I cannot, for the life of me, get over this. It's hurt me down to my core and I haven’t experienced that before. Even after being cheated on. Even after living with someone for years and finding out it wasn’t ever going anywhere. The thing is, it’s dumb. We only hung out for.. wait for it.. one month. I KNOW!! I can’t explain it. I'm not a psycho. It just felt right. It was one month that felt like I’d known him ten years. It was one month that felt like I couldn’t wait for the next month, or ten. It felt like it was so easy that the logical next step would be to plan the coming weeks together. We made jokes about how many dates we’d actually have been on had it not been for our schedules. There were so many similarities and connections and discussions about things we could do that it felt so easy, so normal, so exciting, so ….. “Holy shit I like this guy and can’t find one thing I don’t like about him!”.. That doesn’t happen with me. I am the nitpicker of all nitpickers.

Did things happen quickly? Yes. Did I think there was more potential than him? I have no idea. It didn’t seem that way at the time. Was I more into him than he was me? Obviously. But I felt like it was mutual then. Did something happen that scared him away? I have no clue. It all happened so suddenly. One day I’m on cloud nine because I had met this amazing guy and the next minute I’m sitting there dumbfounded because I just got blindsided by his reality I guess.

All I know is I’m sad. Like, high school heartbreak sad. I’ve never felt this kind of sadness before. It's like a weight on your chest and an inner ache that you can't shake. My God I sound like a lunatic. It’s like knowing you lost something great but have zero control over it. I’m sad about the potential for something that could have been great, and I know it could have been great. I’m sad that he is sad and that he was hurt and that he is hurting. I’m sad that someone would treat someone they care about or have ever cared about in any capacity, in a way that would make them turn away from the possibility of being happy. I have never intentionally hurt someone like that and I can’t understand why someone would do that to someone they supposedly cared about. I want to give him a hug and remind him that there are a good people out there that do care about him (even if it had just been one month) and that I saw enough potential for something great that I would be willing to wait. I’m in no hurry. Hell, I’m almost 40. I can’t have kids; I don’t need to move fast for any reason whatsoever. He gave me a peek inside what it could have been like and taking that away was like ripping off a band aid. But not a little paper cut band aid, like a big open-wound band aid, connected to hairs. 

I was asked to walk away and that’s what I did. But it definitely feels like I turned my back on someone I cared about and that even after one month maybe needed me but wasn't ready to need someone. And I don’t do that easily. The thing is, there’s nothing I can do. I’m a fixer and I can’t fix this. I’m not privy to enough information to fix it, nor does he want me to be a part of the fix. I get that. I do. I’m not angry in any way. I’m sad for him and for me at the same time. I think about how he must feel after years of marriage and here I am being sad about one month. But is there a litmus test for how much time it takes to feel something for someone? Absolutely not, so I can’t discount my own feelings. I also can't discount his or where he is at right now. It's not easy, but WTF else am I supposed to do?

Someone asked me if I thought I would ever hear from him again when he felt he was ready. Honestly? I have no idea. Part of me hopes he will reach out because from my perspective, it could have been great. We laughed a lot (super important to me), had a connection (so I thought), planned a decathlon that I was hell-bent on winning (and totally would have), and to me, had that je ne sais quoi. In my core, and that sounds so ludicrous even as I type it,  I know, but down deep in the feels, I felt there was something different about him; something that could be pretty great. But alas, timing is everything and timing is not currently on my side. Maybe one day.. I just wonder if I cross his mind as much as he crosses mine. If not, well, maybe I can’t trust my intuition as well as I thought I could. If not, hopefully this sadness will subside sooner rather than later. If so, I look forward to the day I see his name come across my phone. 

Until then, I live life like I have for the past 39 years with sporadic thoughts of the "what could have been" and "maybe one day will be". 

 "The two most powerful warriors are patience and time." Leo Tolstoy

April 8, 2019

Getting Bitch Slapped by Life.

Here’s the thing; we all get older. We just do. There are certain things that happen as you grow older and you just have to deal with them. But what if you don’t know how? Or want to?

I turned 39 years young this year. I have no spouse. No kids. Nobody to wash my butt when I get old. Hey, it’s a thing!! But, it is what it is. Not much I can do about it. But along with that age admission comes, reality. Reality is like a bitch slap to the face sometimes and man, oh man, did I get a good backhand recently.

So the one part of getting older I don’t know how to handle doesn’t have anything to do with me. I mean, it does, but doesn’t.  I’ve always feared death. Not my own, but people I care about. We’ve had some scares. We’ve had some diagnoses. We’ve had some accidents. But it isn’t until it gives you the ol’ one-two punch that you realize that nobody is immortal; even if you want them to be. Or need them to be.

Recently my dad had a cancer diagnosis. The big, bad, C word. It’s funny really, how life works. He had a kidney stone (about time I’m not the only one who knows that pain), and he was going to get it blasted. To do so, they’d insert a stint into his you-know-what. You’re welcome….. Along the way they noticed tumors which indicated cancer. My mom was there, thinking they were doing a normal procedure, just to find out from some a-hole doctor who was in a hurry, that her husband of 40+ years had cancer. Yep, picture this jerk juggling his keys whilst telling my mother her husband has cancer.  I could damn near have an embolism over this (but my mom won’t tell me the doctor’s name which is smart on her part). So instead, they tell her they will get the results of the biopsy in ten day. TEN MF@#$*(@)#* days.

Days had never passed at such a painful pace. Checking my phone constantly waiting for “the call”. Leaning on friends, not knowing what to do or say. Acting normal but wanting to just stay home and cry for fear of the unknown. Thank God that we got the best news possible outside of a benign diagnosis.  But let me tell you about the in-between. The affect. I’m solely speaking from my angle as the only daughter of a father who just got diagnosed with cancer.

Your dad is indestructible. Your dad is strong. Your dad is the person who knows all the answers. So when there is the possibility that he may not be here for much longer; it’s goddamn scary. It puts things in perspective and it makes the bullshit .. well just that, bullshit. Every fight. Every word not spoken. Every hug not given. Just seems so damn stupid.

My dad is my go-to-guy. He’s the one person I’ve gone to my whole life for questions and answers about Life’s Moving Parts. Oil changes, money, moving, how to’s, etc. It’s been primarily ”business chats” lacking much outward emotion, but mostly because that’s how he is, and that’s how I am, and together we get by just fine. And together we are one awkward ball of love without knowing how to show or say it. It works for us. Or at least I thought it did.

You see, I’m the middle child, only girl. My dad worked hard for us building houses and slaving away on the north slope of Alaska. I didn’t appreciate it then. Instead I held grudges for the soccer games he missed, but also felt relief for the times he was gone when I knew I could get away with things. It was the proverbial double-edged sword.  But deep down, I saw how my friends interacted with their dads and I wanted that. I wanted that “daddy’s little girl” relationship but it had been so long since it’d been that way, that I didn’t know how to come back to it. I honestly don’t know if it really ever existed. It isn’t that I don’t know he loves me, because I know he does. It isn’t as though he doesn’t respect me, because I think he does. It’s that he and I are the same when it comes to showing emotions with one another. We just do it differently. I’m more comfortable buying you something rather than telling you how I feel. I will fix something for you to show I care. I will be there for you to show support. I am probably not the person you’ll go to for the shoulder to cry on. But if you need me to tell you how I feel, it probably isn’t happening; or at least it wasn’t. It made me wildly uncomfortable and I felt like a teenage girl asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Awkward is a good describing word.  I wanted to say it. I wanted to show it. I wanted to express it, but it all felt so awkward. Until that day.

Until that day my mom called and said my dad had cancer. That was the day I decided to be done being afraid. Being awkward. Taking the easy way out.  I still wasn’t sure what to say when I talked to him. I didn’t want to shrug it off as though I wasn’t affected, but I didn’t want to jump in explaining how scared I was or how I didn’t know what I’d do without him. I wasn’t ready for that conversation quite yet. So we played the game as usual. “How are you?”, “Kidneys stones suck, eh?”… chatted for a few and then I had to go back to work. It was then, for the first time in quite possibly, my adult life, he ended our conversation with, “I love you.”   It sounds so small. So trivial. So insignificant. But I think when those words are spoken so often, you forget the significance. The impact. The power.  The sheer force. Although this time may be one of the worst I’ve been through thus far, I think it was a pivotal moment between father and daughter. A pivot that I think we’ve both wanted but weren’t sure how to make the first move. With that said… Dad, I love you. I am so thankful and grateful to be your only daughter. To be told I’m “so much like your father” is the best compliment I could receive. But I swear to God… if you ever do this to me again I will fly to wherever you are and give you a giant bear hug… and you and I both know that would be super awkward so let’s stay healthy, eh?

January 23, 2019

I am Woman, hear my Roar.

Ya know, I’d like to think I’m a pretty strong woman. From early on, growing up in the hills of the Butte playing with hatchets and building forts with my brothers and cousins, I dealt with some adverse situations that no child should ever encounter.  Then, this little tomboy moved to California where I fit in like Clampett at the Cleavers house, fighting and kicking ass and taking names. Moving into high school the reputation of tomboy stuck with me, but I used it to stick up for the underdogs and used my powers for the good of all (or so I’d like to think). In any case, I’ve been able to hold my own and I’m pretty proud to be an independent, strong woman. So when all of this #metoo business came about, I’ll be honest, I rolled my eyes and guffawed at the women coming out of the woodwork pointing fingers and placing blame, wondering why they hadn’t said anything or done anything before, and now felt the need to jump on the proverbial wagon. But you see, I’m a hypocrite. There are very few people who know about my childhood trauma and I chose, and will continue to choose, not to say anything because there are people who would be very affected; maybe more so than I was/am/could have been. It’s my choice just like it’s the choice of all of these women coming forth now. Good on them. Brava.

So what is this all about? I’m coming forth with a new event that recently occurred in my life that I just can’t seem to get out of my head. It’s like that one fly that keeps buzzing around and right when you think he’s gone, he comes back with a vengeance.

I worked at the Dimond Center Hotel bar for over a year mixing drinks, meeting cool people, chatting with locals and tourists, all the while really just enjoying my two days a week there. Then in October they hired a new Marketing Director who took over supervision of the bar. Fine. We were doing fine, the rest of the bar staff and I knew what we were doing. All was well until this guy comes in like he owns the place and starts making changes, getting rid of products and all the while not listening to any of our suggestions. As a matter of fact, told me point blank he didn’t want, and wouldn’t be asking for, our suggestions or opinions. I should point out he has never managed a bar or restaurant before. I should also point out; word on the street is he was fired from other hotels for misogynistic comments and/or actions. Meanwhile, he met with the other bartender and during that meeting yelled and cussed and left her in tears. He would walk into the bar arrogantly every day, talking down to me while offering up some new idea or concept he wanted us to promote. One time he had a “Cocktail specials” list that just listed various vodkas, gins, and other liquors. Ummm, not a cocktail list Mr.Doesn’tKnowWhatHe’sDoing.

Whatever, I could bitch and complain about it to my friends and to the other bartenders because we all knew he was a jerk and we were going to just let him sink his own ship. Until. He demanded that I show up to work one day an hour early to meet with him. I explained that I work full-time and leaving an hour early wasn’t happening. I said I would be there 30 minutes prior to my shift and we could talk then. I showed up and without addressing me in any way he said, “Upstairs conference room now.” I calmly explained that if this was how he was going to talk to me, that I was not going to proceed with the meeting. But I did. During the meeting he went on and on about how he came to the hotel to “save” the bar and restaurant because it was in the red and he did all of this work and all he got was attitude from me and the other bartenders and cooks and he just wanted a team. We didn’t do this or that or listen to this or that. When he was done with his rant, I calmly explained that we were a team and we all worked well together but he chose not to be a part of the team. He didn’t want to be a part of our group texts that we used to communicate when we ran out of things, when we needed a shift covered, etc. He was a dictator, not a team player. I explained that all we wanted was some respect and for him to listen to our suggestions because we knew our customers and we knew what people had suggested for menu items and we knew what worked and what didn’t. If he just “asked” for suggestions then all would be merry at the ol’ bar.  It was then that I could see something snap in him. It was scary. He slammed his hand on the table and yelled, “I DON’T HAVE TO ASK YOU FOR ANYTHING. I AM THE FUCKING BOSS! THE FUCKING BOSS! I DON’T ASK YOU, I TELL YOU WHAT TO DO AND YOU DO IT BECAUSE I AM THE FUCKING BOSS!.” I sat there calmly (on the outside, on the inside I was livid) and I retorted with, “Did you really just scream and curse at me?” and he said, “YES I DID!”. I explained that I had never, in all of my 38 years been yelled at or cursed at like that by anyone, especially not a grown man and that maybe if he was having problems with every single person he “managed” he should take a look at himself and his management style, because it obviously wasn’t working. He didn’t like that very much. He got up, turned the lights off in the room, and walked out. While I was still sitting in there. There’s a lot more in between these lines but it wasn’t worth mentioning. The point is, a grown man, a manager, had a temper tantrum and screamed and cursed at me. So I called the General Manager, explained what happened and he decides to call a meeting with the other bartenders. We talked about our issues and concerns and he point blank said, “I’m not going to fire him if that’s what you think.” And I knew right then and there he just waged a war with me and didn’t even know it.

To make a long story longer, I spoke to the CEO and to other corporate higher ups. I documented, emailed, talked on the phone, and followed up. After over a week of no communication, I emailed the CEO of the corporation and asked for an update. Radio silence. Then, through the grapevine, I find that the Old Man Gang (CEO, GM, Supervisor) met and decided that it hadn’t happened, he never yelled or cursed, and that was that. I sent an email resigning explaining that I wouldn’t work for a company that condoned that kind of behavior. Never heard back. All was said and done… or was it?

I’m finding myself in a psychological and moral conundrum. Do I let it go, move on, throw my fist in the air and admit defeat? Or do I push the issue? Do I file a suit with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and let them decide? Make them sweat a little. Part of me thinks that I should let it go and another part of me thinks this guy can’t keep getting away with this and he needs to know he messed with the wrong damn woman. I really want to stick it to the man but don’t want to be petty about it.

What would you do?

December 10, 2018

A Bitch Session: When your student loan payment could afford you a Lamborghini

I should have a PhD to show for all the years I spent in college. I need a PhD salary to pay for all of the years I spent in college.

I didn’t have plans to go to college. School never really interested me and I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I “grew up” so college wasn’t a priority. When I first decided to go to college I was working full-time plus a part-time job living in the suburbs of Minneapolis. I could barely afford to eat let alone pay for classes so I did what every student does who has never been told not to; I took out student loans. “What? You want to give me $10,000 even though my classes only cost $3,000?” Hell yes I will jump on that boat. Hell, I will buy that boat with my newly found $7,000.

Fast forward about 7 years and I move to Alaska where I start working a job that required a degree. A degree I never got because I dilly dallied around during my previous stint in college. I had a lot of credits that amounted to absolutely nothing; but debt, of course.  Although I worked at this job for years without a degree, and managed just fine, they required me to get one so away I went off to college again. You’d think as someone who is moderately intelligent I would know not to do the ol’ student loan thing again, but alas, I am not that smart apparently. My previous loans had been paid off (thanks dad), and here I was paying for classes with money I did not have. But wait, that’s not the only dumb thing I did you see. The University of Alaska, where I was attending, would only accept a fraction of my previously earned (and paid for) credits so I was having to re-take several classes again…and pay for them.. .again. Then one day someone told me about Alaska Pacific University’s “Degree Completion Program”. Basically I’d graduate in a fraction of the time and with all of my previous credits being well, credited.  Sounds good, right? WRONG! Not only were the classes online and absolutely horrible, I paid for it out the wazoo. I think we all know what part of the body the wazoo is, too. At the time it seemed worth it. What’s the difference of a few thousands, ahem, tens of thousands of dollars? Well, I can tell you- approximately 60 years of paying it back.
The reason I’m telling you this sob story is because student loans piss me off. There are two reasons it angers me so.

#1- Unless you are doing surgery on my brain or representing me in a murder trial, why the hell does anyone need a degree? I navigated life for a long time without one and did just fine. I held positions that required them, and dare I say did just as good of a job as someone with a degree. So what’s the diff? I would much prefer to hire someone with experience and good work ethic than someone who sat in a classroom for four years and has no knowledge of what the real working world is like. I can almost guarantee you that with enough training, I can do the same job as a person with a degree. This of course is with the exception of anything numerical (accounting, CFO, treasurer) because no amount of school, training or money will ever, ever, entice me to work with numbers. Ever..never, ever.

#2- Here people are, trying to better their lives with an education and essentially adding more to the economic growth of our country, yet we make it almost impossible to do so without adding significant, long-term debt to their lives. What sense does that make? We have a welfare program that basically enables and pays people not to work. Why wouldn’t they GIVE people money for school to get them into the workforce and become productive members of society?
Why should money or lack thereof, dissuade someone from getting an education? Why should one college cost more than another? Why should you have to pay more to go to a school outside of your state? Wouldn’t you think it would be a great experience for our young whipper snappers to move out of their homes, experience a new city and state, and people? But what 18 year old kid can do that without the help of student loans? Yes, I know they could get a job and yatta yatta, but they gotta eat, and live, and buy overly expensive books they will hardly ever use.  IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO ME!

Was it my choice to take out student loans? Of course. Was it my choice to go to a private college rather than a crummy local college? Of course. Was it my choice to get a degree in Human Services that basically limits me to doing non-profit, low-paying work the rest of my life? Of course. (I don’t really think it limits me but I’m trying to make a point here) But my actual point is that it is so damn expensive and it’s frustrating that we give people so many things; why not make education one of them? Life isn’t fair, I get that. Just remember that if I “disappear”, mark me as deceased ASAP because my student loans get cancelled and I can live a worry-free life in the South Pacific. I mean, six feet under.

July 11, 2018

Expectation is the Mother of all Frustration

I started this blog as a means for all you non-Alaskans to experience this amazing state through my eyes. I had good intentions of doing just that, and I did for a while, but recently the blog has become a drop zone for my thoughts and feelings and probably a bunch of gibberish nobody wants to read about. Que Sera Sera. So.. with my greatest of intentions in play, I am coming full circle with this blog.

If you ask my friends how many times they’ve heard me say I’m going to move out of Alaska they wouldn’t be able to give you a number. That is how often I think about and say I’m going to do it. Yet I don’t because I live in one of the most amazing places I’ve ever lived in and I just don’t think I can give it up quite yet. Let me explain….

I’ve become somewhat introspective in my old age (under 40 so maybe not THAT old) and I often think about the life I thought I would have and the life I have now and the differences between the two. I think about what could have been, what should have been, and what has been. I weigh pros and cons, ups and downs, lefts and rights and never myself (god knows that doesn’t need to happen). I dream of the what if’s, what hasn'ts, and what could be’s. I mourn missed opportunities and lost chances and get excited over all the possible things to come.

The thing I think I’ve been struggling with of late is the difference between being happy and being content. Am I happy? Yes. I am a happy person. Am I content? No. I don't think I am.

You see, my life was supposed to be so much more than this (in my mind). I was supposed to get married and have kids. I was supposed to own my own company. I was supposed to have a dog and cats and chickens and goats (ok the goats are a stretch but maybe?). I was supposed to go to book clubs with my best girlfriends and take my new neighbor homemade cookies. I was supposed to volunteer with the PTA and sew Halloween costumes for my kids. I was supposed to pass on traditions and make new ones. But you see, none of those things happened. All my “supposed to’s” were expectations and desires I put upon myself, and to be really content, I have to let them go because those ships have sailed. The wind is no longer beneath my wings or those sails. But let me tell you…. it is not an easy thing to do. Each year that passes another “supposed to” goes out the window and a wee little Beth dream gets crushed into smithereens.

Back to this blog coming full circle so those of you in the L48 (lower 48) can experience this state I live in.

Am I happy? Yes.

I wake up every single day and look out the mountains and think how beautiful this place is. I’ve made this little house my own and I literally can just sit here and contemplate all these things I’m spewing and be happy as a clam. I look around my house and the treasures I’ve accumulated through the years, each with a memory attached, and revel in the experiences I've had here. I have 20 animals (2 fur, 18 feathered) that rely on me and I on them. I have a community of people I’ve met through various experiences that I can call on at a moment’s notice for anything and everything. I get to share this place with friends and family that come up to enjoy all that is Alaska. Lastly, and most importantly, I have friends and family and friends that are family that mean more to me than just about anything. Friends come and go, they just do. But some stick with you through thick and thin (life experiences and weight…), some make you glorified aunties, some give you the title of Best Friend, some write you into their Book of Life, some help you build coops, allow you to cry on their shoulders, live with you while both in need of friendship, tell you like it is, listen to you tell them how you think it should be, give you a job when you need one, invite you over for every holiday and call you family and make you feel that way, and most importantly, they are there for you and you for them when need be. No judgements. No questions. I have those people here and those people are what keep me in Alaska. Yes I like my house. Yes I like my job. Yes I like how beautiful this place is. Yes I like all of those things…. But it’s the people that I’ve met here that keep me here and for that reason alone, I don’t think I will ever leave or can ever leave.

So maybe my “supposed to’s” just haven’t happened as I initially thought they would. Maybe I’m meant to meet someone later in life when I know who I am and am comfortable with me. Maybe I’m meant to live with my best girlfriends and sip cocktails on the lanai and argue over all the hotties at the Moose Lodge. Maybe I’m meant to be an auntie and not a mother. Maybe I’ve grown into this person that I am for me and not anyone else. Maybe this version of me isn’t the best yet but is the best that there’s been thus far and all those guys I’ve dated missed out (duh). Maybe when I think of failed relationships that I thought were going to go the distance, I should think of them as learning experiences for what I want and don't want from a life companion and not as failures. Maybe I'm supposed to be 38 years old and living where I am, surrounding myself with the people in my life, and experiencing the things I am experiencing. Maybe that is okay. No more apologies. No more settling. No more what if's, no more trying to fit square pegs into round holes.

Since I can’t know what my life will bring, I can only look back at what it’s brought and accept it and move on to what’s to come. I hope it’s going to be great because when it comes down to it, I’ve earned it. In my 38 years I've experienced things people should never experience and I hope they never do. But I've lived through it and with it and I'm a better person for it. So letting go of my expectations of what I thought my life should be shouldn't be too hard of a thing to do, right? One dream gone, another created. I mean really, what fun is it to know what life is going to bring anyway? It’s like opening all your Christmas presents beforehand… not that I ever did that…….

April 13, 2018

The countdown is on... or maybe it's the biological clock I hear...

You know how sometimes you stress/fret/ponder/question/analyze/wonder about things outside of your control? I rarely do that, and I am serious when I say that. Some past highly stressful life experiences have taught me that there’s no point in worrying because doing so rarely solves anything; things almost always work out in the end. Yet there’s this one teeny weenie thought that keeps popping in my head that causes me to pull a Rodin and really think about.

I hate math. I still use my fingers to count and anything outside of basic addition and subtraction causes my brain to violently hemorrhage. So when you add a disconcerting thought with a hatred of math, you’ve got a big ol’ conundrum on your hands… which I do, but not really.

Bear with me here...

You see, I’m at that age where numbers really factor into things. How many more years until I retire. The rapid rate at which my hair is turning gray. The amount I still owe in student loans. The number of childbearing years I have left in my life. Wait, what? Did I say that? Ok, hear me out.

I am 38 years old. THIRTY-EIGHT. At this point my eggs aren’t dried up, just slightly pickled.. but as a single, barren, thirty-eight year old, here is how my head works:

I’m a few months into my thirty-eighth year. So, let’s say I meet the man of my dreams sometime this year (snicker snicker). We date for a couple of years which will make me 40. We go on a vacation to somewhere warm where he proposes to me in an overly emotional way (for him, not me), I accept. We date for another year or so just to make sure he’s not a psycho (like my ex) and alas, I’m 42. We get married and take a year or two to honeymoon it. Now I’m pushing 44. FORTY-FOUR!! That is half of 88 (that was the extent of my math skills going on right there)!! Who wants to have a kid at 44?? Not me. Not to mention my eggs will be shriveled up and dead by then.

So let the math continue (shoot me now). So I have a kid at 44. That means I will potentially have a kid at my house until I am 62 years old. There is always the chance that I will kill the kid because I don’t have the patience that I used to (snicker snicker again. I have never been patient), so that could play into this whole thing as well.

When it comes down to it, let’s be real, I won’t find someone who can put up with me and there won’t be any immaculate conception going on here… so maybe I just do it by myself? Hard decisions call for a good ol’ pros and cons list:

  • I think I would make a stellar parent (with the exception of the patience-thing).
  • I’d mold him/her to be a mini-me which in turn would be awesome.
  • I’d have a built in sober driver.. that’s ok right?
  • I have always wanted to say to my kid, “I will remember that!” like my mother used to say to me?
  • I could blame him/her for me being chubby. “I just haven’t lost that baby weight yet!”
  • I want someone to take care of me when I’m old? Which I would be soon after they were born… so…
  • As a parent you get a whole day all about you: Mother's/Father's day. Hellooo presents!
  • I could name he/she anything I wanted. Bocephus Klein has a nice ring to it.

  • He/She would take up my precious time and I have very little of it even now.
  • I’d have to move out of my little house (or have a Flowers in the Attic type setup)…
  • I’ve heard horror stories of child birth and the aftermath. Sounds painful and unpleasant.
  • I like to sleep without interruptions.
  • I would have to spend my money on things other than Coors Light. Deal.breaker.
  • I would have to keep a job for more than a year.. psh..
  • I’d have to befriend other moms… who will be half my age. No thanks.
  • Tickets to get out of this state are expensive enough and having to buy another seat for a kid? Probs not.
  • Do I really want to bring a child into this world? I don’t know see good ol’ fashioned values coming back into play anytime soon and this world has kind of gone to crapola.
  • I think it’d be harder to find a date with a kid.. Oh, wait. I can’t find a date without one. Moot point.

Maybe I will just pretend to be faux-prego for a while and see how it feels. Let me start my checklist to prepare:
  • Eat enough for two. ü
  • Grow a baby bump. ü(although some may call it a beer belly) 
  • Have constant mood swings. ü
  • Pee all the time. ü
  • Buy maternity pants. ü (thought I was buying super comfy pants..nope, maternity)

So what are y’alls thoughts on this? For those of you who don’t have kids, do you regret it? For those of you who do have kids, do you regret it? HA!