There’s a silly boy...

One who makes me smile… and blush, as well as question my self-imposed spinsterhood. Intelligent, charming, autonomous, wickedly clever, compassionate, and serenely laid back. He calls me sweetie y’know, as the blush rises quickly to my cheeks, but he says it almost absentmindedly as if it never occurred to him not to. Sweetie… You all would love him I think… I wonder if I could some day too? To love another, to give of myself so fully once again, opening myself up to whatever may come. To risk losing myself once more, when I’ve only just begun to figure me out, is it really worth it I wonder? How frighteningly vulnerable it would feel, almost unbearably so… almost. I don’t need this now. I don’t need this now. This wasn’t in the plans, the timing couldn’t be worse, yet here I am, so who am I to question? He listens to me with genuine interest and gives credence to my words and opinions. He shares his world with me and I want to do the same. He gives me the space that I need, and comfort as well. He sends me news links because he knows I love that, and pics of interest and of all the worldly places he’s seen or has yet to because he knows I love that too. We share interests and views, ideology and political dogma. He challenges me to think in a bigger realm and to embrace my full potential without having to prove my intelligence or myself because he already knows somehow… he just knows. Plus, he makes me smile… and blush… and he calls me sweetie. I like him, and he says he likes me too. Maybe a lot more than I anticipate he warns, yet he’s gentle and considerate and he gives me the time and space I need, cuz that’s what good guys do right? That’s what good guys do… Mom, Aunt Sandy, Alex, Jilly, Sandi, I know you have good guys, anyone else want to chime in here as well? Grandpa was a good guy, extraordinary in fact; we should all be so lucky as Grandma, its no wonder she still misses him so after seven long years. Has it really been that long? Y’know, I still suck in my breath each time I hear a man with Grandpa’s distinctive voice, a smile spreading widely across my lips as the memories come flooding back. And I think Grandpa would approve, so that must say something right? Mark, I think you would approve too, and that means a lot to me because it is you who should have been my dad, and because it is you who reminds me of Grandpa in so many ways. Thank you for being one of the good guys btw, for loving mom and making her happy, and for being her sweetie.

I have no confidence in myself, or in my judgment. I have no concept of boundaries (obviously, just read below to see evidence of that). I wasn’t supposed to find myself in this position again, yet here I am, fully ensconced and wondering what the hell to do. What in the hell should I do? Throw caution to the wind? Not a chance. Not as a single mom with an emotionally vulnerable daughter, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. So what then? Good question.

I’m scared.

I cautiously broached the subject of having a man in our lives with Em the other night as it somehow came up in conversation. The prospect has always terrified her (we’ve discussed this before) yet for the first time she actually considered it, if only for a moment, wondering what it might be like to have a nice man around, one who doesn’t yell or lecture and scare her into submission. She worries me though, she latches on so quickly and easily to any man who’ll show her attention or affection. My god, the dysfunctional relationships that await her if she stays this course. Once again kicking myself for not having chosen more wisely in her parentage. It seems that Bub’s complete mind fuck has left us both weary and fearful of men yet wanting of their attention. Y'know, even though she meant it in a much different context, I so easily relate my anxiety on this subject to that Kelly Clarkson song. Becasue of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk, because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I don’t get hurt, because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me, because of you I am afraid…

Thanksgiving was spent with Bub and his parents as always because my side of the family here in AR always either celebrates the Saturday after Thanksgiving or does their own thing. This is fine with me, I’m comfortable with his parents and I’ve acquired the ability to humor Bub’s… um, shall we say eccentric mother, unlike Bub and Em, she irritates them to no end. Plus, that was to be how I got my Emmy-pie back home anyway. Dinner (or lunch since ex mil insisted we eat by noon) went well, no problems there other than mil freaking out about how I made the mashed potatoes. Apparently neither milk nor pepper has a place within according to her. See where the need to humor her comes in? I reminded her very gently that this was how I make the mashed potatoes every year, and every year she has survived… so far. Well that’s not how I make mashed potatoes, she says. To which I replied, that’s why you don’t make the mashed potatoes anymore. Snicker, not only was she quiet after that, but she also ended up eating quite a helping of my repulsive mashed potatoes. Poor dear. Anyway, let’s get to the good stuff shall we? So I let Bub talk me into doing him quite a favor, being the die-hard people pleaser that I am. He still doesn’t have any furniture in his apartment in Memphis because he hasn’t had the money to move his crap there, so he asked if I would mind taking the bed his mother was giving him from her house to his apartment about an hour away. I gave in eventually, like he and I both knew I would, and we loaded it up in my minivan after the festivities were through. New chick met us there as she and her son had spent the day with her family elsewhere, and were planning to follow us back to the apartment. Bub had to ride with me (Em stayed behind with Bub’s parents) because new chick had her son, his friend and a carload of her own crap that she was taking back to Memphis with her. That’s fine, no big deal, she knows Bub and I still talk a lot and she seems to tolerate it thus far. Now for the drama, in true redneck, ghetto fabulous fashion. After a quick conversation with her, Bub gets into my car all in a huff stating that he and Lori (new chick) are fighting. Oh shit! And I’m supposed to be stuck in the car with him while he’s mad for the next hour? I immediately notice myself becoming tense at his current state of agitation, and then it starts. He’s pissed, he needs reassurance, validation and justification and he needs it from me, right NOW. He feels wronged, he feels disrespected, he feels unheard, and I feel like I’m in the effin Twilight Zone. My chest is tight; I’m shaking all over, close to hyperventilating and crying like an idiot. I am keenly aware of the fact that his anger is not directed towards me; yet there I am anyway, right back in that place with him, as if nothing has changed. I feel like a deer in the headlights, complete flight or fight hypersensitivity, and no awareness of my surroundings other than his anger and our close proximity. Perhaps if I’d been able to think clearly I’d have pulled over and asked him to get out of the car in my newfound strength and freedom. Yet that never would have been acceptable back in the day, and as I said, that’s precisely where I seemed to be so the thought never even crossed my mind. Of course now I’m fascinated by my excessively PTSD-like reaction, but in the moment it was incredibly disorienting and scary, the worst triggering episode I’ve had with him since leaving thus far. I finally manage to tell him that I needed a few minutes to collect myself and he flippantly apologizes for upsetting me, although I’m sure it never occurred to him to question or wonder why I was so upset. So after a few I begin to offer my opinion because that’s what he is waiting for and expecting me to do so that he can justify himself some more; all part of the same old routine. He blathers on, tearing apart any solution I try to offer, discounting any opinion that contradicts his own, again, per usual, and exactly what is expected of me. And then… my freaking tire blows, right there on the interstate, three lanes over and in the midst of post turkey day Memphis traffic. I somehow manage to navigate my way to the shoulder without mishap, whereupon we get out to assess the damage. Tires’ shot, no repairing that, but at least I have a donut and three boys to take care of the dirty work, since new chick was right behind us and pulled over as well. So while the boys are doing their manly duty, I head over to new chick’s car to make small talk and get out of the cold and wind. I can tell she’s not a happy camper, but dammit, I was cold! Thus ensues the tirade; new chick freakin’ lets loose! I will be damned if he’s gonna talk to me like a @%!$ 3-year-old! I’ll have my shit packed in your van (since I would be coming back to AR) so fast it’ll make his *$%^# head spin! Oh shit! Now I’m stuck in the car with her while the boys are changing the tire, and she is HOT. Was he always this way, she asks, how did you deal with him when he was like this? Ug. I try in earnest to extract myself from the precarious situation by saying that I really don’t need to get into the middle of this but she says no, I’m asking you direct questions, I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into here. Yes, I tell her, this is how it always was with him. How did you put up with it?, she asks. To which I replied in all my smart-assed glory, I didn’t, I left the bastard! We both had quite a chuckle at that, which seemed to calm her down at bit, and she proceeds to vent all her Bubba induced frustrations on me. She then tells me how he reminds her so much of her first husband who was controlling and completely overbearing (and broke her back in a violent rage). Wow. And then my absolute favorite part, the thing that made this whole dysfunctional nightmare worthwhile, she says to me, he’s quite narcissistic isn’t he? OMFG! Can you spell V-A-L-I-D-A-T-I-O-N? Dayum, new chick is a whole lot quicker than I had given her credit for, or I’m just a whole lot slower than I wanted to consider, but let’s not go there, shall we? Anyway, vent vent vent, laugh laugh laugh, and then the boys are done and its time to hit the road once again… alone…in my car… with Bub. I tried to make pleasant small talk at first, but he was having none of it. So what did she say, he asks. Oh shit again! Will this godforsaken day never end? I obviously can’t tell him everything she said, but he wants details, all of them, and NOW. So there I am, trapped in this sophomoric hell, and its up to me to diffuse the situation as well as save my own ass so I’m not in even more trouble later. I can honestly say I would literally have rather been anywhere else in the world at that very moment then there with him. I tried so gently to explain my perception of her side of the story, that perhaps she was feeling a bit smothered and disrespected. Which he then proceeded to tear completely apart with his self-righteous logic in order to justify his actions to himself, per usual. And that’s how he continued until we finally, mercifully, got to his apartment. Of course, first chance she got, new chick then asked what I told him about what she had said to me. Double ug. Anyway, we unloaded his crap as quickly as possible and I then got myself the hell outta dodge. Driving no more than 50 freakin’ mph with that impotent little donut on the interstate all the way back to his parent’s house. Where I then had to stay the night because the crappy little donut wouldn’t have gotten me the two hours back home and there was no place open on Thanksfreakingiving to get a new tire mounted. But at least it was finally quiet, and by god, it wasn’t me who was in for the all night “talk” that was sure to ensue in that tiny little apartment somewhere in Memphis.

Soooo, that was my Thanksgiving, how was ya’lls? ;-)

Em's nails. New chick actually wanted her to go longer but Em refused due to her keen sense of practicality, smart girl.

Stay tuned for sooooo much more. After all, what's a typical southern, redneck, white trash Thanksgiving without a little drama? No, let me clarify, what's a Thanksgiving with Bub without drama? Feeling almost unbearably nostalgic for holiday celebrations of my childhood in CA...

How’s this for fru-fru redneck? Em calls me all excited from Memphis yesterday to tell me how new chick and her idiot fiancé had our 10-year-old daughter’s nails done as a “surprise”. And I don’t just mean a shape, a trim, and a shellacking, I mean honest to god acrylic nails! She’s 10! Hellooooo? Oh, and by the way, (he says to me later) you’ll have to get them “filled in” every few weeks by a manicurist. Gee, thanks for not only turning our daughter into a hussy, but I get to pay for the upkeep as well. Are you freakin kidding me?! No offense nail ladies, there’s elegant and then there’s trashy; on a 10-year-old I see trashy, so sue me. Okay, okay, I get that little girls like to play with fake nails. I, myself, was obsessed with them at her age. But I always got the press on kind that can come off before going into public. Never, ever did my mother take me to get the real thing. Hell, I don’t even know if I asked for such a thing, but if I did then I’m sure she would have found it quite amusing and politely nixed the idea in the bud before even an iota of hope had a chance to form in my adolescent head. So yeah, I’m a bit irritated. Ya think? Pffffft! I dunno, perhaps I’m overreacting (says that incessant little voice of doubt in my head), but if so then who cares, that’s my prerogative. Acrylicfreakingnails, sheesh…

I’ve been watching grown up movies in Em’s absence this week. Why? Cuz I can, that’s why. American Beauty moves me, every time I see it… the whole thing. You know, like the scene just after Shelby’s funeral on Steel Magnolias, gut-wrenching sorrow turned to uncontrollable laughter, though not exactly. In this case its just… peace, simple, reverent peace. Its fantastic really, we should all be so lucky as Lester. He got it, that elusive click as it pertains to everyone differently. It’s out there y’know, that click. I know, cuz I had it once too... You should see some of the looks I get when I call this one of my all time favorite movies. Some people get it, many more don’t. That’s okay, whatever floats yer boat I say. A Mighty Heart was heartbreakingly beautiful. In my self-analytical ways I find great interest in what moves me and why. For those who’ve seen it I’m sure you’ll recall the scene where one of the accomplices is being interrogated, strung up from the ceiling by his hands, partiallly nude. The man is weeping as he is being “questioned”, and then he finally breaks, sobbing his answers to their unrelenting questions. He’s a bad guy; of course he’s a bad guy. Yet this bad guy is suffering inhumanely, and to the point of mental discord. No matter what, my morality does not allow my mind to reconcile the two acts of wrong in order to make a right, period. The scene depicted was brief, and by all rights tame in our post 9/11 society. Yet its briefness and tameness did nothing to quail my horror and empathy for this broken, weeping man. Perhaps its just because I can relate so easily to the anguish of being broken in ways not unlike the torture he suffered. Perhaps I’m just a bleeding heart with too much time to be alone with my thoughts this week. But whatever it is, I feel it, and in that scene, it was too much. Conjured images of Gitmo and Abu Ghraib… too much.

So Bub passed his drug test... on a wing and a prayer. He was made to retake it because it showed an "unknown substance" the first time. It came out clear on the second attempt so I'm not sure if the first or second was the fluke. Makes no difference as he is now living in Memphis and gainfully employed... for the time being. ;-) There were, of course, all sorts of other drama surrounding him over the last two weeks, but honestly, what else is new? Nothing particularly noteworthy really, just stuff that makes me appreciate new chick having taken my place all the more, so I'll just leave it at that.

Well I had a heart stopping yet completely laughable moment recently. My writing prof created a blog for us to use as a forum for class discussions, to which I posted a comment as we had been instructed to do. However, said blog resides on Blogspot.com, as does the very one you’re reading now. And those of you with your own blogger blogs already know that when you post a comment, you typically do so while automatically logged in under your own blogger profile. Do ya see where I’m goin’ with this yet?? So yes, there I was, having just posted my comment, whereupon I realized that, low and behold, there is a link associated with my name, a link that would take a would be reader to my profile, and ultimately my own blog. Hello? Have we not been through this enough by now? Sheesh! ;-) So once I was sufficiently revived from my near fatal stroke, I clicked through my profile link and discovered that my saving grace was indeed in place, though I hadn’t remembered it at the time. Some time ago I locked or disabled my profile for this very reason, and now I am unbelievably grateful for that feature. Could you imagine a class full of barely pubescent 20 somethings reading and commenting on my dysfunctional ramblings? And then having to face them irl afterwards?! Although I’m sure some of my more notable posts would have made for quite the lively and humorous in-class discussion, I just don’t think we really need to go there now do we? After all, a girl must retain at least an air of mystery, don’tcha think?

Speaking of my writing class, I almost forgot to mention another particularly interesting thing that happened. Em must have gotten a sudden inspiration because she decided to pen a 12-page short story in one day. Which she then begged me to ask Miss Spears (writing prof) to read and critique for her (Em having met and become quite enamored with her previously). So sure, why not? I took it in, and not only did she read it, but she read it aloud to the whole class! OMG, it was hilarious! And not only because of Em’s deliciously witty writing style that I so adore, but also because of the numerous comments referencing her age, substantial vocabulary, and professional air. It was simply fabulous and made for an exceedingly fun class. So now Em can boast that she’s been read by a college level panel.

Also, and I promise that this will be the last reference I’ll make to my beloved writing class this post, I just got my second paper back sporting none other than an A+, yay me! This was the one that was to be about a personal belief, for which I chose the thesis of “Everything happens for a reason”. That being said, I’ll also quickly mention one particularly endearing comment I got on the paper from an anonymous peer review. The student reviewer said in his/her note that I had "successfully taken a seemingly narrow minded view and turned it into something amazing". That statement really struck a chord with me because, believe me, I’m all too aware of just how narrowly that particular belief is often viewed. So the very great compliment was taken as such, and I remain quite pleased with how the paper turned out.

In other news, Em will be spending her first extended stay with Bub this week since she is out of school for the Thanksgiving break. Saturday through Wednesday, Thanksgiving together at his mom's, then back home with me. We're both cautiously optimistic that all will go well, and I'm hoping like hell that I won't live to regret my agreeability on this one. She knows she can call anytime day or night and I'll be there. And believe me, she won't hesitate to call considering how she has almost zero tolerance for his BS since she's been away from it for so long now. Although I must admit, we've both noticed that he is much better tempered with new chick around since he's so giddy in love and all, but it will be a huge test nonetheless being that he's never actually parented her on his own before. Although I imagine that much of the day to day running of things will likely be left up to new chick since he can barely take care of himself, but I digress. Whatever occurs will be interesting I'm sure. Interesting. Trying like hell to reconcile my comfort with that term as it applies to Em's well being. Dear god, please don't let me live to regret this...

BTW, go ahead and let me have it, I know you must be dying to. WTF is she thinking?!! Good question.

Oh, and one more thing I promise, Bub has heard from the doctor and I'm afraid it's just as we've feared...




*Edited to add: No matter how ignorant the man may be, I am 100% certain that he would never smoke, drink, or ingest any mind altering substance while Em is staying with him, ever. My only true concern about her being there is his ability to handle being an actual parent for a change.

“It has taken me f*ckin' years to treasure my beautiful body and know it as something other than everyone's angry, lonely playground.” -Tammy Lynn Michaels

THAT stopped me cold while perusing Hollywood Farm Girl’s blog yesterday. Thus ensued a great deal of shallow breathed, hair raising, goose-fleshed skin introspection on my behalf. I don’t quite know where to go with it just yet, but go somewhere I simply must. Although I'm afraid its something I'll have to revisit at a later date because for now, I remain utterly speechless.

C’mon, let’s waist time chasing cars around our heads, shall we?

Wow, quite a day I had yesterday. I actually conveyed to Bub the depths of my hatred for him at the time of the great escape and just what it took for me to have done such a thing to anyone, let alone my husband. How exactly did this come about you ask? Another one of those damn wall breaking conversations of course. I want so desperately to believe that he’s really not “getting it” as he says he is. Perhaps because I have so much vested in the stance that he’ll never change. Yet the trusting, naïve side of me screams to believe because that’s simply how I’m made, much to my chagrin. How else could he have lured me back in those times that I had been so determined to leave? He’s not luring me now though; don’t misunderstand, he just doesn’t want to mess things up with new chick, thus the extremely candid and emotionally charged conversations of late. Jesus, didn’t I say that this wasn’t going to be a Bub blog anymore? Oh well, as Rosie says, my blog, my rules. Honestly, I don’t want it to be a Bub blog anymore, but damn if that isn’t all I can seem to talk about lately. So much happening so quickly, it’s a lot to deal with y’know? I used to not cry at all in front of him, I lost that ability at some point long ago.. probably after he told me for the last time how I only used my tears to manipulate him and that he was sick of it hearing it. Now… now it seems to come pouring out of me… I hate that. I yelled at him though, REALLY yelled, and my god it felt good. I don’t quite remember what all I said, as it’s all such a blur to me now, but I do know that I yelled… I yelled. Through my sobs and that awful ugly cry that I've come to know so well, I yelled. I felt validated and empowered… I felt defeated, and I felt oh so tired. He cried, and said he was sorry, and that he knows there’s nothing he can do to make it better, but he’s sorry nonetheless. And then he thanked me for allowing us to form this pseudo friendship given the level of hatred I had just conveyed. And then he asked me to tell him if ever I see the asshole come out again because he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore. Because he knows he screwed up with me and he doesn’t want to do that with her. I said I would try, even though it’s not my job to police his bad behavior. I said I would try because that’s how I’m made, and I want to believe him because that’s how I’m made, and I want him to experience true peace and happiness because that’s how I’m made. And sometimes I despise how I’m made…

Then I talked to my mom, cuz she’s my person, and I cried and purged some more, and told her some of the things that I hadn’t told anyone and that I couldn’t bear to yell at him about because it was too much for both of us. But I told her because I had to tell someone and she cried with me, and perhaps for me, and she was there for me like only a mother can be, and I appreciate her so much more than she’ll ever know...

And now? Now I dunno. Now I’ll just be. Perhaps that was what they call closure. Or perhaps that’s just what I’ll call closure because it sounds so nice and neat, and dammit, I deserve it.

He’s moving Tuesday for sure, with new chick of course, and the only thing that could ruin it for him now is if he fails the drug test he is required to take, which is unfortunately a very great possibility due to his spiral a few months back. I knew what he was doing, and since Em is never alone with him, all I could do was wait and watch him self-destruct. And even though I was shocked by the way he chose to do so, I also understood because, as we all know, my drug of choice is food, so who am I to judge? He’s clean now, so he says, but I just hope for all of our sakes it’s not too little too late. He needs to go, we need him to go, so keep your fingers crossed that he doesn’t ruin this as well.

There will be a lighter post soon, but for now, this is what I needed, so there you have it.

Aaaaaaaaand Memphis is back on.

And to think, this is how I lived for how many years? Incredible.