Sin City Seagull

Facebook? Well, "I Wouldn't Say I've Been Missing It, Bob."

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Thu, 01 Feb 2018 04:56:00 +0000

My restaurant seems to have a lot of urban legends. It's fun to talk about them... like the one where a woman was so crazy about this guy she was dating, she claimed to be pregnant with his triplets, wore a fake belly and everything, and eventually said she lost the babies as a way to get back at him for not loving her as much as he should.

Or something like that. I don't know.. I think it's mostly true but that's what makes them legends, right?

There's another one I remember about this particular nutty breakfast server who worked there years ago. Apparently, when her birthday came, she monitored all of the people from her friends list on Facebook and made sure they posted a birthday message on her wall. The next day, she posted something about "real friends vs. fake friends" and proceeded to unfriend all those that failed to do this birthday gesture.

An old friend I had used to keep his friends list "clean and tidy" by going on Facebook every day and seeing who had a birthday. If he felt the need to post something on their wall, he would do so and they would stay friends. If he felt either indifferent or aggressively against wishing them a happy birthday, he would unfriend them. I remember thinking it was a pretty good friend-gauge, oddly enough. Fitting for the times, at least.

So I've officially taken and completed my month long social media hiatus. During which I also took some time to reflect on the company I keep. Both online and in real life. I spent the last two weeks thinking about my own Facebook friends list and where I was going to start cleaning it up. The first handful of names came easily. The next handful I had to think about a little and then soon, random names just came popping up in my head until I realized that if I actually unfriended everyone I wanted to, I would eliminate over half of my friends. Maybe more.

It was very quickly after this that I realized I needed a lot longer than one month away from Facebook.

I'm not sure what it looks like yet but I'm happy to unfriend myself from your online circle for a while. My guess is that if you care, you'll seek out my friendship. If not, I've saved both of us some trouble. And yes, I think I mean for that to sound as "fuck you" as it actually sounds.

I'm sure I'll still blog so you can always find me here. The narcissism is strong in this one... And I literally can't help myself when it comes to taking pictures of my gorgeous kid and my yummy food so you can continue to follow my domestic adventures on Instagram by tracking me down @sincityseagull.

As far as everything else, I can do without it. It's not a full disconnect but maybe it's a really good start.

See y'all on the battlefield.

Just Your Typical Resolution Post

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sat, 23 Dec 2017 21:16:00 +0000

I'm an Atheist. I got asked one time if I would date someone who believed in God. I replied, "Would you date someone who believed in Santa Claus? Because it's literally the same thing to me."

The truth is, however, some of the men I have dated do believe in God. I guess it's not really the deal breaker that I thought it was, especially if they don't go to church or practice any kind of actual religious behavior (for example, there will be no praying around me or my kid). Most of the men I date who claim to believe in God are the ones that do it "just in case He actually exists". (Insert eye roll here)

Last year, I went off social media for the whole month of January. When I returned, I cleaned out my groups and friends and unfollowed or unfriended anyone that was putting up pro-Trump propaganda, anything hateful or shameful towards others or that I personally felt went against my own idea of social justices. Sadly, you cannot just eliminate those things completely. But it did help me find a more cohesive support system among my friends and family so, overall, I was happy with the results. I plan on doing the same exact thing this year.

Unfortunately, it's been a year and Trump is still President. No, he hasn't managed to get us blown up... yet... but hate and discrimination is in full force. Something pretty great has happened though. Women and other minority groups have finally found a platform where they can stand up against sexual discrimination, exploitation, harassment and assault. Better late than never, I guess?

As always, this subject is not without controversy. I mean, women could easily just point fingers and get money, right? Sure, they could. Except almost immediately, so many of the men who are being accused of "bad behavior" are admitting it. Look, this is all I'm really going to say on with this subject right now: I am a 37 year old woman. I would not be able to give you an accurate number of how many times a man has used sex to make me feel uncomfortable. The incidents range from being called a bitch because I wouldn't go out with someone to walking across the parking lot at the gas station and having a man pleasure himself while watching me get into my car. Both are predatory. Both are wrong. Both are absolutely unacceptable. No one should ever have to feel the way these and many other men have made me feel.

Over the last few days in particular, I've been thinking a lot about my contributions to society. I've not had many goals over the last ten years or so. I've been pretty unmotivated in general and basically just getting through each day with no real idea of what I'm doing with my life. Since I've had my son, things have changed. My goal in life is to raise a kind, smart and compassionate individual. I need him to want to fight for those that can't fight for themselves. I need him to stick up for himself and others when injustices are happening. I need him to understand that assholes with money are still assholes. And that money does not bring solutions to our current problems but, in fact, mostly makes them worse.

I've always had an unusual respect for Mormon missionaries. Obviously, I don't believe in the religious message being spread, but the kind of work they've done in third world countries and communities is astounding. Without tons of money, without bountiful resources and without the comfort of their own home and family units, they make a difference in the lives of those that otherwise couldn't find health and support on their own.

I don't have a lot of money. I don't have bountiful resources. And it's hard to get outside of my comfortable home and away from my family in order to help others. But suddenly, it's all I can think about. How can I talk a big game about social injustices and how those who refuse to help are the REAL drains on society without walking it out myself? How am I supposed to teach my son the importance of family and community if I'm afraid of getting out into mine? How do I change things around me without making any changes myself?

My free time is pretty limited, between work and mom stuff. But there is time. And I haven't been using it very productively. I'd like to change that. There's a women's shelter here in town that I'd like to start helping. I'm not sure what it looks like yet, but I know I want to be a part of helping women get a new start. I want to help women feel empowered and strong. I want to tell stories of their struggles and be a real part of their recovery and rebirth. It's imperative that women who are mothers see how important our roles are and that the children we are raising are the voices of the future. I know how cliché that sounds, but it's true, right? What do you want those voices to say?

I spent most of this year trying to find a good man to fit into my life. Even at it's most fulfilling, it's been a lot like dating someone who believed in Santa Claus. And if there is any kind of message I want to portray as I step into new things, it's that my life isn't missing anything. I've already got the perfect man to teach me things and help me be a better person. And if someone else comes along and wants to join the fight, we will happily welcome them.

Together.

And as far as Xander, he has a few resolutions this year too. One is to finally go binky-free. For anyone who knows, this could be the hardest goal of them all.

Happy New Year.

Just Your Typical Gratitude Post

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 28 Nov 2017 21:49:00 +0000

I haven't felt well in a week. I did what I usually do and blamed it on allergies for the first three or four days. But once that cough started, I knew I was sick.

The other night, I was home by myself with Xander. He's always a pretty chill kid and we relax together a lot at night. But this night in particular, he wanted to play around a little and I just didn't have the energy. I tried but ended up laying on the floor in the playroom, telling him to let mommy relax so she can feel better. From across the room he came over, knelt next to me and kissed me right on the lips as sweet as can be. Then he got up, went over to his cars and proceeded to play quietly and sweetly the rest of the night.

I thought to myself as I teared up, "How does he know, at two years old, to be so sweet in that exact moment?"

But then I realized, that's exactly how we all treat him when he's not feeling well. We love him, we kiss him and we let him relax and get better. So of course he would respond the same way.

I started bartending at the restaurant I've been at for six years now. I've been a bartender before but just like serving in a new place, it is expected to know all drink recipes, bar prep and general bar etiquette and procedures in five very fast days of training. I'm hanging in there but yes, it's been very stressful. Xander's dad also took a new bartending job and his schedule has been absolutely fucking stupid to say the least. So it hasn't helped with the stress.

I started dating someone. And then it fell apart. And then it repaired itself. And now, I don't really know how to move forward. For the first time in a very, very long time, I feel like I have something - or someone - to lose. Like if I'm not able to hang on to this, I will experience true heartache. But relationships require so much specialized attention. And having to always put it second behind mom stuff can get stressful. I haven't mastered balance yet. Especially with a new relationship. Most people aren't as understanding as he is about the time I just simply don't have for him. But I feel something real there and I think he does too. So, we just keep putting forth the effort and I have to be very conscious about not fucking it up because of my own insecurities. It doesn't sound all that romantic... but somehow it actually is.

He watches everything people do. Back to Xander now... it's really amazing. Watching his personality and intellect develop first hand is something that I can't even explain. He will start counting out of nowhere or asking for cartoons by their actual episode names and I just stare at him for a minute like, "Who the hell are you? Weren't you just learning how to roll over?" It's neat.

Like, the neatest.

But I don't take his observation skills lightly. It's crystal clear that his responses to emotions and changes are direct reflections of those who care for him. And since he consistently goes from one pair of loving arms to the next, his heart has already become so big. He outbursts, of course. And we work through everything as logically as possible so that he can learn that not everything has to be handled in an emotional way. We end up learning a lot at the same time.

Things are not mellow in my world right now. I knew the added responsibilities at work would take it's toll because I haven't done new things in a while. Holidays are always crazy. I'm like, SO far behind on The Voice.

But, I'm starting to feel better, I'll relax into work again soon and life will just, go on. And as long as I've got him to be a constant mirror of my reaction to things, I think we can both grow to be the best versions of ourselves.

He is, after all, my everything.

See, What Had Happened Was...

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sun, 25 Jun 2017 10:54:00 +0000

You know what's hard? Parenting. You know what's really hard? Single parenting.

You know what's been the hardest for me so far?

Co-parenting.
I had an awful month. A horrible, terrible, no-good, rotten month. I let my emotions completely take the wheel and made some decisions that could have, potentially, destroyed the environment I've worked pretty hard to create for my son.

My son's dad drives me crazy. Not because he's a bad parent. Not because he's a bad person. And not because I hate him. He drives me crazy because he's not me. He doesn't see things the way I see them. He doesn't understand why certain things make me so angry or frustrated. He doesn't make life decisions the way I do and he doesn't live his life the way I live mine. As two separate human beings, these things would not normally be an issue. But as two separate human beings trying to raise a well-adjusted, polite, intelligent and kind smaller human being? It drives. Me. CRAZY.

I know details are the best to read. The gritty, grimy pieces of the story that make everything interesting and intense. But, I can't give them to you. I'm sorry... I've already done lots of damage and now am just trying to clean up my mess while I still can. I can, however, give you a pretty decent summary.

I was mad. I was very, very mad. It wasn't the first time he had slept past the time in which he was supposed to pick up our son. I had to drive him to his house and drop him off, crying, while his dad sleepily stumbled down the stairs. I was furious. I had been getting progressively more frustrated over the weeks with the fact that he was behind on child care money. He had changed jobs and I was working hard to be sympathetic but the voice in my head kept trying to convince me that he just didn't give a shit. I started to believe, deep down, that he wanted out of his parental responsibility. It really did seem to me, in my state of depression and anger, that it's what he wanted. So, I tried to give it to him.

I filed for full custody and child support. I knew that he would have to make some pretty grown up decisions in order to fight me on it. And I wanted him to. I wanted to know that he cared and that he was committed to our son and his well-being. I needed to know that he did not, in fact, favor sleep over being a dad. I needed him to prove it to me with his money and his actions, and not just his words.

I waited the full twenty days with no response. No counter-offer. I felt sad. I proved myself right. He doesn't even want him anymore. I heard from him one time in those twenty days and it was to ask if he could have him for the day. Because I had filed paperwork, I was - in my mind, justifiably - nervous for him to take our son away from me so I said he could come see him at my house whenever he wanted. He never replied.

So, on day twenty-one, I went for the third time to the wonderful government building that is Family Services, and prepared to submit the paperwork to finalize everything. This was it. From now on, we were going to be on our own. I walked up to the window, handed over my stack of papers and as the clerk started typing away, she looked up and said, "Oh no... I can't file your default. He filed a response yesterday and has also secured legal counsel. You should be receiving his counter-offer in the mail and then you'll get issued a court date."

I felt sick. A lawyer? Really? Geez, I couldn't even afford a lawyer. And how do you pay for legal counsel when you didn't pay for child care? Then I got angry. I went to my car and started thinking about the months ahead. The mediation. The judge. The courtroom. I felt nauseous. As I was driving home, however, I started to think, well, now wait a minute. This is what I wanted all along. I wanted him to care. I wanted him to fight for our son. I mean, I was hoping for more like a simple counteroffer asking for joint custody and less money each month. But then, maybe that's what he was doing through his lawyer? Maybe he just wanted to be sure he was doing everything right. After all, I'm sure getting served with the paperwork felt pretty awful.

Okay, this is good. We got this. We will get everything finalized legally and to both our likings and life will go on. I wasn't thrilled that it was going to drag on longer, but it was going to be good.

A few days went by before I got the letter in the mail from his lawyer. I took it to a friend's house and opened it there. I was, of course, thinking the worst. He was going to go for full custody. He was going to turn everything around on me. He was going to take my son away. All those thoughts creeped through my head as I looked at the unopened letter.

Then... I opened it. And it wasn't what I thought.

It was so, so much worse.

I write this now from the other side of this mess. I've since talked to my son's dad and we've worked things out. That's important to note. He told me that he didn't know what to do when he got served. He said he didn't even open the envelope for a week. When he finally did, all he saw was that I was trying to take his son away from him. He knew that he needed legal help to ensure that I didn't do that. So, he took his money, met with a few lawyers and finally settled on one that wasn't the most expensive. He explained to her that all he wanted was joint custody. He really didn't care about any details other than that. He just wanted to make sure he had our son half of the time. I imagine what happened was a conversation between he and his lawyer about when the last time he saw him was. I'm sure he answered honestly and simply. About a month is probably what he told her.

So, this bitch...

Against his wishes (he says the signed paperwork was not what he agreed to. Not much I can really say about that), this bitch comes after me for FELONY kidnapping and withholding a child from their parent. And abduction of a minor. She asks me to pay for all his legal fees up to this point and any future fees due to litigation. There was more... but this was the worst. I thought I was going to throw up.

Now, the intelligent side of my brain knew that she was wrong. I could've fought it. I probably would've won. However, I'm not positive that I could've done it on my own. And the amount of money it would've taken me to secure my own legal counsel was too much. It's why I filed on my own to begin with. And what if... what if I lost? I would be destroyed. And broke. And maybe I wouldn't have my son anymore.

It was all too much. I almost had a complete breakdown right there in my friend's living room.

However, as I've already indicated, my son's dad was not on board with any of this. We agreed to meet up the next morning and I told him about the charges she had included in the counter offer and he was surprised and angry and told me he was going to fire her that day. We then agreed to go down to Family Services together, dismiss our case and go back to handling things on our own. Which, even when that's not working out so great, it's still better than what we were both about to put ourselves, our families and our son through.

So in the end, it looks like both of us paid with our sanity, our money and our time to realize that we really weren't doing that bad of a job before trying to get the law involved. We realized that all we really have to do is talk to each other more often, try harder to understand where the other person is coming from and, ultimately, take turns loving our son more than anything else in our lives. He is never going to be exactly what I wish he was in a co-parent. But then again, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to be that person for him either. But I'm a good mom. He's a good dad. Everything else will just have to take a back seat to that.

Because boy oh boy could things be worse. And if nothing else, the awareness I have now about how poorly I was handling things has snapped me out of my blind fury. All I was doing was trying to control everything and now, I've been put back into a place of contentment and appreciation for what I do have.

I imagine not everyone is going to see things the way I do. I know there will be people who still think getting custody and support arranged legally is the way to go. But, I definitely need to listen to what I know to be true in my heart and quit letting my brain adjust to outside influences. Life is not black and white. And neither is parenting. And I'm reminded for SURE that neither is the law. I trust myself and my son's father a lot more than some money-hungry soul-sucker sitting behind a desk, not caring about the lives she's about to tear apart. That poor woman should be ashamed of herself for her role in destroying families.

Anyway, that's my story. Maybe not a happily-ever-after but at least I'm sleeping again.

Thank you to all who reached out, were concerned, or even just vaguely interested in what I was going through. It helped.

Hug your kids. They need you.

"There's Always Gonna Be An Uphill Battle..."

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 11 Apr 2017 21:29:00 +0000

My therapist doesn’t like that I spend so much time alone. She actually gave me homework to only spend a certain amount of time per week going out by myself.

I’ve already failed.

She asked me if I think the reason I choose to spend so much time by myself is because I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. I said.. "well, now I think that."

It makes perfect sense though. Especially lately. I’m having a hard time relating to people that I once considered to be very close friends. I get mad at them for their behavior. I say things out of anger to further distance myself from them. I deleted myself from a group text that I’ve been a part of for years. I don’t make much effort with the friends I do have. I feel like it’s not really worth it. Nothing makes me feel better. So I keep going out alone. And then that makes me feel worse.

You know what I hate the most about bad habits? They are my go-to things when I’m feeling sad, lonely and lost. And then I do them. And they leave me feeling sad, lonely and lost. It’s really not very fair. How come I can’t be addicted to going to the gym? Or reading? Or going to school? Why do my obsessions have to be so incredibly unhealthy? Not just for my physical self, but my mental state also.

I keep telling myself I’m going to get a grip on things before they get too out of hand. I’m going to get my weight under control before I hit the 140s. I’m going to quit smoking before I actually start buying full packs of cigarettes instead of just bumming them off my friends. I’m going to quit gambling before I get to a certain dollar amount in my savings account. I’m going to be home by 2am this time. Okay, maybe 3... but just this one time.

And just like my homework from my therapist, I’ve failed all of these. I feel like I’m officially out of control.

I tell people all the time that if they want to overhaul their life, take it one step at a time. Individual battles are fought before the war is won. Trying to change everything at once can set you up to fail because you need something to hold on to while you are letting go of something else.

I think that’s a lot of enabling bull shit if you ask me.

My therapist recommended I keep standing dates with the people I get along with the most. Hang out, set new date, hang out again. Rinse and repeat. That way, I always have something to look forward to. So, I’ve started to do that with two of my friends. One I’ve known for close to ten years and is probably the person in my life that I get along with the best and relate to the most. And the other I haven’t known as long but, in many ways, feels a little like my soul sister. She’s a whole decade younger than me, but conversations with her flow way easier than with other women my age who have similar situations to mine. Plus, she understands lonely. And I think it’s important for us to make time for each other for that exact reason.

As far as handling my personal shit, I’ve decided to just go ahead and tackle it all at once. It doesn’t make much sense to feel better about one thing if I still feel completely miserable and ashamed of another.

My parents and I booked a trip together to take my son to San Diego to see both the beach as well as the zoo. We are going next month. Just like my friend-dates, it gives me something to look forward to. Something to save for. Something to be excited about. I really hope that by continuing to do things like this, I can pull myself out of the muddiness of my mind. It’s just so damn easy to feel sorry for myself. And to feel lonely. And to get depressed. I’m the person that complete strangers are always saying “Smile!” to because smiling just does not come naturally to me. Being sad is my comfort emotion. And while that’s generally been okay with me, it’s not good enough for my kid. I don’t want him growing up thinking misery is normal. And I definitely don’t want him to grow up to be lonely. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

So, like all the other many times I’ve said and done this before...

Here we go again.

The Road Frequently Traveled... is Still Made of Dirt

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Fri, 17 Mar 2017 06:44:00 +0000

I think I'm a little late to the party on this Chef's Table show on Netflix. It was suggested to me by Netflix itself once I finished my most recent binge-worthy show. I thought, "Well, I like food. Sure I'll watch."

Damn. This shit is no joke.

Basically, if you haven't seen the show, each episode is a beautifully filmed and exquisitely produced documentary of a chef, currently operating in one of the top restaurants in the world. Every episode is literally better than the previous one. And the first one is amazing.

I think what draws me to the show so much is not what most people would think. It's not because I love to play around in the kitchen. See, because that's exactly what I enjoy doing. Playing. That is not at all what is going on with these chefs in their kitchens. Food is their life. It's everything that defines them. They wake up thinking about it. They breathe it every moment of the day. Their relationships suffer. Their health suffers. They struggle with how to live up to the standards their family has set for them. But at the end of the day, they follow their heart and not one of them lives with any regrets for choosing the path they have.

In one particular episode, the chef being displayed was out on a dinner date with his wife. After the movie, she asked him what he thought about it. He distractedly asked, "What?" "What did you think of the film?" she repeated. He sat quiet for a moment and said, "I don't know... I didn't really watch it. I was trying to figure out how you could drink mozzarella."

Nothing in the world makes me more jealous than seeing people who are so passionate about something.

Anything.

I'm drinking too much again. And I'm smoking cigarettes. I'm overeating and gaining weight. I'm not sleeping enough. And I'm gambling way, way too much. I'm withdrawing into my head. I'm cracking jokes about how miserable I am with my friends. But I'm not laughing.

My son's dad's schedule has changed fairly drastically, leaving me with a lot of time on my hands where I'm not required to be directly available or responsible for my son. Boredom has always, always been my biggest enemy. I could, of course, use it to my advantage. I could work on projects at home. I could go to the gym. I could socialize with friends that make me feel good. I could go watch a movie. I could watch more episodes of Chef's Table. But I don't do any of those things. I escape. Into dark corners of dark bars, doing anything I can to quiet the racing thoughts that consume my mind.

I know it's not healthy. I know because I've been down this road before. Many, many times. And like every other time before, I know there is a fork up ahead and I will take the road that leads into better decisions, healthier choices, genuine smiles and smaller jean sizes. I always do. Because at the end of the day, I do know what the right thing to do is. I think that's what sets me apart from others who go down this same dark road but never turn back. I can't afford to leave everything else behind. I've come too far and created too much to give up forever.

But I do give up. For a while, that is. Like now. I've given up right now.

If I had one wish that was guaranteed to be granted, it would be to be given a passion for something in life. Like, I feel like even if that passion caused struggles in my world, if I knew in my heart at the end of the day that what I was doing was the right thing for me... the right thing for my soul... I feel like all the dark times would seem... a lot more tolerable.

I'm well aware that I'm not going to find this passion at a Keno machine. But it's not at the gym either. Or in the kitchen. And as much as I want it to be in motherhood... it's not there either.

The closest I've ever come to doing what feels right for my soul is this silly little blog. Pouring my heart out for anyone that wants to read. Opening myself up to support, to criticism and to heartache. Every time I press that little button that says "Publish" at the end of writing a blog, I feel like I've at least accomplished one thing: being myself.

I'll work on bigger victories. In the meantime, I'll relish in the jealousy of others' passions.

Just a Small Town Girl... Living in a "Guy's Girl" World

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sat, 25 Feb 2017 07:41:00 +0000

I feel like I’ve written a very similar blog to this one. But with almost seven years of blogging under my belt, and certain things never changing, it was bound to come up again.

About a month or so ago, I was talking to a friend at work about how I felt like going out on a date. I hadn’t gone out on a real date in a long time. Nothing serious, just a good time with someone. Hopefully.

I still have an online dating profile because I can’t figure out how to delete it. I've only figured out how to hide it. So I went in, updated it with all my new information from the past three years and clicked "go". Within minutes, I had some interest. Within a few hours, I had to click it off again. Fucking scavengers, I’m telling you! Like they’ve never seen a girl before! Sheesh!!

Anyway, in all the messaging madness, one came through that caught my attention. I was doing all of this on a Sunday and there was playoff football on so he asked me how I was enjoying the games since I had expressed football as a main interest in my profile page. We started communicating back and forth throughout the day and boom! I had a date.

To make kind of a lengthy and somewhat boring story short, we went out on a handful of dates over the next three weeks. We met out. We had dinner. I went to his place. He came to mine. It was fun, it was comfortable, he was nice. But I saw it happening. I tried to ignore it but it was there. And so early on too! And finally, after one way-too-casual comment too many, I dipped out. Because I had been down that road before and already knew how it was going to end.

Only a few weeks in and I had already gotten “buddied”.

Being “buddied” is different than getting put in the Friend Zone. Guys famously know the Friend Zone as a place you end up when a girl really likes hanging out with you, but has absolutely no intention of sleeping with you.

Guys want to sleep with me. But they also want to belch, fart, talk about how good their recent bowel movement felt and pat me on the head as I depart for the evening. I’m a buddy. It’s been my curse my entire dating life.

I love sports. Like.. LOVE them. Besides my kid, sports are the only thing I can say I’ve ever been truly passionate about. I also like beer. A lot. Like, not just drinking it... although of course I like drinking it... but I love learning about it. I love where a particular beer comes from. I like learning about what happened the year it was brewed. I like knowing about the bottling process. I dig brewery tours. I think all of that stuff is really neat.

I like playing games. Not video games, but adult bar games. Darts. Shuffleboard. Bowling. Air Hockey. Pool. Golden Tee. I love these kinds of games. I’m good at them. I have lots and lots of fun playing them.

I also swear. I swear a lot. I probably shouldn’t. My sweet boy’s first full sentence will probably have “fuck” in there somewhere and I feel kinda bad about it. But that’s how I speak. I try hard to be careful. Honestly I do. Truly. Ahem...

So I guess it’s a combination of all these things along with the fact that I can talk fairly educatedly on many subjects that result in not getting treated seriously as a respectable, datable female. I never have. Guys get comfortable around me very quickly. They feel like they’ve "known me forever". They tell me everything. They kiss me like I’m their fucking sister. It’s really, really NOT awesome. I hate it but I can’t shake it because I can’t change myself. Not in that way, at least.

Occasionally, I do come across a different kind of guy. The guy that sees my sexual side. He sees past the “bro” part of me. He doesn’t care about what I’m into. All he cares about is getting me naked and in bed as quickly as possible. And then telling NO ONE. Oh.. that’s a fun one too. Being someone’s secret. Yeah.. that makes me feel wanted and valuable. Nothing sexier than being in someone’s closet.

Ugh.

Dating is so frustrating. It always has been. It’s why I sometimes stay longer than I should in some relationships. Because the only other option (besides just enjoying being single of course) is to go out dating and I think that might actually be the worst thing in the world.

Well, at least I got it out of my system. I mean, unfortunately, dating is a necessary evil if you want to meet someone to potentially spend your life with. But, I think maybe I’ll just enjoy my family, my friends and my baby and hope that The One will fall magically out of the sky like that camera in The Truman Show. And maybe he’ll see and want to be a part of all of my pieces. Not just the easy ones.

Or maybe I’ll just spend the rest of my life doing bottle shares, getting tagged online in funny memes and sharing the random amusing text with all my ex “buddies”. If nothing else, I have been lucky to make some pretty good friends along the way.

If only that were enough...

That's It! We're Going BAAAAACK On The Grid!

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Wed, 01 Feb 2017 10:51:00 +0000

I took a full month off of social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram.

The first week, I was like “This is amazing! I’m never going back online!”

The second week, I was like “Man, I sure do miss posting all these awesome pictures of my food though.”

The third week, I was like “I’m so liberated! I’m deleting all of my profiles!!”

The fourth week, I was like “Hmm... I wonder how (insert multiple names)’s baby is doing. I sure do miss that cutie face.”

It's February 1st. My self imposed social media ban is officially over.

I’ve seen my therapist twice this past month. The first time, I basically just cried the entire 45 minutes. But I did feel better. The second time I saw her, we talked a bit about me being off of social media. She thought, based on how upset things were making me, my choice was a good one.

However, while I was quite convinced for a while there that I was never coming back to Facebook and never going to blog again, I realized that there would be things I would miss out on. So over the last few days, I’ve been thinking about making important changes online that I know will make my online experience more enjoyable.

Most importantly, I have to substantially narrow down my friends list. The political climate has made people literally hate each other. And unfortunately, I am not exempt from feeling this way. Not that I think I really hate anyone on my friends list. But I do realize that I am friends with some pretty close minded people. So, those ones are the first to go.

I’m also friends with some very passionate people. I can totally appreciate this. I’m quite passionate about a lot of things as well. But if I’ve learned one thing about social media, it’s that no one in the history of the Internet has ever changed someone else’s opinion about something with a rant, a meme, a link, etc. No, I will not say “Amen”. No, I will not take a moment to share this to my wall. No I will not tag a bunch of people that I believe may benefit from my particular opinion on a subject. Please stop wasting my time.

I cannot be saved. I will never buy your product. I do not support your home business. I think you are wrong. Plain and simple.

Those are the second ones to go.

Then there are my friends that share my opinions. They also believe Trump is a clown. They also believe God doesn’t exist. They also believe women are strong and equal, or perhaps even better, than men. They stand for LGTBQ rights. They are appalled by all sorts of shaming. They want to raise their children in a better world than the one we are in. They are very, very outspoken about it. Even more than me. I read their posts and links and get worked up, angry, aggressively frustrated. I feel helpless, or worse, that I could be doing more and I’m not. I cry when I see the pictures they post of Syrian refugees or angry Trump protesters. I get mad when I read the latest article they’ve posted about the access pipeline or whatever other outrageous Executive Order was signed today. I am heartbroken when I read about sick babies that won’t get help because prayer is the chosen method of care.

I am so, so tired of being mad. And depressed about the state we are in. I don't need constant, vivid reminders of this misery.

So sadly, these are the third and final ones to go.

Fake news. Slated opinions. Ignorance. Hate. Trolls. Bloody babies. Dead bodies. Trump's stupid fucking face. These are not the reasons I wanted to be a part of social media.

Family. Food. Social events. Cat videos. Babies. Game of Thrones memes. Selfies. Books. Smiles. Relationship statuses. Football. Accomplishments. Success stories. And friends I don’t get to see regularly. These are the reasons I signed up for social media. And these are the things I want to see when I scroll down.

One of my favorite podcasts is The Dan Le Batard Show with Stugotz on ESPN radio. Earlier this week, he was discussing his frustration with how ESPN wants their "employees" to touch on how the current political issues are affecting sports. It's clear without him really saying it that he leans left, loves equality among HUMANS and believes what's happening right now is seriously UN-AMERICAN. And what he said was... when people write to the show and ask him why he "wants to drive away listeners" with his opinions, his beautiful and perfect response is "I don't want to drive away listeners, I just want to drive away you! It's not everybody. Like, there are two kinds of people in the world: people who like our show and people who don't! That's it! We do what we do!"

We do what we do. But we don't all have to like it. Don’t take it personally. I probably still like you. I just don’t want to see or listen to your shit anymore. I’m sure there are many of you out there that feel the same about me. It’s okay. I won’t take it personally either. I mean, I have to change a lot of stuff about what I’m posting too as I have fallen into the above categories many, MANY times. No one has pissed me off more than myself. Believe me.

But this. This is the stuff I want to post. This is what really matters in my life. Everything else will just have to sort itself out without me.

However, quit blogging? Ha.. what was I thinking?

Fuck You, 2016.

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Fri, 30 Dec 2016 08:27:00 +0000

Three years ago I peed myself on Christmas.

I sat at a bar, gambling all the money I’d made that night, and peed myself. Because I was both too drunk and too lazy to get up and go to the bathroom.

Peed. Myself.

These days, I have a glass of wine whilst I watch my latest Netflix addiction. This is, of course, after I’ve spent an hour or so with my son after work. Doing puzzles. Playing on the floor. Maybe just watching him run and laugh around his playroom. And after another half hour or so of putting him to bed. Making sure he’s comfortable. Being sure that he goes to sleep content and without distress. Even if that means pretending to sleep on the floor next to him, with my hand stuck through the bars of the crib, gently rubbing his back as he falls slowly into slumber.

Then, only then, do I have a glass of wine. One. Maybe two if I splurge on a second or third episode. I don’t get drunk anymore. That’s not responsible. That doesn’t fit with my lifestyle. That doesn’t fit with who I want to be for my son. That’s not who I am anymore.

I drink wine in my room. That’s where I watch my shows. My parents barely drink. Special occasions only. And they don’t drink wine. There’s no need to keep it downstairs. It’s a long trip when I’m already knee deep in the craziest Black Mirror yet. So it’s in my room.

Johnny watched Xander in my house. While I was at work. He strangely felt the need to go into my bedroom. He saw the wine. He strangely felt the need to report it to my brother. My brother, who is already looking for a reason to prove he’s doing better than me. At life. At parenthood. At addiction. Whatever. He used it against me. He made me hate him. He made me hate everything.

They say I’m a secret drunk. Lying to myself and others. Accusing me of drunk texting when I’m actually very sober, just super angry. Saying I'm hiding my alcohol it when it’s simply convenient in its current location. Ducking behind my blog because I’m a coward when really, it’s because no one lets me say what I’m feeling. Everyone else, always having to have the loudest voice. My brother's ultimate addiction... the LOUDEST FUCKING VOICE.

About a month ago, before all this mess, I got up from my bed one night... I went into my medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Percocets I had left over from my C-Section. I counted them. 10 total. I went back to bed and googled how many Percocets it would take to die. After fairly thorough research, I concluded that 10 would probably only land me in the hospital. Maybe just give me a terrible, terrible hangover. It would certainly just look like I was simply crying out for help. And that just wouldn’t do.

So I slept on it.

I woke up the next morning with a clearer head. After inquiring, I discovered my recently increased life insurance policy probably wouldn’t kick in for Xander for another year of me being alive. If I did kill myself, he would immediately go to his dad, not stay in the stable, comfortable environment I had sacrificed everything to create for him. Not to mention, I am 50% of my household. I couldn’t just leave without making sure I had things covered financially.

Then, I woke up again.

Am I really thinking about the LOGISTICS of suicide?

That’s when I decided that I needed help. More than drugs. More than alcohol. More than a blog. I needed someone to fucking LISTEN TO ME. Without judgement. Without bias. Without laughing at me when my back is turned. Just. Fucking. LISTEN.

...

So I start seeing a therapist next week. And as of January 1st, I’m laying off social media for a month to clear my head and take my eyes off my phone. Alcohol is simply being saved for cheat days and special occasions because contrary to other opinions, my alcohol consumption is now UNDER FUCKING CONTROL. And as far as the blog I’m “hiding behind” ? There is enough truth in that statement to lay off it as well.

So big deal, you won’t hear from me for a while. I’m finding myself, okay? Or at least I’m trying to be the best person I can be for my son and being angry at so many motherfuckers at one time just doesn’t help my cause. And killing myself is CERTAINLY a waste of time if my baby suffers in any way because of it.

This is arguably my most fucked up resolution blog yet. But it’s still that... a resolution blog. I want to be a better person. I want to be happy again. Like... REAL happy.. not social media happy. I want my son to look up to me, not be ashamed of me. I want to be proud of who I am. I want those around me who are looking for reasons to point and laugh to GO FUCK THEMSELVES. Family is not blood. Family is who cares.

I want to feel good about myself again. I want to wash my face at night and smile when I towel it dry, not look away from the mirror in shame and self-pity.

I want to flush the Percocets.

It needs to be a better year. For me, for you, for all of us. Do me one small favor? Don’t laugh the next time someone does something you find strange or even silly. You’ve read the meme... everyone is fighting their own battle. So be kind. BE. KIND.

Don’t be one of the reasons they lost the battle.

Happy Fucking New Year.

I'm Not Mad... I'm Just Disappointed.

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sat, 12 Nov 2016 20:53:00 +0000

Wasn’t that just the worst? When you were young and you got in trouble for something. Your parents sat you down and you were waiting for it... the yelling, the screaming, the punishment. But then, with tears in their eyes, they simply say “We aren’t mad at you. We are just disappointed.”

That’s what I’m going through right now. I’m just disappointed.

On a global level, I’m absolutely disappointed that our new President is going to be Donald Trump. I’m disappointed that I have loved ones that voted for him. I’m disappointed that the popular vote was even as close as it was. I’m disappointed that so many people didn’t even vote. I’m disappointed in the system.

I’m disappointed that the same people who thought their lives were ending eight years ago are now telling me not to worry. As if their feelings of oppression meant more than mine do. I’m disappointed that so many women I know celebrate his victory. It brings me to tears to think about it.

On a more personal level, I’m disappointed in people. I’m disappointed that my feelings aren’t taken into consideration. Like, ever. By anyone. I’m disappointed that someone I crushed on loved the attention so much, they failed to mention their pregnant wife in our many interactions. I’m disappointed that the sex I do get on occasion is from someone acting out their frustrations with their own fucked up ex. I’m disappointed that I have to beg for shifts at a job I’ve been at for five years. I’m disappointed that I have to beg for a hundred dollars a month from Xander’s dad to cover his expenses. I’m disappointed that I even need it.

I’m disappointed that I could be actively involved in my brother’s life or not involved at all and he wouldn’t care. Not one fucking bit. In fact, he wouldn’t even notice either way. I’m disappointed that I’m too proud to make nice with his selfish wife so that we can try to enjoy the holidays with the whole family. I’m disappointed in the way our family talks to each other. As if we are expendable. As if we could easily be replaced if necessary.

And on the most personal level, I’m disappointed with myself. I’m disappointed that I don’t let things go. I’m disappointed that I can’t just accept that some people are having a bad day, so it’s okay for them to treat me like I’m insignificant. I’m disappointed that I have also treated others poorly because of my own stress and issues. I’m disappointed that I’m expected to just take shit from people because “that’s life” and that standing by my convictions is interpreted as me being stubborn and relentless. And that I should take both of those words as insults. I’m disappointed that the only time people really notice me is when I spout something controversial on social media. I’m disappointed that I’m forgettable.

It’s just been... a very difficult week. Even if he doesn’t manage to nuke another country, force all women to wear bikinis to work or reinstate slavery and concentration camps, just the fact that we elected a reality TV star to the highest office in the country just proves how backwards we are as a society. I know it’s not the end of the world and I’m really not mad at the situation we currently find ourselves in.

I’m just... disappointed.

Just Keep Swimming...

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 11 Oct 2016 07:07:00 +0000

I sucked at life last week.

Truthfully, I had been setting myself up to have a bad week for a while now. For the last month or so, I’ve been progressively making decisions that weren’t... shall we say... goal-oriented. I’ve just been doing some stupid shit. And I feel pretty crappy about it.

I’ve been focusing my sexual energy on men who are emotionally detached or unavailable. Or both. So now I’m lonely. I’ve been focusing my financial energy on those damn little keno balls. So now I’m broke. And I’ve been focusing my physical energy on stretching my days as long as possible but not taking the time to nourish my body or my mind. So now I’m sick.

I can recover from all these things. I’ve done it before. It just takes grounding myself again. And nothing like a good old case of Shingles to ground yourself.

I mean, seriously? Shingles?

As frustrating as it’s been to deal with, it’s really not all that surprising that I got it. I mean, Shingles is basically a physical manifestation of stress. And while I don’t always feel like my life is stressful, when I take a step back and look at everything I’m juggling and how I choose to handle all of it, it totally makes sense.

I finally had a little breakdown this past weekend. My son is going through a less than desirable whiney stage and we had spent a long and challenging morning together. My parents had been out doing their usual Saturday morning routine and when they got home, I left him with my mom for a minute, went upstairs, sat on my bed and cried tears of exhaustion and frustration. I really felt like I hadn’t nailed the whole mom-thing that day. Or the last few days, really. I felt bad that I was so irritated by his crying. I just really, really needed a break.

It’s times like these that I am so grateful that I’m not completely alone in raising my son and that my parents are there to help pick me up. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for all those women (and men) out there who are truly doing it all by themselves. Because parenting is hard. Like, really hard.

Anyway, crying it out helped. And going to work that night helped too. I worked a shift alongside one of my closest friends and talked it all out. I felt better about myself and knew that not only was it time for an energy shift, but I knew I could do it.

Sunday I relaxed. I watched football. I hung out with my dad. Johnny came and took Xander for a few hours so I napped (for the love of everything good..I fucking napped). I hung out with my mom. I ate good food. I drank some tea. I watched Westworld.

I recharged. Both my brain and my body.

So today, I woke up ready to mom the SHIT out of this day. I got up early and cleaned my room and the nursery. I did a bunch of laundry. I made food for Xander. I took him for a walk around the park. I helped my mom with our Halloween decorations for the house. Then I went to work and rocked out a banquet. And after I post this, I’m going to go to bed instead of staying up too late watching Netflix.

You know, grown up shit.

It’s very easy to get lost in my head. Instead of being thankful for all the things I have, I start to get frustrated with the things I don’t like about my life. I start to worry about things that haven’t even happened yet. And I start to feel resentful that others have it easier than me. But that’s no way to live. I have to remember that I can’t count on others to ensure my happiness. Only I can control how I handle life’s little challenges.

So, back at it. Falling down, breaking down, being down... all of these things are normal. As long as I’m not staying down, I’m winning.

I was finishing up the banquet paperwork tonight at work when, out of nowhere, one of the bussers that was cleaning a table near me looked up and said, “Tina, I wish there were more women like you in the world.” I looked back at him, but he had already started walking back to the kitchen. And once again, I started to cry.

But those tears... those are the kind of tears I’m okay with.

Celebrating My Soulmate

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sat, 24 Sep 2016 21:43:00 +0000

My sweet boy is one tomorrow.

Everyone asks me, “It went by so quickly, didn’t it?” And while the answer is yes, I also feel like so much has happened in his first year of life. I’m actually relieved we made it to this milestone mostly unscathed.

I was talking about my hospital stay with a friend of mine the other day. It was awesome. I delivered at Mountainview Hospital. It wasn’t a busy birthing time and I was lucky enough to get the largest suite on the floor. The room even lived up to the hospital’s namesake and I enjoyed beautiful views of the mountains off in the distance. Because I ended up having an emergency c-section, I got to stay one more day than originally planned. My mom kept saying how it will be so nice once I was able to go home but I was in no hurry. Not only was every nurse that came into my room nicer than the one before (and the first one was amazing!), but it was pretty wonderful being waited on hand and foot for three days. Yes, there was a tiny human sharing a room with me and scaring me to death throughout the process, but my mom was with me almost the entire time and when she wasn’t there, I had Johnny to be frightened with.

But the best time of all was my final night. My mom had gone home to get some sleep and Johnny was at work. The television was on in my dark room but only to provide a soothing dim light and hum while Xander and I nursed and spent some quiet time together. Of course I had no idea at that time the tumultuous year we had ahead with Johnny and I breaking up, me giving up my lifestyle of drinking and smoking and ultimately moving in with my parents, the tears, the struggles, the stress and the fights. In that moment, I remember just looking down at his little face and thinking, “Okay. Now it’s you. Now it’s all about you.”

So last week after my brother, who stormed out of my son’s birthday party because I politely asked him to control his misbehaving son, sent me a text calling me spoiled and encouraged me to start putting my son before myself, I felt heartbroken. Spoiled? Really? And putting myself first? That’s actually almost laughable... but I didn’t laugh.

Call me narcissistic, sure. A loudmouth? Absolutely. Self-righteous? That goes without saying. But how could anyone who has spent ANY time with me in the last year imply that my first thought when making any and ALL decisions hasn’t been what is best for my son.

I liked drinking. I liked smoking. Cigarettes AND weed. I liked staying out all night. I liked having no one to answer to. I liked living independently. I liked my life. It may have been slowly killing me, but I didn’t care. I LIKED IT. And if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I can guarantee you, I wouldn’t have changed anything about the way I was living.

THAT was being spoiled. THAT was putting myself before anything and everyone else. I may get into Mama Bear mode now and then these days, but I was a straight up asshole before my son was born. And I didn’t give ANY fucks about it.

So, yeah, it sucked to hear my brother thinks that about me now. It either shows that I have a long way to go to be the kind of mother I want to be... or that he doesn’t know me at all.

Even though I stopped nursing Xander at nine months, I still hold him while he has his last bottle of the day. We sit together on the chair in his nursery, in the dark, with nothing but the white noise from the fan to soothe us. It always reminds me of that night in the hospital, our first time alone together. I like to think that he remembers it too.

We have lots of love and support in our lives and for that, we are extremely lucky. But there is also something special that he and I have. A “Me and Xander Against the World” kind of feeling. I hope he always knows my intentions and that my new life is being truly, deeply and 100% committed to his.

Happy 1st birthday, beautiful boy. This is not the first time I’ve said it and it will most certainly not be the last...

Thank you for saving my life.

A Recipe of Mixed Emotions Bakes a Random Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sun, 11 Sep 2016 09:33:00 +0000

“Nobody talks anymore. And so we’ve all become a bunch of unopened love letters.”

- Erin Van Vuren

Via text:

“I’m not sure when it happened, but it was fairly recent... I found myself thinking about you. More so than just wondering how you were doing or thinking of something funny to text you. You were just there, on my mind, day in and day out and I couldn’t shake it. I know it’s not appropriate for many reasons and I would never act on anything because of both your personal relationship and our [friendship]. I respect both very much. And honestly, I kind of wish I’d stop thinking about you because it DOES prevent me from pursuing other options. So I just wait for this all to pass, but not knowing how that works exactly.”

That’s the closest to a love letter I’ve written in a very long time. I wasn't sure I should’ve written it at all, let alone actually SEND it. But I did both.

It’s been so long since I’ve had a genuine “crush” on someone. Something beyond just a sexual attraction. This is the kind where you get excited to see the other person. You wonder what is going on in their lives and what made them laugh that day. You seek opportunities to cross paths and start conversations just to have some sort of interaction. You wait until they aren’t home and take a bath in their bathtub..

Oh wait.. not that last part. That was from Orange is the New Black..

Everything else though. And it’s nice to feel that way. I have been so wrapped up in my own bullshit for so many years that I never really took the time to have a true, real crush on another person. And while, in this particular case, it will never become more than that, I’m still enjoying feeling the butterflies, fleeting as they may be. Good, well-intentioned crushes are good for the soul, I think.

* * *

Fifteen years ago today, people said their last words to thousands of loved ones without knowing it. It never gets easier when this day comes. Whether it's the specials on television, the touching statuses and pictures on social media or just the memories of where I was that day, it’s always difficult. Because it’s not just the act itself that was so destructive. The aftermath of sadness, frustration, hate and retaliation has been absolutely heartbreaking. We were united as a country for such a short period of time. Now, racism and social injustice are more rampant than ever. A country divided, that’s what we are. And I don’t know how we are going to fix it.

Mother Theresa said that if you want to change the world, go home and love your family. Sadly, it doesn’t mean that bad things aren’t going to happen. But I need the people most important to me to know the difference they make in my life. I need my parents to know how much I love and respect them. I need my brother to know that I understand how hard life can be. I need my son to know that every decision I’ve made since finding out he was going to be mine has been with only his best interests at heart.

And I need my crush to know that he’s... well... my crush. Because everyone deserves to feel good about who they are to someone else. Even if it never has a chance to go any further than that.

I hold so much negativity about choices I’ve made in my life. I get frustrated when I think about all the people I let in that I shouldn’t have and all the other ones that I let walk away without them knowing how much they meant to me. So as I continue working on being the best person I can be, this is another area in which I hope to improve.

This is not a day to be happy. And even though I plan on spending it with my favorite people (my family) doing my favorite thing (watching football), I still have a heavy heart. The world may never, ever be good again. We may never figure out how to live happily as a society. Our next president may just be the worst and scariest one we’ve had. And Colin Kaepernick may never stand for the National Anthem again...

But I kissed my son. I hugged my friends. I loved my family. And I sent that text. I feel like Mother Theresa would be proud.

I know it sounds a bit cliche... but if you are reading this, maybe you will tell someone today what they mean to you. Or just that you are thinking about them. It doesn’t take much but it could mean everything. Not just for their happiness... but for yours as well. Who knows? Maybe you'll choose to reveal your crush too.

I'd probably go ahead and skip the creepy bath thing though...

"I am the Master of My Fate; I am the Captain of My Soul.... "

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 30 Aug 2016 04:51:00 +0000

Existentialism - a philosophical theory or approach

that emphasizes the existence of the individual person as a free

and responsible agent determining

their own development through acts of the will.

Today marks six months of sobriety for me. I decided to do something very important to celebrate.

I got dressed up and went out by myself.

I picked a nice location not too far from the house.

I went inside, grabbed a seat at the bar, held my head up and...

I ordered a glass of wine.

And then, I drank it.

Yep, you read that right. After six months of not drinking, I no longer have a “sobriety date.” And it feels amazing and liberating.

My life is so, so different these days. I never thought I’d be a mom. I never thought I’d be spending my evenings making baby food and washing diapers. I never thought that the few hours I get after my son goes to sleep would be dedicated to a quick workout at the gym or squeezing in an episode or two of whatever TV show I’m currently into.

And until just very, very recently, I never thought I could have a healthy relationship with alcohol again.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not planning on having another drink anytime soon. I have no desire to nor do I wish to put my body and mind through all of that again. But sitting down tonight and slowly sipping that glass of wine meant a lot to me.

See, I didn’t fit well with a 12 step program... because even though I was absolutely accepted for not believing in a god, I was still told that I needed to look to a “higher power” for strength. My “higher power” needed to be something outside of myself. Many Atheists considered the group itself to be their source of strength. One man said I could use my son. But while my son was definitely my motivation to quit drinking and straighten up, he didn’t pull the bottle out of my hand.

I did. I quit drinking. I decided I was better than the person I was being. I chose to remove myself from an unhealthy relationship and create a new life with my parents and son. The choices I made got me into trouble just like they got me right back out of it. I knew I was fucking up and said nope, that’s not the person I want to be.

I want to be the kind of person who has control of their life. I am not a victim of my circumstances. Nothing has power over me and my own free will.

I am a strong, competent and intelligent woman. I answer to one person and she looks at me with my eyes every night through my reflection. No one expects more from me than her and no one believes in me more than she does.

I’ve never felt so comfortable in my own skin. I’ve never been so confident in what I have to offer and the kind of person I can be to my friends, my family and my son. I’ve never felt more important and more worthy of love and respect.

I did that.

I asked my mom if it was okay for this to be the last month that we celebrated by using flowers. Of course she understood and was happy, as always, to support me in my decision. I will always keep these flowers as a reminder of who I was and who I've chosen to become.

I’ll never be done growing. I’ll always learn more and more about who I am and I look forward to the process. My son teaches me every day how important it is to be patient, to be kind, to be stern and to be loving.

I will make mistakes and I will have regrets. I will never be the person that gets a tattoo saying the opposite. In fact, I regret most of my tattoos... but I will move forward, knowing that the person I am today is because of every choice I’ve ever made. Good or bad, I will always cherish that.

I imagine there will be some judgment as a result of this blog. It’s cool. I can handle it. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. I respect that everyone is fighting their own battle and that they may not understand the weapon a person chooses. But at the end of the day, I know I’m winning the war I’ve waged.

I am not a drunk. I am not defined by a sobriety date. I am not “in recovery”. I do not have a “disease”. I am just a person who doesn’t want to drink. And I’m tired of talking about it.

Thank you, as always, to those who support, those who hate and those who just observe. I learn from all of you and, in my life, knowledge truly is power.

I am the master of my fate;

I am the captain of my soul.

- William E. Henley, Invictus

Even My Ego Has Sobered Up

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Mon, 01 Aug 2016 04:48:00 +0000

A friend of mine had her baby right around the time I had Xander. It was also her first, also kind of unexpected and also frightening for her. We had a lot of good, relatable conversations during our pregnancies. It was nice to be able to connect to someone going through the same emotions I was.

A couple of months ago, she sent me an email to touch base and see how things were. I explained that while my baby was doing well, I was incredibly stressed and sad because my relationship had failed, he had chosen his addiction and lifestyle over us and that I was moving out. I told her I was confident that we would be able to co-parent pretty well as the love for his son was never in question, he just wasn’t able to make the decision to be sober with me and I knew I could never make it work if he kept drinking. I was heartbroken and worried that my son would resent me for not staying and trying to make it work. But I knew that I wasn’t in love anymore and that it was more important for Xander to be around a positive and sober influence and that hopefully one day he would understand that my choice was because my love for him ran so deep and true.

She then opened up to me about struggles she was having with her own relationship. However, she was unable to go into detail for fear that he would read her messages. She said that she wasn’t sure they would be able to make it work either. But she was also sad and distraught because she said what kind of man would want to be with her now that she had a child to take care of?

That thought has crossed my mind. However, she is much younger than I am so I can see how it would be more of a concern for her than maybe it is for me. For one thing, anyone around my age that is also in the dating pool (not that I plan on swimming anytime soon) is probably either a parent themselves or at least has experience dating someone with a child or children.

My first table last night was four guys around my age, all pretty good looking and having a typical “Vegas” time. They joked, flirted and I was happy to have the attention. When one of them asked me if I was married or had a boyfriend, it was strange to say no. I immediately became self-conscious and followed it up with “Guess that means I’m crazy, huh?” and laughed it off. The least drunk of the four asked for my “story” and for some reason, I told it. The Reader’s Digest version, of course. I showed them pictures of my son. They were all very sweet and wished me luck with him. They left me a very generous tip but the flirting ended pretty quickly. Well, except for the drunkest of the four which basically just asked me to have sex with him. It is still Vegas, after all.

This is about the right time after a breakup where, in the past, I would have been starving for male attention and hitting up bars, online dating sites or past flirts and begging for validation that I was still attractive, still desirable and still worthy of at least a one-night stand. I would be ready to jump into another superficial relationship built on drunken conversation and narcissism. Anything to get away from the voice inside my head reminding me of how alone I was.

Of course, things are different now.

I definitely think about what a future relationship would look like for me. I don’t drink because I can’t handle my shit. I live with my parents very happily and willingly. I lost my sex drive a couple of years ago and still haven’t managed to find it. And then the fact that any man who comes into my world from now on will, at best, be the second most important man in my life. Forever.

It is kind of distressing. I can see why my friend would be worried about it.

I started to write “no one wants to be alone” just now... But that’s actually not true. I have met many women - and men - that find alone to just be easier. Simpler. Yes, coupling certainly has its perks, but believe me, so does the single life.

The refreshing part of all this is that I know whatever decisions I make with men from this point on will be made with a sober mind, which I can honestly say hasn’t happened since I started drinking when I was 20. That’s a pretty big deal. And I’m not nearly as hungry for attention as I thought I’d be. Maybe it’s because I get plenty of attention from the only man that really counts.

A friend at work told me once that she wasn’t able to find the perfect man so instead, she created him. I feel this way sometimes. But I think we all know that the spot a son takes in one’s heart still has a few voids that only a partner can fill.

I used to think any man I chose to be with would be lucky to have me. Which would then leave me angry and bitter when they decided they didn’t want me enough to change who they were when things got tough. I mean, the nerve! Didn’t they know who I was?? Ha.. Now I know better. The man that comes into my life now and loves me for my imperfections, my struggles, my son, my family and, most importantly, my truths... boy, will I be the lucky one to have THAT man.

Funny how I always thought drinking made me more confident when, in fact, it just gave my ego the munchies. Now I know how to feed myself and it feels pretty remarkable.

No shame in my work game though... if a couple of guys from out of town want to flirt with me and then throw down a 35% tip, I’m not gonna argue. Organic baby food isn’t cheap.

Plagiarism is the New Black

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Fri, 22 Jul 2016 03:11:00 +0000

My mom has always been a big card giver. I probably have an entire moving box full of cards somewhere in storage that she has sent me throughout the years. A very large percentage of these cards were sent to me when I moved to Los Angeles to go to school.

Her cards were funny... there was usually very little written inside of them. A lone smiley face most of the time. However, she always wrote on the envelope. A sweet little IMU right where it was sealed. Other times, she would write me a little something, but it would be on a post-it note inside of the card. She said that way I could reuse it if I wanted. And she also didn’t want to mess up the card itself if what she wanted to say didn’t come out right the first time.

Mostly, though, she said she really didn’t know what to say. She liked cards because she could find one that said exactly what she was thinking and she was always able to find the perfect one for any occasion.

But really, her handwritten IMU on the outside of that envelope was all I ever needed.

There is a Facebook page that I follow called Word Porn. It is full of quotes and sayings that sometimes make me happy, sometimes make me sad... but mostly, they make me reflect. I can relate to so many. The words come right from my head, before I realize I'm even thinking them. I started saving the ones that meant the most so I could read them later and maybe find writing inspiration. Instead, I thought I’d just post them here.. the ones that really mean something to me right now as I continue moving through this transitional phase of my life.

Sober. Single. Mom. Three things I did NOT plan on being at 36 years old. I used to be a pretty big planner. Now, I do my best to keep my shit together just long enough so that I can relax in bed at the end of the day and watch an episode or two of whatever random show takes my mind off of everything else. Things aren’t bad... they just aren’t... what I expected.

Expectations. I guess having them is really where I make all my mistakes. Expecting people to be a certain way. Expecting my life to be a certain way. Expecting events to turn out a certain way. All that seems to result in is constant disappointment.

As always, I’m trying to live in the moment. I’m trying to look past the world and its sadness, its problems, its despair. I’m trying to look at what’s right in front of me and enjoy it. I’m fighting every day to be the person my family needs, not the self-destructive person that chooses to be numb as a way to make life easier to live.

Life wasn’t ever supposed to be easy. I want it to be... but that’s just not its design. However, there are some things I can count on... my mom and dad, my natural instincts, and the knowledge that a decaf coffee is truly decaf if the cafe serves it luke warm. Those constants help me wade through all the bullshit of one day and wake up to face the next.

So I get online, I read these quotes and it tells me I’m not the only one feeling this way. Which is why I started blogging to begin with, so people might find things I say relatable and it might help them connect with their own struggles.

And in those times when I can’t find the words, at least someone else has found them for me.

"I Love Lamp."

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Wed, 22 Jun 2016 07:30:00 +0000

I bought a lamp the other day. It wasn’t given to me, I didn’t get it at a garage sale and I didn’t buy it simply because I got a good deal on it. I didn’t even really need it. But I saw it. I wanted it. I bought it. It’s MY lamp.

I took a break from unpacking the other night and looked around my new room. It’s big. I got the master bedroom. In our new 2,000 square foot house, the master bedroom is almost like a small studio apartment. At least that’s what it feels like to me. Especially since I’ve been sharing a bedroom with my eight and a half month old for the past few months.

My new room fits my king size bed, my two bookshelves, a DVD holder, a small computer desk and chair, my bistro set with four stools and a bedside table. Even with all the furniture, there is a nice open area where Xander can sit and play. The walk in closet is even bigger than my last one and I feel extra spoiled with the huge bathroom. Actually, a little guilty is what I feel for not insisting that my roommates take the master. After all, they’ve been married for almost 40 years.

I was talking to one of my co-workers a few weeks ago. She asked me how things were going at home. I explained that I had officially separated from Johnny and that my parents and I had gotten a new house together and were going to combine our resources to take some financial pressure off of both households. She had made a comment that while she doesn’t make a lot of money, she always made sure she had enough so that she would never have to move back in with her mom.

I wasn't offended or embarrassed. But I get it.

No matter how I present the information (it’s seriously a roommate situation with bills split and everything), I still “live with my parents”. And while it is definitely an ideal environment, especially having additional help with my little guy, it comes with it’s own set of challenges. The most significant one for me being a feeling of lost independence. It’s hard not to have my own place. In two weeks, I’ll be turning 36 years old and the judge-y little voice that lives inside my head is disappointed that I have not done more to provide my son with everything he needs without having to rely on anyone else. But then, I’ve never lived that kind of life. Just getting by is kind of my thing.

I know I need to get over it. My parents are amazing. They are great with Xander and have always been supportive of me, even when I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing with my life. In fact, I’m not sure I could’ve made them take the master bedroom. My mom knows me pretty well and knows I need my space and as much independence as I can get. However, I think even she was a little confused by my excitement over my new lamp.

You see, my bed was something I purchased with Johnny. My bookshelves I purchased in Long Beach with my ex. The desk, another ex. In fact, the majority of my furniture reminds me of past relationships. Even a lot of my pictures that I hang carry with them memories of the past. And while I have mostly made amends with my history, a lot of these things remind me of good times turned sour.

It is, of course, ridiculous to think of getting rid of these things simply because they make me sad. But I was anxious to add something new. Something that would represent a fresh start. Something that could help me hold on to my sense of independence, even if I don’t entirely have it anymore. Something that has only been mine.

And it’s this. This silly, simple and understated lamp.

My son is happy with his surroundings. He sleeps well, he seems very comfortable and it makes me feel really good that he has a loving family to grow up around. For these reasons, I know I am doing the best thing for him. This soothes my judge-y voice... even if just temporarily.

Still dealing with lots of shit as breakups are certainly harder when there is a baby involved. They are even more difficult when dealing with an adult who isn’t very good at adulting. While we will always be in each other's lives, I’ll definitely be thrilled to be on the other side of this initial drama.

In the meantime, I’m adjusting to my new surroundings, working as much as I can, watching a lot of Netflix and now, enjoying my before-bedtime-read even more. I still struggle to find happiness in every day life, but even I can see that things are certainly looking brighter.

Pun intended.

A Time to Give, A Time to Take

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sun, 29 May 2016 08:06:00 +0000

I’m celebrating 90 days of sobriety today. For some reason it feels like a much bigger accomplishment than 60 days. I’m not sure why.. maybe because 90 days might actually be the longest I’ve ever gone without alcohol since I first started drinking. Even when pregnant, I did have the occasional glass of wine... convincing myself it was “good for the baby”. But these days, I’m not even cooking with wine. My how the times have changed.

I won’t be celebrating my accomplishment with my twelve-step program, however. I’ve decided to continue my journey on my own. Well, not on my own, exactly. I still have tremendous support from my friends and family. And, of course, this little face is my biggest cheerleader, even if he doesn’t know it.

I’m not saying I’ll never return to meetings. I can definitely say they are beneficial and I certainly appreciated the additional support while I was getting the ball rolling. However, there are some things about the meetings that I’m just not incredibly keen on. And believe it or not, it’s not the religious aspect. That’s easy to look over. I mean, shit, I scroll pass tons of “pray for this” and “amen to that” posts on Facebook every single day.

A woman at one of my meetings shared a pretty humorous story one night. She talked about being out with friends and when the waiter brought over the Rusty Nail someone had ordered, the woman knew immediately that the drink was prepared incorrectly. It was missing Drambuie. She could tell just by looking at it. She then went on to talk about how she used to finish everyone’s drinks at the bar, incredulous that someone would actually leave alcohol in a glass. It was a funny story. Also sad, and very real to alcoholism. It was memorable and a good share.

Two weeks later, at the same meeting, that woman had an opportunity to share again. Without missing a beat, she told the same exact story. Word for word, with the same inflections in her voice, the same pauses for laughter. I subtly glanced around to see if anyone else was visibly reacting the way I think I was. No... still engaged. Still laughing. Did it only bother me?

In the other meeting I attended regularly, everyone shares every time. One man in particular has been a part of the program for over 20 years. He got sober very young, before he was even legally able to drink. After he shares, he always finishes with the same proclamation: that his life just keeps getting better and better. I remember thinking, when I first started going to this meeting, about how awesome things must be for him. He must have such a wonderful life. Through more shares, I found out that he’s been married and divorced multiple times, he’s lost a child to drug addiction and has another that is currently addicted to heroin. But his life just keeps getting better? I don’t understand...

The sponsor thing has always been a bit of a hot button for me as well. I was told by someone recently that her sponsor was upset that she wasn't being in service enough. She wasn’t attending enough meetings, offering up herself as a sponsor and, in general, giving enough back to the program. You know what that reminded me of? Church. One of the reasons I stopped attending church was because I was always being asked to “be in service” which I never really liked doing. Okay, maybe that makes me a bad person. A “taker” instead of a “giver”. But are you saying I don’t deserve the benefits of either organization because of it? I mean, there are countless people who can’t wait to donate their time. Is it so bad that I’m not one of them? After all, I thought the only real requirement to be a part of the program was simply a desire to stop drinking. Am I to understand that the longer I attend, the more likely it is that it won’t be enough?

Like I said, I’m not saying I’ll never attend again. There are things I really, really like about going. I love the support, the camaraderie. I love the sharing, as long as it’s genuine and not scripted or practiced. I love the fact that people have chosen a different path in order to better their lives. I love being a part of that. But I don’t want to sponsor someone. I don’t want a sponsor myself. I don’t want to sit on a committee. I don’t want to show up early to hug everyone as they walk in. And I don’t want to attend a meeting every single day, or multiple times a day.

I just don’t want to drink. That’s it.

There is one lady that I met who checks in with me from time to time via text. I guess she’s the closest thing I’ll probably ever have to a sponsor. I hadn’t been to a meeting for a couple of weeks and got a text from her asking if I was staying sober. She was concerned that by missing meetings, I had a higher chance of relapsing, which I’m sure is common and therefore, a genuine concern. I explained that I had surrounded myself with friends and family that were supportive of my goals and that I was focusing on my move and getting the next chapter of my life underway. I also promised that if I felt the urge to drink, if the pull became very strong, I would definitely go to a meeting. And I meant it.

But here I sit, after packing more boxes for my quickly approaching move, and I’m looking around the room with sadness. I’m getting ready to move me and my son out of the house I brought him home to. Not really “taking him away” from his dad, but taking him to a different home where he won’t be with him every day. While I’m not exactly going to be a single parent, since I know Johnny will still be incredibly active in Xander’s life, we will be co-parents, not a cohesive family unit. We will share decisions, but not each other’s lives. I will live my life and he will live his. And I know it’s the right thing to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s the way I wanted things to work out. It’s not how I pictured things. And it makes me sad, it makes me lonely, it makes me frustrated. However, it does not make me want to drink.

So, meetings or no meetings, here I am. 90 days sober. I’m waiting for my life to start getting better but as long as I stay the course, I can’t see it getting worse. I don’t miss the drink, I really don’t. But I do miss smiling and the meetings have not brought that back into my life. I hope maybe I can find that somewhere else down the road. Luckily, my sweet boy does plenty of smiling for both of us right now.

I will still celebrate today. It’s still an important milestone. And I don’t ever want to discourage anyone from doing whatever they think they need to do to move past their addictions. Meetings, therapy, exercise, meditation, family, whatever. Everyone’s journey looks different. It’s the end result that is the most important. My new life is more important than my vice. I don’t know if that means it’ll get "better and better"... but it is more important.

And knowing that makes all the difference.

The Older I Get, The More I Like The Merry-Go-Round

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Fri, 13 May 2016 05:52:00 +0000

Today was a pretty productive day.

Xander actually slept in this morning and since he is my alarm clock, I got to sleep in as well. Unfortunately, it made us late for breakfast plans with friends but luckily, my friends are awesome and waited for us.

After breakfast, I dropped baby off at home with his dad for a nap and went and got my oil changed. Then, I squeezed in a pedicure and some frozen yogurt. I got groceries and gas and headed home.

I made lactation cookies and threw together some pasta for dinner. I made baby food for the next few weeks. I did dishes. I prepared dinner for Xander and fed him. He did some house laps in the walker. Afterwards, I loaded him up in the carrier and we took my dog for a walk. We stopped by my parents’ house and visited for a few minutes.

We got home and I gave him a bath. We sat on the floor in the living room and played with some toys and sang some songs. Then we went in the bedroom, I nursed him and put him in his rocker and he peacefully went to sleep.

We had a really nice day.

I’ll tell you what I didn’t do today. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t wake up with an anxious mind and stomach. I didn’t stress about my next step in life and I didn’t worry about what I was actively doing to expedite said step.

I just... lived my life.

Now, unfortunately, there is a lot of work to do that can’t go ignored.

My parents and I have decided to pool our resources, move out of our small and pricey homes and move into a larger, more accommodating home together. For so many reasons, I am excited about this decision.

I’ve lived with my parents a few times throughout my adult life, but in the past, it’s because I was sucking at the whole adulting thing and needed help. Now, we are both making a conscious decision to share space, picking a house together and setting up a new life where we can all be a little more comfortable and more available to support each other’s goals.

Sounds great, right?

Well, between dealing with flaky realtors, ridiculous application fees, credit challenges, high deposits, houses renting before we can even get call backs, crazy work schedules, family troubles, continued relationship stress, more credit issues, thousand dollar vehicle repairs and finally, a clogged milk duct (which, thankfully, did not turn into mastitis), my parents and I can’t seem to catch a break.

It’s enough to drive a person to drink!

(Too soon?)

We are handling it all, of course. I mean, what option do we have? Run away and just hide from everything? Ha!

(We totally considered that.)

I like to think that all of these challenges are just so when things do start going our way, we can appreciate them more. But really, I think it’s just Life being a super dick and my best bet is to try and not lose my shit before something positive finally fucking happens.

So besides the occasional wave of loneliness, I really enjoyed my nice day today. Thank goodness for my baby as he definitely keeps me grounded and sane. I smiled when he tried peaches for the first time, I felt success as we nailed a back carry and I laughed out loud as he tooled around the house in his little bare feet. For me, it’s good to have something as important as him to care about so that I don’t spiral too much into the land of negative thoughts.

And now I’m off to bed. I'd like to wake up to some good news tomorrow although these days I’m prepared for anything. What’s that saying that keeps popping up? "I never said it was going to be easy. I said it was going to be worth it." Here’s hoping there’s some truth to that.

Because I'm a little over this roller coaster.

"You Must Have Chaos Within You, To Give Birth To A Star"

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Wed, 06 Apr 2016 02:24:00 +0000

There is a scene in the movie Watchmen that keeps coming up for me as I go through a pretty turbulent time in my life.

Spoiler alert.

Dr. Manhattan has left Earth and is establishing a life on Mars. He no longer cares what happens to humans because their recent behavior has shown him that their lives don’t matter to him anymore. The new Silk Spectre (Laurie Jupiter), Dr. Manhattan’s ex-girlfriend, is trying to convince him otherwise. He tells her she doesn’t understand and she asks him to show her.

The original Silk Spectre, Laurie’s mom Sally, had an altercation years prior with another vigilante called The Comedian. After a photo shoot, The Comedian follows Sally into the room where she is changing and attempts to rape her. She fights him off and then others hear the scuffle and come in to help her. Years later, she ends up sleeping with The Comedian after all. Let’s just say that their relationship is... complicated.

Through this discovery, Dr. Manhattan shows Laurie that her father is The Comedian. A man she has grown and been taught to hate. She falls to her knees and sobs. It is this, and only this, that gives Dr. Manhattan his epiphany.

My life is a little chaotic right now. Johnny and I have decided to separate and I’ve asked him to move out. He is handling his struggles the way he always has - with alcohol - and it is making an already difficult situation even more stressful. Especially as I continue on with my sobriety.

So many of my relationships have begun or been maintained through the fog of alcohol. I could look back and have so many regrets. I mean.. I DEFINITELY have some regrets... but when I look into the eyes of my sweet boy, I know that even though it hurts me to see another relationship end, the two of us needed to come together at this time in both our lives to create this perfect little person. And it's impossible to have regrets when I look at this.

Of course I wish the perfect little family was there as well. But it’s not. So it’s my responsibility to make sure my baby never wishes things were different. I hope that Johnny will come around and be the dad I’ve seen before and know he can still be. But I can only control my actions so that’s what I’m focused on. And since I’m making these important decisions with sound body and mind and not after another week-long bender that ends in heartache and tears, I feel more confident that I’m finally making moves in the right direction.

I’m pretty frustrated that life has to suck so much sometimes. But like attracts like and I’ve done my fair share of making irresponsible and chaotic decisions, leading to erratic and stressful situations. I’m hoping that my new choices will help bring positivity and happiness to me and my son. He deserves it. We deserve it.

I deserve it.

I'll Get The Non-Alcoholic Drama Please

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 29 Mar 2016 05:58:00 +0000

I celebrate 30 days of sobriety tomorrow. I’m feeling pretty grateful for my strength and determination. I literally take it day by day and I find it to be a lot easier to handle that way. Life has certainly challenged me, though. If I didn’t have this gorgeous child to focus my attention on, I may have lost my shit a few times and been a little more tempted to say “fuck it, dude. Let’s go drinking.”

My meeting tonight was interesting. The topic was God. Or as many people in the program look at it, Your Higher Power. I quietly chuckled to myself... such a sense of humor your so-called Higher Power has...

The sharing began. One by one, I heard stories of God. Some women shared about growing up in religious households. Others shared about having very little exposure to religion in their lives. A few talked about being God-fearing women. But everyone came together in giving their God credit for their sobriety.

It’s a good sized group and with under an hour designated for sharing, not everyone has a chance to talk. As the time winded down, it looked like I was in the clear. I mean I could always pass but that's not really my style. But not getting picked to share to begin with? I was probably better off this week...

As one woman finished, it was announced that there was only time for one more share.

“You know who I’d like to hear from?” the last sharer announced, “Tina.”

Guess I should’ve seen that coming.

* * *

“Hi, I’m Tina. And I’m an alcoholic. I’m also an Atheist.

“I’m laughing because it’s so appropriate that this subject would come up this week. You see, I made the cardinal sin of social media this week: I gave my opinion on something. Even worse, it was on religion. A work colleague, who has recently been exploring a newfound love of religion, called me out on my beliefs and after a conversation that started out as fairly adult turned snarky and passive aggressive, things ultimately ended in an unfriending.

“Probably the worst part about being an Atheist is that when a situation presents itself where it’s appropriate to announce my beliefs, I typically get looks of sympathy. Like people feel so sorry for me that I don’t believe in God.

“I grew up going to church off and on all the way into my early twenties. My parents weren’t overly religious. My alcoholic grandmother was very religious. She said I was going to hell because I wasn’t baptized. That was some of my earliest exposure to religion. And alcohol for that matter.

“The older I got, the less church and its teachings made sense to me. I studied a few different religions but it all seemed to be one big made up story designed to make people feel better. And that wasn’t enough for me. So I turned away from religion and put my faith into things I could see, feel, touch and believe. Science made sense. Proof made sense.

“At the risk of sounding cold, there was really no love lost in this unfriending situation although I’ve had to run some interference at work as there is now a suspicious rumor going around that I ‘hate Christians’. Luckily, people I am truly close to have more respect and understanding of my beliefs and vice versa. However, it reminded me of the concern I had when I first considered attending these meetings. I avoided them because I figured everyone would ‘God’ me to death and I would feel alienated. Not only has that not happened, but this particular meeting has been one of my favorites and I’ve genuinely enjoyed listening to everyone’s shares.

“I may not believe in God, but I think I can understand the concept of a Higher Power. For me, it’s my son. He just turned six months old. He is definitely the reason that I started coming to these rooms. However, what I’ve come to realize throughout these past 30 days is that the reason I keep coming... is because of me. Because I deserve it.

“So thank you all for sharing and for being here. It makes me proud to have chosen the same path.

“And no, I don’t hate Christians.”

* * *

I drove home with a smile on my face. A real one. Which felt nice as there hasn’t been much to smile about lately. Home is rough. I’m sad about our situation and am not sure we can recover. I’m already working on a budget so that I can afford to stay in the house by myself. I have a shared-baby plan in my head. I’ve moved into the nursery and have been sleeping in there. Yeah, that kind of rough.

But I’m still celebrating 30 days tomorrow. And there is still a lot to be happy and hopeful for. My son is still my everything and I know every decision I make is for him, even if it’s hard for me.

I still don’t believe in God. But I do believe that my son was given to me for a reason. I was too stubborn, angry and depressed to do anything productive with my life before him. Now, I have every reason in the world to be great. It’s way more difficult, but that usually results in higher rewards.

But I know I can't please everyone. And as far as those that don't like me or are uncomfortable with my beliefs, with 454 friends still left on Facebook and countless more in the real world, I don't believe I'll be missing that particular drama.

I'm Tired of Being Tired

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Mon, 07 Mar 2016 00:22:00 +0000

Last week at this time, I was getting ready to make dinner. We ate together before a friend of ours came over to watch Xander so we could get out for a few hours and play some Golden Tee and unwind. Date night for mom and dad. I’d been looking forward to it all week.

Unfortunately, we showed up to the bar and immediately started drinking scotch. I mean, really? Why not just have a few beers? We’d been on a scotch kick for the past few weeks so I guess we figured, why stop now.

I got wasted. I picked a fight with Johnny. He left me at the bar (because I refused to get in the car) and I walked home. It was only across the street. But still... I walked my drunk ass home.

It wasn’t the worst I’d ever been drunk. Not at all. I didn’t black out like I did a few weeks ago when I got drunk at the bowling alley and Johnny had to carry both me AND Xander into the house. It's not the first time he's had to carry me. I didn’t get sick and then wake up next to the toilet, surrounded by vomit that didn’t quite make it in. That’s happened many times. And I didn’t start talking to someone else at the bar, end up going home with him and not remembering much after. That’s definitely happened before. It’s been years... but it’s happened.

I like drinking. But I’m tired of being drunk.

Any readers been here since the beginning? When I first started this blog almost six years ago, I was getting ready to go through a life change. I was turning 30, I was miserable and I wanted to try something different. If you go back and look at my first handful of posts, they talk about quitting. Quitting everything. Drinking, gambling, smoking and sex. I was going to quit everything for a full year and see how much more full my life could become.

I lasted less than a month.

The longest I’ve ever gone without drinking since I turned 21 was when I was pregnant with Xander. And when he got here, one would hope I would just continue not drinking. Get my shit together and be this awesome, sober mom. But, I didn’t. Part of it was a little of a “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” thing with Johnny as I resented him for continuing to drink so much, even though I kept asking him not to and everyone assured me he would change once Xander arrived. But really, I like to be drunk just as much as he does. So how could I really be that mad?

But, I’m tired of the fights. I’m tired of the walks home. I’m tired of the hangovers and I’m so very tired of how much I hate myself the next day.

I’d love to drink socially. But I’ve proven to myself time and time again that I can’t.

I’ve avoided 12 step programs for many reasons. I never wanted to admit the kind of problem I had. I also had a pretty negative association with these groups as I’ve always understood them to make you a victim. Admitting that you are powerless over alcohol. I mean, I’m in complete control, nothing is more powerful than me... she says as she takes another shot.

But mostly, it’s the fact that I’m an atheist. Everything about 12-stepping is God, right? All that “God grant me” stuff and the Lord’s Prayer. Certainly I wouldn’t be accepted. Geez, if an alcoholic isn’t welcome in one of these groups, then I might as well just say fuck it.

But I can’t. He needs me. Almost as much as I need him.

In the past, I’ve talked myself out of quitting because I didn’t want to be boring. Drinking made me interesting. It made me funny. It made me confident. It made me feel sexy.

All lies. It made me angry, sad and more depressed than ever. And I no longer feel the need to impress anyone. Except him. And boring is totally fine if it means I’m alive and present to be there for him.

So I went to my second meeting on Friday. I went by myself to a meeting close to my house. Actually, it was held at the hospital where I gave birth to my perfect little man. I was hoping it was a sign that I belonged there. My friend wanted me to go with her to another meeting but after an emotional week, I was feeling a little judged, a little like some assumptions were being made. I wanted to be somewhere no one knew me. Where I wasn’t afraid of being completely honest.

I was so nervous and uncomfortable walking in. But as the people trickled in, one by one, and created this intimate group of ten or so (the normal, apparently, for this particular meeting), I started to feel like I had made a good call. I shared. I talked about my concerns as I’ve written them here. They were all so understanding. I got a 24 hour sober coin. It got passed around the room so everyone could touch it and give me their positive energy. They came up to me after the meeting and told me not to worry about my beliefs. I was reminded that the only requirement to be there was the desire to quit drinking. An anonymous member even bought me some literature for my journey. They hoped I would be back the next week.

I cried in my car before leaving. I was so relieved and touched.

I’m going to go to another meeting tomorrow. It’s at a church so I’m hoping I don’t burst into flames upon arrival... but it’s an all female meeting. I was told I was welcome to bring Xander as a few of the women have brought their babies before. One woman told me her kids were raised in the program as she joined at 20 years old and was now well into her 50s. Sober for 30 years. And still showing up.

Things at home are still strange. Johnny is not tired the way I am. He is helping in that he is waiting until I’m asleep before he drinks or sneaking drinks when I’m in the other room. It’s okay.. I’ve decided to quit worrying about anyone’s battle except my own. I can’t change anyone but myself. And while I don’t like to look at myself as a victim, I’m not too proud to admit that I can’t do it on my own.

So, I’ll keep going. I’ll probably work on the steps. Anything to help. Because while I may be tired of being drunk, picking up a drink is a very, very difficult habit to break.

And I’ll keep sharing. I imagine my blogging will increase. I hope not to alienate or lose too many people... but again, my battle is bigger than those who wish to go on without me.

We get the one life. That’s it. At least that’s what I believe. I don’t want to spend the rest of it tired, hating myself, wishing I had a way out. I want to be happy when I wake up, satisfied with the woman I am. Proud of the mother I’m becoming. I want to walk out into the world every day and say, “yeah... I got this shit.”

I want to be better. That's my journey.

It's Been A Long Year

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Tue, 01 Mar 2016 05:53:00 +0000

I came in off a dead end street.

Walked in slow and took a back row seat;

I knew I had nothing new to say.

So many people looking so burned out

I couldn't help feeling bad about just

Having to be there anyway.

A friend of a friend from work came in.

I never have known what to make of him,

He'd always seemed to be so insincere to me.

You know I've always been afraid of a 12 step crowd;

They laugh too much and talk too loud

Like they all know where everyone should be.

It's been a long,

A long, long year.

How did I get here?

They were talking in a circle, I was by myself

Everyone was telling everyone how they felt;

It felt like so long since I'd been young.

As the circle kept moving its way to the back

I was wondering what I was going to say.

In fact, I still didn't know

As it rolled off my tongue...

It's been a long,

A long, long year.

How did I get here?

I didn't say a word all the way to my car

But a little later on that night at the bar

I was telling everyone how strange my day had been.

They said "Brother, all you need is another shot"

So I threw one down and said "thanks a lot"

As I thought to myself "Well, here we go again".

It's been a long,

A long, long year.

How did I get here?

- Long Year, Todd Snider

* * *

It was basically how I expected it to be. The meeting, that is. I wasn’t required to share. Everyone was perfectly content allowing me to just be present. The friend I went with introduced me to a few people and filled me in on things as the meeting progressed. She offered me coffee and brought me a cookie.

Someone I knew was there. Someone I knew from the past that I hadn’t see in a while. Someone that I saw when I was at a bar getting drunk. Out of all the meetings in all the places on all the different days, there he was. I didn’t know how to feel. I hadn’t planned on sharing anything but having him there made me feel embarrassed. But then I remembered he was there too. He didn’t share either.

For an hour, I listened. I drank my coffee and listened. There wasn’t nearly as much God as I thought there would be, which was a relief. I mean, there was the Serenity Prayer to start, of course. And then the Lord’s Prayer to conclude. I didn’t say either one. I don’t care that everyone else did.

Comfortable isn’t really the word I’d use. But it was okay. It was easy to be there. I related to a few things that were said and felt like I was supposed to be hearing them. I felt compelled to say something but didn’t. I wasn’t ready to share my story.

At the end of the meeting, even if you didn’t share, they went around the room and everyone said their name. And as the words left my mouth, I knew that I had just made a decision that was going to change everything.

“I’m Tina. And I’m an alcoholic.”

My reason

You Know What? I Don't Even Care... Just Fucking Vote For Someone

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sat, 27 Feb 2016 05:48:00 +0000

This motherfucker...

Okay, so my Facebook feed has been filled with a lot of anti-Trumpisms these days. It may seem like I am an un-supporter out of nowhere. That’s not the case. It’s just that I kept thinking of his candidacy as a joke. Totally and 100% laughable. Good times, lol. All that shit. And now, out of nowhere, Donald Trump is very likely going to be the next POTUS.

Obviously, if I had my choice, I would not want this to occur. I mean, he’s racist, he’s sexist, he appears very ignorant to me, he feels superior to everyone and he takes no shame in being filthy, disgusting rich while so many struggle to have just enough. He truly is everything I want my son not to be. The idea of him running this nation is enough to make my stomach turn. And then throw up my last seventeen meals.

But what am I going to do? I’m not ACTUALLY going to move to Canada if he gets elected. I’m going to sit back and watch the ensuing shit show.

Or am I?

That may be what frightens me the most. Could there possibly be no shit show?

Eight years ago, I remember sitting in the Suncoast bowling alley, watching the polls as they reflected a winning Barack Obama. I remember sitting down on the steps and crying. I was overwhelmed with relief. Finally, we would have change. We would have something different. We would have a President that cared about the betterment of our nation. We would finally be rid of this hatemongering Bush administration. Things were looking up.

I remember sitting there, feeling like change was truly upon us. And then my big brother walked up to me, scoffed at my tears and said, “do you really think this is going to make any difference at all?”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m still an Obama supporter. I see the things he has done right and I don’t hate him for the things that he has done wrong. On a personal level, my life is better after having him in office. Maybe not life-changing, but I certainly don’t feel cheated as an American with him in office. But, has he given me the confidence to believe in politicians again? Has he made me feel like the world is a better place to raise my son? Would I want more presidents like him? Hmm...

If you forced me into a corner and asked me which party I belong to, I guess I’d have to say I’m a Libertarian. Socially liberal while fiscally conservative. And Atheist. Good God that I don’t believe in, can we PLEASE elect a leader who won’t bring religion into the White House. Anyhow, I suppose that’s a completely different election.

Here he is, making fun of a physically handicapped interviewer

Does it really not matter? In the big scheme of things? Will it not matter if Trump is our president? I mean, it could be interesting. Well, of course it’s going to be interesting. But could he truly do irreparable damages? Will Congress let him get away with that? Based on what I’ve seen the last eight years, there are enough opposing party members around to make sure Obama gets very little accomplished. Actually, that’s our M.O. lately - spending an entire presidency making sure the one we didn’t want elected gets very little done. Such efficient and productive politics. No wonder we are reverting to old school cases of racism and sexism. I almost feel guilt over my relief of giving birth to a white male. Yeah, pretty shitty, isn’t it?

Very appropriate, you ignorant monkey followers

I suppose the part that really bothers me is how embarrassing it’s going to be to have Donald Trump representing the United States. But in all actuality, we deserve it. We’ve become such a shit nation. A bunch of passive aggressive crybabies that feel entitled to things we have not yet earned. And now, as a result, we get some rich, arrogant and immature piece of shit looking like he’s the BETTER choice than all the other usual suspects running for president. The talking heads of Washington. We deserve this for being gluttonous and ignorant. Such a sad, sad state of affairs.

I’m voting. I mean, duh. Anyone who takes the time to say how much they despise a certain candidate and then wakes up on Election Day and realizes it’s too much trouble to drive down the street, stand in line and drop a ballot deserve to be ruled by an ape.

But I dunno... maybe I’m more ignorant than I realize. Maybe we have become the kind of country that needs a ruler like Trump to make any kind of difference. Maybe a year or two from now I’ll be eating my words, admitting I was wrong. Agreeing that you have to be a bigoted asshole in today’s bigoted world to really show change. Maybe the passive aggressive nature of previous presidents has driven us to this. Maybe, just maybe, this gigantic piece of negative, angry and self-righteous turd can lead us to something great.

And if so? If he succeeds?

Then, and only then... that's when I’ll move out of the country.

Ryan Reynolds said it's okay. And Deadpool is way more popular than any candidate running.

Anyone Can Be a Father, But it Takes a Lot to Be a Daddy

noreply@blogger.com (Tina V) — Sun, 31 Jan 2016 22:02:00 +0000

“As baby is crying in the middle of the night, my husband rolls over and tells me that his doctor insists that he needs a full eight hours of sleep a night. Are you freaking kidding me????”

“Last night my three month old was still awake at 11:30pm and I wanted to go to bed. I gave him to my husband (who had been playing his Xbox for the past couple of hours) and I went to bed. Fifteen minutes later, my husband brings our baby to me and says, “He’s kind of fussy and spit up on me and all that fun stuff so yeah, sorry.” He lays our baby next to me and goes back to playing his game. Our son immediately starts crying so I get up and eventually rock him back to sleep. Do I have a right to be mad or should I just get over it?”

“All day my baby has been fighting his sleep worse than ever. When my husband texted me asking how my day was going, I said not good considering our three month old was literally screaming and crying because he was so tired. When my husband got home, I made dinner early and then told him I was so tired after today and last night (where my baby woke up every hour) and that I was going to go to sleep when the baby did which was going to be around 6:30pm. Well, I got baby to sleep but then my husband comes in the room all loud and careless and wakes the baby. Now I’m still up with a crying baby and my husband is snoring. How do you keep yourself from wanting to fully explode?”

“How do I deal with my very non-supportive husband? He is very against my choice of breastfeeding and so is his family. He is saying that he will not allow me to breastfeed my child past six months. I’m having a really hard time. “

And finally...

“Dear Husband,

As you snore soundly and happily in the other room, I can’t help but imagine myself coming to your bedside and slapping the shit out of you with your son’s freshly pooped butt. It’s 1:29am and I still have not had a break all day. Yet here you are, snoring off to dreamland while your teething three month old son keeps crying and your 21 month old daughter is laying on half my body.

My breakfast was a cup of tea that had been warmed up in the microwave three times before actually drinking it at 11:00am. My lunch was your uneaten dinner from last night and I inhaled it today at 4:00pm. Dinner followed at 10:00pm, a bowl of leftover spaghetti with olive oil and salt (all I could muster with my remaining energy) which was consumed in seconds over the sink as soon as it popped out of the microwave. All the sustenance I could consume before your son decided to wake up. You, of course, had walked in the door about 30 minutes before my “dinner” from a bar where you got to unwind with some beer and pool after finishing your work day. Naturally, you’re on the couch and actually pick little man up only to hand him over to me five minutes later because he “must be hungry”.

I seriously hate you right now. How do you not wake up to the sound of either crying child? When the fuck am I gonna get a break and just pass the fuck out without having to constantly wake up to cater to someone? I swear I should rub that mustardy goopy diaper on your face right now.

Always yours,

Your Loving Wife.

These are just a few of the many rants about significant others I find posted in one of my mommy forums on Facebook. I was pretty hard on Johnny during the later months of my pregnancy because I thought he was doing some pretty stupid things. And then the first two months of Xander’s life, I kind of hated everyone except my baby. However, four months into parenthood and we are both getting into the swing of things. And one of the biggest things that has gotten me through my struggles as a first time mom is Johnny.

I can’t imagine him being as inactive a parent as some of these women claim their significant other to be. Whether it’s diaper changes, feedings, soothing, dressing, dropping off/picking up at Grandma’s while we go to work, or simply just interacting and entertaining our son, he is so much more than I could ever have asked for in a Daddy. He would never pass off a duty because he didn’t “feel like doing it” or felt it was my responsibility as a mother. Obviously, if I’m awake and baby is hungry, we both prefer for him to go on the breast. But if I’m not available or he knows I’m getting sleep that I need, he has no problem warming up a bottle and getting it done.

In fact, he appears to ENJOY all of this responsibility. Crazy, right?

Many people, myself included, say that they don’t (or didn’t, in my case) want children because they were too selfish. You have to give so much of yourself - like, ALL of yourself - to your child. That’s an extremely intimidating idea. But as it turns out, it’s not the most difficult thing about being a parent.

I have to keep so many people happy now. The “like it or fuck off” attitude that I have at times doesn’t really work when there are so many people involved in your child’s rearing.

I have to keep my work happy since now I’m one of “those servers” that may have to call out because my baby is sick or who doesn’t make it to work on time because baby decided to throw up all of his lunch on himself and me before walking out the door. Or maybe I can’t work that banquet you asked me to because I didn’t arrange a sitter for that night. Now I’m a label at work and I have to make even more of an effort to keep them happy so I don’t get put on the back burner when there are money making opportunities (for example, I’d like to go out for bartending once I finish breastfeeding).

I have to keep my family happy. My mother is our full time babysitter. Both my brother and I pay her to watch our babies so that she doesn’t have to go out and get a job. This is a very good situation as she gets to be around the grandkids all the time and we both get peace of mind that our children are in the best hands possible when we can’t be with them. We are very lucky to have this. However, there are challenges when your parent also becomes, in a sense, your employee. And I learned the hard way this week how important it is to keep those relationships separate. In my continuing effort to keep them happy, unfortunately details have to be kept out. Not my style, readers, I know.

I have to keep my friends happy. I need more favors now than I’ve ever needed before. I have to be less snarky with my Facebook comments so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I may need them to like me in the future. Not to mention, I need adult company more than ever and my friends - especially those I consider to be close ones - are so important in the keeping of my sanity. I also need to be sure I keep my mommy friends happy as their advice and opinions get me through so many struggles and questions. Not to mention a lot of them give me free shit.

And of course I have to keep baby happy. The most important way is keeping him well fed. Recently I have been experiencing a drop in milk supply, probably a result from going back to work and not being able to pump as much as I want. And also from treating myself often to a cocktail after work, which can affect milk production (this child really gets in the way of my alcoholism). So this week, I’ve cut out the cocktail, increased the water consumption and basically have had a pump attached to my breast whenever I possibly can. Marathon-pumping, they call it. I haven’t experienced sore nipples like this since I first started nursing. I have to think about it all the time, I’m constantly watching the clock to see when my next pump/feed should be (I should totally be pumping now instead of writing but I am unable to pump hands free). I find myself so worried about making time to pump that I miss out on moments with Xander. Mom fail.

All these people to keep happy. Then I read these comments and realize that the person I’ve been neglecting the most is Johnny. And he is, by far, doing more to make me happy than anyone else. He completely adores our son, he never complains that I barely cook dinner for us anymore or that I don’t keep the house as clean as I used to. He still tells me I’m beautiful and sexy, even with this awkward mom-body that lives in pj's and yoga pants because it doesn’t fit into anything the right way. He still looks at me with unconditional love, even though my hair is literally falling out in huge clumps and I’m having to learn how to Donald Trump my hairstyles for work to cover up the thin patches. He brings me anything I need/want without ever asking questions. He never brings up our lack of sex even though I know it must drive him mad for me to be so uninterested in it. And he lets me sleep. For the love of all things good in this world, the man lets me sleep.

We are not perfect, but we make a great team. I may have my moments and need to rant myself, but it will never be about his parenting. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

So, one more person on the list to keep happy. But definitely the most important. Because little boys need their mommies. But little boys and young men need their daddies. And Xander is lucky to have one like this.

So is his mama.