Can you tell who is who?

Can you tell the difference?

This photo cracks me up because someone is pretending to be regal with the side view pose. This same someone eats her own poop.

This post is for sweet little Bean. xo

I wasn’t direct.

Until the employee snapped at me and said I was being passive-aggressive.

“There is NOTHING passive about my aggression toward you,” I snapped right back. (Those right there are some spectacular management skillz, yo.)

That’s when I stopped beating around the bush and got specific about her performance issues. I unloaded on her. There was about 6 months of stuff built up and I laid it all out in front of her in one big dump.

Needless to say, that was not one of my finest moments.

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I never considered myself passive-aggressive.

Really.

Okay, you can stop laughing now.

I’ll wait. *taps foot*

I can be an asshole. But not passive-aggressive. I feel like I’m pretty honest with my feelings and deal with them as they come up.

*snort*

The other day I came across an article on passive-aggressive behavior. The article says it stems from an inability to express anger in a healthy way. In fact, passive-aggressive people don’t even realize they are angry or resentful.

Huh.

Other highlights of the article:

• The passive aggressive often can’t trust. Because of this, they guard themselves against becoming intimately attached to someone.

• The passive aggressive feels they are treated unfairly. He/she is always the innocent victim of your unreasonable expectations, an over-bearing boss or that slow clerk at the convenience store.

• They don’t communicate their needs and wishes in a clear manner, expecting their spouse to read their mind and meet their needs. After all, if their spouse truly loved them he/she would just naturally know what they needed or wanted. The passive aggressive withholds information about how he/she feels, their ego is fragile and can’t take the slightest criticism so why let you know what they are thinking or feeling? God forbid they disclose that information and you criticize them.

• The passive aggressive has a real desire to connect with you emotionally but their fear of such a connection causes them to be obstructive and engage in self-destructive habits. He/she will be covert in their actions and it will only move him/her further from his/her desired relationship with you.

And my favorite line:

• Beware, if you confront the passive aggressive he/she will most likely sulk, give you the silent treatment or completely walk away leaving you standing there to deal with the problem alone.

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Holy shit. Beware is right. I’m a professional sulker. I can sulk for days over the most minor things. Things that would be barely register as a blip on anyone else’s radar.

You just have to read a random post on this blog to realize just how passive-aggressive I really am.

Growing up I learned to stuff my feelings down and pretend everything is okay. I’m not sure how, when or why that started, though. But I was that quiet kid who was smaller than my classmates and I definitely displayed a really sensitive side that made me a target for kids in my class. I got picked on. A lot. Eventually, I realized that if I just shut my mouth and didn’t fight back (or God forbid—CRY), they’d lose interest in me and find another target.

But I guess I never really let that go. As I got older I developed a sharp tongue. Words are my weapons and my shield. I am a master at cutting someone down with a snarky comment, a sideways look, and then laughing it off like I’m joking. “Just kidding.”

Except I’m not.

Well, sometimes I am.

My passive-aggressiveness is a defense mechanism. I protect myself from getting hurt by keeping everyone at bay even when I desperately want them close to me.

There is definitely a lot of fear behind it. And insecurity. Lots of insecurity.

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For someone who makes her living communicating with people, my communication skills suck when it comes to my personal life. I am totally unable to tell people close to me that I’m upset about something. Even if it’s not at them. Bill is totally supposed to read my mind and my friends—if they really knew me—could figure out what’s wrong. And if you have feedback or criticism (no matter how constructive it is), I pretty much plug my ears with my fingers and sing “La, la, la, la.” ‘Cause I’m real mature like that.

Everything builds up until I can’t shove it down anymore and it just explodes.

And then I cry.

Crying is a big failure for me, yet I’ve pushed so much away for so long that I can’t hold a single conversation about things going on in my life without crying. Bill jokes that there isn’t a restaurant in L.A. that I haven’t cried in.

It’s not entirely true, but it’s not far off base.

*sigh*

It sucks.

**********

At almost 41 I feel like I’m coming into my own. Finally. And I’m more aware of my weaknesses, and I’m really trying hard to shore them up. I really am trying to work on it.

But I do think “There’s nothing passive about my aggression” was a good comeback.

*snort*

**********

My neighbor know THE EXACT second that I fall into the sweet spot of a nap on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Because that’s when he wanders over to our house and holds down the door bell (Dddddddddddddddiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Dong). And every. single. time. he asks “Did I wake you?”

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Men who wear white sunglasses. Need I say more?

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People who have no idea how to merge onto the freeway. Don’t zoom onto the on-ramp at 80 mph and expect me—the current occupier of the lane—to move out of YOUR way. YOU are merging with ME. On the flip side, please don’t drive onto the freeway at 20 mph and stop at the end of the ramp, waiting for traffic to clear.

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Without fail, every time I go to Jersey Mike’s for a sub, there’s a woman in line ahead of me who wants to order 10 sandwiches, but no, she doesn’t know what she wants. “What’s the #9? Uh-hu. And what’s that come with? Can I get ham instead? What about the #3? And the #4? Right. And what about that there wrap? What’s on that? How many people will that feed? Only 1? You should make bigger wraps. Now, what’s that Mike’s Way? Do I have to have it Mike’s way? Can I get it my way?”

Please grab a menu, step out of the line and make a list. Better yet, call from home. Because after 10 hours of your questions and customization I’ve passed out because my blood sugar dropped and I’ve gone into shock.

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Do you remember when you took driver’s education that they taught about safe distances between cars? Do they now teach that as an optional rule? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost been rear-ended by some asshole who races up to my rear bummer so he’s only about 3 inches off the back of my car and then decides to jerk the wheel into the next lane, almost taking my trunk with him. But if that’s not scary enough, the asshole tailgating HIM rarely anticipates this move, and once the car moves out of the lane in front of them they’re almost always stunned to see a car there. My car. It’s like a high-speed game of chicken and I’m going to be the one to get cooked.

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There are three stalls in the bathroom at work. The other day I was in one of them. The doors to the other two stalls were wide open, clearly indicating that they were available. I was in the third, finishing up, and flushing. At that moment a woman walks into the bathroom, and starts yanking on MY door. The closed door. The one with the flushing toilet. And for the life of her she does not understand why she can’t get in. She even asked. “Is anyone in here?” I see this woman in my building all the time. She is not blind. She is not hard of hearing. Clueless? Possibly. Because as I walked out of the stall, she was standing right in front of the door, ready to push her way in like it was a fucking elevator, totally annoyed that someone would be using that stall. Her stall apparently.

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Okay, your turn. What annoys you? (Besides this post?!)

Gracie is fairly well trained (until she shows that stubborn Samoyed streak), so things were pretty smooth and easy. She’s almost 3, so she’s out of the puppy stage and started to settle down. We had a regular routine with her—even if Bill got up super early, Gracie slept in until I got up. She had her basket of toys and bones, but she’d pull out one at a time and even help me put them away when I cleaned up. She had her places in the house where she’s like to go to nap—and most of them were usually wherever I was.

Penny the puppy joined our family six weeks ago, and in that time she’s managed to completely turn our house upside down.

Penny entered our house like a bull in a china shop. She’s only 5 months old, but already she weighs as much as Gracie, she’s at tall as Gracie and she has these big meaty bear paws that she can’t quite coordinate yet. She has no sense of her size or the swath of destruction she can create simply walking through the room.

Gracie is sophisticated and elegant. She’s very clean, her hair is shiny and neat (even when she’s blowing her coat), she sort of glides when she walks and she eats and drinks like a little lady. She’s very quiet, except in the morning and when I get home from work, when she’s very chatty, but beyond that, she doesn’t bark. She’s got her places she likes to nap in, curled up in a tight ball, and she’s gentle and a total love bug, snuggling up to me constantly.

Penny, on the other hand, is like a drunken frat boy. She is constantly dirty, her hair is a mess and it’s always got food or leaves in it. Sometimes both. Or the occasional snail. Don’t ask. She lays around with her belly hanging out, her tongue falling from her mouth, drool pooling on the floor. She slurps when she drinks her water, and sloshes it all over the place before flipping the bowl over. She inhales her food like a cop on duty, and belches like an old man. It’s not unusual for her to come up to you, pretend she’s going to be affectionate and burp in your face. Loudly. She’s full of sloppy wet kisses that require you shower when she’s done with you. She snores like a freight train and she barks way too much.

Sometimes it’s like living with Felix and Oscar from The Odd Couple.

But as different as they are, they seem to have forged a bond. Penny follows Gracie everywhere. She nibbles on her and sucks on her neck and swats her big polar bear paws at her. She lays on top of her, under her and as close to her as she can manage with out actually being Gracie. The two of them wrestle for hours, grunting, whining and slamming their teeth together. They chase each other through the back yard, and have worn out a path in the grass. They dig out my flower bed in the back, but when I catch them at it, Penny is too dumb to stop and keeps digging while Gracie stands there like, “It wasn’t me.”

We’re trying to get Penny trained, but unless there’s the promise of food or treats, she’s having none of it. What’s worse is Gracie sees Penny’s behavior and mimics it. She sees that Penny won’t come when called, so when I call Gracie, she just stands there and stares at me.

Our house is chaotic and crazy and loud. I vacuum every day now, and I totally have to stay on top of keeping the yard clean. Some days it’s a lot to deal with.

But these faces are totally worth it.

two peas in a pod

There was a warmth and kindness that I was immediately drawn to. He lives for the now and enjoys life to the fullest. He is funny and extremely smart with the right amount of dorkiness. And he’s kind of sexy to boot with those deep blue eyes and easy smile.

Bill pushes me to be a better person (no small feat), and he’s my confidant, my best friend. He is my life and my love. And he puts up with my dogs.

Really, I couldn’t have asked for more.

To the world, he may be one person. But to me, he is the world.

Happy birthday, Bill!

xo

Happy Birthday, Bill!

About two weeks ago I found a basil plant in Trader Joe’s for $4. Considering a bunch of basil can cost you almost that much, I went ahead and bought it. I put it in a Tuscan-looking pot that’s been sitting empty and put it in my kitchen where I can just grab a handful and use it in pastas.

Basilicious

Today I needed to use some mini sweet tomatoes before they went bad, so I cut them up, minced a garlic clove, chopped up a handful of basil, tossed in some salt and pepper and mixed it all in olive oil.

Meanwhile, I sliced a baguette and toasted it with some olive oil drizzled on top, and when the slices came out of the oven I rubbed some garlic on the slice and loaded piled the Bruschetta on top. It was ridiculously easy and tasted amazingly fresh.

Served with a little prosciutto and salami it was the perfect summer snack.

I could eat this all day.

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody’s help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured,
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won’t you please, please help me?

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,
I know that I just need you like I’ve never done before.

Help! The Beatles (partial lyrics)

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I read Mary’s post on asking for help the other day and the topic has been gnawing at me ever since.

I struggle to ask for help. Even when I’m in dire need of some.

Whether it’s asking for advice with problems I’m dealing with, or help with finances or even moving a 200-pound dresser from one side of the house to another (yes, I’ve done this), I’d rather just do it myself. And forget about asking for help around the house. I’d sooner kill myself vacuuming up the dog hair for the third time that day than ask for HELP from my husband. Not because he’s an asshole and wouldn’t help me. It’s because I’m the asshole who thinks it’s demeaning to have to NEED help.

I don’t have a lot of close girlfriends. I’m a tight-circle type of girl so when I’m friends with someone, I trust him or her implicitly. But I won’t ask them for help either. I’ll bitch and moan and make whatever is bothering me entertaining drama, but to actually say, “You know what? This is going on and I’m really struggling.” Forget it. It’s easier to burrow into my own stuff and push everyone away.

I’ve always been extremely independent so—to me—asking for help makes me feel weak. And helpLESS. And insecure because Shouldn’t I have my shit together? I’m almost *wince* 41 years old. I’m an independent woman, yo! Or stupid. Take your pick.

What’s funny about that is, if someone asks me for help I don’t think any less of them. I’m in. What do you need? What can I do? I’m in awe of people who can ask for help.

The other day I had to ask someone for help and it almost crushed me. I had to plan the conversation ahead of time. I wanted to choose my words and make sure my voice didn’t give away any of the insecurity I felt. I was terrified because I felt like I was losing my power, the upper hand and all that shiz.

But my life didn’t implode. The world didn’t end. The person I needed help from was relieved and didn’t make me feel less than; in fact, I got more compassion than I deserved. But it was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.

Shit. Before you know it, I may actually start apologizing to people (we all know how much I LOVE to do that). What the hell is this world coming to?

I surrender

The Los Angeles Times published this article about how people can access their welfare benefits. Apparently, Social Services has made money from the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families program available through state-issued ATM cards. That part makes sense to me. The money is more readily available to those who need it. No more waiting for checks, and it cuts down on program costs.

However, the Time reported that “more than half the casinos and state-licensed poker rooms in California appear on the state website showing welfare recipients where they can access cash benefits.” Not only that, but 17 strip clubs in the area are on the list. “Nearly $4.8 million has been withdrawn from ATMs at casinos and poker rooms with welfare benefits cards from 2007 through last month, state officials said last week. The vast majority of that, $4.4 million, was withdrawn at tribal casinos.”

Governor Schwarzenegger ordered the casinos removed from the state’s ATM network and directed the Department of Social Services to produce a plan to reduce “waste, fraud and abuse” in the welfare program.

I get that money needs to be accessible to those who need it, but I’m pretty sure the money was intended to feed the mouths of babies—not babes.

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Running For My Life

Last week signed up for a 5k mud run on August 21. I needed something to get me motivated to start working out again. I’m going to be 41 next month and I don’t want to feel like I’m 41. Or look it. And right now I feel every second of that 41 years. I was all gung-ho about getting ready for this thing.

Care to guess how many times I’ve trained?

Actually, since I signed up I’ve worked out twice. The first night I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill for about 30 minutes, varying my time between 4.0 mph and 6.0 mph. That’s actually pretty respectable. After that I did some weights—leg presses, deadlifts and walking lunges. A solid workout.

I think that was Tuesday.

This morning was my second workout. I got up early-ish and decided to go for a run. On real pavement. I have no idea what the course is going to be like (they haven’t posted it yet), but I imagine that some of it will be on hard surfaces.

Let me tell you, I’m going to be screwed.

I walked a few blocks to warm up. Then I picked up the pace a bit and did a race-walk thing to ease me into running. A few blocks later I started to run. And it was a thing of beauty great ugliness.

You know how some people look like gazelles when they run—all grace and elegance with a perfect pace? That’s not me. I got out there and my feet just slapped and dragged on the pavement while my arms were all akimbo, and I could hear myself sucking air over Skid Row on my iPod. E

Even Sebastian Bach couldn’t save me from this shame.

I kept at it, but it was rough. I probably did a couple of miles but unless I can get my stride and pace cleaned up, this 5K run is going to feel like 5,000 miles.

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And Speaking of Turning 41…

I got glasses yesterday.

I had Lasik about 11 years ago because I had 20/600 vision. I couldn’t see the alarm clock that was 4 inches from my face. It was the best thing I ever did.

I still have pretty good vision but because I stare at a computer all day and I read a lot, my eyes are starting to tire more easily and I’m starting to struggle a little bit.

The optometrist told me that overall my vision is pretty good “for someone your age.” But after a series of “Better 1 or Better 2″ tests, he told me that I do need a slight correction, mostly because my eyes stop working together when they’re tired.

So I found some geeky chic specs.

You like?

I'm sure it's ovious that no retouching has been done to this photo

Like yesterday.

I woke up in a decent mood but the day just didn’t go well. And the end of the day was just the snot on top of my crap sundae.

I got home from work and while I was fielding a call from my boss, the puppy was following me around the kitchen throwing up. She horked up grass and vomit about 8 times. I tried to behave like a professional on the phone, but it’s kind of hard when all I can hear is retching. Meanwhile, Bill, who was making himself some dinner, just walked out of the kitchen to leave me with all of the chaos. HE couldn’t deal.

After I picked a fight with Bill over that one (I really wasn’t wrong), he decided to pick a fight with me over something else. Marriage at its best, yo.

When I thought my night couldn’t (and wouldn’t) get any worse I let the dogs in the house and freaked out when I saw that Gracie’s head and neck were covered in blood. It was straight-up horror movie gore. I immediately tried to find and stop the flow of blood on her and…nothing.

It wasn’t hers.

Turns out Penny just lost a couple of puppy teeth and decided that teething on Gracie was the way to relieve her pain.

I should buy one of these for Penny

So two arguments, eight piles of puke and a massacre quantity of blood later, I called it a night.

Today is a new day.

Here are three things that I’m grateful for today:

1. Yesterday is over.

2. Tomorrow is Friday.

3. The day after that is Saturday.

(Some days you gotta take what you can get.)

What are you grateful for?

A lot lazy.

For longer than lately actually.

I used to go to the gym a few times a week—sometimes more—and trained pretty hard. It made me feel good, helped me manage stress and I slept well. Somehow over the last couple of years I’ve really gotten out of the habit of training. Part of it was because of the weird hours I have at work sometimes. Part of it was because I got bored with the gym.

For the past couple of months I’ve made a half-assed attempt at running. I hate actually kind of hate running but I love the results I get even after the shortest runs. But it’s hard to stay motivated. So I’ve decided I need a goal. Something to train for so I can stay motivated.

Last night my stepson’s wife told us she’s going a mud run next weekend. Not only do you run a 5k, you’re doing it in mud. Plus, your wading, jumping, climbing and scooting through tunnels.

It kind of sounded like fun.

So this morning I found a mud run in Pasadena and signed up.

I am now committed to doing this at the end of August a couple of days before my 41st birthday.

Just because I can.

You know this looks like fun!