The Bad Example

And So We Begin

thebadexample01

May 22, 2018

Both

For several years I have been journaling my ass off each morning trying to get myself through rough patches with the hubby, two smart assed kids, a terrible job and the wonderful transformation of my body from a svelte 26-year-old head turner to a pudgy 50-year-old head turner (only the other way now).

I told myself that by journaling all of the bad decisions that I make and mistakes that I stumbled through, I could somehow forgive myself and move on with my life. Well, the time has come for me to finally accept something critical: fuck forgiveness. I don’t need it and I don’t want or yearn for it anymore.

It is about time that I, and now you too, stop analyzing every-fucking-thing that we do and dreamily plan for how we can be saved by someone else’s judgment and ultimately, forgiveness. I have slowly realized that by making these mistakes, I have really lived life. Sometimes my bad choices have caused me heartache and pain, but sometimes they have allowed me to laugh my ass off with truly wonderful and psychotic human beings that I call true friends.

If you choose to follow and read this blog, know that I am consciously making the bad choice to use profanity, along with course and sometimes gross descriptions. But that is life, not just my life, but a lot of other people out there in this great big screwed up world. I want to journal every day about how I have screwed up in life; what lessons I have learned and what lessons I am choosing to ignore.

Not sure about you, but I was one of those people who used to follow those bloggers named “Emily” and “Jessica” who blogged about how wonderful their homes looked and their blonde-haired blue-eyed babies seemed only to shit yellow hued daffodils that could then easily be turned into door wreaths. Not anymore, that isn’t real life. Not my real life. But if it is yours, follow “Emily” and “Jessica” and not me. Or in other words, Fuck off.

We have arrived at the Tipping Point.

thebadexample01

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October 16, 2023

So as I start this journey of finding and realizing myself, I can’t help but step on the scale and see where my starting point is. Well, if pounds would equal elevation, let’s just say I am at my high point on the mountain and can’t wait to start down the slope. And please, don’t even ask what my current weight is. I don’t mind if you come along for the trip, but what if you recognized me out on the street? I still have that whisker on my top lip so it is possible!

But maybe this time is different. It feels different. Maybe it is my age. Maybe it is the years of wisdom or failure. Whatever. I know that this time I am not going to be obsessed with the number aspect of it. I truly do want to get to know myself. Both inside and out.

I wonder if I saw a picture of just my calf, would I be able to recognize it? How about my shin? or my elbow? or really even the back of my head. God knows I don’t pay attention to it when I am doing my hair. I know all of the self-help books out there would be telling me that you have to get to know yourself truly before you can identify your strong points. And that makes sense. For so long I think I have been saying to myself that I know my strong points because I defend myself on my strong points, but when I think that, am I really only concentrating on the non-tangible things about myself? I know I have good ethics and morals. I am not religious or even spiritual but I know the difference between good and evil; and for the most part I chose the good side. And I realize that if you are living your life being good to yourself and others that moral scale doesn’t change if you have less body fat. But if this is the only physical body that I will ever have, shouldn’t I know it top to bottom?

So I have arrived at the tipping point on my scale. I am making a promise to myself that I won’t see a higher number on it when I step upon it. That is unhealthy. Both physically and psychologically. I am going to find the right balance of diet and exercise that fits me and my life. Maybe I will see only a pound drop, maybe only half of a pound. And I will be okay with that.

And it all started with a Whisker ….

thebadexample01

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October 15, 2023

So it has been a few years since I have posted. Different jobs, different houses, different friends, even; and I will get to them at some point. But maybe what has experienced the most change since I last sat down at the keyboard has been this body of mine. Not that it was a temple, or maybe it has never been to me, ever. But now, well, now it has gotten my attention.

Recently, I started experiencing vertigo. Not just the light-headedness kind either. The full-blown-bring-you-to-your-knees-throwing-up kind. So, what did I do, I made an appointment with my doctor. While I was at it, I thought I would talk to him about all of this weight that just appeared overnight. And all he said to me was, “Well, that all comes with getting old.” So after bitch-slapping him a good one and then screaming “Fuck all of you!” to his petite nursing staff, I got in my car and headed home. That was a whopping $50.00 co-pay down the drain. And on the way home, I came to the realization that I was getting old. So what. I am married to a man that loves me. I don’t have to shop around in the meat market anymore. My two boys love me unconditionally and have thought of me as being old since the day I brought them home from the hospital. Who do I need to impress?

But it wasn’t until today that something caught my eye and really made me stop and re-think the whole getting old thing. Was I leaving myself out of the mix when it came to impressing people?

Now I have all of the beauty products that can be had. I have even been fortunate enough to be able to afford some pretty pricey ones. Ones that smell and feel so luxurious that my mind is tricked into thinking that Coco Chanel herself would stop me on the street and ask me to model her latest frock. (God, I am old) But do I use them? Nope. I have face masks, cleansers, toners, moisturizers, night cremes, lip cremes, eye cremes, neck cremes. But do I use them, nope.

Then I look around my home office and there sits a Peloton Treadmill. Monthly I see that the charge for the Peloton classes, shows up faithfully, but do I use them, nope. I feel like every day, all day, I sit and think about what I could do to help me lose weight or combat wrinkles, but it is almost like I have convinced myself that the act of buying the products will be enough. And it’s not. And do you know how I know that? The whisker.

I was sitting alone today and felt a twinge on my upper lip and unconsciously went to scratch it. Only when I felt my upper lip I felt a whisker. And I am not talking about a small millimeter strand, I am talking I could actually take the length of it between two fingers. Holy shit. Do you know how much time that must have taken to grow that long? And then I tried to think of the last time I actually looked at myself in a mirror. Looked so closely that I could have seen that? I couldn’t remember. If I am being honest with myself I can’t remember the last time I really got to know myself well enough to really know what is going on within me. Yeah, it is easy for my doctor to say that the things I bring to him are due to old age, and I am sure they are. And maybe it would be different if I knew that whisker was there over the last few weeks and I was just being lazy, but that wasn’t it. I just was not looking.

In the weeks ahead, I will get into the weeds on what has been happening with me over the last few years. In one instance, I had a pretty rough time with someone I thought was a friend. The way it made me feel was horrible. But today, when it dawned on me how long, I, myself, had ignored … well … me, I realized that something needs to change. I need to start paying attention. It isn’t about being the most beautiful person on the outside for everyone to admire, it is about knowing myself and my body well enough to be the most beautiful person for me. One that I am proud of. One that, if no one else in the world knows me, I do.

So, beginning immediately I am going to use that treadmill, those creams, those facials. If only so that I can get to know my body. Every inch of it. There may be more inches to this body than there was 30, 20 and even 1- years ago. But I want to get to know them. All of them.

You can come along with me on this journey, or not. The only passenger I am concerned about for now, is me.

Stolen Movie Moments

thebadexample01

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March 9, 2020

For some reason, going to the movies just isn’t the same any more for me. Not being a movie critic here or anything, but the experience just doesn’t seem to hold that special something anymore for me. Not sure why.

Throughout my lifetime, going to the movies has always held such a special place in my heart. I loved the forced stillness and quiet of the theater, sitting there waiting for the lights to dim while you ever-so-slowly chew your popcorn. Being afraid of even the slightest sound of munching will shatter the quiet place has been created.

As I write this, I can’t help but think of all of the special memories I have of going to the movies. Interestingly enough, the movies themselves aren’t that special but it’s other things that immediately come to mind. Things such as going to Rambo III back in 1982 with my best friend Wilma Jean (I really only just called her Jean but her real name was Wilma Jean and for dramatic purposes I thought it fit nicely here). Needless to say, the sad and heartfelt scene where Mick was passing and Rocky was so distraught didn’t have the effect on us two high school freshmen as it did on the more mature adults in attendance. We laughed and laughed and laughed. Not sure why but it was that full belly laugh that came over the both of us at the exact same time. It was magic. Movie magic.

Back then, going to the movies was an event I looked forward to all through the week. No matter what type of movie was playing. And I can even say that this routine followed me through a big part of my life. I know that when you get older more things can and do often occupy your life but going to the moves was often an escape for me. When I was married to my first husband and he was off at medical school; I saw him probably a total of one night per week. This, coupled with the fact that we had chosen to live in an isolated farm house, going to the movies by myself became even a two or three time a week event for me. Those movies helped get me through the loneliness that the 342 farm cats that lived in the barn couldn’t.

And when I found husband #2 and our children were born, going to the movies by myself was a luxury for me that although didn’t come as often as I would have liked, still allowed that precious alone time that I needed to remain sane. It’s funny. As a young mother, I would need to escape all of the crying and pooping at home for a brief time (that even included dealing with husband #2) only to go to a movie filled with loud car crashes and fart jokes but still come out feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. Anyway, those times were precious to me. Going to the movies was special.

Funny story. When our boys were very young, my husband’s high school reunion came around and we made plans to attend. Now, at this point in our life, we were living paycheck to paycheck. Actually, being honest, we were living more like paycheck to paycheck and subsidized by precious spare change located in pants pockets and couch cushions. Anyway, I was nervous going to the reunion but in reality, I had already planned on going to a movie on that Sunday and had been looking forward to it all week and I was afraid the reunion was going to fuck that up for me. It was going to be my down time. Couldn’t tell you what the movie was, hell I probably couldn’t have told you what movie I was going to see then, it was just the fact that I had that 2 hours of down time planned for only me and I didn’t want to lose that opportunity.

On our way to the reunion, I kept harping on my hubby that I needed only $10.00 to go to the show the next day so I was begging him not to spend all of our surplus cash. I kept envisioning him either spending all our money except $10.00 and then I would be the one to have to decide to leave us entirely wiped out for the week so that I could still go, or I would not be able to go at all. It consumed me. All through the reunion I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. And yes, there he was, standing up at the bar with all of his friends that he hadn’t seen in 10 years, buying them drinks. Laughing and having the type of fun he was supposed to be having at his reunion. At one point he was even dancing on the tables acting as if he was a stripper. I couldn’t do anything but sit miserably on my own in the corner. Looking back now I can only imagine the impression that his classmates got of me that night. All alone, in the corner, looking as if I wanted to kill my husband and being ridiculously selfish. Great impression. At the end of the night, hubby was so drunk, the hotel staff had to help me get him into our back seat carrying a large salad bowl under his chin so that he wouldn’t ruin their carpet. When we arrived home, and I pulled into the garage, he was snoring loudly sprawled out so I just left him there in disgust. No, I didn’t leave the motor running. I thought about it but …. well, the main thing is that I didn’t.

The next morning, after getting the boys fed and started on the day and finally having a chance to sit down, here comes the hubs from the garage looking like hammered shit. Hair in ten different directions, shirt untucked, pants dirty. He stopped in the doorway and just looked at me. All he could offer was that he was so sorry and that he would make it up to me and take care of the boys all day so that I could hole up in our bedroom and read if I wanted to. Really? I remember asking how that usually works out for me when I close the bathroom door just to poop. He had no response. I told him to go take a shower, he stunk. Wasn’t I a bitch!!??!!?

Anyway, it wasn’t five minutes later that he comes running out of the back bedroom flashing all kinds of money at me, babbling like an idiot. I couldn’t believe it. There were tens and twenties all fanned out waving majestically back and forth. What in the ass?! Well, apparently, when Magic Mike was up on the tables, drunken classmates had been stuffing his pants with moolah!!!! The movie gods had intervened. Sitting there in the movies that afternoon, and by the way I think I splurged and got Milk Duds too that day, it was just heaven.

But movie experiences just don’t happen like that anymore to me. Is it because I can afford the ticket now without breaking the bank, or sending my hubby out to stand on the corner and offer his body for cash? Is it the quality of the movies? Is it that I have matured and can find other ways to relax? Whatever the reason, it makes me a little sad.

They say that movie theaters are a dying breed. Hmmm …….