Photos from last few months

Young Variety - Hollywood Bowl

Birthday @ Disneyland

August Fires

Ladybug Birthday Cake

Playing Soccer

4th of July

Goddaughter's Birthday @ Chuck e Cheese

Niece's Baptism/1st Birthday

Father's Day BBQ

Baby Shower

Lunch @ Chili's

The LBC

Niece's 7th Birthday

31 on the 31st

Happy Birthday to me. :D

A fabulously hot and sweaty day was spent at Disneyland (THANK YOU UNI!), followed by an at-home meal with bread pudding.

Pictures and more to come. I'm just too tired right now and need to get some sleep. I have a long day tomorrow starting with a training session and ending with a board meeting.

Plus I have to follow-up with all the birthday wishes.

In the meantime, I can't believe I'm 31...OH MY!

Over

I’m no one to judge. I have been the other woman and I never want to be that woman again. It’s even worse when there’s a family involved. I’ve finally been able to cut ties from Boston Boy because he has a son. I don’t want to get in the middle of that. I don’t want anyone to ever think he’s not with his son and his son’s mother because of me or anything I did. They should figure it out all on their own; that she’s just too troubled and with way too many issues to be in a stable, healthy relationship or any relationship for that matter. Again, I’m not one to talk.

He’s back from Mexico and he came to the house last week. He had to pick up his car and belongings. Mom had packed everything up in his car, but she took the key with her to the bakery so he had to go get it from her. He didn’t know that, so he knocked on the front door and the pups immediately went crazy at the door. I opened it, staying behind the door and when he walked in and greeted me as if nothing had happened, I could not believe it. I let out a small grunt and told him mom had the car keys at the bakery and then locked myself in my bedroom. He was in the house for a few minutes and I could hear him walking around. Then he left. Several hours later, as I sat watching TV in the living room with the curtains pulled open to let the cool breeze in, I saw him walk up to the house, open the car door and put his backpack in there before walking over to the side of the house towards the back door, which he knew was open so the pups could do their business. I quickly locked myself in my bedroom again and didn’t come out until a few minutes later when I heard the car drive away.

He’s in love with another woman in Mexico. His family never approved of his relationship with mom because she’s 13 years older and already had two grown daughters, though; they love my brother, his son. His family cheered and encouraged the relationship. His family encouraged him to turn his back on our family after 25 years, to hurt us and throw everyone’s lives into disarray.

After a month away with no communication, he asked for forgiveness and asked to come back. But he’s still in love with that other woman. Mom can’t, won’t live that way. We can’t live that way. It’s just mom and me in this house now.

So what drives a man to do this? (I fully recognize that it’s not only men that do this.) To abandon his family and throw away 25 years?

She's Come Undone

I’ve been trying to clean, mostly going through all my stuff and throwing out stuff, like old magazines and recycling as much as I can. I need to get a mega-shredder because I have a ton of old mail that needs shredding. I’m trying to organize everything and I really do have a lot of stuff.

As I was going through a pile of things, I found old journals. I was flipping through them and found this entry:

June 23, 1999

It’s almost six in the morning and I’ve just finished reading Wally Lamb’s book “She’s Come Undone.” I’m trying to come up with the right words to explain the book, but I can’t. All I can say is that a little over halfway through the book, I stopped and just cried. I wasn’t crying over what happened in the book, I was crying over my life. The only thing I can directly relate with the main character, Dolores, on is her weight. And yet, it’s almost like I went through the same pain she did. I started questioning my behavior and that of others towards me.

I’ve always been like, “If people don’t like me because I’m fat, then that’s their problem, not mine.” But now I wonder if I subconsciously molded myself, my personality to one that people will like. In the book, Dolores becomes the errand girl of sorts to her college roommate so that she’ll like her. Her roommate takes advantage of her so bad. I wonder if that has been me. All this time have I just been trying to get people to like me by being someone I wasn’t, just so they’d overlook the fact that I was fat. Is that my life?

I like to think that I don’t have issues about my weight. At least not like my sister. Years ago, about 8 months before the above entry was written, my sister lost a lot of weight in a time span of 3 months. When I left for my fall term of junior year, she was a size 24. When I returned at Christmas, she was a size 16, almost 14. That’s a big difference and according to what mom told me about my sister’s mood while she was dieting, I was happy to be 2000 miles away. She had struggled with her weight since her teens. As a child, she was a skinny little girl. I, on the other hand, was always a big girl. So what brought on this sudden weight drop? A guy. She’d met a guy, a hot guy. A personal trainer, model/actor and law school graduate. They’d met, they went out for drinks, and they had sex. She really liked him, but after that night, she wouldn’t see him again, she wouldn’t have sex with him. Why? Because she was embarrassed about her body. So she lost the weight in an insane amount of time. She hardly ate and worked out all the time and was the thinnest she’d ever been, but she still wasn’t happy. If she wanted to lose the weight for herself, that was one thing, but she lost it for a guy. He’d already slept with her, and the way I saw it, he must’ve liked her regardless of her weight. Even if the lights are off and you can’t see, you can still feel. He apparently didn’t feel anything he didn’t like because he did want to be with her, but she was embarrassed.

Ten years later, he lives in the apartment beneath hers and their relationship is undefined. I know she went through a lot of heartache for a couple of years as I heard her cry herself to sleep when she still lived here. She gained a lot of the weight back, but didn’t get as big as she used to be. We’re not that close, so I know nothing more about her personal life, except that he is still in her life, obviously. As to the extent of it, well, no one knows and no one understands.

I’ve been intimate with three men since I was 24. With the first one, F, I think I was at my most confident because I never thought about my body and what he would think or feel. He was the first guy I was ever sexually attracted to, the first guy I ever wanted to sleep with, and when he pulled my dress down and exposed my breasts, or put his hand up my skirt, I never worried he’d be repulsed by my body. But less than a year later, when things were heating up with P and we were going to have sex, even though we’d fooled around, I was nervous.

From F to P, things had progressed for me. With F, we fooled around in back staircases never used. I was inexperienced and he didn’t want to be the first so it was never more than quickie orals here and there and phone sex in the middle of the night. He was also too busy with two other girls who were experienced to spend time with me. I know this because once I was no longer inexperienced, now he was willing to put in the effort for us to be more intimate. With P, we never went out in public. Our trysts were late at night, in private, but even though I was nervous at first to be with him, when we were together, it didn’t matter. He made me feel special. In that time together, he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world, in his world, regardless of whether or not that was true. I was blinded by the feelings, the warmth coursing through my body. I was blind to the fact that we only existed in that short amount of time together, that he couldn’t even acknowledge me in public. In the real world, we were only passing acquaintances, if that.

And then Boston boy came along. He’d known me in high school. He looked through all my pictures. He read my blog. Who I was, what I looked like was all there and he wanted to see more. He liked me as I was. He wanted me. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever is. But my weight wasn’t an issue. He acknowledged me outside of the bedroom, outside of our intimacy. We ate in public, held hands in public, went to the movies, and shared our bodies.

But now, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s become ever more present in my mind. I’m more defiant than ever about it. I’m still not completely self-conscious about it, but it’s there.

When I go out with a certain friend, I feel out of sorts. We’re just friends and could never be more than friends, but I still don’t want to feel invisible. I don’t want to sit there while he checks out every single girl that walks by and feel like he’s not even paying attention to what I’m saying. I don’t want to feel like I don’t matter, not even worthy of being in his presence because I’m not a size zero. And nothing bothers me more than feeling that way, than being made to feel this way.

More and more of my friends are spending a lot of time working out and watching what they eat. I’ll never be that way. The more they talk about these things, the more I wonder if they’re judging me for not doing so.

Why does any of this even matter? Why is it such a big deal? Why is it such a big deal for women?

And now I’m letting others opinion’s torment my thoughts. Now I’m letting their comments undermine my proven abilities; my record of great work. I’ve become so lost and insecure in just a matter of months. Why can’t I shake them from my head? Why am I listening to their words? Why are those words on constant repeat in my head?

I know I need to snap out of this. Be the strong person I am, but I don’t have the motivation nor energy to do so.

Living a lie

I have a cousin and his girlfriend that follow me on Twitter, and this same girlfriend and other cousins are my friends on Facebook and Myspace. In this world there is no mention of abandonment, of a stepfather not returning. No, in this world, my life is a lie. I pretend and put it out there that I'm OK and for the most part, it seems true.

When will this nightmare called my life end?

My mind is having difficulty grasping the fact that he's left us. It can't be true.

As I stood there while mom told me, I kept closing my eyes hoping that when I opened them, I would wake up from a dream; a horrible, horrible dream; a nightmare. I kept wondering why she would play such a cruel joke. It just can't be true.

It took her two weeks to tell us. All this time he was simply away on his yearly trip to Mexico to visit his family. All this time my pup's been moping around waiting for him to come home.

But he's not coming home. After 25 years, he's decided we're just not a part of his future.

I don't even remember feeling this way when my actual father left.

Is it ironic that just the week before I had posted about the day my father left, not knowing my stepdad had left us also?

I'm pretty good about pretending it's not true. I haven't really spoken to anybody about it since the initial shock. I go about doing my normal activities, but then, there are these moments where it just hits me. My eyes burn as I try to hold back the tears.

Mom says we need to be strong. That we're strong women and will get through this. I want to believe it's true, but I'm completely heartbroken.

Everything is just piling up and I don't know how we're going to get through it all; how I'm going to get through it all. I'm trying to stay positive, but it's getting so hard to do.

I just want to hide from the world. Get completely lost. Not have to think about everything I need to think about.

When I think about what I thought my life was going to be like, how I wanted my life to be, this is definitely not what I wanted. I'm beginning to wonder if any of my dreams are even going to come close to coming true, if I'm even going to be able to make any of the things I want happen.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. There are decisions I don't regret making, but there are others that I wonder what would have happened if I had made a different decision. I don't want to think that way, but so much is just wrong. I haven't felt like myself in so long. Everything feels so wrong. Everything feels so incomplete.

How am I supposed to be strong when I feel so alone and broken?

Adding to my abandonment issues

My stepdad left us.

He told mom he had other plans and they didn't include her.

The day he left

It had been years since my parents were an actual couple. They still lived together, but there was no relationship. I guess you can say they were still together for the kids. They slept in the same room, but didn’t share a bed. Mom slept in the bed and dad slept on the floor. There really was no need; they both could’ve slept in the bed considering mom worked days and dad worked nights. They were never home at the same time. Dad would get home just in time to take me to school and he’d still be around to pick me up. Dad and I would go for ice cream every day after school, especially if I was sick. I always got ice cream when I was sick.

It's no secret. I am not ashamed. I was totally, big-time "Daddy's Little Girl." He bought me everything I wanted without really spoiling me, and whenever my mom or sister were going to punish me, I just had to run to him and he wouldn't let them touch me. He didn't even like it when my grandmother put me to wash the dishes. He always carried me off the milk crate set-up so I could reach the faucet, and she would put me back up there, and he would take me off...and so on and so on. He only ever raised his voice to me once and I can't really remember why.

It was early one morning and my sister had been trying to get me up for school, but I wouldn't budge. I was pretending to be asleep even though I wasn't. The phone rang. My sister answered and called out to my dad. He spoke a few words into the receiver, hung up and left, never to come back. All the while I was pretending to be asleep because I couldn't say good-bye. I knew he was leaving. I had known for days. No one had to tell me. I was 9 years old and I knew my father was leaving us.

He came by a few months later to get the rest of his things. It was around Christmas so he gave me $60 and even gave my little brother $10 even though he wasn't even 2 years old yet. Of course I pocketed the $10. What was a 2 year old going to do with $10?

For years we knew nothing about his whereabouts, and when we did know, we didn't go see him. When I was in high school and college, I would go see him to get money. I was his little girl and he always gave me money. I think that's why my sister resents him. He never helped her the way he helped me. She'd ask for money for college and he wouldn't give her any. I asked, and he handed it over. I was his little girl.

I don't visit my father. I don't call or write. If he calls me, sometimes I answer, sometimes I don't. He sends a Christmas card, but I don't send him one. My mom talks to him more than we do. My sister flat out refuses to speak to him. I love my father, but he has not been a part of my life since the day he left. For years he couldn't even get my age right. I know that when he dies, I will be completely shattered, but yet, I don't do anything to include him in my life.

I lived for my father. He was everything to me. And when he left, I was never the same. It's safe to say I have abandonment issues. I'm afraid of being left again and so I sabotage my relationships, I hurt myself before they can hurt me. Even though I'm fully aware of this, I've never figured out how to stop doing it, how to get past it.

Again with my writing

(Post begun on June 17, 2009.)

I have been thinking about my writing a lot lately. And so many are encouraging me to do it.

I hate to admit it, but I'm scared. I have very little confidence that my writing is even the slightest bit "good." I generally do not believe anyone that compliments me on it. Rarely am I happy with something I write, so the thought of even attempting to write a novel is terrifying.

Besides worrying that my writing just isn't good enough and the fact that I have no frikin' idea what to do in order to get it published, I just don't know what to write about. Mari told me to write about my life, my experiences.

A few issues with that:

1. My life isn't all that exciting. And I haven't done anything so spectacular to warrant writing my autobiography.

2. What exactly about my life would I even write about if I did decide to pursue this venture? I keep thinking about Jen Lancaster and her four autobiographies. They are not your typical autobiographies in , but since they're true to her life, that's what she calls them. Each one of her books has a theme. Like "Such a Pretty Fat" was her attempt to lose weight and everything she went through in a specific time period, while bringing in little anecdotes from her past. I think it's pretty clear I'm not going to write about that. So what would I write about. My work? My sex life, or lack thereof? My crazy ass family?

=====================

I've been looking for my old writings and I can't friggin' find them. I've looked everywhere. Not sure where all my notebooks could be. Must find them. Want to make sure I get them all typed up and stored on my portable drive.

Yay! I was digging through some boxes and found most of my stories, most importantly, the original written copy of a two-parter that was only half-written in Word, so now I can finish it. Unfortunately, one story I can't find anywhere and I'm not sure if I can rewrite it from memory. I remember the the major plot points, but not how I flushed them out. I'm really going to have to find that one. I MUST FIND IT!

And now, to finish typing up the other story. I can already tell I was rewriting as I typed.

False alarm

My period finally came and with it relief and disappointment. I'm in my head too much so of course I drove myself nuts thinking of everything, so much so that I couldn't sleep last night. I kept dissecting everything about the last two months; everything I felt and did, every ache and pain, everything I ate. Ack! I need to get out of my head.

All is well for now. I'm relieved because I'm not in a good place in my life to be a mom right now, but of course, complete and utter disappointment because motherhood is the thing I want the most and doesn't it usually happen that the thing you want the most is the thing you don't get?