Do These Car Seats Make My Hips Look Big?

Do these car seats make my hips look big?  I'm pretty sure they do, right?  Well, since babies and baby shit (no pun intended) are my newest accessory it seems fitting that my hips don't lie.  CUE SHAKIRA.  

I am working this shit. 

I love dressing up.  No secret or shock there. I love high heels.  That's not a confession either.  The babies are almost 4 weeks old and I've found a way to dress and get out of the house ALMOST every day.  Or to have people over to give me some kind of break and adult conversation.   It's vital.  It's important to me that I feel and look good in some small way every day.  It seems vain, but it's all part of doing better every day.  If I'm not moving forward, I'm moving backward.  Online AA meetings are vital and saving my ragged ass.  What did young moms do without online meetings?  They are on my gratitude list for sure these days.

My babies have red lipstick all over them some days.  Don't call the DCFS,  It's from me kissing them with red lips.  Well, maybe on Hall it's actual red lipstick, but you know, just a little bit.  I CAN'T STOP KISSING THEM!

I whine-cried to my dear sweet dumpster husband this morning as I was feeding and pumping at once and he was leaving for work, "I WISH I WAS GOING TO WORK."  I cried a little longer and then it passed and I'm back to smiling and being grateful. Always being GRATEFUL even underneath the TIRED AND THE FRUSTRATED and the COW-LIKE feelings I have right now.  But we laugh.  And we laugh and we realize how lucky we are.  FEELING ALL THE FEELINGS!  You can't feel the highs without the lows.  And it's OK to feel sad or frustrated as long as I keep in mind, THIS TOO SHALL PASS.  And you know it always does.

Don't tell anyone, but some of my favorite moments are at 3am when DH gets up to feed one baby and I feed the other and we are half asleep but making each other laugh and encouraging each other and sometimes flying babies through the air because it is the ONLY THING THAT WILL MAKE HER STOP CRYING and we share these moments that only he and I will know for the rest of our lives.  

The fact that I used to be up at 3am riding the CTA trains DRUNK OUT OF MY MIND, by myself, in a blackout and not remembering how I got to the south side or back to the place I wound up in the morning is not lost on me.  How I made it out of those situations relatively unharmed and alive is reason enough for me to believe I'm supposed to be here.  Out of my stupors, I got another chance for this MUNDANE LIFE BEYOND MY WILDEST DREAMS.   I get to live in this warm place that has my name attached to it, with paychecks and benefits that I earn and share this HOME - not just a a crash pad, as was my existence for years - a HOME with my dear sweet dumpster husband who really loves me and my two sweet dumpster babies.  I mean, what in the world could be better than all that?

Nothing.  Nothing in the world could be better than this normal, every day, mundane, poopy and bewbie filled life I've gotten myself into right now.  And that, is what gets me up every damn morning.  I AM LIVING THE DREAM.  It's covered in bewbie milk, as is EVERYTHING right now, but it is such sweet bewbie milk, I couldn't be more grateful.  Even through tears.  

Dangerously Close to Narcissism?

Before I get all pregnant and fat and sassy (thank you for being so patient with me about my journey, when the time is right, I will update you, but know all is well here on our end) not able to wear my cute little dresses anymore, I've been documenting myself.  It's become something that I look forward to, partly because I have narcissistic tendencies, partly because this is a period in my life I will never get back.  The period before child.  And it's really fun.  And, have I mentioned, I LOVE FASHION. And shoes.  And full length mirrors, when I feel good about myself.

So, if you have Pinterest, check out the board. 
What Are You Wearing Today?

 Here's a quick and dirty mosaic of all outfits so far:

Today's outfit:

Charlotte Russe dress, ModCloth shoes, Jean Jacket.  Or is it Jeans Jacket?

So, am I a Narcissist?  Dictionary defines as:

Excessive preoccupation with self and lack of empathy for others.
Narcissism is the personality trait that features an exaggerated sense of the person's own importance and abilities. People with this trait believe themselves to be uniquely gifted and commonly engage in fantasies of fabulous success, power, or fame. Arrogant and egotistical, narcissists are often snobs, defining themselves by their ability to associate with (or purchase the services of) the "best" people. They expect special treatment and concessions from others. Paradoxically, these individuals are generally insecure and have low self-esteem. They require considerable admiration from others and find it difficult to cope with criticism. Adversity or criticism may cause the narcissistic person to either counterattack in anger or withdraw socially. Because narcissistic individuals cannot cope with setbacks or failure, they often avoid risks and situations in which defeat is a possibility.

We all have ego.  There's a saying - "I'm an egomaniac with an inferiority complex".  I am not a narcissist.  In fact, every single trait here is opposite of who I am.  And yet, the fear I have of becoming such a person is great.  I want to always risk and be OK when I fail.  I want to always feel compassion and give people a chance.  I want to always feel among people and not above or below them.  I want to always be able to take criticism and make myself better, stronger, more.  I have no fame, power or success, and really?  That is just fine with me.

There is a difference between being nice and passive and having compassion.  I am so grateful I know this difference, have learned this difference and practice this difference.  I practice being humble.  I practice being loving and kind and patient. There is nothing passive about me.  I am honest and to the point, but also kind.  That doesn't mean I am nice.  But it doesn't mean I am a bitch either. 

That said, it's OK to like yourself.  To have fun with your physical appearance and feel better when you look better.  It's not all I am by any means, but we are in these physical vessels for our time on Earth, so we may as well have fun with it and rock some kick ass heels while we can. We are complex creatures, and owning the positive and the just plain ugly human parts of ourselves is all part of it.  Acceptance and love for ourselves and our flaws, our quirks, our intricacies, our beauty, is all part of the ride.  I for one, am enjoying the hell out of it. 

I said last night at a meeting when talking about a period in my life that was just OK, "I could have stayed that way for the rest of my life and have been fine.  But who wants fine?  I want GOOD." 

TOM'S A Day WITHOUT Shoes Challenge

My company hauled our asses up to the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower sans shoes to do this thing for Tom's - One Day Without Shoes.  Here, for your enjoyment, are Leigh Anne and Young Jonathan. And me, of course.  All acting like idiots. 

To be fair, this laying down and taking the picture from above from YJ's idea.  I didn't look down the entire time up there. 

 Yup, that would be me hiding behind him.  Who knew he was taller than me?

 I love my city.

 Not even out there yet.  Too skeered.

 YJ was even more scared than we were I think.  He tried to play it cool.

 This is my other young friend, Justin.  He was fearless up there.

 NO WAY.  NOT DOING IT.

OK, here's a little fake forced, I ain't skeered smile.

I don't know what y'all are so afraid of.  This is nothin'.

Mr. Cool.

We did it!  Holding hands like two proper old biddies. 

I Enjoy Being a Girl and a Proud Drunk



I even enjoy faxing shit. And looking damn good doing it.



I do.  I enjoy being a girl.  In all this fancy pants glory and beautiful flippant bouffanty sparkly shiny goodness.  I enjoy dressing up and wearing make up and heels and jewelry and wearing dresses practically every day.





Two performances and songs that are regularly sung and danced out in my head and by my body are these two below:

HOWEVER, being a girl is about way more than just the pretty and the frou frou.

I have a mind.  A good one at that.  Being a woman, I have a heart that is rich and deep and wounded and vulnerable, no matter how much I try to protect it. 

Being a woman means a lot of things, but to me it means being gentle and tough, it means walking through fear with grace and dignity. 

I celebrate stereotypical femininity.  That word is LOADED with expectation and even negativity.  Feminine.  I proudly hoist my girls up so they look the best they can, and I perch upon heels so that my legs look even better in that skirt. I do this because I love it.  No one forces me, and if they did, you can bet your ass I would do the opposite.  That's how I roll, yo.  That's feminine of me, right?

The essence of a tormented woman is here in The Original Joanie Holloway.  Being a woman is a big responsibility.  We have to show to the world we are more than what we are packaged in, and yet, it is so much fun to be wrapped in a pretty package.  The play is the thing.  The balance between being a smart, capable woman and the way the world will treat you if you look a certain way.  I didn't make the rules, but I also don't have to contribute to the ongoing figurative slaughter of women and girls who don't fit the lipstick and heels picture of what a woman "should be".  I'm not one for feminist preaching, but damn it feels good to say and do whatever the hell I want, and for that I am thankful.  

Most people go through life never haing to deal with AA or getting sober or any of this stuff*.  I was a low bottom drunk.  I lost everything.  Starting with my self respect and dignity and ending with material things like jobs, relationships, homes, family, cats, cars. 

Being a drunk woman is SO not pretty.

 You know what they say - getting sober is like playing that old country record backwards, you get your truck back, your job back, your wife back, your dog back. You don't usually get back the same shit you lost, but well, you get the point. Your life gets better.

For a woman to be able to walk into AA meetings these days and not be ostracised like it used to be is a huge gift.  We are still outnumbered in meetings. By a lot.  But it takes courage to walk in and say "yes, I'm a woman and I'm an alcoholic".  It gives other women the courage to do the same thing.  There are so many women out there who are hiding it right now and will never get help because they are ashamed.  That breaks my heart.  I speak out here and wherever else I can to say, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  To be a woman and to be a drunk is about the ugliest combination we can be when we are using.  But to be a woman in recovery, is well, beautiful.  

Sobriety is a gift that we need to be especially careful how we handle.  People are watching.  It's astounding how many men and women have come to me from reading this blog and the page and are still struggling or just getting sober or know people who are desperately trying to get it.  I don't take that lightly.  And I'm so grateful for the help you have given me and the courage to keep talking about it.  You help me stay sober. 

Men and women who walk into AA and get better are my heroes.  Period.  It means they want to fight for a good life, they do not just want to quit drinking and be miserably dry.  People who are trying to get better - trying to BE better are my heroes. If you want to write me, please do.  I am no expert on anything but jackassery, but I can try to help guide you to the right place. 

All of this is to say, YES, we are women.  YES, we are pretty, angry, sad, awkward, grungy, strong, spazzy and so vulnerable, even when we would never admit it. 

When I stopped showing how fucking strong I could be is when I finally got and stayed sober.  I could drink tomorrow and throw that all away.  But I hope I make the right choice for me and ask for help.  Strength in vulnerability.  There's a novel idea. 

*I'm not one of those people who thinks because I am a drunk that everyone is.  I'm surrounded by people in my life who drink like normal people and never have a problem.  More power to them!

Things I Love Thursday - Part 22

Do you know what this picture of moi means? Well you will momentarily. Hang with me. Shhhhhhhh.

This is going to be a confession of the darkest kind on Things I Love Thursday.

I LOVE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS.

"Based on a book, Pretty Little Liars follows four best friends (Spencer, Hanna, Aria & Emily) whose clique falls apart after the disappearance of their queen bee, Alison. Three years later, estranged friends reunite when they begin receiving messages from someone using the name "A" who threatens to expose their secrets - including long-hidden ones they thought only Alison knew." Some random website. 

This opening credits thing right here.  The song?  And the make ups.  And the shhhhhhhh.

Here's mine again:

It's harder than it looks.  You fucking try it.

  and then post your shhhh photos on my wall on the IWADB Facebook Page.  M'kay? 

On the Twitter a while ago, they had everyone sending in their "shhhhhh" photos.  I took a lot.  And didn't send any.  I'm not that fucking cray cray you guys. 



This is some serious fluff.  And I love every minute of it.  It's on ABC Family for god's sakes, at like, 7pm.  I'm pretty sure I'm one of the oldest weirdo creepies watching it WITHOUT KIDS of their own to back it up. 

I was a teenager who adored 90210 and Saved by the Bell and all that cheese.


I wanted to be Donna.  For reals.  Hard.  And I was a virgin forever.  Until I wasn't.  So I RELATED TO HER.  I fucking related to Donna Martin.  How fucked up is that? 





THIS. I did this. with the bikini top and high waist jean cut offs. I DID THIS SHIT. And loved it.
And my David Silvers all had to wait for my sacred gift.



Pretty Little Liars is delicious.  I mean, it's cutey pie fashion teeny bopper girls being catty and superficial combined with texting and crazy plot twists that, wait for it, SOMETIMES I CANNOT EVEN FOLLOW.  They act way too mature for their age, but then, didn't we all try to do that?  We just didn't have books and dialogue written for us.  I begrudge their amazing fucking hair and cute little bricabrac jewelry.  
 
Look at these girls.  I can only imagine how much teenage girls, tweens and pre-teens really, just love this show.  There is a story line with suspense.  I would have loved it.  Hell I love it now. 

 

Yeah, it's airbrushed and photoshopped and blah blah unreal expectations for girls, blah blah blah.

I LOVE THIS SUPERFLUOUS SHIT.  Sometimes we just need pure fluff.  And this does it for me.  I don't do the Bachelor or the Housewives or the Kardashians.  I do this.  

 

Goddammit that is embarrassing to admit.

 

I love this show.  If you don't know it or are pretending not to know it,

I'm having Glenda here sing to you, "Come out, Come out, Wherever you are".......

So we can talk about this shit.



The Original Joanie Holloway



Meet my Grammie.

Let's talk about how fierce this is.  Name on desk, working woman, smokes and IN CONTROL.  Sounds like another fierce 1960's icon I know and love.

There is a reason I am so enamoured of Joanie Holloway Harris here, of Mad Men.  It is in large part that she reminds me of my Grammie.  I feel a deep dark love hate and sorrowful yearning for both these woman.  Grammie died a few years ago.  Crazed and alone, save for our little immediate family.  And yet, there was a time, when she was the Norma Desmond of her world.  And anyone who had the good fortune of entering into it. 

I am pasting some old writing I did about Grammie here.  Those portions will be indented, written by me around 2004, and I was really angry with her.  She didn't approve of me getting sober.  She just didn't understand it and gave me a hard time about it.  My perspective about her today is so different than it was almost a decade ago. 



Grammie brought a party with her everywhere she went. and we LOVED it.

I have her on my heart right now as NOBODY loved Christmas more than Grammie.  She could forget all the terrible facts of reality, largely due to her creating them, and focus on love and abundance.  Her two favorite things. 

There is no easy, understandable way to describe or understand why my Grammie is the way she is. No more than trying to explain why I am or why you are the way you are, however, the impact of her behavior on the people she loves, well, the only people left in her life after a lifetime of loving and pushing away are my immediate family. She was married and divorced four times, twice to the same man, my grandfather, my dad’s dad.

I come from fucking gorgeous yet totally screwed up, alcoholic, Irish Catholic stock.  Only my dad didn't drink.  Went right to me.  I'm grateful I'm the first to get recovery in my family.

My Grammie was as selfish as they come, some of which I know I have in me. She should never have had a child because she was a lonely lost child herself and never could care ultimately about anyone but herself. The reason she would make a “friend” or a lover was strictly about what she could get from them for herself. She was gorgeous, have I mentioned that?

 

Let's talk about this waist, please.



An absolute beauty – movie star quality - some said Elizabeth Taylor-esque - and men flocked to her. She loved it - loved the attention and the devotion. She grew to expect that devotion and attention from every person in her life. Especially her son. But she left him when he was a small child to move and pursue her own interests. She left him with various relatives and abusive men who hoped to be in her favor. My dad was the only child she ever had and she really wanted him to be a girl. She used to curl his hair and put blush on his cheeks. Although he made a pretty girl, he made an even more handsome boy and grew up relatively unaffected by his unusual childhood.



My dad and Grammie. Totally posed. Wonder where I get it from?

Grammie, for a period of time, lived by herself in a condo on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago.  The Pink Building.  You know it.  And she was a manicurist to the stars, including Frank Sinatra.  Who, let's just say was charmed by her and vice versa.  All while she had a child in the world, who was passed along to relatives to take care of while she lived the high life.  She wanted a son only when it was convenient for her and when it served her purposes.

Grammie and my dad, later on in life, she had to pose as if she was looking at him in every photo. My dad HATED that.



Grammie and baby Katy. She finally got her baby girl. Also, she tried to give me her menagerie of furs through the years. She didn't approve of me being a vegetarian.





Grammie dressed up as a nurse the day my little brother was coming home from being born. She loved making a production out of things. Look how geeked out excited I am about all this.

I don’t know if she ever truly loved, but boy did she lose. She pushed so hard and asked for so much that everyone she had eventually left her. Now she is alone and only my dad and mom go and visit her. 

That was again, in 2003 or 2004.  She was living in a nursing home close to my parents, and was completely out of her mind.  She was ALWAYS delusional.  From the time I remember as a child she brought fun and fantasy and luxury with her.  When Grammie came to visit, it was always a good time.  She and I would go shopping and to lunch and do our nails and she would encourage me to wear make up and dress up at all times.  AT ALL TIMES.  And if I didn't look up to snuff she made sure she let me know.  I can only imagine the hell my dad went through with that superficial bullshit as a child. 

She lost everything. Most of all her beauty and this is what I understand. That is where all this sadness and loss of control for her begins. She lost her beauty, which means she lost the adoration of thousands and then she slowly lost her own money trying to hold on to it and get it all back. Now she is just lonely and sad and mean. She doesn’t want me to succeed and be happy because she is not.

Do I fear losing my looks? You bet I do. I don’t underestimate for one minute how much the way I look has helped me in my life. I know I am smart and capable and all of that other crap, but I am beautiful and in this world of ours, that is what really matters. You may think me superficial, but it is a tool, just like money that can be used to get what I want and she knows this. She knows (or thinks she does) that once I lose my beauty I will have nothing just like her. But that is where she is wrong. I do have more than her because I take the time to invest in myself and in other people. I don’t make friends because of what I can get from them.

Since I have been sober, I have learned the hard way that friends and family are the most important and enduring relationships I have and without them, I have nothing. I don’t have to be beautiful on the outside to be fulfilled on the inside. Does it help? Sure, am I going to fade quietly into non-prettiness? No way, I like being pretty. It is fun and it is what came naturally to me. I don’t abuse as I used to though. And it is not all I have.

I hate my Grammie. As much as I feel that hatred for her I feel love and sadness and understanding for her more than anyone else could imagine. The reason for this is that she and I are so much alike. Or we used to be. Our relationship has changed forever since I got sober and learned how important people’s insides are. She never learned that lesson and now, I don’t think she ever will. She used to love being with me because we were two gorgeous ladies against the world. We could both wield our feminine wiles and the men would flock. Well, I don’t work like that anymore and she doesn’t like it one bit.


One of our last pictures together.



I don’t hate my Grammie. I hope that before she dies she finds some kind of peace and gratitude for what she has had in her life and not to just keep asking for more, more, more. Sometimes there just isn’t any more and we just need to be grateful for what we have.

She’s going to be a selfish bitch until her dying day, but at least I understand why she is that selfish bitch. I’ve learned a whole lot about young beauty and how that inevitably fades. What we are left with is what we have inside and those we have surrounded ourselves with. What a lesson you have taught me Grammie, I don’t want to go out like you. Alone and lonely because of pushing people away. Thank you for showing me that.

Interesting how perspective changes after years go by. Now, I really only remember the good stuff. The fun Grammie stuff and not the abusive way she talked to my dad and then to me. I am not mortified as I used to be when she got arrested when I was just 16 and we were at a shoe store and I had to call my dad to bail her out for shoplifting.
I feel so much compassion for her today. She was so lonely and filled with longing. Talk about a hole in the soul. She depended on men and their attention for EVERYTHING. She relied on sex appeal and charm for everything, much like our girl Joanie Holloway. They were both so much better than that. Partly due to the times, and partly due to low self esteem, these women relied on men for everything.

If Grammie only knew how valuable she was in teaching me these great lessons, completely different lessons than she meant to teach me, she would probably be horrified and say, "no no no, that's not what I meant!". I watched and I learned Grammie. I learned what not to do and what to do as a smart and capable woman. You taught me to love and appreciate luxury and beauty. And I miss you right now at Christmas. Terribly, actually.

Salami Ruins the Mile High Club

This is a high class problem post, because I'm suffering from a parent hangover today.



Look at this nonsense. Don't they look like terrible awful parents? I AM KIDDING. God.
They are awesome. I just hit a wall. YESTERDAY.

I need to get this off my dirty heaving chest. And it's rough being middle class and white in America, yo.

From the second we walked on the plane to come home today it stank.  The smell was unmistakably salami.  Can someone tell me who thinks it's a great idea to bring pastrami on a floating trailer?  Everyone turns into hillbillies when flying.  The shoes are off the pants are unbuttoned and the stinks come out.  People are at their worst when flying.  It's true.  People are rude and abrasive and I blame the airlines and the lack of money and the poorly staffed and overbooked flights and basically everybody.  The staff are rude.  And forget about anything being sexy. The myth that the mile high club still accepts new members is gone.  Once you see that big fat guy wander back there and not return for 20 minutes, the allure is gone.  We are all together flying in a giant cavern of stink.


I leaned my head against the seat in front of me to sleep.  Now I'm terrified I got a staph infection from touching that thing.  The guy next to us was an absolute douche bag who ignored his wife and small child the entire flight instead opting to read his "tech" magazine, which I saw had a full page girlie pictorial and he paid way too much attention to that. 

It's a low point for humanity to fly.  I would rather take a submarine than get on an airplane.  I have a bad attitude about it, I will be the first to admit, but god dammit. It's just depressing. 

I'll spare you the long winded I miss the old days of glamour and flying, but simply put, I miss the event of flying.  I am convinced I should have been born in the 1950's as I am just kind of old fashioned and adhere somewhat to gender roles and go gaga for 1960's fashion.  You've seen my wedding pictures, right? 





I just married Dumpster Husband two years ago and I wouldn't change a damn thing about my retro get up. LOVE IT. All the way down to the Dorothy sparkle heels.

Also, I've been watching a lot of this:

So, I'm a bit influenced and glamorized by the media and my own dreamy brain, but damn.  What we have now is a big fucking greyhound bus in the sky.

I can't keep this up all on my own people.  Wear form fitting clothing with zippers that aren't falling off your ass and put some shoes on with heels.  It will take you one minute longer at the fucking security checks, but once in a while, just do it.  It will make you feel sexy, I promise.