Fin.

I can't breathe and my heart feels like it is going to burst. I'm a blubbering mess who can't catch her breath; breathing is probably overrated, anyway.  It's one o'clock in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas, sitting on my bed surrounded by balled up, snotty bits of toilet paper.  It really isn't a pretty picture.  I'll have moments where I think I'm ok, I'll stop crying, I'll be able to take a deep breath, calm myself...but it only takes a split second of me remembering something, some insignificant little thing, and I'm right where I began.  Isn't it funny how the memories you cherish before a breakup can become your worst enemies afterwards? The thoughts you loved to think about, the memories you wanted to hold up to the light and view from every angle--it suddenly seems a lot safer to lock them in a box, far from the light of day and throw away the key.  It's not an act of bitterness.  It's an act if self-preservation, but this is only day one.  I should allow myself to feel this.  Eventually, I'll move on to thinking of things that were causing frustration,  that I thought I couldn't live with, to try to make myself better.  Even that may not work, because the sweet loving memories that will stab at my heart and make my eyes swell far outnumber the negative ones.  We talked this morning about the fact that what makes this even more sad is the fact that there is still love there.  It's not a bad breakup, with fighting, arguments, or ill will.  Something just wasn't right.  I couldn't look him in the eye last night and honestly tell him that this relationship was what I wanted.  I tried to hang on, but I ended up forcing it and made things worse.  Maybe he's right and one day, 6 months from now, I'll tell him that I was wrong and that I want to come back. 


For today, I'm glad I have a bottle of wine in my fridge.  I don't want to be the sad girl with the puffy eyes wandering around the grocery store, lost, scanning the aisles for something to numb the pain.  There is something so cliche about eating ice cream after a break up, but oddly enough, the thought had crossed my mind.  I have also just discovered my need for more toilet paper.  I guess I should have checked my supply before I started crying all over the place.  

Drunks With a Camera Meet the Don Juan of Lesbians...and other adventures.

I haven't been writing! I don't know if it is a lack of things to say or a general lack of interesting things going on.
First, I must update everyone on the Valentine's Day situation with Little Man and Shannon.  She's a bitch.  Enough said.  Really, though...my sweet boy finally got up the nerve to ask her.  She said that she couldn't go because she had a club meeting the same day as the dance and wasn't able to.  He decided to go anyway without her.  When I asked him how it went, this was the response I got:  "Well, I was having a really great time mom....until I saw her there...".  I swear my heart broke into a million bits.  I came up with every excuse I could to make him feel less rejected.  That's not what he wanted, though.  What he really wanted to know was whether or not he should go up to her the next day and say, "So how was your CLUB yesterday??".  I advised against him being a little jerk.

So, this past weekend was a long one and I needed it.  I actually had 5 days off.  I took 2 extra days to spend some time with my sister, Tattooed and Organic (aka Freddie), and my cousin (aka Flossie) who were coming into town.  Thursday was spent with sister and mom.  I got my hair done (I got bangs! I look 13!), we did lunch, and shopped to our hearts content.  I finally found a hairdresser that I like.  It's been years since I've had one.  She is a zombie loving, tattooed, wild child and is just right.  Our conversation consisted of her trying to convince me not to wash my hair as often as I do and that I should go into Roller Derby.  I said I like to skate, but I'm just not aggressive enough.  "Oh, we'll teach you to be aggressive, sweetie."

Hmmmm...I'm thinking about it.

Friday was spent at my tattoo shop of choice, Red Handed Tattoo Gallery, finishing off my chest tattoo. My mother, myself, sister, and cousin were all there.  Telling you that we pretty much took over the shop while we were there would be an understatement.  My work took the majority of the day.  Sometimes I wonder what, Chance, my tattooer thinks of the fact that every time I get work done, I have a barrage of girl visitors that come in and proceed to divulge the details of their sex lives. (It's the only time I seem to get my girl talk in!)  I like to think that most of the time he is tuning us out.  Hopefully.
Anyway...the wine was flowing, there was beer drinking, cupcakes, babies, laughing, tattoos drawn up on dollar bills in a sushi bar, and a very expensive camera.  Drunken debauchery ensued, until some sort of stomach bug caught up with Flossie, and I had to take them home.  For reasons not needing to be mentioned, we deduced that it was not the alcohol.  Saturday we met for dinner at Firefly, because quite honestly, they have sangria and mojitos that are to die for...and they're sold by the pitcher, which is even more delightful.  It gets crowded, but is sooo worth it.  I came in, looking through the crowds of people, trying to find my dinner dates, when I was approached by a female server.  She proceeded to tell me how much she liked chest tattoos, open up my shirt to take a closer gander, ask me where I was from, then tell me how much she liked the South.  You know that feeling when you walk away from a conversation, asking yourself, "Was I just being hit on?".  Yeah.  That about covers it.  My girls were at the bar, joined by an odd looking fellow who I had never met.  When Flossie whispered that they didn't know him and she had almost put her fist in his face, I took it upon myself to make him go away.  He was hurt, until he found two other ladies to have a drunken convo with.  We were able to finally get our table...and guess who our server was?  Mandi.  The chick who looks at chest tattoos because it is "just another way to check out someone's chest". She actually did describe herself as the Don Juan of Lesbians.  She was cute, and a flirt, and looked like Shane from "The L Word" (who I had a major crush on when I used to watch the show), and made us all feel like we were the only girls in the place...until she got distracted and went to another table to flirt/serve/make another woman's night. 

The TV version of Mandi

She loooooved Flossie's accent.  In fact, after we left, we went to the tattoo shop to get Flossie's tattoo, then went back for a few more rounds (of drinks and of hanging with Mandi).  We stayed until closing, turned down Mandi's request to go out for drinks, but left with her number.  She was disappointed when she didn't get to go out Sunday and see Freddie and Flossie before they went home.  I'm sure she found someone else to flirt with, though.  I'll be returning for some Sex in Jamaica with Mandi for sure.  (We developed a new name for the mojitos we were drinking...but I gotta throw an innuendo in here somewhere!)  Hopefully I made a new friend.  I mean, I may not have an accent, but I have a chest tattoo that I'll let her look at...that should count for something.
I didn't get to see them before they left for home either.  Freddie and Flossie are gone now and I miss the laughter.  I don't think I ever laugh as much as I do with them.  Hopefully we don't have to wait another 11 years to all be in the same room again.

That smile? I'm intaxicated.

Intaxication: The initial euphoria a person feels upon receiving their tax refund, usually diminishing when they realize it was their money in the first place.

There is a major upside to being a single mom in the United States.  Tax time.  Just saying it makes my heart skip a little beat!  Getting that money at the beginning of the year creates a feeling of elation that is not comparable to anything else on Earth.  Not love, not food, not drugs, not alcohol, not orgasms...NOTHING.  Single moms know exactly what I'm talking about.  Some of us struggle more than others, but we're all in the same boat.  All year long, we constantly have to tell ourselves or our children that we can't have this or that, there's not enough money, maybe another time, maybe with my next paycheck...it hurts.  But then it's January.  And like a miracle from beer drinking Jesus, the heavens open and shower money upon us.  Glorious, floaty, papery green things falling upon our gracious heads...and the world changes.  We are ballers.  That's right.  BALLERS, I say! 

Evidently, money also makes me black, but that's cool. Just call me Ms. Tee.

Yes, it's our money to begin with and it is rightfully ours...and yes, we'll use it for practical things like clothes/shoes for our kids, putting money into our vehicles, paying off bills or getting caught up on things that have been put off as much as possible all year long...but who gives a shit?  We also get to treat ourselves a little.  We deserve it.

So, whether you are a single mom or not...whether you get $100 back or several thousand...enjoy your intaxication!  I will enjoy mine while it lasts.  There is something about having to put most of your money into your truck and into paying off various judicial systems that brings you down from your high, so to speak.  Oh well!  Myself and my loved ones still benefit, even if it's just a little...and me not walking around stressed out is a gift in itself.  When the chicken is not happy, the coop suffers dearly, you know?

When the Sickness Comes to Town...

Little man has a cold.  I thought it was bordering on the flu for a minute...he was running a high fever for almost two days.  I am amazed at the great kid he is becoming.  He is very independent and our existence usually goes something like: "Hi, Mom! I'm going to So-and-so's house! Bye!", he comes home when he's supposed to, which is followed by "What's for dinner?", followed by his door shutting as he goes off to his little world filled with South Park (Yes, he watches South Park, as long as he doesn't watch it in front of his sister or repeat anything from the show in her presence) and Lego's.  This is interspersed with bouts of preteen angst when he doesn't get his way or his sister has been in his room.  I still don't know how he knows when someone has been in his room with the mess that is going on in there.  I can tell when someone has moved something in my room, though, so I guess he gets that from me.
Anyway, Little Man has been super lovey lately and since he's been sick, it has been a constant stream of hugs and "I Love You"s in my house.  It's great.  Last night, after we watched a movie and Mini-Me had ventured into her room to watch whatever crap was on the Disney channel, Little Man confided that he had something to tell me.  Turns out that there is a dance at his school next week for Valentine's Day and he couldn't go unless he had a date.  Which I don't think is exactly true...he let it slip that all his friends had dates and he didn't.  He and I spent the next hour hanging out, talking about Shannon (the girl in his 3rd period class that is always staring at him), and how he was embarrassed to ask her to the dance.  I helped him write a note to her (in case he lost his nerve), said it wouldn't be the end of the world if she says no and confirmed that if she doesn't have a date yet, it was because she just might be waiting on him to ask her...the whole thing was freakin' adorable.  Especially the part where he stated that "getting girls in middle school is A LOT harder than it was in elementary school".
He's going to be a lady killer...just like his dad...and that scares me a little.  When his father was 13, he already had a mustache and was juggling 3 girls that were older than him.  Yikes.  I have a year and a half to instill some lessons on wooing and treating girls like ladies (ONE lady at a time) into this kid.  It's possible. 
He was excited to go to school and talk to Shannon.  "Do you think my fever will be gone so I can go back to school??"  I told him I didn't know.  I gave him some medicine and got him settled on the couch with his OJ.
"Stupid gay fever.  I bet it's prancing around his tank top and flip flops, throwing around his flowers and infecting me right now!"
Now, I hate when people use the word "gay" as an adjective to describe something that is bad, unpleasant, or something that they don't like.  Can't stand it!  And using the word gay and infecting in the same sentence would have sent me over the edge in some cases...had it not been so damned funny.
He woke up this morning and was a little better, but still not well enough to sit in school all day.  Hopefully Shannon doesn't get herself a date before tomorrow.