Judgment, Advice, and Driving in the Rain

When I was down in LA for a baby shower, my pregnant friend Jen and I talked about all kinds of stuff. She is due in about six weeks, so she is thinking a lot about what it is going to mean to be a mom, what kind of family she wants to have, what kind of child-rearing she's going to want to do. We were talking about some neighbors of hers who never had kids, and she said that they had said they wanted some, but hadn't really gotten to it and now it was too late because of their age. And I said, well, did they try anything? And she said, you know, I didn't want to suggest anything to them, because I figure that being infertile is like being fat, and everyone has some solution to tell you how it is done, but it's all the same crap you've heard before your whole life.

I've been working on letting go of being judgmental of people around me, and I realize on some level that going around giving people advice all the time is a sort of judgment. If you are always telling people what to do, you are implying on some level that you know better than they do. It's funny because what I do for a living is tell people what to do, but I also try to get them to take some responsibility for the decisions too. Too often there is the tech who doesn't listen and ends up screwing things up. At least if the customer is taking some responsibility, it isn't all my fault if things go awry.

***

After doing that long drive to and from LA last weekend, I've been tired all week. It was a great trip, in addition to seeing Jen and being there for her baby shower, I got to catch dinner at Boiling Crab with DMA, where I made up for never eating seafood by eating tons of it. I also had a fantastic dinner with Jen and some of her friends at Lawry's. I'm not a big fan of prime rib, but they had this one option where they sliced it very thin and served it with awesome mashed potatoes and really delicious Yorkshire pudding. I also spend some time with KJ and her offspring (in both baby and feline form).

I also spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of time driving around, sometimes through the rain. And what they say about LA is true, no one has any idea of how to drive around in the rain. Not only that but the roads seem barely able to absorb any water so at some points I was pretty sure I was going to hydroplane into a guard rail. I was remembering previous trips to LA, like for KJ's wedding five years ago, and it was raining that weekend and I was trying to drive around and I remember being filled with so much anxiety that I was convinced that I was going to die on the road. I was with my ex at the time, and somehow he always made my anxiety worse because he thought that I should just calm myself (and he was one of those people who would tell you to relax, which is really bullshit, because if you aren't relaxed, someone telling you to relax is not going to help at all). I was going to and from events, driving and crying and feeling like my head was going to explode at some point but I really had to keep it together because I had to be the sane, reasonable one.

Well, here I am and I'm still the sane reasonable one, only now I'm actually sane which allows me to be a hell of a lot more reasonable. When I was driving in the rain this weekend, I was practicing a lot of my self talk, telling myself that it was going to be okay, and that this was minor compared to some things I've driven through (like fog so bad I couldn't see in front of me, or so much water my wipers couldn't get it and I couldn't see anything, both in my old Tercel). I did think about my ex then, on that trip, and it's weird how the memories seem to be farther and farther away. It's not just that I have forgotten about him, but I don't always recognize me in my recollections.

On The Road (Again)

Photo from a series I like to call, Look Out Behind You!

I'm heading off to Los Angeles for a baby shower tomorrow morning. I am totally exhausted at the moment and haven't done anything other than take my suitcase out yet. Thankfully I'm driving, but I want to try to leave early (aka no later than 10 AM) so I don't hit shitty traffic coming into LA. Then again, they have that crappy traffic most days, and since I'm going to West LA, I kind of know how to get off onto surface streets and wind my way down there to my destination.

I realized that I am almost out of my Wellbutrin so I've been taking a half dose (100 mg or whatever it is) and I'm not sure if it is what is making me feeling tired and cranky this week. It might just be having to go back to work after a nice relaxing three-day weekend. Then again, I do have the rest of the week and next Monday off and even if I am dreading the long drive a little, it is still better than being at work. I overestimated how much Wellbutrin I had left until this weekend, the three-day weekend when the mail-order pharmacy at Kaiser isn't really functional. The drugs are on their way now, but of course will arrive when I'm out of town.

Just thought of yet another thing that must be done, so I had better get off my ass here.

Self-Love Day, 2010

HERE ARE THE RULES!!!

1.) Post one of them thar banners on your blog and declare February 14th as the day you not only love your one and only, but the day that you love yourself! (For those of you who need help, all you do is right-click over the image of your choice then click on “save as” and save it wherever you want.)

2.) Post one nice thing about yourself……then ask others to post one thing that they really like about you.

3.) Enjoy yourself!

A few days after Valentine's Day last year, I started dating C. Before I met him, I was pretty cynical about love and meeting a guy I liked, and suddenly poof I wasn't. Hm. You can check out my lazy post from Self-Love day last year. The fact of the matter is, I'm at a point where being in love with someone doesn't mean I still am not cynical about Valentine's Day or happy that I'm living on my own and free to do what I want with my life. After dating someone for a year, well, it's just a period of time and I was not really stressing it, but then Valentine's Day came around the corner and I have been going through this, "What does this mean? Where is this going? What do I want?" And I found myself getting into a tizzy about things that were fine last week, like how often we see each other (by now, shouldn't we see each other more often), or how often we talk on the phone (almost never, because he's not a phone person and I spend too much time on the phone for work).

Like there is some sort of timetable for these things, and my current situation isn't measuring up. Which is bullshit. I went from a relationship that was very co-dependent, emotionally abusive, and intense, almost from the beginning, and I think in some way I wasn't taking responsibility for my side of things. On some level, I liked and wanted that kind of relationship, and that was what made me feel secure and loved. I think with the abuse, well, I felt like I deserved it and that people show their love by constantly criticizing and picking on you to make you a better person. And now that I'm dating someone who isn't like that, I feel like oh maybe he doesn't want to improve me and therefore doesn't love me. Which is bullshit as well.

Bless Hilly for her idea in creating a blog meme devoted to self-love. Too much of Valentine's Day is devoted to how much others love us, how we see material signs of that love. Spending money, having the right box of chocolates, the biggest bouquet of flowers, and other crap that isn't really necessary but feels like some sort of obligation to express a private emotion. It's a manufactured holiday, designed to pry money out of our wallets six weeks after the Christmas holidays. Don't get me wrong, I like flowers and chocolates as much as anyone else (and with chocolates, probably more than most people), but I think that there's something weird about this big commercial push to gift these items on this particular day.

Self-love is something else entirely, and you don't need a special day to celebrate it. At my junior high graduation, we sang "The Greatest Love of All" by Whitney Houston, and endlessly mocked it at the time, but I think there is a truth in the line about learning to love yourself being the greatest love of all. I don't think self-love is anything I was taught, if anything, I was taught the myriad ways that I was flawed and didn't measure up and just wasn't perfect. And that to be loved by others, I'd have to somehow be perfect. Which I've realized that, I'm never going to be. But I can love myself, imperfect as I am. So that's how I'm celebrating self-love today, imperfectly. I love myself for my imperfections, because they make me human and able to sympathize with all the other imperfect people in my life. Everyone fucks up, makes mistakes, and does things that they regret, but then we learn from that and move on.

Getting Older

I can tell that I'm getting old because I bought some inserts for my shoes. I don't know, maybe these aren't just something that old people buy, but it has always seemed that way to me. Anyway, this is what I got. My last few days of walking at lunch, my left heel was just killing me. After walking around with these all day, I'm not sure this is the solution because the right one feels like the arch is in the wrong place. Oh maybe I just need them on the left foot? Don't know. But looking at their other products, I think I'll buy some of them before my next Europe trip so I will have some relief when DMA has me marching around.

Speaking of getting old, my birthday is coming up in a few months. Unlike some people I know, I don't usually plan that far in advance. I have been kicking around some ideas, but after last year's dinner, I'm not really feeling up to doing the big dinner with friends. Also thirty-seven seems like an anti-climatic number. I don't think people ever wake up one day and say, wow, I can't wait to be thirty-seven. Or wake up and say, wow, don't trust anyone over thirty-seven. Or anything like that. Seems like another number, not an interesting one.

Of course, I could just lie and say it's my twenty-ninth birthday again. Someone will believe me, I'm sure. As long as they don't cut me open to count the rings.

Being Taken Care Of

I get along with my mom better than most people. Both than most people get along with their moms and better than I get along with most people I know. Of everyone I've known in my life, I've known her the longest, obviously. And lived with her the longest. So after all this time, it's kind of amazing when she can still surprise me.

I was talking to my mom this weekend about my thoughts about my relationship with C. It's been almost a year since we started dating, and that time frame made me start thinking about the whole "where is this going?" questions. And I was talking to my mom about what I'd do if I moved in with him (not that we've discussed this, this is pure speculation on my part). And my mom said that her hope for me would be for meet a man who would totally support me financially. I was speechless for a moment because this seemed the exact opposite of how I had been brought up. I was always brought up to be self-sufficient, find a good job, support myself, and have those values of being financially self-supporting. Also my mom was always telling me not to get married until I was old enough (30) and make sure that I had avenues of financial egress in a marriage. And I certainly wasn't raised to be a gold-digger or trophy wife in any way. Or even to be like Blanche DuBois and depend on the kindness of strangers.

What it really comes down to is that I never expected my mom to change. Now that she's at retirement age, she thinks more about money than anyone I know. And I guess part of her worries with getting older are if her children will be taken care of, especially financially, since she knows how hard it is to have enough money to retire on. And how much easier would it be to retire if you had someone else footing the bills.

I typed this in the morning and kept thinking I'd get back to expand on it, but I don't really know what to add. I think I could talk all about my experiences on my trip with her, but that seems to warrant more mental thoughts than I have now.

Unsent Letters

Dear Boss,

Putting food items up higher does not mean the mice won't get them. Mice can climb into things. Me moving everything to the top shelf in my cube isn't going to help the matter.

Thanks,
FC

-----

Dear Building Manager,

Having our trash collected only once a week and then asking us to do what we can to avoid having mice here is not really helping matters. I don't think having people waste time dumping all their trash on a different floor is really saving anyone that much money.

Sincerely,
FC

------

Dear February,

For a short month, you already seem too damned long. Do something about that. And none of that leap day business, please.

Yours,
FC

-----

Dear Random Facebook Friends,

Putting urban legends as your status message is really only showing what a simpleton you are. In the time that it takes you to type that dire warning in all caps, you could have googled whatever it is and saved us all the trouble of having to skip over it.

(Un)Friendily Yours,
Your FB friend, FC

------

Dear Everyone Who Uses Reply All,

Stop. Just stop.

------

Of Mice And Wo(men)

I don't really think of myself as a girly-girl. Sure, I'm not climbing under my car to change my own oil or anything, but I definitely do all kinds of things around the house like hammer nails, plunge a toilet, etc. And when it comes to animals, well, I volunteer with cats, so I end up having to deal with a lot of cat poop and whatever. I don't think of myself as easily freaked out.

But yesterday, this mouse was sitting inches from my foot at my desk at work, and I started shrieking and jumping around, even to go so far as to jump on a nearby chair. And scream a bit. In that way when you aren't really thinking about screaming and it just pops out. Well, I did plenty of that.

I guess this building has a mouse problem. And I guess it's been going on for at least a month. My boss found mouse poop in her desk, and a mouse had gotten into some snacks she had in her desk. But with this knowledge, it was nothing like actually seeing it inches from my foot, and then running around madly through the office as this guy chased it with a trashcan.

I wonder if we can have a "take your cats to work" day. That would probably solve the problem. Instead we have a bunch of these glue traps here. I have been told that I don't have to check the traps or touch any dead mice. I feel sorry for the mice in a way, because they are little and cute and resemble cat toys, but if it comes down to them or me, I'm on the side of me.