Teeth Bite

Today is a day chock full of "unfun" things to do but I've got a better grip on things than I expected to. My day began accompanying my husband to a long overdue dental appointment. I'm not one to talk, really, not having been to a dentist myself in about a decade, for many reasons, not the least of which is money (a lack thereof) and insurance (spotty, at best). But the dentist opens up an entirely unique Pandora's Box of misery for Brian. You see, Brian would be the first to admit, he has very bad teeth. It is something that makes life challenging for him and, to a far lesser extent, for me as I very rarely get to see my husband smile. This is not something I have ever discussed publicly and I wouldn't be doing so now without his explicit consent but my husband is a recovering drug addict. His past with drugs has never been a part of our life together. He was addicted to crystal meth but detoxed himself and quit cold turkey about three years before we met. In our twelve years together, I can count on one hand the number of times we've discussed this. That was due, primarily, to the fucked up way I was raised, to believe that matters such as this were NOT to be brought up, and to my fear that it would bring up bad memories for Brian. However, I discussed it with him yesterday, got some brand new insight into his experiences, and realized, once again, how much it truly pains him that his addiction led to what he openly refers to as his "fucked up teeth." He had to have three pulled today and is already missing quite a few others. Ideally, he would love to get them fixed, he has always wanted that, but it is absolutely not financially possible for us right now.

I am SO proud of my husband. He faced his fear today, on many levels. His last dental experience was pure hell, not only physically painful but, on a much deeper level, emotionally painful, as the "professional" staff and dentist made him feel utterly horrid about the state of his teeth. I wish I had realized this at the time so I could have drop-kicked the fuckers but alas, that's neither here nor there now. But today, my husband, the trouper, went into that office, expecting to have one tooth pulled and subsequently lost three. This time, he was treated with kindness, respect and compassion as he should have been the last time. He is in a lot of pain, again, both physical and emotional, but in a strange sick way, for the first time, I can look at his teeth as battle scars, symbols of a war that he fought, and won, with his addiction. Would I love for my husband to have a beautiful, healthy smile that he could show to the world with pride? Absolutely! Do I love him any less because he doesn't? What do you think? Once again, I am filled with awe and utter respect for anyone who has fought a battle with drugs and/or alcohol and won. Each and every day that passes where one doesn't use is a victory, one that should never be taken lightly. I never will, not ever again.

We the People

I'm going to do something a bit unusual and preface this post with a brief statement. I realize that politics are, and have always been, a very polarizing issue in this country. Though I am happy to discuss my personal political beliefs if asked, I don't generally bring them up in certain situations where I don't feel the time or setting is appropriate (say a wedding or a funeral). This post is not being written to encite a debate but merely as a way for me to share a bit about my voting history and experiences in the political process. As a result, you may or may not agree with the votes I've cast and that's fine. There is a time and place for debating but this is not it, k? Thanks! Now, on with the post.

As an American, an American woman, no less (and I mean that in every way), it has been my honor and privilege to vote in every major election since I became a legally registered voter in 1991 at age eighteen. I had grown up in a right-leaning home (lord, help me) and, as a result, registered as an independent because that was as brave as I felt I could be at the time, in spite of my left-leaning political bent from the time I really started to understand, as much as a white, middle class, Long Island teen can, the political process and voting as a whole. Clearly, I didn't understand enough because I was crestfallen to discover at the time of my first "legal to vote" presidential primary that I could NOT take part, having not chosen a major party affiliation. Utterly devastated, I made sure to correct that mistake as quickly as possible, albeit too late to cast that crucial first primary vote (which, I'll admit with a cheeky grin, would have been for California Governor Jerry Brown).

Casting my first presidential vote in 1992 was a BIG moment for me. It didn't accomplish as much as I would have hoped within my family but it did serve to cancel out my parents' votes that year. Actually, we all cancelled each other out, my mother voting for (it pains me to say) Bush Sr. and my father, bless his heart, was quite enamored with another wealthy Texan. Still, that was the first time I felt like a major player in the political process. I was SO proud to cast my vote for the soon-to- be-elected Senator William Jefferson Clinton and subsequently, each and every Democrat to run for president (and many other offices) ever since.

I feel it is not only my right but my DUTY to vote, one I do not undervalue, even when elements of the political process, as they often do, leave me cold. Like many others, I do not feel TIED to party lines, though it just so happens that my li'l liberal self does generally choose to vote along them. The mud slinging, often on both sides, is quite disheartening. But I will always, ALWAYS, play my small part come election day, even when I feel like my one quiet voice might not truly influence the outcome (aside from maybe canceling out someone else's vote which, in actuality, is no small feat). Though there are things I do NOT love about the United States, knowing that I have the right to feel that way and express it on election day is one of the things I, in fact, most love about it. Attending my very first political rally, standing mere feet away from our soon-to-be vice president in 2008, was definitely one of the most exciting political days in my life. Watching our first lady's rousing speech last night at the Democratic National Convention was another. Though your politics may not be mine, I felt stirred to write this post to reveal some insight into what the process, and voting, means to me. It is a beautiful thing to know that every single eligible voter in this country gets to play his or her part in this amazing process. I cannot wait to play mine.

And Now For Something Completely Different

I will never be an actor. I briefly studied acting at around age 15 but had to quit class after improv because I just couldn't memorize lines. However, that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun doing that "James Lipton/Inside the Actor's Studio/super-fun-and-oh-so-illuminating questionnaire thing", right? Hell, this is MY blog. I do what I want! Here goes...

What is your favorite word? bliss
What is your least favorite word? goodbye
What turns you on? kindness
What turns you off? cruelty
What sound or noise do you love? the very distinctive "cat sounds" my two cats make
What sound or noise do you hate? landscaping equipment of any kind
What is your favorite curse word? I love so many. Lately, I'm kind of digging asshat.
What profession would you like to attempt? I would love to actually earn money as a writer. I also think I'd make a helluva psychologist.
What profession would you not like to attempt? grief counselor or ditch digger
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Everyone is welcome here. Let's go find your dad.

I Just Can't Stop

So, you may be wondering what's gotten me so hot and bothered about writing, lately.  I mean sure, in the past I've written sporadically and given you a glimpse at what's inside me but for the past few days, it's like I have this ferocious passion to strip away my defenses and share what makes me who I am.  There is a very specific reason for this, a clearly definable catalyst and that is the brilliant book GUTS - The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster and its remarkable author, Kristen Johnston.

First off, GUTS is one of the most powerful pieces of writing I have ever encountered.  It resonates with me on SO many levels and, in many ways, it captures the essence of who I was, who I am and who I wish to become.  I don't want to reveal too much about the book because, truly, I believe you should read it and discover its raw beauty for yourself but trust me, you will laugh, you will cry and, quite possibly, you will come away a changed person, as I have.

In short, GUTS captures one woman's journey of self-discovery, addiction, near-death and recovery but it is OH so much more than that.  Having never suffered from an addiction to drugs or alcohol (but having a family member who does), it was not that aspect that I could identify with though, as Kristen says, "Everyone is addicted to something."  It was not just her depression that I could relate to though, as I've said many times before, it is a battle I have fought my entire life.  It is not our shared love of lip balm, true crime, profanity and biting wit that enraptured me, though all of these things certainly helped.  No, what I think effected me most is Kristen's brutal honesty and fearlessness. This is a woman who did not have to tell her story, she wanted to, not with any agenda in mind beyond sharing her truth and maybe, just maybe, inspiring others along the way. She has done that and so much more. I feel like, for the first time in my life, I can come out from behind the curtain of shame that has kept me hidden for so long. I can know, deep in my heart, that sharing MY story can only do me good and if, in the process, I can touch someone else's life, all the better. It is my sincere wish that everyone will read this book and take away from it all that I have.

It is my great honor to have this book, and Kristen, in my life. The lessons I have learned, and am still learning, are ones I cherish. I feel like, for the first time in my life, just who I am is good enough. Sure, I want to continue to grow and evolve. My work is only just beginning. But having this book as a tool and this remarkable friend in my life, wow. It's one hell of a start.

Say, You're Pretty...Pretty Ugly

Okay, here's a little tale from long, long ago. It happened around the time I was eleven and, to this day, helps shape my self-image and beliefs about beauty. I had a crush, my very first, on someone other than John Stamos or various members of Duran Duran (not Roger and never Andy. Sorry dudes, you just weren't my type.) It was powerful and scary and something I ONLY confided in my very best friend at the time who happened to be three years older than me and clearly MUCH more sophisticated and worldly about such things. Anyway, I thought he was just the cutest thing ever and my friend found the whole thing entirely too adorable and was bound and determined to find out if he liked me, too. I insisted that she keep her trap shut, thank you very much, I had NO intention of sharing these thoughts with ANYONE but her and knew that I was in no way capable of handling the crushing blow that would, most certainly, be the result of her inquiry. Some time later, this boy decided, perhaps on his own, perhaps due to some of my "friend's" machinations, to bestow upon me a most lovely moniker, one that I clearly recall to this very day. Are you ready for it? Seriously, you'll just LOVE it, I know I sure did. He began to refer to me as...The Plop From Pluto. Couldn't you just die? Actually, I wanted to. If there was anything my fragile little psyche needed at such a formative time in my life it was a DELIGHTFUL little nickname like that, especially from the boy I had, until that point, thought was the absolute bees knees. *THUD* Yes, that's what it sounds like when your heart drops, just before it shatters. For an indeterminate amount of time after that, when he addressed me, if he addressed me at all, it was as The Plop From Pluto and I died a little more inside each time. For some godforsaken reason, somewhere down the line, my aforementioned friend decided to talk to him about this and ask him, I'm paraphrasing, if he really thought I was THAT ugly. His response, allegedly, was that I was "kind of pretty." This according to my friend who may or may not have been trying to spare my feelings (too late for that, sister) and soften the blow that had been dealt to me, time and time again, for months, at the very least. Now, maybe he did think I was "kind of pretty" and was just doing that crazy boy thing of being meanest to the girl he liked the most, maybe not. But the fact of the matter is, what I have always held on to is the feeling that I am, indeed, The Plop From Pluto, beyond repulsive and certainly, without question, not worthy of being liked or, dare I say, loved. Clearly, this happened a long time ago. I have since been told I am "pretty, cute, beautiful" even, at one point, "the most beautiful thing I have ever seen" but I'll tell you, even now, it is SO much easier to believe that I am disgusting, hideous and wretched than any of those good things. I have said that everyone is born beautiful and it is one's actions (or inaction) over time that enhance or diminish one's beauty but, I'm being perfectly honest here, that applies to everyone BUT me. Still, I feel passably decent-looking today. I took the time to put on a fucking DRESS (I know, right?) for no apparent reason, which I NEVER do and even shot a few self-portraits in my bathroom to commemorate the event. I think the reason I feel this way today is, as people have tried to tell me for YEARS, that beauty really does come from within and I kind of like myself today.  When I like myself, even if it's just for a passing moment (usually) or maybe even a whole day (stay tuned), I feel less than disgusting, slightly cute and maybe, just maybe, a little bit beautiful.

By the way, in case you're wondering, I would still like to kick that boy square in the balls, if he has any, just cause.

Finding My Voice

"Sometimes, I hear my voice and its been here, silent all these years." - Tori Amos

So, certain events have transpired over the past few days that have been my impetus to write again. Not about superficial things. Well, okay, maybe sometimes about superficial things but primarily about what's currently in my mind and heart and, I suspect, often about what USED to be in my mind and heart (and maybe still is today) that has helped shape me into the ball of angst and dysfunction I am now. I would like to share the good, the bad and the ugly, with all who want to listen even if no one thinks they want to hear it. Maybe they will someday, maybe not, and that's okay too because ultimately, this blog is for me, to give me a place to clear my head, reflect on the events of my so-called life and try to begin the arduous journey from who I am to who I want to be. It won't be pretty but life isn't pretty. Off we go.

You Never Know

Sometimes, usually when you least expect it, life throws you for a loop. Generally, at least in my experience, this is NOT a good thing. However, once in a great while, even when you feel most unworthy, you find yourself the recipient of a sweet surprise - something far greater than you probably deserve but nonetheless, there it is, this remarkable gift, so much greater than you could have imagined. Sometimes, this gift comes in the form of a person, a new friend, someone who seemingly knows you, can see inside you, without even knowing you at all. I cannot overstate how powerful an experience this can be. I am in the midst of one right now and, honestly, at this moment, on this day, it is enough, more than enough, to keep me going, even if only for one more day. I am humbled and so grateful.