Love During Failure

I think we all go through those stages when we think we're going to commit to something, we feel really motivated towards our goal; like we could kick the world in the balls. No turning back this time! This time I'm going to really kick-ass!

Well, it's a fact that sometimes we fail. It's like one big punch in the stomach when we've finally realized that we've failed what we've set out to do. And we don't admit our failures when we slip up the first time....maybe the second time....or third. It's only when we're back to our old ways, when one day we finally realize that we're back to who we used to be. And that's when it hits us that we've failed. And that's when it hurts the most, and it's easy to let negativity and millions of reasons wash over you as to why you should never try again.

The important thing to remember now, when failure happens, is that even though we go through these different failures...maybe you've experienced this once, or maybe you've experienced this many times...maybe you're going through it right now....you need to remember that loving yourself during your failures is the most important thing you can possibly do. There is a reason you've failed, even if you don't see it, and you need to take the time to uncover what that reason is--before you try again.

Were you trying or working for your goal for the right reason? Was your heart in it for yourself or for someone/something else?

It's important that you find out these reasons before you begin again, because unless you do, I believe you'll fail again. Only true, passionate, real reasons behind your goals will accomplish success. Once you've discovered the truth behind your goal, you will realize how much you want to succeed. But you need to love yourself, your process, your journey, where you are right NOW, and love yourself in your vision of where you can be in the future.

Trust me, I'm one to talk. I say these things all day to others, and yet I struggle extensively with my own goals. The beauty of the human race is the diversity of the soul. We're all searching for the truth in ourselves. The reason why we do what we do. I'm consistently wondering why I can't commit to change. My childhood maybe? My experiences growing up? My marriage? I'm a master at the blame-game. The one thing that matters the most though, and that I can take comfort in, is that I do know these things I've stated, and that I know what to do to keep trying. I have the knowledge inside to remember that when I try and if I fail, I can always try again. There is nothing ever telling me that I can never do anything.

Life is only a series of thoughts--and thoughts can be changed.

And because of that, I'm safe.

Hairy suspense.

So, this past Sunday I went and, for the first time in a very long time (I can't even remember how long its been), I had my hair professionally done. I decided to go because I was sick and tired of looking like a wet rat when I got out of the shower, then a dry rat when I walked out of the door for the day.

Enough was enough, damnit. I can do better than this shit.

So, I forked down $200.00 and got a wash, cut, and a body perm.

Yes, I spent that much. And yes, I'm ashamed. Don't rub it in.

I can imagine your first thought when I say that I got a body perm. Not a lot of people get perms anymore. And, not a lot of people even know what a "body" perm is, for that matter. Even my husband said:

"What the heck is a body perm?? Is that when they curl or, like, do something to your...ya know?"

All I could do was stare wide-eyed at him. And shake my head.

I would NEVER pay $200.00 for that.

But I digress...

When my stylist did my hair, which took 2 hours and smelt like ass, she informed me that I'm not able to wash my hair for three days after I get my hair done that day, because all the stinky ass chemicals that she puts in my hair need to settle. I'm thinking to myself: 

"okay, no worries, my hair will be curly--people wont really notice."

Well, it turns out that--and I didn't know this--you have to have your perm "blown out"--basically straightened with a hair-dryer after immediately after it gets done. She said that the heat helps it stay in, or whatever. Who the hell knows. So then I was informed that I get to wear it that way for the next 3 days. Lovely. So now I'm thinking: 

"Soooo basically, I still get to look like a rat."

And yes, I looked like a rat yesterday, and all day today. The best I could do was put my hair up in a pony-tail and pin my "bangs" back with a bobby-pin, but that totally didn't disguise the fact that I had a PAM factory working away on my scalp.

I guess I shouldn't complain so much because getting a perm was totally my choice. But--I'm a griper. Get used to it. And--I was expecting to leave the salon, after forking over that much dough, with some friggin curls. You should have seen the look my husband gave me when I walked out of there with flat hair.

 And, I'm nervous to finally wash my hair tomorrow morning, because what if when I finally see the results of  my perm it turns out that it looks like hell? I'll be shit-pissed angry, I'll tell you what.

If it looks like this:

or This:

or, God-forbid, This:



Someone's going to have a problem.

Me, mostly.

Are you wondering why I got a body perm? Well, I can tell you.

Before I got pregnant with my son, my hair was beautifully curly all on it's own, and--I don't care how much they say it isn't true and those who say it isn't true can go to hell--now that I had a child my hair can't hold a curl to save it's life. And I loved my curls. My hair was easy to deal with, especially when I felt like being lazy. I would just shower and let my hair dry.

Now, I actually have to do things to my hair to make it look good.

It's as annoying as fuck.

How feminine of me, no?

Anyway, that's why I got my perm.

Just so I can feel better, and feel justified, let me show you what I mean.

This is my hair a few years ago, before I got "up the spout", so to speak:

(pretty curls *sigh*)

Here is a recent picture of me, now that I've released my spawn into the world:

(nope, not a curl in sight.)

See? So, that's why I paid the money to get my curls back. My hair is also a lot longer than it was years ago, as you might be able to tell from the difference between those two pictures too. So, maybe tomorrow morning I'll end up with glorious flowing locks of brunette hair. Who knows. Time will tell.

Fuck, I'm nervous. 

Well, aren't you glad that this entire post is about my hair?

Maybe that is a little girly after all.

Well, perhaps it would help you to know that I'm sitting here typing this tonight chugging seltzer water, which makes me burp every other minute. Quite impressively, I might add. Oh, and remember, I've got greasy hair that hasn't been washed in 2 days.  

Better?

*sigh*

Seriously, how much can one person expect from another person?

Let me tell you, my job is going to be the death of me. I'm a sales person, and it seems like the more I try, or the more sales I get, the more they want from me. There's no validation or anything. No commendations.

Okay, maybe I should stop complaining, I know. Maybe I should just suck it up and realize that it's the way of the world. Maybe I'm being a puss. But I tell you, it's people who are never satisfied that are on my "do-not-like" list (not like I really even have one, although that could very well be created). I mean, would it kill those people to be nice every once in a while?

With them, probably.

I especially "dislike" those type of people because for some reason I'm so bothered by them that they even get their own blog post. I mean, obviously it's bothering me enough to feel like I have to write about it.

You know what, screw that. I'm not writing about all of those losers anymore. I dont need any of them to feel good about myself. Whatever, you lame-os.

 I'm sure I could be doing something much more constructive with my time.

I'll think I'll go eat something.

Mr. Pissy Pants Doctor Man.

Yesterday was like "omg" stressful. So stressful that I can only write about it today. My child would not stop crying, the poor thing. A few days ago, as I told you all, he was diagnosed with croup. The doctor saunters into the office where we take my son, and asks me what's wrong, and I describe to him that my child has a fever of 100.3, he sounds like an 80 year old male smoker, and he's coughing like a sea mammal. Aaaaand the doctor looks at me like I'm stupid. Like I should know what's going on. Like I have no business being here or something.

He does THIS:

And says "It's probably just croup."

Uhm......"It's probably just croup?"  I stand there looking at him, having no idea what the hell "croup" is. All I know is that my little kiddo has been crying for 24 hours, and I somehow need to find a way to make him feel better. This boob better tell me how the hell to help my son. So, I ask him what exactly "croup" is, and he gives me another look and explains to me that "it's just a cough that sounds exactly like what he has, and every child gets it this time of year. it's fairly typical....blah blah blah".

Basically, the more he talked, the more annoyed I got (although I'm excellent at hiding it when I want to, I might add), because the son-of-a-bitch was treating me like I was every other Mother out there--"too concerned, paranoid, too worried, etc etc". I mean, can't he have the decency to have some respect, and treat my concern like its important and it's his only focus at the moment, and not seem like he's concentrating on the affair he's probably having the nurse practitioner instead? God.

So, I calmly listened to him with an understanding smile, trying to understand, practically doing one of these:

Okay, Mr. Doctor-Man. Sure thing. Sounds Super-de-duper!

When internally, I really am feeling like this:

I'm faking it, you poop! You really piss me off, Mister! Grrrr!

I seriously can't stand it when they expect me to know what the hell is wrong with my son, when it's quite obvious that I came to them for the answer. And, on that note, dont treat me like why I came to see you is either not a big deal, or a waste of time. You get paid big bucks, pal, to tell me about croup, so at least pretend like you're interested.

And, watch your back, because next time you're so incredibly rude to me, I'll tell my 2 year old son, and he'll come and hunt you down and fight you. Don't think he won't, either. That kid has a mean sucker punch.

And, we all know who will win THAT fight.

Bitch, please.

all these thoughts....

the mall.

where do i begin? skinny jeans. skinny clothing. not-so-skinny people wearing said clothing, making me want to up-chuck my skinny latte from Starbucks that I waited 30 minutes in line for. I swear, every time I go into the mall, I get more and more thankful that I dont give a fuck. That's seriously something to be thankful for. You can tell when people care what other people think. They're dressed exactly like the window display. They have their faces painted--almost literally. They have their teeth whitened to an abnormal amount where it almost hurts to see them talk. Although...come to think of it, most of the time it does hurt to see them talk, no matter if they even have teeth or not. They're constantly giggling in each other's ears while the stumble and giggle through the mall, and pointing and giggling some more, saying god-knows-what. probably talking about how so-and-so slept with so-and-so, or how they got a text from that so-and-so while  the so-and-so was doing the other so-and-so, so he obviously really wanted her instead....and so on, and so on.

This world is going to hell. When I look around the mall I even see young girls....very young girls, dressing like they're 15 years older than they should be.

For a 10 year old, THIS is okay:

NOT, this:

Because then THIS GUY:

will stare at them.

*puke*

So, seriously, Mothers and Fathers, put some decent clothes on your daughters. Some of the things that they wear and ask to wear just because it's "cool" is totally inappropriate. Dont put them at risk for any danger. God knows that this world is already a fucked-up place to live. Just do your part and keep your children safe by dressing them appropriately. I have a son, and I'm thankful for that, but I know I'll have my own struggles with him.

For all of you out there who are raising a daughter or more than one, I'm proud of you. I'm sure it's tough shit. But keep with it.

Dont believe what they say. It matters. 

You ARE your childhood.



Yowzabub.

Okay, being from Maine, I guess I'm allowed to name my post "yowzabub". I guess because only in Maine do you hear such words. Anyway, I title this post the above because really no other word quite describes how I'm feeling. It's a mixture between tired, full of energy, frustrated about the day, psyched about the weekend, and "blah". You should seriously see how I'm laying on my couch right now. Actually I take that back, you sbouldnt see how I'm laying on the couch. I wont put you through that. I have terrible posture, and this couch makes me look fat. Hey though, I'm comfortable, and yes, my husband is across the room, but God bless him he doesnt care that I'm slouching so low on this couch with the lap top on my stomach, typing away. He's just reading his book, and life is grand here in the Johnson house.

But I have crap on my mind. Not literally--gross. But have you ever had something looming...like a situation that's going on in your life that keeps bubbling up, or flying around your head like a little fly that you keep swatting away? I have a situation going on exactly like that. It's involving my in-laws.

Now, I wont get into too much detail, for confidentiality reasons--also because i value my life and if they ever found out I'm sharing my feelings about them on the interweb they might freak and try to kill me. There's just a predicament going on between me and them. My husband is caught in the middle. Also, my son is caught in the middle. It's gotten to the point now where the in-laws havent seen my son for quite a bit now, because some things have happened where I just dont think it's in his best interest. But they tend to disagree, and so on and so forth the arguement continues. My poor husband, having to stay loyal to both me and his parents, is having a rough time of it. He has to talk to them on the phone and make conversation, but I wont talk to them, because they are so difficult. If you knew the whole story I suppose it would be easier for you to understand, and not judge me for not letting my son see them, and not talking to them. But trust me--its for the best.

They are coming to my son's 2nd birthday party next week, and God help me if they make a scene...

How do I deal with difficult in-laws? Do any of you have difficult in-laws? Can anyone relate?

Oye e vay....

I can hardly stand it when...

I can hardly stand it when I can hardly stand it. Why do I have such a lack of patience? I'm writing this blog from work--even though I probably shouldnt be, but hey, there arent any rules saying that I shouldnt, and I do what I want. Hahaha, who am I kidding, I do what people tell me to do. I'm a complete puss. Oye. Actually, it really depends on what it is. When it comes to being at work, I'm like a robot. Of course I'll do what they say, but that's only because its my job. I'm not like some people that sit around me who consistantly rebel and pay the consiquences and then wonder what they've done to get in trouble. Dummies. But back to my original gripe. My lack of patience. I have such a severe lack of patience that at some times I feel like I need therapy. But I honestly feel like the therapy would make it worse. But then again, arent I the same as any other human being, and maybe I'm just being honest about it. Maybe I'm the only one who wants to admit that I have a patience problem, and not be snotty and think I'm the bees knees. Not like I know anyone like that or anything. My heart beats fast and I get a queasy feeling in my stomach when I get annoyed to the point where I feel like I could burst. And the thing is...I get annoyed at the littlest things. Actually, maybe they arent little things. Who am I to decide if they're little things? Here, let me let you decide:

-Smelly people
-People who dont know how to drive
-People who talk to much
-Dumb people
-People who say obvious things
-People who speak in slang
-People
-People
-People

Am I being unreasonable? Someone please save me, before I start to lose patience with myself.

Snooze button.

I only pressed mine twice this morning, but on a typical day when I can't seem to get my lazy ass out of bed, it's probably 3-4. It's gotten to the point where I set my alarm 30 min earlier, just because I know I'm a lazy individual. God, that's pathetic. Actually, ask my husband and he'll tell you how annoying it is.  I guess this could relate back to my previous post--because this is a super bad habit of mine. Yes, somehow I manage to get everything done in the morning before I leave for work, but half the time its running around squalking at everyone to hurry up, because I still need to blow dry my hair and change the baby, and we have to leave in 5 minutes. Stupid--stupid Snooze button. More like "feel-good-now-add-stress-and-terror-30-minutes-later" button. The beautiful feelings I get from "Ahh, 10 more minutes" are crap. This is a habit I need to kick, instead of my husband rolling over and kicking me.