Get Real, Amie

I guess I can scratch 'professional blogger' of my list of potential career choices, seeing as how I haven't posted anything since January. Then again, I haven't had much to write about until recently.

For starters, Adam and I were going to separate. He was going to stay in San Antonio and I was going to take Kimmy back to Arizona where I would go to school and work part time and try to get on my feet and get on with my life. Ironically, after we established this, we began getting along better than we had in probably a whole year. And then even more ironically, Adam received orders to go to South Korea in November. At first he asked me to go with him, I think mostly because he doesn't want to be away from Kimmy for a year and a half. And I do feel sorry for him, having to be away from her so long. But there's a possibility the army won't allow us to accompany him any way. Plus I think that the time away from each other will be good for us.

The plan is to move to the East Valley area around the end of September, early October. I want to rent a nice little house with a yard for Kimmy, and possibly a puppy, to play in. I plan on working part time and putting Kimmy in pre-school before she becomes completely anti-social. She's incredibly bright and intelligent, but she's still very shy around new people and other kids. Also, she needs some friends. I also plan on getting my funeral director's license, like I've been trying to do for five years. It seems like timing is always an issue.

The past few months have seen a lot of personal growth for me. I have really started questioning who I am and what kind of person I'd like to be and what attitude and beliefs are holding me back from my full potential (Dr. Phil would be proud of that last sentence). I realized that I had a lot of anger, resentment, bitterness, and even a little hatred festering in my black little heart. As I grew up and went to school and dreamed of what I'd be, and then all through college, I was excited about life and what I would do with mine. And then my family lost everything. My sister was killed. Everything fell apart. And instead of some Hallmark network movie scene where we all pull together during the terrible tragedy and help heal each other, we all isolated ourselves. Most of us turned to very self destructive behaviors to cope.

Looking back over the last several years, I realized that all that ambition and lust for life I had was completely sapped. I now looked at life as a chore, something to get through, a never ending danse macabre of bullshit.

I've decided for my own sake and that of my daughter, that I'm letting all of that go. All that anger and negativity and pessimism, the self loathing, and the pity parties -- I'm just going to set it all down and move on. I'm going to be more honest and direct, more kind and patient and loving. I'm going to be grateful for what I have and look forward to every day and every opportunity. I'm going to have more faith in myself that I can handle anything that comes my way, and I'm going to do it with a smile on my face.

Oh, and I'm also going to cut off this horrid, burnt straw catastrophe that is my hair

And I think I'll go with a super short, kinda dykie spiky cut and get back to my roots. Then I'll grow it out healthy and bleach free. It's all part of the Get Real, Amie campaign. That, and it takes me too long to get ready in the morning and I'm not really trying to impress anyone with long flowing tresses, so I think it's time to cut it all off and start from scratch. That applies to my hair and myself.

My husband took leave last week. Here's a list of things he's done:

1. Began growing a beard, which he'll have to shave when he goes back to work. But that's ok, he has very sporadic and sparse facial hair so it won't be much to shave off.

2. Play, research, and trade video games like it's his new job. I swear, I thought I married a grown man, not a 14 year old.

3. Pick like, 4 fights with me. Here's how a fight goes. I'll be in a good mood until he says something shitty or calls me a name. So then I get pissed and then he calls me crazy, says I need Xanax and then ignores me for 2 days.

4. Slept in til 4:00 or 5:00 every day. Oh but to be fair he got up at 1:30 today and took Kimmy to the park after I asked him to.

When do I get to take leave?

This one makes no sense

I have been posting a lot of crap on Facebook lately and the other night, I sat down for two hours and wrote a letter to my husband, of which I have no intention of sending. I think I just have a lot on my mind. There's so much I want to do, so much I'm sick of, so many things I keep trying to change. I'm not sure where all this annoying self reflection comes from. Maybe it's a byproduct of having my birthday fall on the last day of the year.

It seems like as soon as I start thinking that things are unbearable, something presents itself to me that makes me realize that compared to most of the world, I have it made. What I'm suffering from is good old boredom. In the midst of a pity party of epic proportions, I stumbled upon an article about child sex slaves in South Africa and immediately felt like a shit. Here's a 14 year old girl, pregnant and dying of AIDS after being raped and forced into prostitution to make a profit for a pimp who's taking full advantage of the World Cup crowds. And then there's a staggering loss of life in Haiti. How shitty is your life if you live in Haiti, probably in what we'd consider abject poverty. And then BAM a massive earthquake comes along and wipes out like 100,000 people.

So yeah, I need to pull my head out of my ass and make things happen. Because I really am lucky. Oh sure, maybe things aren't perfect. Maybe my life looks nothing like what I'd like it to. Maybe some days I'm bored and lonely and feel like my brain is slowly leaking from both ears. But I have my baby. I have food and a vehicle and a roof over my head. I'm not worried about my physical safety. I have a few nice gadgets. Time is on my side. I have my health.

Which brings me to another point. I weigh just over 200 pounds, which is the heaviest I've ever been. I'm not happy at all with the way I look or feel. So I started a running program, Couch to 5k, I quit drinking soda, and I'm trying to cut down on my portion sizes and snacking. It's just that I hate to exercise. So I tried a new approach. When I'm on the treadmill, pounding along on that thing, probably looking like Horton Hears A Who running through the jungle, and loathing every second of it, I clear my mind of all that and picture three people.

First of all, my dad. Norman is in his mid 60's. He does not drink or smoke and doesn't take a single prescription drug. He's lost about 40 pounds by walking up and down the hills of Globe and recently began running. I know a lot of people his age who are almost falling apart. I think, if my 60 something year old dad can run, so can I.

Then I think of my mom. Now, this is dangerous territory and let me say that I love my mom and I'm not talking crap about her. But the picture of health she is not. She's a heavy smoker, she's on a lot of medication, she's had multiple surgeries on her feet and she's pretty inactive. So I imagine my mom and her choices and then I think of myself, choosing to exercise and choosing to make better decisions about health.

And lastly, I think about last month when I took Kimmy to her 2 year check up. We went to the Brooke Army Medical Center, which is where the pediatric clinic is located. This was a few weeks before Christmas and they had a big Christmas tree display in the front lobby. So after the appointment we stopped on the way out so she could look at the trees. And there he was. Couldn't have been more than 20 years old, sitting in a wheel chair with his head down, staring at something on his cell phone. He was missing a leg from the mid-thigh down and an arm. I think of that soldier who would probably give anything to be able to run again, who suffers with issues that I can't even begin to imagine.

And with these three faces twirling around in my head, I suck it up and feel thankful for so much, and keep plodding along, trying to make the best of things, trying not to feel sorry for myself anymore, and trying so hard to find my purpose. And lose a few pounds in the process.

Run, fat girl, run

In an effort to lose this pesky 70 extra pounds I'm toting around on my stomach and ass, I've decided to work out religiously on my husband's days off. Today I was getting ready to go to the workout room at our apartment complex and my husband starts asking me about my progress. As in, how fast I can run now. I looked at him with a confused expression. Run? I don't run. Ever. I've tried it and I hate it fiercely. I hate the heavy breathing and the way all my fat bounces violently as I pound away on the treadmill and I know that even though I am busting my ass and my lungs are going to explode, to the observer I just look silly, like a fat person trying to run through knee deep snow.

Anyway, it's hard to explain this to my husband. He's 6'1" and weighs 175. He's in the army and it's part of his job to stay in shape. And it's infuriating because he's one of those assholes who can eat 10,000 calories a day and not put on any weight. His whole family is like that. I feel like Gulliver or the giant from Jack and the Bean stalk when we go visit his family, a diminutive clan of people who live in a house stock full of every snack and guilty food pleasure you could ask for.

So I just told him that I'm doing my best. I did a 37 minute stationary bike workout and then just for kicks and giggles, I got on the treadmill and cranked it up to 5.3 mph, which according to Adam, should be a light jog. For the first 30 seconds I was ok, despite my fat and boobs flailing about. I was thankful no one else was in the work out room. After 1 minute and 27 seconds I was gripping the rails of the treadmill and punching the red Emergency Stop button for dear life. My distance? .12 miles. That's half a lap around a track. I would fail an army physical test with flying colors.

And guess what Adam brought home for lunch? Carl's Jr., goddamit.

You do your time. Don't let your time do you.

Maybe I'm sleep deprived and pissed off because my scabby elbow itches and stings constantly. Maybe I'm pissed off that the Chase credit people keep calling me. Maybe I'm cranky because my wearable wardrobe has been reduced to stretchy yoga pants and big t shirts. Whatever the reason, I was in a very foul mood this morning. I yelled at my daughter and I felt incredibly guilty about it. My husband started nagging me about not flushing the toilet after I pee so I started crying. Maybe I'm genuinely depressed. I haven't felt great the past six months because I'm stuck in this town that I hate and while I love being a mom, I feel isolated and bored most of the time.

So Adam took Kimmy to the park and I decided to suck it up and get ready to go grocery shopping. I took a quality bath and got ready. Then while I was waiting for them to get home and watching "Locked Up Abroad" on the National Geographic channel, I heard a great piece of uplifting advice from a one time American inmate of a Korean prison. He said that while he served his sentence (I think is was 2 or 3 years) he did his best to make the most of it by reading, writing, and doing yoga because someone had told him, "You do your time, don't let your time do you." Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I feel like I'm in a Korean prison, I definitely am not where I want to be in life and my Negative Nancy attitude isn't helping.

On my way to Wal Mart I ruminated on that little nugget. Do your time. Don't let it do you. I decided to make a conscious effort to be more positive and less melodramatic. I need to exercise more, read and write more, and figure out something to look forward to. I was feeling better about things once I got to the store and even more so once I overheard a lady on her cell phone. Here's a snippet:

"I don't care! You don't need to be out til 5 or 6 AM when you have five kids at home! I couldn't sleep all night cuz I was fuckin worried!"

At the risk of making it obvious that I was eavesdropping, I slowed my pace in hopes of hearing more, but alas, the shitty parent on the other end of the phone must have had a lot to say in his or her defense, so I kept walking and missed out. Thanks lady, that made me feel better about my parenting capabilities. I may lose my patience and yell sometimes, I may be tempted to drink myself into a black out (which I've never done. I haven't had a drink since before I got pregnant), and my daughter may have just uttered her first curse word the other night when I set of the smoke detector -- but I've never stayed out til 5 or 6 am. So I've got that going for me.

Oh, the thing about the curse word! Well, if I am cooking something and the recipe says to bake it for 20 minutes at 425 degrees, I have to adjust the time and temperature for my oven on HGH. So I was trying to cook some chicken at 300 degrees and when I opened the oven after 15 minutes to check on it, the breading was charred black and smoke billowed out, which set off the smoke detector. Kimmy ran into the kitchen and yelled "Fuck!" about five times until I got the screeching alarm off. Great, she's going to be that hillbilly kid in preschool who cusses and gets in trouble, even though it's mine and Adam's fault she's picking up such horrible language.

I'm going to put on some sweat pants and eat some shrimp tacos from Chacho's.

What do I do with all my free time?

1. Crochet or knit

No, I'm not 60. I'm a housewife, or a stay at home mom. I don't want to say that I took up crafting because I was bored. It's not as though I don't do things around my home on a day to day basis (see list below). I guess I just thought "housewife = yarn balls" so I started a few little projects. My latest is a baby blanket for my BFF Katie. She is having her first baby in November, so I started a blankie in July and am now barely finishing it. So much for a career on Etsy.

2. Talk on the phone with friends and/or family

I don't do this a lot. I mean, my kid isn't sitting in a dirty diaper playing with power cords while I'm chatting away on the phone. I usually get in a quick chat during her nap time, or while she's playing. Kids do need some time to play by themselves. Anyway, my phone conversations usually revolve around how much I hate San Antonio, the latest thing my husband did to piss me off, or something awesome that Kimmy (that's my little one) did. In fact, Katie just called a minute a go but I was paying bills. And while I love talking to Katie, I really have been putting the bills off for far too long.

3. Haggle with bill collectors and utility companies

Today it was the electric company. Seems we owe $142.00. It's San Antonio and it's hot so we have a high bill. Luckily, the electric company is still in the process of switching our account from our old address to our new address, so I have some time to put this one off. Let's see if the bank is so kind about our auto loans.

4. Triage bills

I really shouldn't put off my car payment much longer. But we're behind on so much other crap. Sigh. I drink coffee, I check my email, I fiddle with the calculator. I remember that I need to go to the grocery store for toilet paper. I think of maybe splitting up my car payment between this pay check and the next.

5. Do dishes

Uck, I'm sick of doing this. Surely I don't want to write about it, aside from saying, "I hate doing dishes!"

6. Clean, clean, and clean

My husband recently got on my ass about the cleanliness of our apartment. You know when you get a new car, and you tell everyone the RULES of the car? No eating in this car, no smoking, you wipe your feet when you get in, you don't leave anything in this car? That's how my husband is with this apartment. You'd think we moved on up to the East side or something. It's just another apartment. But woe unto those who may drop a sippy cup onto the floor! Gadzooks, a bit of water or even -- gasp!-- milk may fall upon the carpet! It's not like I don't clean up constantly throughout the day. I spot treat the carpet and vacuum about once a day. Oh, and the awesome new apartment that he just had to have? Well the common grassy areas are covered in dog shit and our neighbor just got arrested, a la COPS style, complete with the screaming, cussing, and slamming doors. I loved when she yelled, "I'm not struggling! Mom, this is your fucking fault!" over and over again.

7. Watch tv

I love how I'll watch a program (yeah, I said program, like I'm my mom) about a woman who weighed like 230 pounds and then she started going to the gym and now she's a bikini model. I get all encouraged and psyched up about my own weight loss goals. And then the next day I run out and try the new Big Carl Burger from Carl's Jr.

8. Go to the park

Since our apartment complex has no play area for kids, I have to take Kimmy to the park about every day so she can run off her ants in the pants. I'm not complaining, I usually like taking her to the park and watching her play. And sometimes I get to see a shining example of the typical San Antonian. Example? Sure. There was the guy there with his kid who was, oh probably about two years old. It was about 65 degrees out, overcast. Kinda cold, but not too bad. Everyone had on a hoodie or windbreaker. Not this kid. He was wearing a sweatshirt, a diaper, socks, and shoes. That's right, no pants of any kind. I felt so bad for that kid. Then there was the lady I saw yesterday. In San Antonio, it goes from being 65 degrees to 90 degrees over the course of 4 days and it was hot and humid. So I pull up to the playground yesterday and see a lady sitting in a lawn chair with her legs spread out, propped up on a cooler. She was wearing a strapless sundress, which thankfully covered her legs. She was wearing a neck brace and smoking a cigarette while yelling at her kids who were walking a 250 pound dog around. As awesome as this lady was (and goddammit, I wish I had the balls to whip out my phone and get a picture. I mean, it's not like she could have kicked my ass. She was in a neck brace) I was even more awesome today. I took Kimmy to a different park this morning. I have the bladder of a tit mouse so I had to pee at the park restroom. I was carrying Kimmy to the car and I tripped and fell. Luckily, Kimmy was not injured. My right elbow took the brunt of the impact, and to prove it, all the skin from that elbow is still at the park.