Breaking up with Target #shoplocal

Dear Target,

I'm sorry to say, it's over. I'm tired of spending all my money on you. I found someone new, who gets me. They double bag my groceries without prompt, they put the bread ON TOP, they separate greeting cards in their own bag. They have a meat department that offers lollipops to children. They gave me flowers FOR FREE because I spent so much. They're closer, they support local farms and they're are only 8 aisles which saves me SO much time. I'll not miss you, actually. Maybe I'll stop in for a prescription refill on occasion, but I won't have need for this. *hands cartwheel app and red card back.

Also, there are only 8 cars in the parking lot, which meant no crowd. Although it meant an interaction where a patron in the parking had "much respect for that dumper ma'am". There are worse things at 38.

It was real and it was fun. But it wasn't really fun.

Goodbye. I'm moving on.

Quitters Never Prosper...or maybe they do, actually.

You know what is harder than publicly signing up to do something terrifying? Realizing that you can’t actually do it.

I stood up and told the entire universe that I was running a marathon and I thought THAT was soooo brave. Saying I was going to do something so crazy and amazing and people telling me how awesome that was weekly –how cool was that? Hearing “Good for you” on the regular – was such a  good feeling. Harder Better Faster Stronger - had my ego almost Kanye sized.

Guess what was also cool? Even MORE cool?  Being able to do it for a good cause. The fact that I was going to be able to do this for children in Africa made me feel like I had purpose.  It got me through every single run. It motivated me to get up and run when I really prefer couch time.  I am in relocation mortgages so my days are spent with people who make more in one month than I do over a 6 month period. Doing something daily that was giving back to this world made me feel like Captain Good Samaritan Pants. Like Mother Teresa woulda stamped that and said “good on ya, ya crazy hefer”. 

And now I cant. 

I cannot even tell you how sad this makes me.  I trained really really hard – I did everything right. I juiced, I drank ALL the water and I ran SO MUCH. GOD, I wanted to. God, on the other hand, did not want me to.   

So…what is harder than saying I am going to do something crazy? 

Not doing it.  

Trying to hold your head high when you just want to explain away why you cannot to everyone who asks how training is going or if I am excited for the marathon. Quitting something you genuinely wanted to do. Feeling like you suck – sucks.

I know this is not the right way to look at it tho, so I changed my mindset.  Quitting and walking away from something that is not meant for you that you REALLY WANT is hard but it is ALSO really really brave. 

Too many people stay in unhealthy situations because they are too proud to say “I can’t do this” – whether relationships, jobs or marathons.   It is HUMBLING to have announced to everyone that “THIS IS THE THING!” (whether that thing is a human or a job or a task or whatever) – then it not being the thing.  BUT?  Instead of seeing this through negative Nancy’s crotchety ass-bifocals, I need to realize that what I have is the opportunity to publicly say I quit.  To say I chose me. I chose my family, my health.  My training accomplished what it needed – I did some amazing things.  I learned amazing lessons.  I raised what I aimed to and for 26 kids in Africa, they will have clean water for life because in just the last 3 months, I have ran over 150 miles which has somehow inspired my friends and family to donate to my team and this fantastic cause.  TWENTY SIX CHILDREN!!! If you can change one person – you win.  I changed 26. We changed 26.  Aside from that – I have my personal accomplishments- new personal records – I ran 16 miles one day. 16 is a fuck ton of miles for a 38 year old broad to do.  I increased my mile time. I ran my fastest 5K. All these things are really awesome.

The ego is a tricky bastard and there is no room for it when it comes to things that really matter. It is ok to walk away from things that shit on your shine and it is important as a human being – especially in this Facebook driven day and age to admit that too. 

So, I bid adieu to my marathon and in the words of yet another wise scholar, Ice Cube-  “Bye Felicia”.

Soul Vomit: Nice to Meet You

I have no clue how you start a blog.  I have imagined that you need a subject and a plan. Well, I have neither - which is precisely why I have not started or maintained a blog.  But... according to the majority of the humans in my life, I need to start blogging...and more than once or twice a year when I have a crisis with unidentified flying emotions attached to them and I vomit emotions through my keyboard in an attempt to process whatever the hell life tossed at me.

So - for those of you who do not know me, my name is Monica. I am passive aggressively referred to as "interesting" here in Minnesota.  I am certain if you are from the south you would "bless my heart" or something- but if you ask me - I am a normal weirdo originally from California with good intentions and a story to tell. Obviously, we all have a story, mine is just cooler than yours.  Just kidding - I know we live behind this fear of our truth and what people will think if we say it. Not me. Not anymore, anyway. In the words of the ever-wise scholar,  Dr. Dre, I been there and done that.  I physically cannot survive if I cannot say how I fucked up or if something is fucked up or I am fucked up. Cuz, news flash - life is fucked up. There is not one thing that happens to me that has not happened to one other person - so maybe this will help.  In my experience, every time I share - someone changes. Someone thanks me. Someone feels less alone or more brave.  If that is my super power - HELL YA!

Anyway - I just turned 38 years old, I have 2 kids and 2 dogs and a fiancé (Sam) - all boys. I want more babies - as many as I can. I think babies are a portal to God. I have been married and divorced more than once, I have been in foster homes and group homes and owned 3 homes and had no home and never ever once felt AT home... until now with my Sam. 

In my life, I have been abused and raped an absurd amount of times and had terrible things that should never happen to anyone happen. But?  They do not define me, but they sure fuck with me. I am self aware of this - especially the older I get. All I can do is try hard to block myself from sabotaging everything in my life and try to find a balance between addiction and this crippling neurotic anxiety that I am so so good at. I do truly believe that we are all beautiful mosaics comprised of the broken pieces of ourselves, but in order to be seen, those broken pieces must be exposed or -quite frankly, we will not ever truly be seen. 

I did not wake up with this fantastic epiphany.  I hid and have wasted lots of time trying to do things that were not meant for me and pretending shit was all good. They seems easier than the truth, than exposure. I tried to train for a marathon and HAHAHAHAHAHA! The good Lord said "no bitch, that's not for you". I tried to start my own business - also a "or naw".  I tried lifting heavy weights, and instead I ended up with a back brace.  A bedazzled one, but still "thats a no from me" (if Simon Cowell were God). For most of my life I have tried to do all these things and I literally was not great at MOST things.  Ever try so many things and you suck at all of them? Well, in the words of Larry David, it feels pre-ttay pre-ttay terrible.  

"Hey, Mon - why don't you write more? You are so good at it"<-- everyone.  "No no - I am going to ignore that and keep doing other things that make no sense.  Like run a marathon or do more things I  hate and ignore the things I am clearly good at."   <--- me 

Well writing is scary - like , it's my LIFE and it's IN WRITING, for one. And for two, what if just sits in the internet? Know what that will feel like? Like a giant choir of melodic "FUCK YOU" or "WHO CARES" from all the deafening silence of nothing happening to your soul vomit. But, I have to try. Again.  Once upon a time, or two or three or four - I tried to start and failed. They say the fifth time is a charm? (They is me and I just said it, so yes).  The universe keeps telling me to keep trying and so I have to keep listening. 

I have no idea how this will end.  I DO know I am not a victim -so if you are looking for some blog to find a way to make you feel good about lingering in mediocracy - this is not it.  Sharing my story makes me godamn victorious and I need that. And so do you. I don't know if I end up as the good guy or the bad guy in my story - but I know I have played both.  I also don't know if this will have a happy ending or a tragic one, but I know it can't end without me sharing it. Too much has happened to not. 

So - strap on your seatbelt - this is going to get weird. 

Our new arrivals

Feeling overwhelmed regarding the arrival of my twin kidney stones born days apart. My first lil stone I carried for 7 whole miles right in my peehole during my 16 mile run on Monday before I received pain intervention and she finally arrived yesterday early in the morning before dawn. Today her tinier younger sister arrived around 5 pm after surprising her dad and I with her arrival. Big things come in small packages (and often fuck up your entire urinary tract). Thanks so much for my partner in all this, perkoset.  I love you boo, I couldn't do this without you. I've named them both Felicia, cuz bye.

#blessed

What cancer looked like from here

I was cooking dinner and my phone went off. I said "It's Becky" out loud. When I was a kid, my best friend and neighbor, Becky, called every night at dinner to ask me to play. So, we had this long standing joke that anytime the phone rang at dinner, it was her.

I looked at my phone and it was ironically her sister. I immediately knew. All it said was "Can you call me hun?". See Becky was diagnosed with cancer and hadn't been doing well for a while. I didn't stop to think, I just called and went in to the laundry room.

She passed this morning. She was no longer in pain. She spoke to her angels last night and the stress was gone from her face. But... I wept. I wept audibly and aggressively against the counter in the laundry room. All I could get out was "Awww man" and hung up.

There was nothing left. No more FaceTime. No more phone dates. No more Becky calls in the middle of dinner.

My dinner was burning, my heart was hemorrhaging, my eyes were flooding. I wiped my tears and tried to finish cooking. I paced back and forth confused and eventually threw up in the bathroom.

I threw up every memory and every thing I didn't get to say. I threw up the jokes and nicknames and texts and bike rides and cigarettes and jesus candles and Steven Tyler posters and NKOTB craze. I threw up screaming and crying and speechless and relieved and sad and mad and everything I can't explain until I couldn't breathe and my lungs crippled in sadness. She was one of the few good parts of my childhood and she was gone.

It's like she was one of a few remaining fragile vases that held the good had just shattered. And all I could do was stare.

I sleeved off the tear, snot, drool, barf combo my face had just projected and returned to dinner. I felt the eyes of my children fearfully observe death through the eyes of their mother. My oldest who had been ready to kick down my door took over. My youngest opted out of Parmesan cheese so I didn't have to shred it.

I needed to talk to her. I thought she would just be sick forever and we would just have limited conversations. She was my sister, this was bullshit.

She had asked me often to have her baby for her and I thought someday sure, but not now...we have time.

She never wanted to talk about being sick, so I would call her sister for details. Or pretend... it was easier this way, to pretend.

But now she was gone and I thought that if I got an email out to her quickly, she would somehow get it still. Like "The Out of Office Reply is on, but they're still at work" or something.

I told her I missed her, but I still didn't tell her I loved her...cause we didn't say that, we just knew it. That would've been final, that would've been goodbye and I'm not ready for goodbye.

I'm not ready for Becky to not call during dinner.

Mondays.

I hate Mondays.

I fucking hate them.

Not for the normal it's time to go to work reason.

Take a moment and think about that time you felt the loneliest. When you felt trapped in your own mind and you could not get out of it to find anyone or to let anyone in.

That is often what it feels like to be a single parent when your kids are away. There is a silence that is deafening. There is no one to cook for. There is no one to drive around. There is no one to watch a movie with. There is no one to mess up your house. There is no one to get up for to get on the bus. There is no one there.

Yesterday there was. And you were so busy. But today? Today there is not. There is nothing.

But you still got up and went to wake them up because you forgot for the 847th time in a row. Then you did their laundry again – just because. Then you spent the day regretting yelling at them when they were there. Wondering if by you asking them over and over and over again to turn off the damn X-Box and then finally shutting it off in the middle of a very very very important game of Call of Duty would damage them forever and hoping that was not the last thing that they thought of.

You hope they had a good day at school. You hope they made it home ok. You hope they did their homework. You hope they practiced hard at football. You hope all the football gear made it safely back in the shared bag. You hope their dad picked up the prescription. You hope that they are feeling better and that someone knows that they like their back scratched. You hope they have a lap to lay on or someone to stir their ginger ale just right.

You hope there is nothing so awful that you miss because it’s Monday and Monday is not your day.

I hate Mondays.

Open letter to my ex's dog

Dear Rico,

I am so sad that you will never know this or be able to read it, I just hope that somehow in your own dog way you feel how much I love you. I mean I really love you and it makes me so sad that I don't get to see you anymore. I miss you so much already. You were one of the few things that connected with my soul just by being near you. I am gonna miss so much about you... walking in and you bouncing around on your hind legs scratching the mother fuck out of me pawing for some love. I am gonna miss you begging for food at the table with your ears standing straight up in anticipation of me caving in. You, taking over my lap when I was trying to work and convince me with those big eyes that napping and snuggling was a far better idea. Your kisses, GAWD your kisses - they would have lasted forever if I let you. They were the slobberiest and wettest most ridiculous kisses and they were anywhere you could get em... my mouth, my feet, my hands, my shoulder - whatever, just KISSES. I am going to miss you snuggling under the blanket and crawling almost inside my anal cavity at night. Our fights for the spot on the couch or the bed or the pillow, which eventually led to a compromise of snuggles. Playing with you outside, running around the fire-pit fighting over a stick (that eventually made you puke...usually at 5A), or chasing each other inside over one of your 700 toys that you needed to bring out all at once. You were so tough... but then if you accidentally bit me, you would realize it and immediately kiss me to death as if you were saying "sorry sorry sorry". Such a good boy. Dancing in the morning after dad left for work to Bruno Mars, he did not want you to like that song... but you LOVED it.

I will even miss your farts, Rico. Your smelly Rico butt... because it was you. I am going to miss you digging on the bed for a better spot. I am going to miss you needing that treat before I left. Road trips and car rides. Walks around the block... you are gonna get a rabbit someday buddy, I just know it. I am sad I never got to teach you to swim, I know your dad will tho' and I know you are gonna love it! Don't go too far tho', ok?

Couple things before I wrap this up, ok? Don't forget me... please. Be nicer to the mailman, he is just doing his job. Stop eating your dad's boxers, if you must - keep it in the room, it is really not something you want people to know you do. Don't ever let KC or ANY dog get the best of you. You run things. Even if you go home and weep or nap for days, don't ever let them know. Do not listen to the idiots either, you are not an asshole democrat. You are the most amazing spirit I have ever come across in my life and I miss you so much already. Do not ever change. I love you bud and I hope I can see you again someday.