Do you have good self-esteem? Really?

24 08 2008

First, let me apologize for the absence. I’m sure you were all pining, and since I had something on my mind, I thought I’d share. My friends and I often refer to our inner “Fake Bitch.” She’s the woman who shows up to my job interviews perfectly poised with all the right answers. She has perfect phone etiquette. She wouldn’t dare swear in public. For the most part, the Fake Bitch is tucked away until we really need her to make a good impression. We let her out, she does her thing, we praise her and put her back. The problem has become, though, that I’m seeing much too much of people’s fake bitches. Case in point: An acquaintance of mine recently gave a few other acquaintances a lecture on self esteem. The first problem: Acquaintance #1doesn’t really have any. The second problem: She may not know it. I recognize low self-esteem. Believe it or not, I suffered from it once for about 6 months until my mother called me a stupid bitch and snapped me out of it (I know that sounds odd, I’ll explain some other day). What I don’t like, though, is women pretending to be people they are not, giving advice to other people. Acquaintance #1 has two hobbies: eating and sleeping. She works out of necessity, rarely fixes herself up (therefore she rarely finds anyone who will ask her out). She wouldn’t think of an exercise program, a book club, or a shopping spree. She is content to eat in her car on her way to work, sit at her desk and plan what fast food she will eat for lunch, then drive home with dinner in mind. After dinner, it’s a belch and a bowel movement before turning in at 9 PM. Should she advise anyone about anything? On the rare occasion that she is drawn into a social situation, though, she brings out her Fake Bitch. She goes on and on about her great job, her great life, and gives advice on a topic she knows nothing about. I spoke to a psychologist recently who said that signs of poor self esteem, and even clinical depression, include overeating, excessive sleeping, the tendency to withdraw from family and friends, mood swings, etc. Imagine that? Someone who is depressed (at least on paper) pretending not to be (or really not knowing that she is) telling other people how to live an eventful life. Those of you who know me understand that I have made great strides in keeping MOST unsolicited advice to myself, but alas I am who I am. Still, I don’t like to hurt people so I am wondering if I tell this woman to seek help, or do I just let her go on like she has been and hope she doesn’t take a handful of pills one day? I also ask you, Dear Readers, to assess yourselves. Is your self-esteem all that it could be? If not, or if you aren’t sure, have a quick talk with a professional just to be on the safe side. I did. She told me I was obsessive, crass, competitive and narcissistic. That means I’m fine, right? She suggested a support group, but she DID say I had good self-esteem. Wait a minute … I think she’s giving me mixed messages …. I’m about to call her back. In the meantime, I’m wishing YOU good mental health.

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Favorite Sayings

9 06 2008

I recently joined a group, and was asked about my favorite quote. I’m surprised they let me in. I don’t know where these quotes came from originally, but I love them anyway.

– The people you love are gone too soon; the less important ones never go away.

– I can’t make you love me, but I can stalk you until you panic and give  in.

– Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

– Ex’s are like fungus; they keep coming back.

– I don’t suffer from insanity; I enjoy it.

On a different note, I promise to update my other pages soon, especially Reel Talk and Cleveland Eating. I have been to so many movies lately, and seen a bunch on DVD. I’ve also been to a bunch of restaurants. My goal is to add something to the pages at least once a day. You and the rest of the world should know exactly how I’m feeling, all the time. Au Revoir.

6 June 08 @1239





In defense of free lemonade

31 05 2008

During an attack of insomnia, I trolled some bloggers and ended up reading a one-year-old blog that my BFF since first grade had written. I laughed until my side hurt as she described dinner faux pas’ like not tipping properly. It was funny until she talked about people who asked the waitress for water with lemon, and then proceeded to add sugar from the table to it to make lemonade. I summoned up a conversation she and I’d had before, when she was horrified that a couple she’d gone out with both made their own lemonade at Chi Chi’s restaurant. I didn’t admit it then, but as a member of the free lemonade club, I asked Hubby if he knew this was improper. He said yes, and that he died a little every time I did it in a restaurant. I asked him why he never told me, and he said he figured I wouldn’t stop doing it so he didn’t bother. I proceeded to call BFF since eighth grade to ask her if she knew that making my own lemonade was in poor taste. She said that she did know, and that on our trip to New York a few months prior, she had told me on more that one occasion that she was embarrassed to be seen with me making lemonade at the table. I guess Hubby was right. I don’t listen. In defense of my free lemonade, though, I have to say that it never occurred to me that it was wrong or embarrassing. I have always ordered water with lemon at meals because although I am not generally thought to be a cheap person, buying soft drinks in a restaurant is a racquet. I hate to pay $2+ for a glass of something that I can find on sale for $ .99 (and a 2 liter at that). I recognize that refills are usually free, but I don’t drink more than a glass, so that is no consolation. Since water with lemon is proper, I did not know that a few sugar packets could make or break the day. Apparently, the sugar matters. Since knowing that I have shamed the names of some very good people, I have never made my own lemonade again. I still don’t purchase nonalcoholic beverages with my meals, but I stick to water with lemon. To my BFsF and Hubby I say this: It could be worse! BFF since first grade knows a couple who steals restaurant plates with interesting patterns until they have a collection of four or six. I know a lady who asks for (free) hot water, then uses sugar from the table and a tea bag from her purse to make hot tea. I also know a different lady who never tips more than $2, even if her bill is $70. I know yet another lady who orders each item, asks the wait staff for a price even though it’s on the menu, and then exclaims each time, “Ooh, that’s too high,” then repeats this several times before making a selection for $8.99. All things considered, I think my free lemonade wasn’t so bad. Nonetheless, I pride myself on good manners. Like another blogger I came across, I, too, am considered a black snob. The name used to offend. Now I wear it proudly. In order to keep my nose above the rest, I gave up free lemonade, albeit unwillingly. My advice to you folks who know members of the free lemonade club, is that you tell them in plain English and make them look you in the eye and respond. They might not stop, but you will have done your civic duty. Stopping a dinner injustice anywhere, is a step in the right direction everywhere. Did Martin Luther King Jr. say that? Maybe not, but I believe he would agree. 

31 May 2008 @1535





Join a bookclub

30 05 2008

I have an eternal, burning desire to read anything, except most science fiction. I was interested in joining a bookclub, but you’d think Cleveland was Compton – people on the East side hate to travel west, and vice versa. Since there wasn’t an appealling book club on the West side, I started my own. That’s my way. If I can’t find what I want, I create it. The goal of the book club is that every participant gets a chance to choose a book, no matter the genre, of his or her liking. In turn, we each read the monthly selections even if we don’t love the book, author, genre, etc. Most of the time, we find that we are pleasantly surprised by the wonder of a novel that we wouldn’t have dared choose on our own. Book readers, to me, have four classifications. First, there is the necessity reader. Necessity readers don’t read anything not given as an assignment. Sure, they do their homework (and maybe their kids homework), but it wouldn’t occur to them to enter a bookstore or library just to browse because they won’t read anything they find anyway. Second, there is the light reader. Light readers feel obligated to keep up with current events, so they may read local newspapers. Light readers may also read the articles in entertainment or fashion magazines. beyond this. The light reader will profess a love of reading, but will not ever be seen reading a novel for the sheer enjoyment of it. He or she might buy Oprah’s cookbook, or browse a book with Donald Trump on the cover, though. Third, there is the avid reader. Avid readers usually like several kinds of novels, are usually book club members, and often recommend and borrow texts from other readers. Avid readers take their latest paperback finds everywhere. They can be seen reading poolside, at a doctor’s appoint, or in a bathroom stall at work if the book is good enough. Finally, there is me – the hard core reader. I will read anything. Anytime. Anywhere. I also possess the qualifications of the avid reader, but an avid reader might put down a book he or she finds dull or offensive. Hard core readers finish what they start. Always. Sometimes we get angry, sad, or underwhelmed so we take a hiatus for one or two days, but we come back. We think we’re going to miss something that would’ve ultimately changed our minds. I don’t prefer sci-fi but I will read it upon recommendation, and no matter how incredulous and outlandish the tales, I can’t turn my back on a text once I’ve read page one. I might remind you that my undergraduate and graduate degrees are in English and communications, so I’m sure that helps. or maybe I chose those majors because I’m a hard core reader. Who knows? Who cares? What I do know is that if you enjoy reading at all, join a book club. Since the inception of my book club 18 months ago, I have read such a diverse collection of books. I can’t tell you how satisfying it is. To be honest, my nose is usually a little turned up when people give a brief synopsis of their choice. I finish everything I start, though, and 90 percent of the time it is worth it. I started the club with an open mind, and I invited others who I believed could do the same. There are other kinds of book clubs out there, though. Some clubs only read fiction by African American authors, or biographies (snooze), or romance (yuck), or mysteries (I’m a fan). Find something you love, then join it and read. My preference is classic literature like Beowulf, Jane Eyre, or Shakespeare (big surprise, no one in my group ever chooses those). I read books written in 2007 for them, they read books first published in the 1800s for me. We all win. Sort of. Seriously. Join a book club. Today.

29 May 2008 @2138  





Make new friends, Keep the old

20 05 2008

When I got married eight years ago, I made the permanent 90-minute move from Youngstown to Cleveland. Boy, just about everyone I knew acted like I was moving to Tokyo. Before the beauty of free long distance calling, my phone bills were outrageous because I spoke to my two best friends almost every day, to my mother every day, and to my sister and other relatives very frequently. Although I traveled to Youngstown a lot, almost no one returned the favor. After all, I was the one who moved all the way to Cleveland. Now, gas prices or cars in disrepair are usually the reasons/excuses I don’t get many visits. I try not to be “bitter” about adults with so much financial distress. Personally, I couldn’t live having to count my pennies that way, but I am blessed with financial security. The good news is that I don’t rush home every time someone asks me. I used to feel obligated. Now, I feel like I should go when I want, and I don’t ever feel guilty about refusing. I still have very close ties to my family and friends in Y-Town. In fact, almost every Clevelander has heard me say that I only have two friends. I met one when I was skipped a grade and put into her first grade classroom. The other was an eighth-grader who began coming to my high schol when I was in ninth grade, for majorette tryouts. You don’t even want to know the dirt I’ve done with those two. Actually, you do want to know, but I don’t know the statute of limitations on everything, so my lips are sealed. Despite my proclamation that I’ve only ever had two friends, however, I realized this past weekend that some of these gosh-darned Clevelanders have snuck onto my friends list. No, we don’t have the history that I have with my original best friends, but that will come if I quit resisting. The truth is, I am having fun. I’ve made friends with a young, Mexican woman who will country line dance with me whenever I want. I’ve made friends with a mom who randomly drives my son to school and baseball games, just because she’s a homemaker and doesn’t see a reason not to. I’ve made friends with women in a book club who I’ve seen once a month for the past 18 months. Some of those same book club friends are also in my dance group, wine tasting group, and couples group, so I actually see them several times a month. Like it or not, I have friends. I actually think, unbeknownst to myself, I have (somewhat) gotten over my antisocial behaviors and allowed some people in. It’s not painful. It’s been fun. I will always have the friends that I grew up with. My family isn’t going anywhere, either. I have made room in my life for other people who are also worthy of my time and, man, I am having a blast.   

 20 May 2008 @1301





Sorry, Size MATTERS

24 03 2008

I have no problem admitting that I am a fan of the gigantic. I have a beautiful 62″ TV. I traded my old Cavalier in for a new Saturn Vue. Next year, I plan to trade my Vue in for a Hummer, a Suburban, or – dare I wish it – a Denali. I carry large designer bags, only a queen-size bed would fit up the staircase in my condo, but I don’t rent hotel rooms that don’t have suites with a king-sized bed. I gave birth to a 12 1/2 pound baby, which should come as no shock since I’m a big girl, with an even bigger husband. It is my wish for you, Dear Reader, that you should someday know the joy of a man who is 6’4″ and 310 pounds. What would I do without those size 14 feet, size 13 ring fingers, and the huge …? Okay, I stopped myself, that thought was just vulgar. You get it, right? I love it large. That is why I am so confused when others claim they don’t. You, personally, might not care for bags. You might not have room in your home, or the inclination to spend 3 grand, to buy a large TV. The 70″ was way out of my budget, but if I could’ve afforded it, I would have purchased it instead. That’s me. You can’t, however, really believe that a 5 1/2″ penis is going to do much for the average person. Call me a wanton, ex-slut if you want, but Ms. Pretty would crack up laughing at something that little. I was embarrassed, but once she shouted, “Where’s the beef?” It wasn’t PC, but it came out before I could stop her. I recently heard a conversation in which two women were claiming that size didn’t matter. Translation: Our men have little d!(&$. Poor girls. To be all-honest, I once met 13″. Ms. Pretty hated him. She said he was a battering-ram. He hurt her. So 13″ might be unneccessary, but a good 9″-10″ is ideal. The 9″-10″ inches says, “I won’t remove your entire uterus when I withdraw, but you’ll definitely know I was there, Baby.” Since I’m queen-sized, and the Queen of Size, please follow my advice below. You have to know what you should do with what you have.

12″ or above – it doesn’t matter what you do, soon you’ll hemorrhage to death

9″ to 11″ – if he’s got a job that pays even one cent better than minimum wage, and he doesn’t hit you, keep him

8″ – if he makes more than $65,000 and has good technique, he stays, too

7″ – he needs to earn at least a 6-figure salary, have good technique, be willing to suck the toes AND toss the salad, treat you like you are royalty, and buy the best jewelry he can find, in order to stay around 

6″ or less – kill yourself, no – it’s not your fault – kill him and his parents, then find someone who fits the 7″ to 11″ criteria

Over 24-years-old and Purposely Abstaining? – okay, you’re just stupid and you should kill yourself; it was nice not knowing you

Don’t like my advice? Go to hell. Someday I’ll see you there.





Legally High

28 02 2008

I was introduced to blogging by a friend I call Green (long story). Green’s love of blogging got me interested in writing my own blog on a more regular basis. Thanks to this blog, however, I am never going to be able to run for political office. I share way too much in these web logs, and today’s post is no different. You know, when I was dating, I’d go out with anybody once. It didn’t matter what race or religion he was. As long as he was, in fact, a he, I’d let anybody buy me dinner. The exception was drug dealers. I had no desire to be rolled up on during my calamari and blasted to smithereens by other drug dealers. I wasn’t about to do the Baby’s Mama Drama that usually comes with dating street pharmacists, and I am way too pretty to go to prison for merely riding in a vehicle that contained drugs having nothing to do with me. I successfully managed to avoid the drug scene – until now. I had a baby in November by C-Section (I’m also too pretty to be contorting my face through the process of pushing a human being out of my loins), I had an emergency appendectomy in December, then I had surgery again 13 days ago. Basically, this means that for the last four months I’ve been high as a kite. Then it occurred to me that I’ve actually had 10 surgeries in the last nine years. Good Lord, I’ve really been high for a decade. My body laughs at OTC drugs like Tylenol and Ibuprofen, so the pain of cramps or the flu usually isn’t helped with anything less than Vicodin. Vicodin doesn’t dull my pain, but it relaxes me enough that I can fall asleep and snooze through some of it. For my life outside of the hospital, after foot surgery, wrist surgery, GYN surgery and the like, I get my beloved Percocet. Taking 2 Percocet is like drinking a few glasses of wine, and settling into a hot tub with a good book. For about 90 minutes, nothing matters but those moments. My pain isn’t gone, but I simply could care less about it. I find myself smiling for no good reason. I answer yes to anything the hubby and kids ask. And I literally drift off to sleep drooling, and dreaming of shoe shopping sprees and chocolate fudge cake. I have developed a post-surgical tolerance to morphine (meaning it doesn’t work), but some wonderful, awful, person invented Dilaudid. I have honestly never tried street drugs, but the feeling you get from Dilaudid is why I assume people get hooked on crack or heroine. Literally, you could care less about everything in the world. It is the one drug that actually erases my pain, but it erases EVERYTHING ELSE  as well. I am willing to bet that on Dilaudid, I can’t spell my own name, or recite my children’s birthdays. Some doctors actually write prescriptions for the home use of Dilaudid. Thank heavens, none of my docs are that irresponsible. Growing up in the inner city, you see a lot of people addicted to a lot of things. They usually do a lot of awful things to get the drugs of their choice. Those things are usually illegal, so they are in and out of jail due to addiction. Here in the suburbs, people also get addicted to a lot of things. Some of those things just happen to be legal, and all we have to do for it is whine to a doctor. While I make light of my prescriptions, I have a health care team that communicates with each other. I happen to have enough common sense (and too many kids that need me to care for them) to ask for narcotics when I don’t need them.  But some people don’t have my common sense. And some doctors don’t care. If you know or suspect someone you love of being addicted to painkillers, talk to them. Try everything you can to get them to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. They’ll need your support. As for me, I think I feel a back spasm or a shoulder ache coming on. Excuse me while I go take a Percocet and a Vicodin. I have to cover all my bases.