There are sooooo many things I miss about my 20s..... we can start with a waist that was smaller is size than my actual age... sigh. Or, my boobs that sat up on their own without the help of straps and half a dozen hooks.... but most of all, I miss the naivety (I really hope that how you spell it...... sigh).
I miss being able to fall in love and actually *believe* with every ounce of Julie Roberts and Molly Ringwald and Ione Skye pumping through my veins..... that Lloyd Dobler really did exist - that it was possible to find him or... better yet - have *him* find you......
Days gone by where you could actually judge a relationship by simple markers like - did he kick the glass off the sidewalk and out of my pathway? Does he open my car door first? Does he say 'gesundheit' when I sneeze? Does he promise to provide a home a life for me while doing anything that isn't managing or processing or managing processing things.... and possibly from a career as a Kick Boxer?
Because that *seems* totally do-able..... right?****
Man.... I bought that sh*t hook, line and sinker.... really: I did.
Raised on a daily diet of skinny Barbie's, unemployed and hanging around a beach house in skimpy clothes and high heels riding up and down the three stories of her cardboard mansion in a yellow 'elevator' while hosting beach parties with Midge and of course.... falling madly in love with Ken. Oddly enough, Barbie had all kinds of accessories - she was an astronaut and a veterinarian or a doctor or Wall-Street powerhouse in her blue suit complete with puffy shoulder pads..... meanwhile all my Ken doll ever did was come with short shorts and a shaving kit.
Things were already a bit doomed from an early age.... clearly.
Then it's all a flood of RomCom's and teen movies..... I mean, I never wanted to Winona Ryder sooooo bad - she only ever had to choose between Johnny Depp and Christian Slater..... though, I was *much* more of a Corey Feldman girl..... I've always liked 'pretty boys' with a naughty streak.
You know the kind... the ones that don't pay their bills... or worse, run yours up? Yeah *that* guy. lol
It's so easy to love and to be loved.... inhibitions - both physical and emotional - come with age and experience and frankly.... aren't always a good thing.
Being young is such an innocent time.... because *time* seems never-ending. It wasn't that long ago that you were sitting at a desk 8 hours a day and dreaming about going off to college.... for me, my parents had kept most things pretty smooth for me so we are tricked into thinking that life and adulthood is going to be *great*.
All I could think of was having my own bathroom and my own front door - and staying up past midnight whenever I wanted to..... looking back, parents are smart to keep the reality of *who* and *how* this independence is paid for hidden because honest to f*ck, I'm not sure I would have ever moved out if I had known how hard I would have to work for so very little living on my own.....
sigh.
My point is - my twenties were full of (mostly) ignorant bliss.... especially my early twenties. I quite literally let my heart lead me from one country to another and to another *continent* for f*cks sake..... I thought my heart was much more a compass in charge of the direction of my life: navigating the road of love and relationships and so long as I stayed true to my heart.... it would never lead me astray.
Wrong.
Big time f*cking wrong..... right? lol
So you spend your younger years blindly trusting your heart and time and time again.... it ends in tears and heartache. Over and over your very definition of heartbreak get redefined for you. What you thought were once endearing qualities - Lloyd Dobble qualities - become reasons you *don't* want to date someone....
You try to leave each relationship with the *appropriate* kind of baggage: knowing what you like what you don't like... what works, what doesn't work - a nice set of personal boundaries all folded up and neatly packed and ready to unpack the next time you get "serious" with someone.
This weekend.... as Mumford and Sons would tell you..... "I really f*cked it up this time.....".
Stupid baggage.
I could just pretend that I was bitchy.... but, that doesn't work because I'm bitchy and tired and worn out and exhausted a lot of the time.... I could say that it was a misunderstanding and apologize and move on... but the truth is: I f*cked up.
As usual (as is the case for *most* Moms) I was doing three hundred things, putting my attention and importance in the wrong places and stretching myself waaaaaay too thin. Carhartt came to me to ask me a fairly simple question, but I didn't wait or listen for the question, instead I snapped at Carhartt and rudely advised Carhartt to leave me alone for a few minutes.
Carhartt obliged and went out to the truck.
I took this act to mean that I had hurt Carhartt's feelings and ...... instead of *owning* my own bitchiness and going out to apologize..... I then took this simple act of Carhartt going to the truck and filled in allllll kinds of blanks with.... what El Capitan would have done to me in that situation.
Ten years of feeling like I wasn't in a partnership of *any* kind has left me feeling a bit gun-shy. Ten years of feeling as though I had to watch every single word that left my mouth because El Capitan would turn every word into an insult and apply to it greater meaning.... instead of just realizing that I was spent and tired and bitchy and exhausted.
THAT is the moment that I want the person I'm with to walk up to me and take control. I want them to walk to me and say, "You don't get to snap at me like that... but clearly you're stressed - what can I do to help?"
What I DO NOT want is for someone to go and pout in their truck because I wasn't being super nice to them..... sigh.
So. Having filled in the blanks as to *why* Carhartt went to the truck, I marched out there ready to do battle.
I had fully unpacked alllllll my neatly stored baggage from my ten years with El Capitan and I was ready to lay it allll out on the line:
I will *not* tolerate pouting. Of any kind.
I will *not* worry about every f*cking word that leaves my mouth and the affect *you* make it have on your self-esteem/self-worth... blah blah new-age whateverness.... sac-up: I'm a girl - sometimes I'm a bitch: accept that.
(yes.... I realize this seems slightly horrible of me.....)
AND.... YOU *will* be there for me, even when I snap at you because that's when I need you the most and if you can't see that/handle that/do that.... then THIS WON'T WORK and you should just go home.
Oh.... and yes. I said the above. Word for word. Including the 'go home' part.
Carhartt turned to open the truck door and I could tell from the rounded shoulders .... that what I had said really hurt.... and hurt bad.
Feck.
In that instant I felt allllll the tension and anxiety and frustration of my day turn to stomach turning disappointment: in myself. I felt like sh*t.... and so I should have, eh?
I suddenly realized that I had gone outside, guns blazing, threw down my proverbial suitcase of baggage and unpacked right smack in Carhartt's face.... and then used that to make this their fault.
Damn.
I begged Carhartt to stay and talk to me and then I found out what really happened.
Carhartt was coming to the door of the room to ask to use it to change their shirt.
I snapped and was b*tchy.
Carhartt then went out to the truck to change shirts and fully intended to talk to me - letting me know that snapping at them wasn't going to be acceptable, but clearly I was stressed and now wasn't the time to talk about it.
I came out, laid out my bullsh*t, said more hurtful things.... and then came to realize how awful I had been.
Carhartt forgave me.
I know... crazy - right? Like - who needs this sh*t, right?
Not only that, but we talked out what I was thinking, I was able to more clearly articulate what I would and would not like to have in a future relationship and Carhartt spent time laying down some personal boundaries of how they don't want to be spoken to... and, probably more importantly, how we can address my time management so that I'm less stressed.... including Carhartt helping me with a few things to take a few of them off my plate.
So.... *I* really f*cked this up..... almost.
I'm not sure what I did to deserve the attention and affection of someone like this.... but I'm sure as sh*t glad Carhartt is still here....
**********************************
Just in case you were living under a rock and need the *actual* movie references for the above, you should watch: Say Anything; Singles; and anything with Molly Ringwald in it prior to 1993. Just sayin'.
I miss being able to fall in love and actually *believe* with every ounce of Julie Roberts and Molly Ringwald and Ione Skye pumping through my veins..... that Lloyd Dobler really did exist - that it was possible to find him or... better yet - have *him* find you......
Days gone by where you could actually judge a relationship by simple markers like - did he kick the glass off the sidewalk and out of my pathway? Does he open my car door first? Does he say 'gesundheit' when I sneeze? Does he promise to provide a home a life for me while doing anything that isn't managing or processing or managing processing things.... and possibly from a career as a Kick Boxer?
Because that *seems* totally do-able..... right?****
Man.... I bought that sh*t hook, line and sinker.... really: I did.
Raised on a daily diet of skinny Barbie's, unemployed and hanging around a beach house in skimpy clothes and high heels riding up and down the three stories of her cardboard mansion in a yellow 'elevator' while hosting beach parties with Midge and of course.... falling madly in love with Ken. Oddly enough, Barbie had all kinds of accessories - she was an astronaut and a veterinarian or a doctor or Wall-Street powerhouse in her blue suit complete with puffy shoulder pads..... meanwhile all my Ken doll ever did was come with short shorts and a shaving kit.
Things were already a bit doomed from an early age.... clearly.
Then it's all a flood of RomCom's and teen movies..... I mean, I never wanted to Winona Ryder sooooo bad - she only ever had to choose between Johnny Depp and Christian Slater..... though, I was *much* more of a Corey Feldman girl..... I've always liked 'pretty boys' with a naughty streak.
You know the kind... the ones that don't pay their bills... or worse, run yours up? Yeah *that* guy. lol
It's so easy to love and to be loved.... inhibitions - both physical and emotional - come with age and experience and frankly.... aren't always a good thing.
Being young is such an innocent time.... because *time* seems never-ending. It wasn't that long ago that you were sitting at a desk 8 hours a day and dreaming about going off to college.... for me, my parents had kept most things pretty smooth for me so we are tricked into thinking that life and adulthood is going to be *great*.
All I could think of was having my own bathroom and my own front door - and staying up past midnight whenever I wanted to..... looking back, parents are smart to keep the reality of *who* and *how* this independence is paid for hidden because honest to f*ck, I'm not sure I would have ever moved out if I had known how hard I would have to work for so very little living on my own.....
sigh.
My point is - my twenties were full of (mostly) ignorant bliss.... especially my early twenties. I quite literally let my heart lead me from one country to another and to another *continent* for f*cks sake..... I thought my heart was much more a compass in charge of the direction of my life: navigating the road of love and relationships and so long as I stayed true to my heart.... it would never lead me astray.
Wrong.
Big time f*cking wrong..... right? lol
So you spend your younger years blindly trusting your heart and time and time again.... it ends in tears and heartache. Over and over your very definition of heartbreak get redefined for you. What you thought were once endearing qualities - Lloyd Dobble qualities - become reasons you *don't* want to date someone....
You try to leave each relationship with the *appropriate* kind of baggage: knowing what you like what you don't like... what works, what doesn't work - a nice set of personal boundaries all folded up and neatly packed and ready to unpack the next time you get "serious" with someone.
This weekend.... as Mumford and Sons would tell you..... "I really f*cked it up this time.....".
Stupid baggage.
I could just pretend that I was bitchy.... but, that doesn't work because I'm bitchy and tired and worn out and exhausted a lot of the time.... I could say that it was a misunderstanding and apologize and move on... but the truth is: I f*cked up.
As usual (as is the case for *most* Moms) I was doing three hundred things, putting my attention and importance in the wrong places and stretching myself waaaaaay too thin. Carhartt came to me to ask me a fairly simple question, but I didn't wait or listen for the question, instead I snapped at Carhartt and rudely advised Carhartt to leave me alone for a few minutes.
Carhartt obliged and went out to the truck.
I took this act to mean that I had hurt Carhartt's feelings and ...... instead of *owning* my own bitchiness and going out to apologize..... I then took this simple act of Carhartt going to the truck and filled in allllll kinds of blanks with.... what El Capitan would have done to me in that situation.
Ten years of feeling like I wasn't in a partnership of *any* kind has left me feeling a bit gun-shy. Ten years of feeling as though I had to watch every single word that left my mouth because El Capitan would turn every word into an insult and apply to it greater meaning.... instead of just realizing that I was spent and tired and bitchy and exhausted.
THAT is the moment that I want the person I'm with to walk up to me and take control. I want them to walk to me and say, "You don't get to snap at me like that... but clearly you're stressed - what can I do to help?"
What I DO NOT want is for someone to go and pout in their truck because I wasn't being super nice to them..... sigh.
So. Having filled in the blanks as to *why* Carhartt went to the truck, I marched out there ready to do battle.
I had fully unpacked alllllll my neatly stored baggage from my ten years with El Capitan and I was ready to lay it allll out on the line:
I will *not* tolerate pouting. Of any kind.
I will *not* worry about every f*cking word that leaves my mouth and the affect *you* make it have on your self-esteem/self-worth... blah blah new-age whateverness.... sac-up: I'm a girl - sometimes I'm a bitch: accept that.
(yes.... I realize this seems slightly horrible of me.....)
AND.... YOU *will* be there for me, even when I snap at you because that's when I need you the most and if you can't see that/handle that/do that.... then THIS WON'T WORK and you should just go home.
Oh.... and yes. I said the above. Word for word. Including the 'go home' part.
Carhartt turned to open the truck door and I could tell from the rounded shoulders .... that what I had said really hurt.... and hurt bad.
Feck.
In that instant I felt allllll the tension and anxiety and frustration of my day turn to stomach turning disappointment: in myself. I felt like sh*t.... and so I should have, eh?
I suddenly realized that I had gone outside, guns blazing, threw down my proverbial suitcase of baggage and unpacked right smack in Carhartt's face.... and then used that to make this their fault.
Damn.
I begged Carhartt to stay and talk to me and then I found out what really happened.
Carhartt was coming to the door of the room to ask to use it to change their shirt.
I snapped and was b*tchy.
Carhartt then went out to the truck to change shirts and fully intended to talk to me - letting me know that snapping at them wasn't going to be acceptable, but clearly I was stressed and now wasn't the time to talk about it.
I came out, laid out my bullsh*t, said more hurtful things.... and then came to realize how awful I had been.
Carhartt forgave me.
I know... crazy - right? Like - who needs this sh*t, right?
Not only that, but we talked out what I was thinking, I was able to more clearly articulate what I would and would not like to have in a future relationship and Carhartt spent time laying down some personal boundaries of how they don't want to be spoken to... and, probably more importantly, how we can address my time management so that I'm less stressed.... including Carhartt helping me with a few things to take a few of them off my plate.
So.... *I* really f*cked this up..... almost.
I'm not sure what I did to deserve the attention and affection of someone like this.... but I'm sure as sh*t glad Carhartt is still here....
**********************************
Just in case you were living under a rock and need the *actual* movie references for the above, you should watch: Say Anything; Singles; and anything with Molly Ringwald in it prior to 1993. Just sayin'.
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